Tall, stone and gray,
We walk into the dull box-shaped building.
Inside looks the same.
Where is the color? Where is the art?
A sign reads “Monet”.
“I’m sorry you must leave, this exhibit is private.”
One more glance as I say,
“I’m sorry sir, but where is the art?”
Up the stairs to levels two and three.
A room full of stone carved intricately.
The smiling face of Buddha stares back at me,
Where are the paintings? Where is the art?
Plaque by plaque I move from room to room.
Gods with round bellies and hands towards the sky
Depicted in stone and jewels, I assume.
Where are the drawings? Where is the art?
I find one painting, surrounded by 100 statues,
One eating bowl surrounded by 200 religious pieces,
This is not what I expected. I take a deep breath,
What am I looking for? Where is the art?
Art is in the cold of stone.
Art is in the shine of gold.
Art is in the stroke of a brush and the stitch in a cloth.
Art is in words.
Art is in the shape of a vase, the page of a book and the stretch of a canvas.
Open your eyes.
Art is everywhere.
Observe, don’t search.