Life Is Art

We are accustomed to understand art to be only what we hear and see in theaters, concerts, and exhibitions, together with buildings, statues, poems, novels. . . . But all this is but the smallest part of the art by which we communicate with each other in life. All human life is filled with works of art of every kind – from cradlesong, jest, mimicry, the ornamentation of houses, dress, and utensils, up to church services, buildings, monuments, and triumphal processions. It is all artistic activity. So that by art, in the limited sense of the word, we do not mean all human activity transmitting feelings, but only that part which we for some reason select from it and to which we attach special importance.   Tolstoy, “What Is Art?”

We clipped the clothespins to an egg carton to dry. Whence camest this beautifully colored egg carton, you ask? Farmers market. From the chicken lady.

The festivities went on for some time. Last night was the concluding soiree. We had friends over to make art and drink champagne.


We all brought out boxes and bins of supplies from our art closets.


You see some results above: wooden clothespins, which we painted gold, and embellished with glitter or metallic confetti or fake gems or those waxy sticks that are fun to make shapes out of.


A close-up:

My favorite is that created by Stephanie: the one with the yellow sprigs.



There were also lantern-makers among us:

Heather made these. Are they not gorgeous?
And Matisse made an appearance in Caroline’s collage:
I just love this.

And therefore the activity of art is a most important one, as important as the activity of speech itself and as generally diffused.— Tolstoy, again, “What Is Art?”

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