I was thinking about art. And my “art” and I think I’m not so much an artist, as I am a documentarian, or a curator. I don’t make the art. I find it. Or it finds me. My attempts are to capture and preserve that moment, for other people. Hold it in place, store it, so I can take it out later, pass it around, and have people experience, for a moment, what I felt.

Because that is what art is. It’s not seen, it’s an experience. It’s the right amount of light and shadow. It’s the temperature, the wind, the sounds, the smells, even my mood when I happen upon it. All those things combine, and are Art.

And I, capture it, suffocate it in a glass jar, and pin it to a board. But it is at best a simulacra. It’s not a butterfly.