The Value of Art
- C. Taylor
Art is worth nothing in our society.
Artless people scoff loudly,
to them
it is an idler's game,
shameful and useless.
The hours I spend,
the months
the planning
just little scraps
of "useless" paper.
I stand eight hours working
on a ten inch square of a ten foot work
I have planned so carefully it will take a year to finish.
My feet scream in pain
my fingers and eyes sore from the strain
of being so careful
to get it right
or I must redo it.
It is only one of many.
Yet no one believes that this is work.
I sleep awhile
eat
a bowl of rice,
some cheese,
and work on writing
I work on many books at once,
many paintings,
many songs,
carefully planning
the structure, shape.
it must be done a certain way
to communicate the "idea"
to the observer.
That communication,
transferring the concept
from the canvas, tape, page,
is my only real payment.
I will die hungry, and poor,
of that I have no doubt.
I cannot stop my work
it is my only way
to change
the world around me.
My tiny influence
might affect only a few for the better,
yet it is all I can do, so I must.
The moody notes of my saxophone,
the unryhmed words of my strange poem,
the forms of near-madness
that call from my canvas,
they instill something in you,
evoke feelings and thoughts.
These are worth more
than nothing.
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From the book
"The Butcher's Block: Poems of Poverty"
by Chris Taylor
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