What is art?

Is it when you pick up the brush and smear all your creativity on the canvas?

Is it when you play with colours as you try to reproduce on a blank sheet the things enraging on your mind?

Is it when you pour down your feelings at 2 in the morning because the only thing standing between them and you is a piece of paper and a pen?

Are you creating art when you share them with the paper because there is no one else?

Is it the slashes you make on your wrists with the blade and watch the liquid flow slowly as you drop into oblivion?

Is it art when in the middle of a cold night, when you have given up on your life and a blank piece of paper lies in front of you?

Is that piece of paper a work of art?

I don’t know.
I don’t understand art.


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