on Wed Jan 15 2025
If I didn’t choose art, I would have become an astronomer. Yes, you read that right. While the world of paint and canvas has been my guiding star (pun intended), I often find myself gazing up at the night sky, contemplating what could have been. Picture this: me, far removed from the palette of colors, donned in a lab coat, scribbling equations, and peering through a telescope as if it were a portal to another dimension. Sounds glamorous, doesn’t it?
Now, let’s just pause for a moment to imagine the juxtaposition of my two passions. One day, I’d be splattering paint across a canvas that looks, well, how shall I put it—interesting? And the next, I’d be trying to decipher the mysteries of the universe. “Hmm, is that a nebula or just a particularly messy cupcake?” I could be the Picasso of planets!
But let’s be real. There’s something undeniably enchanting about the idea of diving into the cosmos. Stars twinkling like unruly paint splatters against a canvas of deep black, celestial bodies swirling in a cosmic ballet—who wouldn’t want to document such beauty? Moreover, while my art may elicit pleasure, the vastness of the universe offers a touch of existential dread: it’s both humbling and a little exhilarating.
Imagine hosting an art show themed “Galaxies Unpainted”! Guests would perch on the edge of their seats, contemplating the abstract concept of gravitational waves while I swirl paint onto canvases shaped like Saturn. “This one represents the rings of Saturn—albeit with a slight coffee stain that adds depth!” I’d quip, looking for artistic validation from crowd members whispering about black holes and dark matter.
Reality check, though: my understanding of physics extends about as far as my ability to throw paint with flair. Still, isn’t it amusing to traverse the imaginative landscapes where art meets science? I could be the first-ever artist to paint a series based on the life cycle of stars! “Ah, yes, this is the ‘Blue Giant Phase,’ which means it was inspired by my short-lived blue hair moment during college.”
However, here I am, firmly planted in my studio, sacrificing starlit escapades for hours spent deliberating over the perfect shade of crimson. While I haven’t donned a pair of thick glasses and engaged in deep discussions about black holes, I still get to play with nebulas of color right here and watch as my own tiny universe unfolds on canvas.
So, while I may not have a telescope aimed at the skies—just an assortment of brushes and paints—I find comfort in the strokes of genius inspired by the cosmos. After all, whether with a palette or as an astronomer, both endeavors seek to understand our existence in a vast universe.
And who knows, maybe one day I’ll dabble in both—creating a masterpiece that captures the essence of a supernova or influencing the next generation of artists to embrace the cosmos. Until then, my easel remains my rocket ship, my imagination an uncharted galaxy.
So here’s to both art and astronomy! May they continue to inspire, confound, and occasionally collide in the most splendid of ways.