An artful life.

Molly and I were lounging at a small iron table on the sidewalk outside of Igor's on St. Charles. The sky was deep indigo blue, heading for nightfall, dipping into the creases and crevices of the giant oak arms that stretched out across the street and the neutral ground. We were stuffed with red steak and green salad from Houston's. Bryan paid for our dinner, and we had enough money left to buy a couple of drinks. I thought it was considerate of him to send us out on the town while he worked in the dark bar at the Buddha Belly, smoke-clogged and doused with drunks.

So she and I were there, enjoying the sounds of people passing and talking and hollering at one another, the music of the jukebox, the clink of glasses, watching the beaded tourists age as they waited for the streetcar to arrive, feeling the warm evening air settle down into the cracked, weedy concrete, nestle between our toes, pearl along the sides of our cold glasses. The night was soft and calm and beautiful, and Molly and I talked about life.

We talked about living a life that is artful. Not about living like an artist from a French film - cursing, smoking, whacking off our ears to woo dispassionate lovers - but about living a life that somehow becomes art. An artist considers each stroke. Each color, each nuance, each unadulterated white space, each noun, each adjective, each gesture is considered, has a meaning, moves towards the creation of something moving.

I go through so much of life quickly, without noticing the details, without considering the shading and the texture that I add with my actions and words. Whether I like it or not, my life is my masterpiece. It's the same for everyone. But I shake my head over my creation and tell myself that I'm not a real artist, that I have no real talent, that my contribution is not as valuable as a true genius. I forget that art is in the intent, the feeling that the artist has as she is working. Artists don't create for money or for fame. Artists create for love. To be an artist of life, I only really have to love it, to savor it, and to contribute. I have to move and speak with purpose. I have to want to create beauty and meaning where there is none.