“Part of me is made of glass, and also, I love you.”
― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
Model : Priyanka
Contrary to what you may believe
or give examples of me so cool and free,
in actuality is, objectively putting
unharvested anxiety and brain acid oozing
like branches of a tree.
Hours never enough, works left undone
imagination and will running in their own spree,
brilliance caged, at a place of no outlet
no substance, not even context to disagree.
Interiors convulsing, entangled
ideas breeding like a crazed queen bee,
negotiating with the passions , mellow down
to bring forward only the decent, that’s a guarantee.
Since ever, in China, bamboo farmers have planted baby bamboo shoots deep into the ground. And then, for three years, nothing happens. But the farmers will work, diligently watering the shoot, spreading hay and manure, waiting patiently, even though nothing is sprouting up. They simply have faith. And then, one day, the bamboo will shoot up and grow up to thirty feet in a month. It just blasts into the sky.
Some things cannot be forced. For some processes, time is the only missing ingredient. Any small, sustainable artist-fan community works like this. Entrepreneurship works like this. You must prepare the ground. So you tend to your relationships on a nonstop basis, you abide by the slow, ongoing task, going out there like a faithful farmer, landing in the unseeable bamboo shoot.
There’s years and years of authentic work, tons of nonmonetary exchanges, massive net-tightening, an endless collection of important moments. Good art is made, good art is shared, help is offered, ears are bent, emotions are exchanged, the compost of real, deep connection is sprayed all over the fields.
Love and respect your own hard work. The dream won’t take any longer to become reality, than the bamboo shoot. It will blast into the sky!
Rhapsody II – Bronze sculpture by Angela Treat Lyon
We meet different people at networking gatherings, parties. Some will flaunt their work, “we bring such & such service to the society, it helps many people”, or, “…ever since we went green, it has brought the pollution percentage down by….” ” we are expert consultants for ….” or the pompous ones, “we are fixing the ozone layer..”It’s always directed to the good their jobs are offering to the society, and hence justifying their big salaries, and/or their titles. I notice it is always easier to ask for donations or paid participations in the name of the ultimate good, which is fine too. The public applaud them, even give awards.
Then there are people like us, who don’t feel the need to attach our work to some cause, or larger reason (vague or direct). A few of us happen to be self assured, believers-in-own-art types and simply say, “I write”, or “I paint” , “I design” or the irritating non committal, “I am creative.” The looks we receive – ” Oh yeah….and who pays the bills?” A more concerned friend would even argue (privately), ‘come back to the real world, you need a job!’
All in good faith, I would like to reiterate that we artists do care about the world as well. And maybe we are just simpler, a little individualistic, not verbose about the big picture. Like I may write to bring awareness on an issue, or like my friend who is cleaning her brushes in Belgium right now, creating beauty in amazing hues. Or someone, hiking away completing her 10,000 hours of endurance, or diving to unfold nature treasures. It’s all for this world, we do care as well. If at all, we wait for acknowledgement, or tiny appreciation. or not. Oh ..and, we have to pay our bills too.
Ballerina – Oil painting by Rick Rotante
Somedays I am there
ready, smiling, like a
prelude to the onset of a
every chord of me knows it
feels the rhythm of it.
somedays I have melancholy thoughts
strange spaces in my mind
like I don’t belong to the hour
nor the place.
There is though
a self-sufficing power
while I fill the vacant spaces
become stronger in these
To pastures new James Guthrie 1882
Some days I write blog posts,
………and some days are spend
mulling over my artist friend’s vacant canvas
or another’s tea n tattoo fetish,
worry about the one who is stuck with a manuscript,
turmoil with her characters’ dark persona
or the one who’s busy seducing her man,
she wants a baby girl.
Don’t get me wrong, It is rather exciting to
have a brain workout with friends’ issues,
than my own, beaten twisted struggles.
This was a friendspiration week. No regrets!
“There is a problem with writers. If what a writer wrote was published and sold many, many copies, the writer thought he was great. If what a writer wrote was published and sold a medium number of copies, the writer thought he was great. If what a writer wrote was published and sold very few copies, the writer thought he was great. If what the writer wrote never was published and he didn’t have enough the money to publish it himself, then he thought he was truly great. The truth, however, was there was very little greatness. It was almost nonexistent, invisible. But you could be sure that the worst writers had the most confidence, the least self-doubt. Anyway, writers were to be avoided, and I tried to avoid them, but it was almost impossible. They hoped for some sort of brotherhood, some kind of togetherness. None of it had anything to do with writing, none of it helped at the typewriter.”
― Charles Bukowski, Women
Photo : Stanislav Holota
“Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spend the rest of the day putting the pieces together.”
― Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing
Artists, writers have to be narcists. Self love, self hate, self critique, self improvement and everything in between these emotions is what makes them. Today I will draw this, tomorrow I will perform that, another moment I will pose to be something else – one can’t fathom the unpredictable desires of the creative mind. The process however, makes each artist a beautiful individual and outshine others.
The creating , disassembling, recreating makes the art grow, and chisels the artist as a person. But how many times shall you put yourself together to make U perfect? and when will you be done? when will you become that perfect you, to be ready to give out to the world.
Your personal journey in this world and your commitment towards the world is the mission of each artist. Is it not?