A friend of mine likes to free write and he recently wrote an essay about art and how he would rather be an artist than an athlete (even though he is an athlete). He wrote about how art lasts and sport does not. This thought process came from our viewing of the 17th century Dutch painters exhibit that I posted pictures from. He wrote about finding art where he can. Even if that place is a football game. I think I would like expand on that thought.
Sport itself is art. Maybe not to the unknowing eye, much like modern art is nothing but scribbles to the regular joe, but there is magic in its movements. The October Friday night or Saturday afternoon are the canvas. The background is the smell of the grass and the lines, the band, the cheerleaders, and the thousands of fans that gather to witness their modern day gladiators do battle in the arena. Every movement is a brush stroke. That perfect down block that ends with a defender on his back, that pass that got floated across the middle that ends in a bone crushing hit, the perfectly executed snap, hold, and kick, the incredible spin move that ends in a sack, or the great jump a corner gets on a short route that he turns into a "pick-6". This is art to us. These are the brush strokes that are placed so perfectly because of the hours and hours of practice that are put into achieving perfection. The game can not be perfect but that is what is strived for. Just as each painting is not always as good as the previous one, some games are not always better than the last. The key is that they are striving for perfection, always growing and reaching to attain some untold glory. We interpret a game how a coach would like us to. His play calls influence our view of his team just as Rembrandt uses a slight dab of color here and there to change lighting so that we view his painting a certain way. I can not and will not argue that athletic competition does not satisfy our instinctual desire to physically assert our dominance over each other. It certainly does this and that very well might be the root cause of our world wide obsession with sport. This, however, is not its only function. Whether or not we want to admit it, we see this art unfold on the field of play. We describe it as beautiful when a play works to perfection or a bad pass turns into an increcible dunk. While we might not remeber the athletes of yesteryear, we remember the whole. We remeber the team and what they stood for, we remember the brotherhood they shared, we remeber the barriers they broke down or the great feat they accomplished, we remember the art because we keep trying to create that perfection that our predecessors could not attain just as each modern painter or sculpter attempts at reach a perfection in their work that none of the greats have been able to create. I am no great artist, nor do I have some untold appreciation for all that others can so stealthily portray through so many different mediums. I am but a football player. A kid who figured out what made things fit for me in this life. A person who sees the art in the steps, in the hand placement, in the hits, in the plays, in the way the game can mold boys into men. I guess might just see art a little different than most. I will end this with a quote from my friends essay " I do wish I had a little more art in my life. A little more color. A little more transcendence. So until I learn to produce it, I will be content to appreciate it wherever I find it. Even if I find it in the unlikeliest places. Like a football game."
