Ars Artis Gratia

The definition of art, to me, would be something of an abstraction. I have never been able to define art for what it is. When i call writing an art, it has become an art only after i have put it down, and so, writing as an art form in itself didn’t exist till then. Is everything so? We like to call those things art which we find that we ourselves are proficient in. We cannot simply come to terms with the fact that art forms which we don not know of do not exist. Frankly, i am ashamed by this, and when i say i’m ashamed, i would like to think of myself as speaking of this world of men and women who practice what they think are arts. An art is which is for the sake of art. The paintings we draw and the stories we write are not truly beautiful and deserving of an absolute praise when they are being manufactured in our minds solely for the money. I agree that money is an incentive, but today, money itself seems to be the end. We begin with money in our mind, we permit money to influence our decisions, and we permit money to give our creations away. There is no sense of belonging that can ever come to be established between we, the creators, and them, our creations. That, in my opinion, is the essence of materialism. The reason we think god cannot exist is money. Furthermore, money itself being the creation of a materialistic individual, is it true then that materialism is an absolute truth? Perhaps, for it is very hard to disagree. By the very definition of god, a supreme force that created us and everything around us, divinity and materialism are mutually exclusive. According to me, those are the two absolute factions that dominate every conceived principle on this planet. I’m not talking about science, and how philosophy guards its boundaries, and nor am i talking about godliness itself, and how philosophy prevents its wrath from engulfing science. I am talking about art for the sake of art, and how a simple and seemingly trivial clash between our materialistic tendencies and our creatively driven actions results in a question of cosmic proportions. Can art for the sake of art exist? In my opinion, we will never know. All that we know is the product of money, and since money has come to define what we believe in and what we deny, money itself is our god. The capitalist economy is the temple, and the capitalist is the priest. Take, for example, our history. Everything we know about the past is a product of money. How? The historians we believe are paid for by money, the tools they employ are purchased by money, the books they write are a product of money, the TV shows they appear in are a product of money, the reason they are willing to work day after day after day is money. The sorrow in all of this lies in the fact that the dreams they harbor are the only representatives of their innate humanity. The purposes that get us started in our journeys, the spirit that keeps us from breaking, the resilience that denies us the way back, the aspirations that keep our destination in sight no matter how far they are – these are the only elements that are left of humans, and but everything else is money. To have allowed such meaningful and pure emotions to be dominated by money is itself a sin, for i believe that if there does exist a god who created us, then he created us not for this willful surrender we have brought upon ourselves and our children. At the same time, he created us naught for the intentions, for they are our own, and thus, the refusal to believe in this god (an intention, is it not?) is a self-denial we choose to impose upon ourselves just so we remain, for the days to come, secluded, quarantined, away from the sins of our past. This remnant, this covenant between who we were and who we are, is the one thing that is moving mankind as a whole in the forward direction; it is the one indication that we despise this money and love that dream. It is the one wave that we believe will yet reach the shore, bearing along the message in a bottle, for our children and grandchildren to read and believe and hope.

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