Sunday Scribblings "Art"

G'Day,
The Sunday Scribblings prompt this weekend is art. It didn't take me long to start writing what I think on this subject.
I could write lots.
My first though was that word is a bit abused. I can not really understand a lot of modern art and i do not try to analyze such works, I either like or don't like it. That is where I feel the abuse comes in, by people trying to sell a sub standard product by talking B***S**T.
I also do not enjoy the art that is around now days created to shock our conscience, but that type of art I can often see the point behind. I do sometimes get a laugh out of it.
I do believe how ever that Art, like beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Art is so many things to so many different people. Art is in nature (number 1 on my list), 3 dimensional, flat on a canvas, in architecture, on a face, in our senses, music, where ever and what ever we see in our minds eye, heart, feel, hear, smell, if and when we choose to do so.
Art can make you immortal. It is often sad to think that artists have to die to become famous, but that is what often what happens.
If you are a reader of my blog journey you know that I am a hobby potter and have been since my eldest son was a baby. He is 26 yrs old now. I went to my first pottery lesson when he was 10 months old because I needed an outlet and was probably suffering from post natal depression and not coping very well at the time. I never went to a Dr, I was scared to. I had previously made one pot at high school and the feel of the clay was always in my mind from that day on. Some one actually stole my first pot, but that is another story, I never got it back. I thought it was pretty good, some one else must have thought the same.
Anyway, going off on a tangent there. When I was in my early years of potting I heard a few stories that stay with me today.
The first of these being that when archaeologists find ancient pottery it still holds within it the finger prints of the maker, thousands of years later. Amazing ..... I loved that .... each person ever born has their own set of finger prints. Maybe some one will be digging in the garbage tip a few thousand years from now and find a piece of pottery that I made, and scratching their head wonder what , why and who made it, my finger prints will still be here, like my genes through my children in future generations, (for better or worse), likewise as my genes come from my ancestors.
The second story was set during the industrial revolution when potters were trying to find ways of duplicating the beauty of the fine porcelains and bone china pots that were coming out of china. The story goes that a potter became so frustrated with his attempts that he threw himself into his clay pit and died . Therefore becoming a part of his own pots. And guess what... that was what the clay needed, bone. he he. I do not know if that is true or not ...but I like the idea.
The picture above is the last thing I made. As you can see it has not been fired yet. I sat out at the back table outside and made it after my blogging friend "Sorrow" told me I needed to have my hands back in the clay as I had told her I was missing it after looking at what she had been making. She is on my side bar if you want to have a look. She was right. It felt so good to have clay back in my hands again after not touching any for a few months. I have made a few chooks from clay. It seems to be my latest craze of things to make. I go through that until I am sick of making that thing and change to something else. The craze before that was tiles, and before that, thing for candles to go in. I wonder what will be next.
Art is what you see, and what you want it to be.
There comes the art versus craft debate... I should stop there :).
That's all folks.
Love Linda.