But as quaint as it is, life is the great art, isn’t it? I love my children with an artist’s heart — a heart that’s open, that’s not afraid of its pain, that aspires to reach for joy — not with a clenched fist, not with white knuckles, but with an open hand. Nobody gets to say to somebody else what is and isn’t art. Some critics do, and that’s their path. Good luck to them. But art is everywhere.