Let's talk about Art. Not the one that you are creating, but the one that creates you. Or maybe both... I mean the Art of Aging.
Whatever you make with all your knowledge and passion, you love and enjoy each little step in it. Each stitch, each line, each picture, each dish, each word, each smile is a momentary masterpiece. You love it, because it fills in a daily blank sheet. It's a proof that the time wasn't spent in vain.
But what happens when the Time starts leaving its prints on you? Right, then come attempts to erase everything with all possible and impossible ways... Attempts to look like nothing never happened...
Strange. Because on the other hand, an old book you want to read over and over again. You admire in meditating silent the photo of an old wrinkled face. You hold a breath in front of an old collapsing architecture . You love vintage...
But do you REALLY love yourself?
Do you really want to have and empty clean notebook at the end?
Or does the straight trimmed wooden pole looks more beautiful than an old tree?
You tell me.