Art is never finished, only abandoned.
Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better.
Art is a revolt against fate.
Art is a step from what is obvious and well-known toward what is arcane and concealed.
Art is a game.
Art is either plagiarism or revolution.
Art is magic delivered from the lie of being truth.
Art is the only way to run away without leaving home.
Art is the stored honey of the human soul, gathered on wings of misery and travail.
Art is not a thing; it is a way.
So say some famous artists. I’d like to add a few:
Art is the improbable becoming inevitable.
Art is anything useless.
Art is what remains when reality is removed.
Art is an illusion that requires at least two minds to exist.
But my favorite definition of art comes from Andy Warhol:
Art is whatever you can get away with.
My son Tywen and I made a toy wreath. First we cut a torus from a piece of scrap plywood. Then we hot glued on to it several bags of plastic toys from the dollar store. It was fun building up patterns. Time flowed quickly. It made us giggle at times. The thing is completely useless. But it evoked something vague when we hung it outside my studio door. It’s pleasing in a strange way. Looks like art to me.