“The man who arrives at the doors of artistic creation with none of the madness of the Muses, would be convinced that technical ability alone was enough to make an artist… what that man creates by means of reason will pale before the art of inspired beings.”—Plato.
Very few of us are geniuses like Mozart or Picasso. Not all of us writers have agents, editors and sell a thousand books. Yet we keep writing. We keep making art. Gene Fowler says, “Writing is easy: all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead.” Well, maybe, we don’t really bleed red-blood. We bleed perspiration; we bleed ideas. We bleed fear. We bleed poems and stories unwritten. We bleed drawings unfinished. We bleed potential until all is exhausted. Sometimes our work left undone seems more real in our minds than the pieces we have completed. We are chased by questions like “How do I get this image in my head onto paper? I wonder myself at time is it an ego thing or a fear thing that prevents me from making the invisible visible? I’ve dabbled in clay sculpting pots and busts for some time now. I get together Meditation slides using photographs of my art and the Masters. I’ve written poems and authored two books. None of this was done alone. My muses accompanied and partnered me in every way. I am a vessel only with God and his muses working through me. I also maintain a website to help others with Art Therapy. I need to sculpt my heart in every way I can. Still, there are times when fear leaves me indecisive, angry and I feel like I haven’t become the best me I can be. I’ve made flawed art, made serious grammar mistakes in my writing and wondered if I was destined to be a flawed person? I’ve sat thinking myself a failure because I couldn’t get my hands to produce what my mind wanted. But, then I think that most art is made by ordinary people like me who have learned to accept their innate abilities as personal and distinctive. Perhaps others should not judge us so harshly. We get a lot of uncomfortable feedback inwardly resulting from what we intended to do and what we did. Making art of any kind requires perseverance and lots of hard work.
It has been said that artists don’t really get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded only by the pain of not working. Few of us get any kind of instant or latent gratification from making our art. We don’t make our art for money but being able to pay our electric bill would be nice. It is thought when bankers get together for dinner, they discuss Art. When artists get together for dinner, they discuss money. says Oscar Wilde. The sobering truth is that the disinterest of others hardly ever detours us from what we feel we need to do. In fact there’s generally no good reason why others should care about most of any one artist’s work including mine. The best we can do is to make art we care about and lots of it! Making art is essential to our well-being. Those of us who continue to make art are those who have learned how to continue, or more precisely, have learned how to not quit.
Making art and writing is dangerous and revealing. It precipitates self-doubt, stirring deep worries that lay between what you know you should be and what you fear you might be. I suppose some of us think we are phonies. I wonder when I sit down to write myself if I have anything worth saying that others want to hear. Everyone in my mind is better than me, so why don’t they use their talents? Why me? Why am I so needy as to express myself in any way I can? Ironically, that moment of completion of a project inevitably becomes a moment of loss. I am faced with what to do next. I guess an artist must develop an imagination of the possible. We are humans easily seduced by the texture of paper, the smell of paint, the weight of our hands beckoning our fantasies. It is true whatever you have is exactly what you need to produce your best work. Materials give us ideas, hope and potential. The painter loves his paints. The piano player loves his piano. I love clay. I love that my words can spew forth from my computer so readily, so quickly. I love that I can easily delete and rewrite. People who need certainty in their lives are less likely to make spontaneous art that is risky. Those of us who have never had certainty in their lives make great artists. I guess that is why so many artists are termed “mad” or found to be “dysfunctional” in other areas of their lives. We expect less, appreciate more and run against the wind.
The fear that we are only pretending to make art is the readily predictable consequence of doubting our own artistic credentials. Been there – Done that! It is easy to think real artists know what they are doing but we don’t. Most art rarely just happens without many unknown happenings. Real art is magical, and sometimes rarely understood or appreciated instantly. You have to believe in yourself and your spirit. We all have the gifts of self-expression. Even Plato maintained that all art is a gift from the gods, channeled through artists who are “out of their mind” – quite literally, in Plato’s view – when making art. Talent may get an artist started by perseverance and hard work will get him noticed. Those who rely on talent alone, without developing further, peak quickly and soon fade to obscurity.
Art making has been around longer than the art establishment. Through most of history, the people who made art never thought of themselves as artists. We humans need to communicate any way we can whether it is by drawing on cave walls or writing a book. We are happy people who commit our future to our own hands, placing free will above predestination and choice above chance. The right answers for artists always comes with the right questions like “Who of us doesn’t want to be happy?”
When two men hit the reset button and decide to go out looking for the good in the world, they not only find it but also a lot more.
