The love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art. ~RWE

I could tell you that art is many things. I could say art is magic, a lens for your eyes that bends the things many people see as an unswerving line. I could say art is creativity, the ultimate form of courage in a grey, uniform world. I could possibly even go so far as to say art is desire, a wish to see the world in whatever way you want, free from judgment.

But it is so much more than that.

Because in its essence, art is madness. It captures the invisible chaos that we choose to ignore within the finite boundaries of a canvas, churning, swirling, pounding within the cages of our minds to be set free. It is the drive of pure genius not just to unveil and to undergo, but to make acknowledged and experienced, all while standing and staring {Art-making is not about telling the truth but making the truth felt. ~CB}. Art is insurgence, a perpetual wave of inspiration, expression, and a lust for change. It makes the intangible dance between our fingers, the inconceivable burden our hearts, the undeniable linger before our eyes. It calls us to concede and act upon what what many choose to disregard {Art is either plagiarism or revolution. ~PG}. Art is reality, disrupting us from the illusion of happiness and perfection and allowing is to glimpse the horrors that plague the universe. It jars us, jolting us awake from a dream world in which we avoid complications to dodge the obligations they come with {Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. ~CAC}. Art is a scream into the unknown, a cry for recognition, a roar for passion. Art is pain, struggle, hatred, and grief, but it is also joy, love, beauty, and freedom. So, I suppose, intrinsically, {Art is not a thing; it is a way. ~EH}.