In the minds of many, great art comes from deep passions. What if love itself is the art?
There is no pretense here of moral superiority, only an unquenchable desire to seek the moral fabric of the universe. I write of morality from passion, not from superior achievement.
love: a commitment to act in the welfare of another, or the welfare of all
It gets tiresome correcting false impressions about love, so it falls to writers to find terms with similar meaning, but perhaps more precise. Panting after flesh is lust, affection is general positive regard, and sacrifice is the highest expression. Agape is a nice Greek word borrowed by Christian theologians to label a willingness to give all for the sake of something more important than life. Then there’s cathexis and infatuation. Things we blame on love are frequently from other causes.
The primary means of identification is not even the results, since none of us is so perfectly able to do what we really would like to do all the time. So we are left regarding love as art, something which needs examination with something other than mere intellect or we’ll miss it.
I can splash pigment on a surface, but I’m not sure you would say I can draw or paint. I can tell you I sing, but you’d have to hear it. I’m actually better at leading singing than performance itself. And some seem to think I can write, because this blog does get some traffic. But it all means nothing if you don’t find in it something of the emotional warmth, the spiritual passion behind it.
One doesn’t simply be an artist, nor simply produce artwork. One does art as an expression of commitment and burning necessity. I seek the artistry of love itself.