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The Sasse: Where love stories develop between art and viewer | ||||
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Where Art Starts |
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This morning, before you woke up, God was already making art. He painted the sky in gradients no human hand could match. He orchestrated light falling through branches, creating shadows that shift and dance with the breeze. He composed the music of leaves and the singing of birds, a symphony so subtle you have to stop and listen to hear it. "God has a purpose for art," Carolyn Wing Greenlee writes. "He makes new expressions of it every day, in the sky, in the light, in the music of the falling leaves." Every morning, creation begins again. This daily renewal isn't just beautiful, it's an invitation. When you witness that morning light, when you hear those leaves, when something in nature stops you mid-step, you're experiencing what artists spend their lives trying to capture and express. You're feeling what viewers come to museums seeking. That stirring in your chest, that wordless recognition—that's your soul being fed. Greenlee understood something crucial: "Art feeds the soul, and it reaches places inside us that food and exercise and identifying natural laws cannot." There are territories within us that only beauty can access. Logic won't take you there. Information alone won't open those doors. But art, whether painted on canvas or written across the morning sky—speaks directly to something deeper. When artists enter their studios, they're not creating from nothing. They're responding to what they've witnessed—that morning light, those shifting shadows, that stirring they can't name. They're translating what God shows them into forms the rest of us can encounter, becoming bridges between creativity and human experience. This is why artists create. Why viewers come. Why a museum exists. |
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