“The art of love”
All those who have an interest in art—in whatever form it may take—learn quite quickly that art and its appreciation is an individual experience. By this I mean that any given person will react in a unique way to a piece of wart, of writing, of music based on his or her experiences, feelings, opinions, likes and dislikes. Each person’s response and interaction with the art form—limited or extensive as it may be—is tied to who that person is at the very core.
Love, I feel, is the same. The way we love, the way we demonstrate our affection to the people in our lives is, again, linked to our personal histories, to the paths we travelled to get to where we are today. Our interactions, our intimacies, are guided by the choices we have made, by what we have been subjected to, by what we intrinsically find beautiful, by what pains us.
We love—at least at first—as a visceral reaction, and then that same love develops, grows and wanes, depending on the phases of life we go through.
Our love—much like our tastes in art—evolves.
So. Is it love that is an art? Or is it simply that our interactions with art are another manifestation of love?