Art isn’t perfect.
Some say the same thing about love.
Step into a classroom or a middle aged woman’s cubicle and you’re sure to see a poster.
Projecting a plastic shininess from its laminated surface.
Dated typography with no hierarchy of text decorated with some quote such as, “love is when you are there for someone through good and bad.”
There is truth in this, but is that all love is? Is that the definition? The formula?
Love is a state of being.
It’s when you start painting and realize the shade of coral on your brush is a couple shades to dark. You smear. Smooth. And embrace it.
Love is art. Art is love. Love is life.