You often hear it said how ugly cities are. Anti-industrialists will write children’s books, poems, give speeches, take pictures of dirty factory workers and smog, anything to stop the replacement of nature with towns, cities. In that moment, as my soul burst forth, I realized, man-made conveniences are beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. For there is no sidewalk like my sidewalk. The pattern of cracks in that parking lot is 100% unique, and therefore a work of art in itself. Even the vehicles driving around were simply spectacular to view. Not just the shiny, sleek, expensive cars. But the 25 year old pickup with the dents and the rust spots, the dull, fading paint.

I walk down that sidewalk, and rather than simply a footpath of asphalt, it becomes a storyteller. With every step that lands on it, it shouts of the wonderful characters which have trodden before me. Through the noise of rocks grinding beneath my feet as I walk, it voices its frustration, that so many have shared their intimate moments with an unknown observer, the one who never sleeps, but he breathes, he listens, he remembers, and in all his bliss, he knows that he is probably already scheduled to be replaced. That’s what happens to sidewalks. They are broken to pieces, the accumulated sorrows of their previous walkers shouting forth into the atmosphere, ever forgotten. A new sidewalk will be poured where they once were, an infant, eager to share experiences with the citizens of Overland Park, naive to its own impending fate, a few years down the line.

I feel more of a connection to this sidewalk than I do to many people. Those I do not know, to me they have no personality. Just the facade which I see in the minute speck of time when I see them. A smile- they’re happy. A frown – they must hate life. And yet the sidewalk. The sidewalk is exuberant, but restless, desperate for salvation. Could the people simply leave him alone? A sidewalk of personality, where the people can fall in love, he can continue to gain these experiences, accumulating wisdom.

Why is it that these man-made forms of art are so constantly stripped away? Those that are declared art, which are indeed beautiful, are held on a pedestal, hung on walls, showing men the work of their fellow humans. And yet the undeclared art, the art which is contributed to by every person who has ever, walked, biked, roller-bladed or long-boarded down that sidewalk, the purest form of art in a sense, is ripped to shreds, declared unworthy, and replaced as though it were completely unworthy of any recognition.

Shame.

Shame on all those who seperate art.

Who destroy art.

My sidewalk is art.

I gave my soul to the sidewalk today. My hope is that in contributing so much of my self to that artwork, I will help it to be recognized. That short stretch of pavement, that I’ve walked over day after day, and only noticed today.

Cities aren’t ugly. They are more beautiful than anything that can be imagined. They are art. Art is pure. Cities deserve all the respect of the Mona Lisa, a forest, and humans.

And my sidewalk.

-Seth