Because we can't run out of art.

Devoting this one to the oil paint stains on my bedroom carpet. Yep. It's a rental. I can't have nice things.

Art. It's weird. Barely logical. Unexplainable They say humans are the only animals to make it, yet we train elephants and dogs to do it. We train ourselves too, I've never seen someone pick up a paintbrush without guidance, or write a lyric or a line without having ever listened to the radio or read poetry. So, what sets us apart from them? What primal part of a human being knows art? I like to imagine that we like music because it sounds like a heartbeat. Or a birdsong. We've been programmed to find birdsong relaxing. If the environment is prime for birds, it's probably prime for us as well. Did you know that birds cannot sing if it's too hot? As the planet warms, what will take it's place? I hope we never forget the sound of a bird call. In a sense, it is music at it's earliest form. Beaten only by the beating of a human heart.

     And why do we love paintings? Is it the thought of the artist toiling and perfecting and creating something on their own accord? Is it the chalkiness? Or the blur of brushstrokes? The ponderous miracle of the illusion of a 3D world on a 2D surface? Or is it the color? We know that blue and green are calming colors. But is it instinct or because they are supposed to be calming. Is it nature or nurture? When the planet warms and the trees die and rivers warm up, will we desire more green and blue paint? I hope it doesn't run out.

And dance. Oh how beautiful is dance. Why do we find so much joy in shaking our hips to that heartbeat beat and to watch others wave their arms to the vibrato of strings. When the planet warms and crops dry up and animals die and food prices rise, will we be too hungry to jive, too tired to tap, too sad to leap for joy. I hope not.

Art is weird. Barely logical. Unexplainable. But it is necessary. it's been planted in our blood and it flows through our brains. Art may not make sense, but it is just as driving as sex or food or comfort. The most vital things are often the hardest to understand. Understanding is useless. Art is not.

Unknown

Debra Baker is a runner, an intellectual, a vegan, and a highschooler. She's self concious, not very good at much, and is a bit neurotic, but had some things she wanted to share with the world, and for that, she made this blog.