The Most Unexpected of Memories
Wednesday, October 17th, 2007I would have never thought I, a skeptic and cynic, could have deemed it “art.” I continuously challenge, fight and question the legitimacy of self-expression to be deemed as such. However, I found myself torn due to the sincere emotion it elicited. “It” was a pure and simple game of basketball being played in my neighborhood playground, in Parkchester. The event itself was not set on a grand stage, but the true meaning was below the surface. I saw one player dive to the floor and scrape his knee on the cold, hard concrete, leaving a slight gash. Amazingly, he simply got up and played as if nothing had happened. It was like the body in motion consumed with emotion. The muscles stretch and contort at the will of the controller, just so the team may preserve a single possession. Desire in it’s simplest and purest form; it was beautiful. I couldn’t help but remember a time not so long ago when I had just started to play the game. My skill level was poor at best but my effort had been unparalleled. I developed work ethic in this way until my other skills progressed. However, I never lost the urgency, and never will. I suppose I have expanded my definition of art, but I’m still not ready to accept “blank expression” into the category.