When I study art, reading through my glossy, full color collections of paintings, I am constantly confronted with my mortality.
It's almost like reading tombstones. Next to the slick reproductions are
It's humbling, these works are vibrant, alive and the makers seemingly immortal.
But I know better.
I look up from the pages, into the next room where my son is playing, and I appreciate the moment. I am suddenly aware, of time, the present, and the passage of time.
Why I love art, Reason #1