Poem: What is Art?

By Dave Hood

It’s a representation of  pleasing portrait,
Still life of sunflowers standing in a vase
memorable landscape of crimson
autumn leaves falling from maple trees.

It’s an abstraction crafted
of circles, squares, amorphous shapes,
Rainbows of colour.

It’s stream of consciousness,
A manifestation of the mind’s eye,
a dream like Salvador Dali’s surreal

It’s Annie Liebowitz’s vision
Captured in a digital photograph
Of a model, movie star, famous person,
Someone, anyone in the public eye.

Some people say, “art is anything.”
Like a concept,

idea born from thoughts
traveling into, out of the mind,
revealing something
Significant about man’s
 basic nature, the human condition
Society in which we inhabit.
Some Art confuses, confounds
like a Rubik’s cube,
or amuse with whimsy like a cartoon,
shock as if a stranger’s
engaging in some sort of taboo,
mocks like the pop art of Warhol,
even screams as you stroll past.
Other art is a rerun of a b-movie,
somebody’s found object,
a ready-made, picked out of the dump,
constructed as if it were a masterpiece,
displayed in an art gallery.
The best art is an everlasting memory,
pleasurable moments in time,
one of life’s simple pleasures
delights as though strolling on a sandy beach
watching a golden sunset disappearing
into the deep blue sea,
inspires you to make a purchase, hammer a hook,
adorn a wall in your abode for visitors to view,
“wows” you like driving a black Lamborghini
at high-speed on the Autobahn.

About Dave Hood

Lover of poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction. Professional photographer and writer. Without the arts, life would be rather mundane, like a walk down the same old path on a dull day.
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