the undone nature of art.

The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.

Michelangelo

I love the seeming law of order where, once you get an inkling of an idea that soaks into your consciousness, that idea then manifests itself everywhere, in all variety of unexpected places.

A connection that had not been made before is now blatantly obvious to the mind once illumined. This enlightenment (one of the elements of true, living art that I mentioned in my previous article) is not something that can be forced, but once it has presented itself to the willing mind, through the weaving together of threads that are all around, it can be channeled.

The act of channeling is important, and is part of the idea that has pulled on that thread in my mind and spread those sinuous threads through all variety of my daily experiences, weaving them together into a tapestry which (although unfinished) awes me with its beauty.

“Although unfinished”. This modifier-clause holds an important truth that has greatly influenced my artistic journey.

I have always wondered why I am so drawn to the initial sketches that prepare for a master painting, or a watercolor where you can see the under-drawing peeking through, or the messy notebook with crossed-out lines to prepare for a poetic verse. These things have always intrigued me more than the finished work, and I have struggled to put the reason for this into words. But the notion of “although unfinished”, which echos the idea of Michelangelo quoted above, has helped me to construct what, I hope, is a cohesive ethos. This can be summarized in the element of “undone”.

To connect this notion of undone to the idea of channeling, I am going to tell a story.

Years ago, before the age of super-technology, in a dusty, sun-bleached little town, there lived a man. This man had wide-ranging talents and he could have done anything (well, anything that existed at the time in the dusty little town, or anything that he could make happen with his own mind and hands). He tried lots of things, from banking to brewing, but nothing stuck. There was a consistent stirring at the back of his mind that he could not ignore, which was to build an inn.

Now, this man of wide-ranging talents wasn’t sure why this idea was so persistent. What need had this dusty little town of an inn? Visitors were infrequent, as the sun’s scorching rays made the streets inhospitable and the distance from the nearest civic centers made the journey impractical.

But the idea persisted. So, the man of wide-ranging talents channeled the idea and began, brick by brick, to lay the foundations of an inn for the little town. He labored in the light of the sun, moving from bricks to plaster to paint. Eventually, the inn was constructed and ready to welcome guests.

As the years went by, the man of wide-ranging talents used the inn as a purposeful medium. The visitors he welcomed through the doors found comfort from the harsh environment, and it became known as a place where people from all over came to rest and to share their stories. The bricks which had been laid took in the stories and, although they could not repeat them, conveyed a sense of the richness to the visitors housed within the walls.

The wide-ranging talents of this man found a purpose in this place. At the end of his life, the building he had lovingly built ceased to be an inn. But years later, the bricks still hold the stories, and the structure now houses a new place where people still come to rest and to share their stories, finding comfort from the harsh environment.

The hands of time have played their role in altering the previous look of the structure, peeling back the paint and the plaster in many places, revealing the bricks that were laid one-by-one, by the man of wide-ranging talents. The stories that were absorbed by the bricks in the dusty little town still hold the richness of the idea that was channeled and the stories that were told, called to memory by the words “Market Inn” still visible on the old walls.

The “undone-ness” of art gives a glimpse into the story. It shows the steps, the questioning, the hand of one who has channeled an idea and is struggling forward, upward, toward beauty.

The story is unfinished. The thread that was pulled in the mind of one man is woven as part of a tapestry that is continually being created. The artist’s role is rich. Art, tangible or no, is displaying an image, an icon, of this ongoing nature. It hints at the story that is continually written, and the role that each individual thread has within with the one cosmic tapestry.

Art is undone, because the story is still being written.

the eternal role of art.

“The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inner significance.”

-Aristotle

A call, as from deep waters unknown,

As the voice of a siren,

But drawing towards life rather than decay or despair

Towards a kind of death, maybe,

But the roots of the most glorious tree,

Or the most delicate and fragrant flower would,

Without that death,

Have no sustenance for their beauty.

So a call, then, to life

And to death, both,

That the roots of the mighty oak

And the petals of the dancing lily,

May be fed and, in turn,

Feed the eyes and then the souls

Of those who dwell on earth,

As the strength of the one and the delicate mystery of the other,

Connects that which is substantial

To that which is transcendent.

My life has been a constant interplay between what I have viewed as the realms of beauty/art and the spiritual/philosophical.

I have always sought after the beautiful, but have wrestled with its role in the bigger story of life. Are beautiful things simply something to delight the eye, to give momentary joy, and then to be forgotten? Is art, by definition and in its highest form, a painting by a master, hung in a museum for millions of tourists to walk by and look upon briefly, only to quickly move on unchanged? Or is art a formula, a strategy to replicate skill, learned by studying the greats? To draw upon the zeitgeist that has been present in the wider world for a good part of my life: is art a mode through which to moralize or proclaim propaganda?

