I don’t pretend to know what art is or what it means to be an artist, but I presume to have some ideas.

I’ve talked to about one artist every week for the last year to write profiles and stories in The Mining Journal’s Scene insert. In my time at the paper, I’ve talked to writers, painters, metal workers and musicians, plus people who don’t even think of what they’re doing as art.

It has been mesmerizing.

Talking to creators and creative types is possibly the best part of my job. It’s hard to fully say why, but I think people who make art have something on those who don’t.

Let me back up here and attempt to define “art,” a laughable task for someone as unqualified as me. But what I mean when I say “artist,” is anyone who practices what they love as a craft. Maybe that’s too broad. Are mechanics, athletes and chefs artists? Well, yes I believe they can be. And not everyone with a paintbrush is an artist either, though I wouldn’t make any judgment calls.

There’s something ineffable about it. But true art lies in intention.

Many artists I talk to describe the phenomenon of being a conduit for something larger than themselves.

Most experience a peculiar compulsion toward their art. It’s not for money or security, approval or acceptance.

I would venture to say art is the pursuit of excellence and truth. Art is archiving culture and emotion and history. And in this effort, we create something beautiful because it is honest. We acknowledge the trouble and darkness inherent to life, and say, “OK, now this.”

It describes the inexplicable in the mundane, reveals the piercing truths we all encounter as well as the reasons we persevere.

In art, we search for ourselves and find everyone.

It is camaraderie and conversation. It is here to challenge and comfort us.

It is necessary.

After all, what is worthwhile in this big, old world? And what do we leave behind?

The truth is, nothing lasts forever. Even Shakespeare will someday be forgotten. But art is a record of that which cannot be said any other way. It is a snapshot of this, now, and that, then. It reminds us that we’re tiny and insignificant and that we also contain multitudes.

Some may argue that art, or a particular manifestation of art, is superfluous or weak or offensive, that it is egotistical or only for the privileged.

But sometimes in its agonizing and transformative nature, art asks something of us. It’s just what we make it and it’s available to everyone.

“Artist” describes not so much a category of person but a quality of people, an elevated consciousness, a communion with the unknown and unknowable.

The Upper Peninsula is a strange paradox for the artist, far away from the urban cultural centers where art tends to thrive and find an audience. But U.P. artists aren’t ambitious in the usual sense. They are doing it despite themselves and despite the sacrifice. They are doing it for fun, for their spirit and for life. And it is a privilege to behold.

Whether we’re talking about hip-hop, watercolors or carpentry, art is a lifestyle. It opens the mind and cultivates our humanity. And it requires of us courage and dedication.

So I’d like to give a shout out to the artists, laboring quietly, noticing invisible absurdities for our puzzlement and awe, and honing their gifts to give back to that which gave them.

I’d like to give a shout out also to this town and its commitment to art. And to this land, which gives birth to our eternal inspiration. And to you, the reader, whoever you are.

You are an artist, an appreciator of art and a student, and you will never not be.

So if you haven’t, consider taking it up, or re-taking it up. You won’t be a concert violinist tomorrow. But you will find the world a better place. You will create something all your own, and you will at some point notice just how much fun you’re having.

Editor’s note: Mary Wardell can be reached at 906-228-2500, ext. 248.