The art of living

Where to begin? I'm still trying to capture my actual feelings in real time. Weekends are busy times around here. Amidst the youthful energy that surrounds me much of the time, I'm determined to continue my own turtle-like emotional development.

Today, my 12-year-old's soccer team won its game, 3-1. Next Saturday they will play in the championship game.

My eight-year-old's soccer team apparently won its game, 7-5, though at her level, no one keeps score, officially.

My ten-year-old had his friend here for an "overnight" last night, and they played all through the first half of today, oblivious of the soccer mania around them.

Tonight, my 25-year-old showed up with seven or eight friends briefly before they all went out for burritos, etc. Some of them, five or six, will return here later and spend the night.

I took pictures all day. The question in my mind tonight is "What is Art?" Like most questions, this one has been asked many times before, by writers much more talented than I could ever hope to be.

My favorite book on this subject is Tolstoy's book with the same title. He wrote: "Real art, like the wife of an affectionate husband, needs no ornaments."

So, what must be clear here is that I sublimate what feelings I am conscious of behind my writing, my photographs, and the language I choose. Nothing revealed, nothing lost.

But also, nothing gained.

That said, IMHO, this watercolor held by my youngest qualifies...The feelings come through clearly. What else can an artist hope to do?

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