From my journal 9/26/10:
A few days ago, I watched a squirrel bury a nut in the front yard, in the dip where I usually put the trash can. I stood on the porch. The squirrel furtively ran its paws through the grass to hide the treasure, fluffing, gentle, caressing, almost like painting, almost like dance.
Is that how art begins? Twisted through the necessity of survival?
I do think this is how art begins: a simple act, a close observation.
ReplyDeleteMan this seems to be one of those big questions. I mean, I guess it'll always come down to the old pornography test, "I know it when I see it." I don't think I would ever see it in small squirrel burying a nut. If everything is art, nothing is art. But I don't want to get too existential.
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