What Is Art?

Art doesn’t feel like what it should be.

A feeling of freedom free from this world of social and emotional constraints

There is no freedom of flight in fancy

Or a direction of love and humanity

Or even of fear and wretchedness

Instead I am left facing the skulls of critics

Art critics

Something that was meant to be wholly individual has now become a place to put another intellectual pedestal

When does Art cease to be free from restraints?

Is it when one is depressed and lonely?

Or when they have finally committed that act of suicide

Van Gogh, we failed you

Basquait, I wish we had properly known you

But instead all we did was use you and monetise you

Disregarding the true nature of the pain in your fame

McQueen, though we hail you, we did not know the true meaning of bearing your name

Art is nought but a game to some

Too many a route to fame

But there is nothing to gain once all have wet their lips with your name

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