Art is so subjective. What even makes something "art"?
I often feel that life is art in motion with nobody around to observe the quiet details. I experience a great sense of joy when I witness romance while it goes unnoticed by everyone else. It's the same bittersweet feeling I work through whenever I sink a long putt while playing a round of golf all alone. Sometimes I feel the same feeling when taking the long way home and happen to witness a once-in-a-lifetime sunset in my rear-view mirror.
A breath. A moment. A split second that belongs me, and only me.
Rodin has always been someone that I come back to and identify with time after time. "The Clenched Hand" tells such a story in the most simplest way. Someone who has shared and celebrated the quiet details of our human form in a way that no one else has.
Art surrounds all of us, even in the most desolate locations on Earth. It's up to us to identify it, celebrate it, experience it to its fullest potential, and share our breath enthusiastically with everyone.
How you share it is up to you.
