Art In Life

I thought art was dead rabbits hanging by their feet on a wall.
— Irving Stone

It doesn't really matter except that it does.  Typical Haiku philosophy, but it is all I have. Besides, I have learned that it really doesn't matter how well you style an argument because the listener has already made up their mind before reading or listening.  And, because of a thing called schemas and motivated reasoning, what they hear will only resonate with what they already have decided is the right answer.  Everything else will find its way into the overpopulated ether of misunderstood nonsense.

I have always thought that works of art should hold a more intimate relationship with us. By this I mean, we shouldn't revere it so much and experience it more. It should be a part of everyday life. It should be integrated into life. It should be life.

Dead rabbits hanging up on the wall isn't so strange. I have seen it. Mind you, this was in the northern part of Canada, and the person who owned the house was a trapper. It wasn't art so much as it was life. But haven't I heard that before. Life imitates art and art imitates life. The lines should be more blurred. In fact, they should be one and the same.