Someone once told me life is all about turning our pain into art and that if we fail to do so, our pain will destroy us. I’ve held onto that advice ever since. I don’t know much, and as the years go by I’m convinced I know less than ever, but the one thing I’m convinced of is that art is more about a feeling than anything. There’s a natural intuition and inclination inside us that draws us towards love and binds us together. It whispers like the wind on the back of our necks and yet it leads in all the best directions. At some point we realize the swords and shields must fall if we are to become completely immersed in this life. Art to me is nothing more than a constant stripping away, a struggle towards our most vulnerable state where we find in the end that we are all so much more alike than different. This spirit pushes us beyond into uncertainty, grappling with the harder questions of strength and courage and being understood. There is nothing more transformative than when love begins to lead the way. This is the beginning of a beautiful dance where living itself starts to become art. A living, breathing work of art is never defined by circumstances but rather defines the circumstances, the art of living is to take shape like water. Life raises a wall, love builds other walls and creates a home, life takes away, love finds us richer with what we still find ourselves surrounded by. Life brings death, love sees life and a new beginning, optimism renewed afresh by what lies around the next corner. Art may be defined as one’s response to what was created from what they were experiencing in any given moment of time. The key is always listening and creating after, the art of living is found in that we are not what we experience, we are how we react and what we create therefrom. Examine every emotion, challenge and dissect every thought, hold onto silence and what it teaches and let know creative stone go unturned.