What is art to me?
It’s everything I see.
What I feel in me.
It’s the sky, the ground, the waves and the sound.
It’s what I love in me.
It’s the way we move when we hear the groove.
It’s fire burning the tree.
It’s salvation, dedication.
It’s what I believe it to be.
It’s total brilliance — live and vivid colors as far as the eye can see.
It’s domination.
It’s devastation.
It’s the world when it’s five degrees.
It’s cold and it’s hot.
It’s when and when not.
Either way, it’s art to me.
It’s my own brain on a plateau, on an island, alone, far out in the sea.
What is it to you? Doesn’t matter to me.
My art is mine to keep.
If I share it, you’re blessed with my art to see, to feel, to touch, to hear.
It’s too much.
It’s enough.
If you want it from me, I can share it with you.
You can keep. It’s free.
It’s a gift.
It’s art.
That’s me.