I love art for its truthfulness and its conniving ways, its beauty and its distortions, its making perfect sense one moment and its suddenly smacking you in the face the next. I love art for its availability, its being there every moment, for its lasting, its timelessness. But I love art too, for its physical existence, its oils, wood, and fibers, its being made of things that will eventually decay, following the natural order of things. I love art for its awareness, and its going beyond words, its great way of making us stop and reflect and forget about ourselves for just one precious moment. I love it for its wonder, its grandeur, its ability to give us bodily aches and pains through a connection with our eyes, or more aptly, our senses; the one and only structure we have to experience our place in the universe.