Through a park that's seen the worst: bombed and burned and stormed with hate; yet, the grass grows back. A beacon stands. Sprinklers dance and businessmen pedal. You feel the shade and thank the sun, have a pesto sandwich and keep moving on.
Inside, there's a timeline of stories. You think, "Art is thinking, then not thinking at all." It's smart and free, simple, special. It has the power to unite, yet often birthed from being alone. Maybe it's an object -- a chair or a lamp; or maybe it's an idea -- a setting or a view. It's an act of rebellion and just as much, expression. Art is superfluous to living, but essential for life.
