Sometimes it feels like every morning starts with an invisible duel — not with people, but with my own thoughts. And today’s prompt, stake through his art, struck right at that familiar place. If art is life for someone, then every attempt to take that art away is like driving a stake straight through the heart.
I walked into the school gym today, the same cold hall where I send daily complaints to the universe, silently begging for a little extra patience. Kids had once again thrown trash right next to the bin, a ball somehow ended up on the ceiling (don’t ask me how), and someone carved their “artwork” into the bench — initials shaped like a heart.
Maybe that’s the art with a stake through it, I thought. Not the kind you see in galleries, but the small, raw, impulsive kind. A heart carved into wood, created out of boredom, frustration, or the need to leave a mark on the world, even if only for five minutes.
I always feel a little sad that many people don't recognize the value of those tiny creative sparks. Kids think everything is a game — that walls paint themselves, benches magically smooth out, windows don’t break. And I walk around, fixing and collecting things, like some sort of guardian of their fleeting artwork.
Maybe that’s the point: learning to see value in what is raw and imperfect, even if it feels pierced by the harshness of reality. Art isn’t always found in galleries. Sometimes it’s in the dust on the floor, a line drawn with chalk, or a heart forgotten under a bench.
Maybe my own art would be pierced too, if I didn’t feed it with these short freewrites. These five quiet minutes in my day feel like a small post-training snack — tiny, but enough to get me through.
And as I lock the gym door behind me, I wonder: maybe that heart on the floor wasn’t just vandalism. Maybe someone wanted to be remembered. Or maybe they simply wanted their little piece of art to survive until the sunlight touched it.
Either way, it’s worth asking: where did we leave our heart today?