Something Worth Writing About?

Alexandria Clark

OPENHAND PUBLICATION 

 

As he said...something worth writing about

There’s always something worth writing about.

Whatever you write, it must have been worth writing otherwise why would you bother?

Is it only worth writing if there is a reader available? A reader that wants to read it? Or just any old reader.  If it was just a reader, that reader might say it wasn’t worth reading, and then does that just go back to the fact, that maybe it wasn’t worth writing about.

 

So what do you think?

 

I think it was worth writing, just to get some sort of response out of you...

 

Anyway, must get on...

 

What was the subject? Oh yeah...art.

Well then, is art worth writing about? And to write about something, there must be something there to begin with. Something must just be there. And then from there, it must have been made. So if it was worth writing about then it must have been worth making; whether the writing about it be good or bad? It circles and encompasses each and every sentence. No escape. There never is. It’s all about links, networks, connections.  It’s all from those letters; those people.

 

Actually I won’t continue from there.

 

I think I’ll start from here. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  People see art differently, so perhaps art is in the eye of the beholder. And if both be in the eye of the beholder, it is possible that beauty is art and art is beauty. 

 

John Keats once wrote within the lines of Ode on a Grecian Urn

 

‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,’ – that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

 

So if beauty be art, and if art be beauty, then within this art must lead to truth? 

 

Or not so much lead to truth:

But is truth. 

And when applied to these two lines, it is all we know and all we need to know.

 

Perhaps that is why we are here? Seeking truth; engrossed by beauty.  Is it possible that the natural path from this leads us to art? Leads us to make, to create: to watch, experience and feel?

 

We are all just following these circles. The straight paths, the slightly curved, the winding roads are where we place each footstep, with belief we are moving forward. But in reality, no matter how much we set our eyes on the horizon, ruler out that pencil line across the map, develop and change our ideas, we will always return. Always circle back, always reach the end yet know it was only the beginning when we started. Start at a point on the earth, follow that straight line,

 you will always come back.

                                                                     

And that’s where we are. Trees that circle round the records of their existence; the writers writing for readers who will like, who will dislike, who will pay no attention to at all; the readers who read the written to develop understanding of the artist through their art; and then that ever remaining trio. The triangular connection between beauty, art and truth. The triangle that explicitly forms that sphere; those circles.