12 Oct 2012

Hands are rubbish. Making art with machines...

...and that'll just have to do.

This is the very pleasing roofscape that I look out on most Wednesdays from the 4th floor.

1 comment:

  1. Some say art is made with hands;
    With passing days one understands
    Sometimes it's made with tools at hand.
    Art is a loving ampersand....

    Which joins one and one to one and one
    In a growing, ongoing gallery.
    Sometimes a struggle, sometimes fun,
    Sometimes it pays without a salary.

    Some say art is this or that
    And so much more, from where I've sat.
    I say art is someone up at bat
    To score a win with the caveat...

    That life is, yes, about more than art,
    Though perhaps among the greatest part,
    For art makes life more sufferable
    When with events one's had a bellyful.

    Art is therefore process, yet things,
    For process generates awakenings
    To the this and the that and the more we find
    When passing thoughts are intertwined.

    Grateful for art and its sustenance,
    For even when still, it remains a dance.
    Grateful for art, as passing days pass,
    And we watch our sand in its hourglass.