In a time so full of hostile differences, art (whatever form) remains to be that one potential constant capable of surviving it all and eradicating the tiny boxes so many people have found themselves to have grown up in.

For me, it’s the PROCESS of art that makes it important…not simply the end result alone, but rather that one particular chosen path to get there; that one path out of millions. Our conductor once said to us, “…he could have done anything with this music, and it would have worked. But why this way? There was a reason.” I think it’s in this “middle ground” where art is you, trying to find some other language to replicate yourself in a new form.

When I say “process”, it isn’t necessarily just the process by which the art came to be, not just the path taken by the artist, but also the process by which the one experiencing the art employs to discover their own path, including running into dead ends, turning around, going another way, going through twists and turns, etc., until finally that art has a meaning that has becoming entirely personal to the one doing the wandering.

But, for me, this seems to only come along at inspiration’s beckoning. Many times it feels as if setting one limitation snowballs into a thousand limitations. It’s a bit difficult to describe, but it almost feels as if one limitation implies another, and another, and another, until finally you’re completely burnt out and unmotivated…doubting yourself, bombarding yourself with “What ifs…” I’m not saying this explains the money situation, but it seems that’s how it would affect me.

As an architecture student, we’re constantly being encouraged to think, “What experience do you want to create here? On top of that, how does this experience differ from, compliment or lead into the next experience?” Rarely is it, “How does this look from here?” It is always, “What feeling(s) do you want to evoke?”

Rambling on, people often seem to be proud of an end result because they think of all they’ve been through to achieve it. The word “whew” isn’t thrown around recklessly…it’s a result of the numerous pages torn out, the number of broken strings, sore feet, thrown-out-and-restarted projects, yells, screams, deep breaths, fresh starts, laughter, people, and experience.

Through it all, you learn techniques, acquire skills, form opinions, hate things, love things, become okay with things, leave things behind and bring things back.

So art isn’t just the end result. The true art is discreet, hidden behind the smirk of that play, composition, sculpture, painting, dance, building, etc. In the end the artist subtly says, “I achieved art.”

But that’s just me.