Forgotten to the flow of time, I hear its cries, it wants to be found. A forbidden art lost in the sea of reason, it lost its hold on reality and became an echo lost but felt like an imaginary skin, unseen but felt because the body remembers at times what the mind has forgotten.
What is this? It looks like rubbish, my mind screams but my skin tingles with an uncertainty. That’s a feeling only the lost art gives, telling you its close keep searching. Seek me the lost art says, it wants to be found. Do not heed the screams of your mind it all begins with trying to make sense of the rubbish. It’s about giving meaning to every stroke, to every line produced by your brush. Look, seek look deeper, every stroke is a means to perfection, an abstract. An artist seeking the lost stares at his blank canvas imagining his hands flowing of its own accord because the body remembers what the mind has forgotten. The hand flows of its accord without conscious thought, remembering the lost art and creating the perfection your mind screams as rubbish. That single stroke in the sea of rubbish is art lost to time and reason.
The beauty of the lost art lies in its mystery, an unseen message, an unheard tune and hidden beauty. The mind must be bent and twisted to even glimpse the glory of the lost art beyond the scope of reason. The logical way to explain the process to reveal the lost is to start with a blank mind and just draw and trust your hand to remember , what your mind calls mistakes takes shape to give your beauty. A picture speaks a thousand words but a lost art has a thousand meaning, it always differs from a man to man it looms in uncertainty at times controversial but always beautiful.
The lost at times gives sentience, a reason behind the unexplainable, the illogical. The lost art shows the mirror image of these situation, what you cannot comprehend or explain is shown by the lost, it gives perspective an unusual calm and peace. When you lose sense the lost begins to make a wary kind of sense.
The idea of lost art seem abstract but it does exist, only the patient with the will to bend perspective sees the unending possibilities the lost art provides. The product of lost art is always a lovely piece of art you will surely come love because the idea comes from the heart and not the mind.