Art in its truest form is unexpected, many times a result of beautiful serendipity. It follows no rules. Art is wild and free. Art is found in memories, in stories, in mundane everyday things.

An old scooter parked for ages in the dusty garage of a house could have a tale nobody ever thought of. That tree in your backyard, that house you used to live in, gives you your own chapter in history. The beauty of the universe could be confined in that little dew drop balanced on a fresh new leaf or in the innocent eyes of a little child. The different faces the sky shows us could be the perfect backdrop for a masterpiece with the clouds speaking in a wordless language. The sunshine dancing through the lace curtains traces a delicate pattern on the wall, making you pause and gaze. The drone of the monsoon rain, the gushing autumn wind hum a tune unique to those who hear them. Sometimes the inexplicable mysteries of nature inspire century old melodies and sometimes you can find inspiration walking through your regular day.

Art can be furiously unruly or calm and serene. You cannot tame it; you cannot ask art to colour within the lines. It demands to be felt. It tugs at your conscience, your inner voice asking to be found. Art shows up anywhere, mesmerizing all your senses. You cannot find words in dictionaries, or go looking for art scaling the ends of the earth. It seeks you, if you care to listen.

This post is part of Blogchatter Half Marathon