today,
i went to an art gallery.
i've never been super into art.
it all just was paintings and brush swirls to me.
but today
i started seeing it a little differently.
there was an art piece where a woman became tools.
not become them, exactly, but acted like them.
she was moved like a broom, her hair the bristles.
she was thrown like dirty laundry into a basket.
she was a balance used to measure vegetables.
she made a point, i think.
she did this to make a statement on how
women are used, much like those tools.
it even said so on the description before i entered the exhibit.
there was another one
with a smokey haze and projected light
shining onto risen panels. as the light shone
onto the panels, the haze was illuminated too.
you could step into it. i walked along that light,
my new shoes toeing the line, bright against the darkness.
the smoke itself had no smell, but
there was something there that i could hardly see.
outside of the building
was a sculpture of canoes
bundled up together in an explosion
of dark, silver metal.
i don't regret going.
i enjoyed it more than i thought i would.
i'm starting to see art the same way as i see writing ;
more than just words.
there's always something beyond what you can see,
no matter what you look at.
the little things make it count.
i went to an art gallery.
i've never been super into art.
it all just was paintings and brush swirls to me.
but today
i started seeing it a little differently.
there was an art piece where a woman became tools.
not become them, exactly, but acted like them.
she was moved like a broom, her hair the bristles.
she was thrown like dirty laundry into a basket.
she was a balance used to measure vegetables.
she made a point, i think.
she did this to make a statement on how
women are used, much like those tools.
it even said so on the description before i entered the exhibit.
there was another one
with a smokey haze and projected light
shining onto risen panels. as the light shone
onto the panels, the haze was illuminated too.
you could step into it. i walked along that light,
my new shoes toeing the line, bright against the darkness.
the smoke itself had no smell, but
there was something there that i could hardly see.
outside of the building
was a sculpture of canoes
bundled up together in an explosion
of dark, silver metal.
i don't regret going.
i enjoyed it more than i thought i would.
i'm starting to see art the same way as i see writing ;
more than just words.
there's always something beyond what you can see,
no matter what you look at.
the little things make it count.
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