This morning, it was cold. And grey. And drizzling rain. Walking down Honore, I came across a child’s sidewalk drawing. I walked by thinking how sad and futile it was, this act of creation that would (in a little bit) get destroyed. With enough rain, it would be wiped from the earth, and no one, save the child and anyone who saw it, would ever remember.
A few feet past, I stopped, turned around, and walked back. I got out my camera and snapped this photo. Something about that moment of sadness, the feeling of overwhelming futility… I wanted to capture what the drawing made me feel.
The questions I asked of myself were focused on art, and the act of creation. Why create anything, when everything ultimately fades? Once again, I wished I was a sculptor, and worked with stone.
After walking a bit more, I realized it’s the act, the compulsion that defines who we are. Even though we may be consigned to oblivion, it’s inherently human to want to create. To record and share our thoughts, however briefly they may succeed us.
It’s why we paint. It’s why we write. It’s why we compose.
It’s why I went back and took this picture.
