I think artists may agree with me that a person’s life can be viewed as a work of art. It can create something of beauty, something that men can (potentially) look at afterwards and feel the emotions of your experiences, the lasting effects of your having lived.
I do not know if my life will be remembered (more than likely within a century of my death, I will be forgotten). But I like to think that God will see my life, and all my mistakes, and endeavours, my trials and good fortunes, and that He will appreciate it. Perhaps that is humanity’s purpose.
Of course lives need not be beautiful, they can be ugly. Without exception, though, they will contain emotion – and that is the basic stuff of art. I however, hope, that my life will be beautiful.
Here is a poem that I wrote quite some time ago that expresses this idea.
God, all I want is to live a beautiful life make my blood the paint and my soul the brush for the coarse canvas tattered and torn and inconstant make my heart the words and my tongue the pen for the yellowed page charred and doused with tears make my lips the notes and my voice the instrument to cover the worldly din silent of character and gentleness make my memory the statue and my life the chisel that hacks this cold marble unrepenting and hard until its smooth and warm and it seems to live and to testify to a life to admire