Web of Art
Rapture in the story,
power in the strands,
beauty in the blood and sweat and tears.
The web in all its glory,
the best of men’s laid plans
ensnares us in our greatest loves and fears.
I have never heard of anyone who did not find rapture in story– some story, some way, somehow. Certainly, there are people who don’t like reading stories, but stories stretch far beyond and above and behind the art of writing.
Movies and mothers and Marvel comics tell stories. Barroom braggarts and quick-witted liars tell stories. Grand greek statues and modern pop hits tell stories. And all these tales, long or short, clever or cliché, wicked or wise or warning or wonderful, have this in common:
They seek to capture, to enrapture, or at the least, to hold their prey suspended by fascination. All stories seek this, whether their artist knows it or not.
Even the palest lie whispered in the heart is there to capture; to hold the tale-teller wrapped up in what they wish to believe.
And the story I see in the spread of a tree, branches sparse and stark against the sky, or drawn in close to the trunk like a cloak, can take my breath away as I wonder at the whole tale.
But most artists know they are creating a Web of Art, whether they intend to catch themselves, their family, or millions of readers and viewers.