Paper Mâché

What is art?

Do we have the right to judge it?

No. 

Because art is an oil spill. 

It leaks into other people’s lives and makes a beautiful, tragic mess of itself.

The human race is known for saying,

‘Be yourself’

‘Everyone else is already taken’

You say be yourself, but what if you don’t know what to be?

Do you just throw whatever you think you might be out there and hope it crawls above the line of social acceptability?

Why?

Why should someone else be able to define your quality of art? 

Art is whatever you make of it so should you be able to define it?

Critique it?

Judge it?

Rip it bit by bit and build it up towards your standards?

Step on it?

Crush it and it’s founder?

You and I are 

tiny pieces of paper mache 

that feed into each other to create 

something, somewhat beautiful 

You attach yourself to people you may never be able to have. 

We’re people. 

We pry into each other’s paper pieces and feed of grief and sorrow.

Is this beauty?

Or is beauty just another love poem? 

Just like how I’m another puny, powerless, piece of paper and so are you. 

By Aria Bupendra