These questions have played and replayed in my mind as the years have gone by, influencing different iterations of my art practice, and volleying me back and forth between desiring and celebrating visual/tangible art and then wanting to “move on” to the more spiritual and philosophical aspects of life.

Why this confusion, and why does it matter?

I know I am not the only one asking these questions. Artists for centuries have vacillated from in one moment furiously working to capture the fading beauty of a sunset, to the next moment convening in a lounge to ask “the questions” of life with other fellow seekers.

But I have always wrestled with why these two aspects of (what I believe to be) the highest ways of being feel as though they are dancing around each other, occasionally touching fingertips but usually isolated, rather than waltzing across the floor hand-in-hand.

In the world of art, some connection that ought to be present between the transcendent and the corporeal feels like it has been severed, or is perhaps still hanging on but by mere threads. Is there a way to reconnect the threads, to reestablish that connection that “calls” to our souls and allows the roots of both strength and mystery to be fed?

I would invite you to join me in thinking of the times when you have been most transported by art and beauty. What are the common threads? Not all art is created equal; not all “art” stirs the soul. Where were you when you felt that connection between the physical and the spiritual to be restored? What made that experience stand out from all of the other times when you may have gazed upon something “pretty”, but remained unchanged?

My perspective has been molded through the past couple of years through a lot of personal experiences and encounters that I will not go through in this particular writing. I would, however, like to share an idea that I recently came across which greatly impacted me.

An artist and speaker named Jonathan Pageau, from whom I have learned much, shared three elements that he believes to be essential to true, living art. Here are those elements, with my thoughts on them:

1. Participation. Beautiful things lose much of their potency and power when we do not engage with them. In my personal experience, this relates to how I have always approached my paintings. I do not find rich satisfaction in creating something that just looks nice. My aim is to create something beautiful that will be lived with, usually in someone’s home or as part of a special occasion. I have always found art so much more impactful in the context of a place where daily, ritual living happens, rather than hung in a closed environment like a museum. This is part of the reason why I have always been drawn to portraiture: it has a highly personal nature, and is intended to continue a connection between the person portrayed and the person viewing.

2. Celebration. The most powerful examples of art are those which draw upon a person, experience, idea (which all come together to create STORY, in its true form), and bring them to life. It is not there just to get a point or a moral across, but rather to recognize something rich and worth remembering, and to pass it along. These things that are being celebrated might not always be nice or clean or neat, but they have something within them that calls to our souls and invites us to participate. In my previous personal example of portraiture, this connection can again be seen. The life of a particular person (whether historical or mythological) is viewed as something that is worth remembering, and it calls us to celebrate and learn from their lives in order to move forward in ours (participation).

3. Enlightenment. True art connects us to something beyond the mere physical realm. This element, I believe, is one that is a little more difficult to pin down or quantify. We who are creating do not have complete control over the impact that our art will have on those who encounter it. That is why it is so important that the previous two elements are engaged with as well. To illustrate, I will go back to my portraiture example. A picture is be painted of someone, let’s use King Arthur as an example (I have been very intrigued by the medieval time period of late). His is a story that has been passed on for centuries; it has been remembered for its mystery and romance. This is the celebration aspect: there is something about it that generations have found worthy of remembrance. Now, this painting could just hang on a wall and gather dust. But then it has lost much of its potency. Enter participation. How many young boys have been inspired by the story and images of the Knights of the Round Table and have gone off themselves to “slay dragons”? This participation brings the painting to life. Now for enlightenment. In my example, the same young boy has remembered (celebrated) the story of King Arthur. He has participated by going to “slay his own dragons”. Now, as life goes on, the young boy becomes a young man. He encounters a “dragon” in his life. Maybe an addiction, a loss of stability, the death of a loved one. He is left reeling. But the image of King Arthur, the knight with many and varied flaws, comes to his mind. Now, this young man doesn’t need someone to tell him “King Arthur made many mistakes, just like you, but he was able to strengthen himself and call on something deep in order to fight the dragon in front of him. You can fight your dragon too.” Regardless of whether this is “true” or not, if someone says this, it comes across as moralizing and makes the young man shut down. But I believe the eternal role of art can be fulfilled in this way: the young man remembers the story from the painting, the story that doesn’t have one clear moral but is rather an image of life, and the participation that he acted out in his youth comes alive, and he is able to make the connection to his current, very real dragon. This enlightenment enables him to move forward, without anyone having to preach at him.

I hope that the above illustration has brought to life some of the mystery and beauty that I believe is true art. In an idea that is not my own but has greatly impacted me, story is what drives us forward. And the invitation into this story is, in my estimation, the eternal role of art.