An Essay on ART

Evening Feathers by Rishav Balo
Evening Feathers by Rishav Balo

Sublimation, caused by dis-satisfaction, which makes the soul happy, is art. A satisfied person can never be a artist. However, it must be mentioned that extreme-satisfaction too can result in art. Any form of art that comes from the average satisfied person is mathematical, i.e., imposed. Such an art form will not survive for long. Art, in its highest recognition and acknowledgement, is the gap between satisfaction and its ill-brother.


Psychologically speaking, a dis-satisfied mind naturally tends towards any attempt to spring in happiness. This is human nature. When a person is disturbed by his life, he befriends nature. This new relation is art to the soul. When materialized, this friendship takes the form of poetry. So does happen even when a person is overwhelmed and thereby becomes the part of the nature himself.


No one can write a poem. As such, no one is a poet. Poems are poets themselves. They only choose someone to jot them down. They are like social-workers relieving the disturbed person in the most artistic way. Yet such practices as suicides are common experiments orchestrated by those who are subject to artificial dis-satisfaction, i.e., situations that are results of sublime creativity given life by selfishness of the performer.


Art occurs when a satisfied soul drives its unsatisfied mind to act such that happiness is caused. Art also occurs when satisfaction begins to overflow. But the problem of art today is that it has been made a result of mathematics, like this essay. What is worse is, people like things which appear beautiful, not which are beautiful. And this why such things as premeditated “art pieces” take permanent lease on the walls of our homes and pages of our books. A little observation and a greedy head is enough for this to be done. Here is how it works-

When I began writing this there was no cause-I didn’t know I was writing an essay. It began as a piece of Art. Then at a point that “gap” we have talked about was done with. The bottle of satisfaction was complete but the essay was not. More full stops and commas were needed to make a display out of it. I had to install more “yeah, there’s more” stuff for it to make any sense to a reader. The whole thing had become an Epigram. By now, Art had left my paper and had happily re-married, if it is not illegal to say so. Words have become artificial, imposed, and starving from lack of emotions. To myself, the words now seem like an electromagnet switched on just because the natural magnet of the writing was consumed by my fearfully irresistible wish to publish this writing. The last word of the first paragraph was originally “vice”. But then I changed it to “ill-brother”. This is advertisement. This was like campaigning for the entire thing. Art is the result of Unconsciousness. But, my change was Conscious. Commerce again. “Ill-brother is better looking than “vice”, that’s for sure. That’s when I come back to earth!


Art has become commercialized. It seems to have been bribed into an agreement to advertise exhibitionists. It has become publicity of the artist, if he can be called so after his fame-hungry ticket sale in the name of Art. Judging something is Science, Loving it is Art, and wanting to have it is Commerce. Science is nature, Art is BY nature, and Commerce is the end of nature. Science is existence, Art is divine-existence, and Commerce is back to existence. Science is Reality, Art is higher-reality, and Commerce is “Reality strikes again.”


All in all, “ART IS THE ONLY WAY TO RUN AWAY WITHOUT LEAVING HOME”- Twyla Tharp

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