An Ode to the Girl Who I Could Never Write

What does it mean to be artistic? What is art? Such questions stir the pot of philosophical conversations regarding what art is, what the artists is, and what it takes to be an artist. Surrounding oneself with art, however, becomes a prerequisite for the artistic life, for the art appreciator, the one who ardours life through a different lens. It is as if these monuments of the peak of another life bleeds from every porosity and I can soak its powers.

I found myself recently in an art gallery with the girl I could never write, watching over her every move as she looks at art. It was almost as if I was doubly surrounded by magical work, first her form, her contemplating form, and then second the art that surrounded us both. I found myself wondering what was going through her mind, how did the art affect her perception of reality, did there emerge poetry from her soul as well?

I took a journey through my mind, but also hers, or my imagination filled the gaps which I constructed. I wondered what she thought, and my minds created phantasmic worlds in which only she and I was alive, in which we encountered strange artefacts and words that have become reality. We moved between these otherworldly artefacts only to realise that we were the art others contemplated. We became stuck inside of one of the paintings…

As we surrounded ourselves with the magic of the artistic mind, the object of contemplation, history and culture captured in an ever-moving object, we tried to escape the artwork we were captured in. We became the object of desire, of contemplation, of being looked at. But we could not escape this world, as the frames contained us, it kept us inside of its rigid borders.

The harder we tried to escape the frames, the less possible it became. For as we ascended the borders, they were created and reinforced by every movement we made. The borders grew with every step we took, the frame became longer and more complex the more we moved onwards. It was almost in tandem with our steps, with our movements – for every step the border grew in its length making it impossible for us to go beyond it.

Alas, between strange figures and dreams that materialised, I found the girl not so hidden any longer. She exposed her dreams and desires through the medium of words and paint.

I hope that you enjoyed these musings and photographs about art, the girl I could never write, and the dream worlds.

For now, happy photography and keep safe.

All of the musings and writings are my own, albeit inspired by the various pieces of art surrounding us. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300 and 50mm Nikkor lens.