P.S. The title is listed on Amazon under Look for Something Good by Robert Drews (not by Robert H. Drews)
Uplifted by Angels
by Joyce White
I am a 11:11 angel, I pray to be a
celestial artisan, that my soul be sprinkled
with passionate thoughts,
when I’m tired let their angelic wings
fan me with healing energetic breezes,
let my eyes be lit with the lamps
of wisdom, so I can see what is right or
wrong, and give me the creative license
of mixing pain and pleasure,
terror and hope, bless me with
celestial knowing, wit, wryness, color
and an angelic sense of timing,
wake me out of a sound sleep and
give me words to translate pain and loneliness
into a form I can understand, and let my
optimism fall like seeds to the moist warm
ground to take root in the footsteps of others.
Very few of us are geniuses like Mozart or Picasso. Not all of us writers have agents, editors and sell a thousand books. Yet we keep writing. We keep making art. Gene Fowler says, “Writing is easy: all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead.” Well, maybe, we don’t really bleed red-blood. We bleed perspiration; we bleed ideas. We bleed fear. We bleed poems and stories unwritten. We bleed drawings unfinished. We bleed potential until all is exhausted. Sometimes our work left undone seems more real in our minds than the pieces we have completed. We are chased by questions like “How do I get this image in my head onto paper? I wonder myself at time is it an ego thing or a fear thing that prevents me from making the invisible visible? I’ve dabbled in clay sculpting pots and busts for some time now. I get together Meditation slides using photographs of my art and the Masters. I’ve written poems and authored two books. None of this was done alone. My muses accompanied and partnered me in every way. I am a vessel only with God and his muses working through me. I also maintain a website to help others with Art Therapy. I need to sculpt my heart in every way I can. Still, there are times when fear leaves me indecisive, angry and I feel like I haven’t become the best me I can be. I’ve made flawed art, made serious grammar mistakes in my writing and wondered if I was destined to be a flawed person? I’ve sat thinking myself a failure because I couldn’t get my hands to produce what my mind wanted. But, then I think that most art is made by ordinary people like me who have learned to accept their innate abilities as personal and distinctive. Perhaps others should not judge us so harshly. We get a lot of uncomfortable feedback inwardly resulting from what we intended to do and what we did. Making art of any kind requires perseverance and lots of hard work.
It has been said that artists don’t really get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded only by the pain of not working. Few of us get any kind of instant or latent gratification from making our art. We don’t make our art for money but being able to pay our electric bill would be nice. It is thought when bankers get together for dinner, they discuss Art. When artists get together for dinner, they discuss money. says Oscar Wilde. The sobering truth is that the disinterest of others hardly ever detours us from what we feel we need to do. In fact there’s generally no good reason why others should care about most of any one artist’s work including mine. The best we can do is to make art we care about and lots of it! Making art is essential to our well-being. Those of us who continue to make art are those who have learned how to continue, or more precisely, have learned how to not quit.
Making art and writing is dangerous and revealing. It precipitates self-doubt, stirring deep worries that lay between what you know you should be and what you fear you might be. I suppose some of us think we are phonies. I wonder when I sit down to write myself if I have anything worth saying that others want to hear. Everyone in my mind is better than me, so why don’t they use their talents? Why me? Why am I so needy as to express myself in any way I can? Ironically, that moment of completion of a project inevitably becomes a moment of loss. I am faced with what to do next. I guess an artist must develop an imagination of the possible. We are humans easily seduced by the texture of paper, the smell of paint, the weight of our hands beckoning our fantasies. It is true whatever you have is exactly what you need to produce your best work. Materials give us ideas, hope and potential. The painter loves his paints. The piano player loves his piano. I love clay. I love that my words can spew forth from my computer so readily, so quickly. I love that I can easily delete and rewrite. People who need certainty in their lives are less likely to make spontaneous art that is risky. Those of us who have never had certainty in their lives make great artists. I guess that is why so many artists are termed “mad” or found to be “dysfunctional” in other areas of their lives. We expect less, appreciate more and run against the wind.
The fear that we are only pretending to make art is the readily predictable consequence of doubting our own artistic credentials. Been there – Done that! It is easy to think real artists know what they are doing but we don’t. Most art rarely just happens without many unknown happenings. Real art is magical, and sometimes rarely understood or appreciated instantly. You have to believe in yourself and your spirit. We all have the gifts of self-expression. Even Plato maintained that all art is a gift from the gods, channeled through artists who are “out of their mind” – quite literally, in Plato’s view – when making art. Talent may get an artist started by perseverance and hard work will get him noticed. Those who rely on talent alone, without developing further, peak quickly and soon fade to obscurity.
Art making has been around longer than the art establishment. Through most of history, the people who made art never thought of themselves as artists. We humans need to communicate any way we can whether it is by drawing on cave walls or writing a book. We are happy people who commit our future to our own hands, placing free will above predestination and choice above chance. The right answers for artists always comes with the right questions like “Who of us doesn’t want to be happy?”
Read more: http://writinghood.com/writing/art-making-with-the-muses/#ixzz10sdGDDLN