I am for the art that looks like cotton candy, full of soft, want-to-touch colors
I am for art that reaches into the depth of my soul like poetry that makes me weak and laugh and cry and write
I am for art in pockets like that of hidden treasures and small pieces of jewelry and green, torn dollar bills and coins from around the world
I am for art that speaks in interviews, that exemplifies character, depicts colors, and is candid
I am for art of the pins and stickers and posters all over walls, on bookbags and in and out of battered lockers
I am for art as the sky, the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds the planets we don’t see
I am for art in water with its breadth of natural beauty and disaster
I am for art that travels and pops up and is removable and portable
I am for art I can stand on and take a photo of and with
I am for art that includes the mother tongue
I am for art that inspires other art like love
I am for art that unites, yet paradoxically pisses off
I am for art that speaks to me in odd places like the back of my family’s car; the ugly stupid magnets all over the fridge at home, the design we attempt to create on our front door when it’s the holiday season
I am for art that is all kinds of purple–the kind of purple that’s a hidden gem like the paint from Home Depot called blackberry farm
p.s. This is a piece I wrote on Friday for my Art Criticism class. Hope you enjoy this one, too!
p.p.s might be the 1st poem I’ve written this year that I love.