An Open Love Letter To Art: For The Love Of Art

For The Love of Art

Art is patient,

Because sometimes it takes days, weeks, or years to create a piece of art. Just sitting there, tinkering with paints, clay, glue, glass, or wood, to express themselves and create something — it seems like the artists are the patient ones. But, really, you have to be pretty patient with the artists, who are such uber perfectionists. In this case, art, you’re more of the therapist and the artists are the patients.

Art is kind.

You always understand, art. Like that time when I spilled a bottle of ink on white carpet in the middle of my old bedroom. While trying to clean up a 2-inch spot, it somehow spread to about 3 feet in diameter. Thanks to you, art, it looked like an ACME portable hole that I could crawl into if my mom would have seen what happened.

It does not envy,

You KNOW you’re the only one for me, art baby. Those other activities like grocery-shopping, laundry, and dish-washing mean NOTHING to me, I tell ya! Enjoying a nice walk, a hanging out with friends, or swimming? Psh, who needs all that when I’ve got YOU. My night job at the printing place? It came onto ME! It doesn’t have what you have, art, it really doesn’t.

It does not boast,

Because you don’t even have to. Your awesomeness is simply felt. You quietly lead seduce and excite, seemingly like when the McRib is back.

It is not proud.

Well, it’s kind of hard to be proud of artwork while knowing what goes on beyond the surface of the canvas. Like, who has the time to waste on stuff like getting dressed and showering when I’ve got this article to write about you? Art, you and I both know that right now, I’m sitting here in a tank top and pajama pants, my laptop at one edge of the desk, my illustration in progress on the other. Meanwhile, I try really hard to keep in mind which glass I’m drinking my coffee from and which glass use to clean my brushes.

It is not rude,

Because me revealing my charming scene above doesn’t make you go, “Eww.” Yes, art, you might be thinking “Eww,” but you know better than to say “Eww,” because you know that all of the above is happening only because of Yoouu.

It is not self-seeking,

But that doesn’t even matter to yoouu because you do not let this article define yoouu. You probably didn’t even expect this kind of honor of being featured on IllustrArticles, because this is your 15 seconds of fame. It’s all downhill from here, bro. But even that doesn’t matter, of course.

It is not easily angered,

Because if you were easily angered, art, then it would take me years to create a single piece of artwork that would be to your liking. Thankfully, your sense of humor is refreshing. Like, thousands of times, when I thought that what I really wanted to do is photography for a living, again. And you just HAD to put ideas in my head, like, that one time, to go outside in the dark and freeze out there till 12 a.m., with a set of flashlights, drawing figures in the air and taking photos of them. Again and again, you never showed up to comfort me. You just let me to continue to knock myself out until I realized that illustration really is better for me.

It keeps no record of wrongs.

Like, that one time, when I wrote a really long article about you, art, and you weren’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult. So, in case you were wrong either way, you pretended that you didn’t read it.

Art does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

Like, that one time, when I told you that I’m wearing a tank top and pajama pants and haven’t showered yet while drawing and writing this article, and you didn’t take it as an opportunity delight in something like, “So, below the surface, filthy wife-beaters wear the pants and spread dirt. Awesome.” You only rejoice in the fact that you didn’t really just read this article. And that fact that you’re not really my wife.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Art, you like me! You REALLY like me!

Art never fails.

Because when art fails, it is still a work of art.