I wonder, sometimes, what it means to make good art.
I wonder what good art really is.
Josh’s grandma paints beautiful landscapes, and when I see them I am almost there – hiking those mountains, crossing those streams. That is good art.
A relative gave me a set of handmade coasters, and her thoughtfulness reminded me I am loved. That is good art.
I take photos of dogs and send them to owners who are away. That, maybe, is good art.
My mom writes about grief and cancer and shares it with those who need hope. That is good art.
I try to write what is real, what hasn’t been done before, what – at the very least – might cause someone to think. That, I hope, is good art.
Sometimes art is so real we don’t even notice it as art.
A mother decorates a room. A dog walks at a tight heel. A neighbor’s maples line the street.
If we don’t look, we might miss it.
A friend’s expression. Crayons stacked in jars. A black dog on a sunny afternoon.
