When I think of my days as a series of the tasks that I repeat, it seems dull. I often find comfort in routine but it’s silly to admit that the string of actions listed above, which constitute a large chunk of my day are comforting. What makes me happy are the little things in between these string of actions. From leaving home to working, I walk for 20 minutes to work. From getting dressed to eating breakfast, I listen to music (these days it’s either Jane Birkin’s Arabesque album or anything by Maria Bethania). During every lunch hour, I try to read for at least half an hour. These are the little things that give my days meaning.

My hobbies, like photography, and speaking to my family and loved ones are what makes me smile everyday.  My hobbies excite me and lead to other interests. Like how an interest in visual arts can lead to an interest in photography and then an interest in poetry. Art in my view is all encompassing. It tells a story not only for our eyes but our ears and other senses too.

I knew of Marc Chagall as a painter. In my mind, I saw him as an artist. But his view of an artist meant one that had their hand in everything. Chagall was a painter, a costume and set designer, a playwright, a musician, a poet. He gathered inspiration from all different forms of art. His mind saw no limits to what could be accomplished by combining different streams of art – and thus he created masterpieces like the ones I saw at Musee des Beaux Arts in Montreal.

This exhibition and the artist truly inspired me over the weekend – to be open to creating, anything, so long as you see a purpose in it. For the sake of just diving in and creating something new, below is a short poem I just wrote: