It’s in your pockets and behind your eyelids, it shares your clothes and has its hands wrapped around your throat. It’s dripping down the walls and yelling from the trees, it whispers and sings and dances and sobs, all day every day and your one and only job is to pay close attention.
There’s art in breakfast, because breakfast is never just about breakfast — it’s never just about coffee and toast, eggs and bananas. It’s also about the light and the heat and your head and your heart and the noise or the silence and the coming day and last night and why and when and where and who. It’s about the ups and the downs and the swells and the stillness of morning.
There’s an undercurrent and a big picture and unspoken things and even if all is peaceful and silent, there’s something lovely to be said about that. There’s a curious bug on the wall, and that haunting passage in your brain, and a weird substance under your fingernails. Something is broken or burned or bumming you out and your mind is spinning. The wind is doing something, the sun is somewhere, someone is speaking or singing or sighing. Breakfast is about you and you are infinitely complex and changing and gorgeous and appalling all at once.
And that’s just breakfast!
The day is jammed with inspiration. The mundane is magnificent, the bland is sublime. Look around, listen, taste, touch — there are essays and poems and paintings and songs everywhere. Art is where you find it.
Now, to find or build a filter or something to untangle all the threads of inspiration and make something thrilling and accessible. Then, to work!