Art is so much more significant than either economics or philosophy. It is the direct measure of man's spiritual vision.
Imagine if one day you had a beautiful vision and you wrote it down as a poem upon an arrow and signed it, then strung a bow and shot that arrow into the sky so high and so far that it didn't fall to the earth for a hundred years in some far off remote place. And imagine that, after many years, someone was passing by that remote place, saw the arrow, picked it up and read the poem. And then suppose that he took the arrow home and copied out the poem. Then suppose he got the poem published so that other people could read it. And suppose some of those people memorized the poem and went around reciting it to other people. And suppose the poem was included in collections of poetry and college textbooks on poetry so that you and the poem became famous.
One of the most frustrating ironies of life is that works of art not only struggle to be born but then have to struggle to survive. The world has already prepared a large collection of blocks and holes for the genius of an artist to fall into or stumble over. The easiest thing for an artist to do is to give up. And many do. And when they do a special vision is lost to the world.
It takes an army to protect poetry from the unconscionable hatred of the limited, mortal world for anything that challenges it's supposed dominance over our lives.
A poet is one who sees beyond the observable, which holds it's ugly head up in arrogance, to the unobservable. Unobservable that is except by vision and inspiration. And as soon as he articulates what he sees the claws come out. The very heart, soul and spirit of a artist can be shredded by ignorance, arrogance, disrespect and dismissal.
So why do it? Why is there art? An artist is an artist because he has to be. It is a singular, solitary encampment against an indifferent enemy, It is a desperate love affair with the gossamer zephyrs. It is an agreement with an invisible partner who may be angelic or diabolic, the artist doesn't know nor care. But what he does know is that if the invisible partner ever leaves him he takes the meaning of the artist's life with him.
The future and the past are inextricably linked. The future and the past are dependant upon each other. The past becomes the future once it squeezes through the tight fisted grasp of the present, with its fads and prejudices. Every work of art is an arrow that has been shot, some near, some far, and thus became the future. Today is the day for the artist to string his bow.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Applaud the good stuff.
This is not a contest.
A young man out west just took home 88 million dollars from the lottery.
Whether you play the lottery or not, if you suddenly had 88 million dollars, or the equivalent of whatever your currency is, what are the first three things you would do with it?
You have all summer to answer if you wish.
11 responses so far.