
What is art, must we explore,
is it solely what others define in their mind?
Is it but what the eye adores?
Images of thoughts in the mind of the blind?
Does art reside only where colors blend,
Is there only one path to its embrace,
On canvas and on screens, do visions extend?
Or only paint and brush in the artist’s chase?
Or can a crayon’s humble stroke, that we find,
Does art transcend the tools we choose,
Do we unearth the beauty of a creative mind?
In every hue, the artist must have diverse views.
Does art dwell in the words we weave,
Does it exist on digital screens or the printed page,
In the that are stories told, in words that grieve,
Is it not art, when it is created by artists of every age?
From brushstroke bold to words profound,
In every heart, there is a canvas vast,
In every form, its depths are found,
Where art resides, from first to last.
So let us not confine its grace,
For art is born from the human soul,
To one sole medium, one fixed place,
In countless ways, it makes us whole.

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