Art

I’m able to feel emotions. I would even say that sometimes I am neurotic. But I struggle to feel the emotion behind art.
In college I took an art class which I hated. The book was ginormous and overwhelming and all I saw was church-approved porn. Although I did fall in love with impressionism, especially Degas. Later, talking with Crolace, I realized that there is so much in poetry that I do not see. There is so much that I miss in novels; though heaven knows I enjoy novels more that any poem. Architecture is art. Movies are art. Fashion design is art – and you know it must be ‘cause ain’t nobody wearing some of those creations for real (or at least they shouldn’t). Cuisine is art. Nature is art.
When I hear people, like Crolace, or Azir Nafisi, author of Reading Lolita in Tehran, or Julia Robert’s character in Mona Lisa Smile talk about art – in all forms-- I see the deficit that I have in relating to it emotionally. I think too concretely.
I think it is largely an issue of education. When the emotion behind something or the story behind something is explained to me, then I get it.
But what good is it if I always require commentary. I wish I could just feel it.