Art: Pieces of Peace

I was at school yesterday for my clearance, with my friend but we were already running a bit late. In our rush, she suggested that we take a shortcut. It cut through the Fine Arts department, a place I had passed once rather hastily.

When we got there, I slowed down and I’m glad she didn’t complain because there’s something about art that demands your attention and I think my friend felt it too. I found myself drawn in, completely forgetting, for a moment, that I was late for anything at all.

The first piece that caught my eye was made from bottle covers. Hundreds of them and they were arranged to form an image of perhaps an epic figure, but I couldn’t fully decipher who particularly because time had taken its share; some of the covers had fallen off, leaving small gaps. Yet, the artwork still stood out to me anyway.

I saw a man working there and asked how long it had been there.

“Over 30 years,” he said.

Thirty years. And I just stood there, in awe.

There was something really moving about how something created so long ago could still exist, and draw admiration from someone like me, who happened to pass by on a random day.

Further, I saw another piece. A bike man and his passenger, constructed entirely from iron. That one looked like it belonged to another era, something straight out of the 80s. I liked the rawness to it. I wanted to touch it, just to feel the texture, but I held back as it was rusty, and fragile-looking. I didn’t want to be the one to have it fall to the ground. So I admired it from a distance.

There were other works, of course, one that looked like a puzzle. The artist probably painted them on different small boards then pieced them together after they were done. I loved it too because of the cultural feel it gave me.

Also, standing there, something stirred in me. I remembered a younger version of myself. In Grade 4, I wanted to be an artist. I loved colors, crayons, water paints, anything that allowed me to create. My mom would always buy me these things and scold any sibling that used them to play. She encouraged me although I knew what I drew and painted weren’t worth being seen by a stranger. lol. But somewhere along the way, I drifted.

Growing up has a way of redirecting us I guess and dreams shift but maybe not entirely. Interests change too and sometimes, the things you once loved fade into the background.

Still, standing there yesterday, surrounded by art that had outlived decades, I felt some sort of recognition. If I were to choose something else right now, something purely for the love of it, not for money, I think I would return to art. Painting, drawing and creating something that feels alive to me. And I know what I would paint. Nature.

It’s funny how a simple shortcut led me back to something I didn’t even realize I had left behind. I suppose some things don’t really disappear. They prolly just wait for us to notice them again.

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