Woolf's words grabbed me and plopped me in a chair to face this: we are the thing itself.
Oh. Wait. Hmmm. My own words fail me, even as the thought of this concept has my brain (and heart and spirit) on high alert because THIS IS SOMETHING BIG. The separation between everything begins to fall, and the words of Thich Nhat Hanh softly nudge me:
And there we have it. We cannot be separate from our art or those who see it. The state of the art situation here in December is: I can see how I am the thing itself. And the art is a part of that big ol' pie - it is berries and sugar and butter and flour. Not just a piece of the pie, but the pie itself. And all the things that make it - the inspiration, the paint, the brushes, the paper, the sun through the skylights, the music in the background. I inter-am with the art, and with you, dear reader - we inter-be. Lucky, lucky me!