What is the meaning of art? Why is it created? Where does its value lie? How has the answer to those questions changed throughout time? It’s one of the few things that pulls humans together across languages and cultures, breaking barriers that have been harbored throughout history. Is any of it real though? Is there more to its meaning that we continually ignore or is it simply a facade that endlessly keeps our minds occupied with some perceived escape from reality?
These are questions that have mingled throughout my mind quite often in the past couple years and I recently stopped by a park where 4,000 year old pictures still decorate cavern walls in an attempt at finding some answers.
Clouds heavy with a rain that would never come hung low in the sky. An endless desert of rock reached out for miles in every direction as I drove down a lonely highway further away from any semblance of life. A drab slate grey peppered with white filled every inch of my view while the call of a raven echoed throughout the atmosphere enveloping the world in an aura so ominous only those that dared to face an apocalypse commenced on the adventure.
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