art is everywhere

I think as artists we see the world differently. I mean, this isn’t a revelation. It’s well established. But there’s something to it that goes unnoticed by almost everyone as they go about their daily lives. I noticed it the other day when I was visiting family.

My grandfather has always been an avid sports enthusiast. Whenever there’s a Lakers game he is glued to the television, muttering and growling or haranguing the antics of the little men as they prance about their baskets.

I don’t notice this though. I notice the jerseys. Someone designed those. Who? I notice the team logos painted on the court. Some artist, somewhere, was commissioned to draw them and present them before a committee for approval. Who did that? When the camera pans over to the commentators in their boxes, gathered around a sleek, semi-circular desk, I don’t hear them talking about the half-court field goal, I notice the rotating ESPN sports logo in the centre of the desk.

beautiful-glass-rain1Someone designed that, programmed it, thought about how it would look when it was spinning, as the letters pop up individually. Who? Who did that? Who thought up and created the flashing lights and arches that make up the stage where the commentators sit? Who wrote and composed the music?

These are just the background, the setting, for the events taking place there. But I am  mesmerised by the flashing lights and the pageantry of the performances. Imagine watching a game without them. There would be no music, no stage, no jerseys, no spinning logos or designs, it would be an empty, hollow performance.

The same applies to our daily lives, every day on the street. The buildings around us, the taxi logos, the cars, our clothes, everything is a parade of artistry. Where would we be without it? We aren’t just living in our world, we’re trying to colour it.

As humans, we desperately need to express this inexpressible feeling we are driven by, consumed by, compelled by, even tormented by. We seek to take the ordinary and make it extraordinary. And I start to wonder about my own place in all of this. Where will my impact fall? Where and how will I make my presence known? Where, in all of this, is my art?


  1. Much is actually known . . . there are credit for who did the work, even for things often not obvious to the casual viewer. But to the person(s) or entities commissioning the work . . . they know who the people are.

    The public? . . . . they are not supposed to notice.


      1. I often think, although I have little expertise in many of those things, that it would be a nice job to have . . . then I remember . . . they do work for soul-less corporations . . . who probably steal a bit of their soul in the process.

        But it’s the same with TV shows and movies. I notice plots and dialog in relation to how I might have written it, or preferred to evolve. And yes, I often think . . . how do I get a job like that? Meanwhile, I continue as an engineer.


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