even while wrestling with hunger, disasters, and death, somebody off in a corner was carving stone, raising a temple, sculpting a statue, smearing paint on a wall. maybe what makes us human began right here. because from that moment on, we stopped being just a creature trying to stay alive and turned into a being that wanted to make sense of what it saw and leave a trace behind.
take the people who chased mammoths, for instance, we don't know their trace or trail, but we can still come across what that first homo sapiens guy drew when he sketched a bison on a cave wall with charcoal.
maybe that's exactly why art can never be a luxury. today, in the middle of economic crises, wars, and the rush of daily life, there are still people writing novels, shooting films, composing songs, putting paint to canvas. there isn't as big a difference as you'd think between the person who left the print of their hand on a cave wall and the sculptor whose back is bent from carving marble, the master craftsman working a pattern into a dome, and today's artist. despite all the hardships, what's eating at all of them is really the same thing: "if i'm going to vanish one day, how will i tell anyone that i lived here?"
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