There was this old man that used to come in to the coffee shop where I often write, plopping himself on a big red sofa and spending hours sifting through wrinkled books and weathered photographs, magnifying glass in hand. Every now and then, he would look up and breathe in a deep, satisfied sigh, as if he’d discovered something he’d been searching for, all “There! There it is! It was here all along!”
A few months ago, I asked him what he was looking at. And he told me something beautiful that I’d recognized as a Joan Miro quote:
“You can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life.”
He went on to say that he’d always been a man of few words. But that images and pictures and portraits spoke to him in his native language: one of beauty. One of soul. One of purpose.
And I realized something enormous that day. Art matters to few, but to those who are looking, it is everything. To those who see, it is light. Creativity and art and design are often tossed away as frivolous subjects, relegated to paintings behind glass and murals on street corners. But to some, they are words. They are speeches and books and novels and history and language, all immersed into a picture as abstract as the meaning itself.
I have a feeling that you’re one of the few who are looking.
I have a feeling I am, too.
Image Credits: Chad Wys
p.s. Because beauty is in the blur.