Today is a day of observing art in action.

Art is a funny thing.  Not necessarily funny “haha”, although comedy is a special art form unto itself.

No, today’s art form consists partly of masking tape, toy cars, various home furnishings, and lots of imagination.

But those bits aren’t the arty part.

Sure, they are part of the greater work, molded by a master’s hand, sculpted into an ever-moving and ever-changing mass of work.  The master is learning at a burning rate of speed about viscosity, balance, adhesiveness and the impact of various levels of dirt picked up off the floor by the tape as he guides his cars on and around the substance.

He knows he creates things, and his solo adventures can be seen and heard from my vantage point.  He is alone at the moment but yet not alone; his hands and mind and surroundings build a nearly-tangible wall of force around him as his imagination plays out in front of the both of us.  The inhabitants of his world are put in dire peril and rescued at his command.  They are instructed in the art of diplomacy as the master commands they play together nicely and are at times put into the time-out corner when one breaches protocol.  It is a fearsome and benevolent interplay of self upon self.

This – the master’s mind and actions becoming one – is the true art in action.

It is kinetic, nearly quantum in the interplay of potential and realised energies charging into being as “playing” commences.

I observe from afar but not too distantly.  Young master brings me into his world now and again but he has clear and firm boundaries which are respected.  It’s a mutual respect of our space and time – I don’t step in when he’s furiously generating items from his mind, and now and again he’ll request/demand an audience when I’m not ready, which is a moment to reinforce the art of patience.

He sings now and again, in his husky, raspy voice.  The tunes are short, silly, and relevant to the play at hand.

We often sing together on our occasional road trip; no song is ever repeated as they are made up on the spot.  Well, except for the “help i can’t get out (of the car seat), I’m stuck” song we sing together.  It helps him to know he’s not alone when strapped into a seat belt, because so am I.

This art – this ever-moving, ever-changing reminder of my past and hope for our future – is a wonder to behold.

In him I see my children re-played, with their own wonders and frustrations and triumphs.

In him I recall my youth in a way I could not when raising my own children – over twenty years of life experience provides different eyes and ears to a man.  I can observe this artwork in a way I didn’t appreciate then.

In him is a heart and mind as big as this universe, and immediately again as small as each of us are in this swirling dust storm of creation.

It is said that true art stirs emotions in the participant.  Truer words have never been spoken.

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