Sunday afternoon thoughts about art….

Sometimes I think the whole dilemma with our lives as artists is that at one time, before we tried or found ourselves compelled by economics to build a living with it, we reveled in it. Whether we played or sang or booked, or managed, at some point, our art was a compendium of absolute love. A collection of passion and inspiration. Then, piece by piece, as we committed more and more of our time and energy and selves to it, art chose to strangle us ever so slowly. Eventually a lot of us found ourselves tied to the metaphorical train tracks of art as a living, being pummeled and pulled apart. Lives fell apart, addictions appeared. Normal -once so offending to us- looked strangely like something we might like to try. And then we found, to our utter surprise and sadness, that no heroic cowboy on a horse was ever going to release us from our artistic bonds. And we remain tied down, year after year, when what we’d really like to do is ride off into the sunset to a place of hope and warmth and conviviality.
But yet, we cannot stop. We create. It is what we do. No matter what form that creation takes: cooking, painting, singing, playing, dancing, drawing, writing,- we, as artists, are compelled to do our utmost to make the world a more palatable, beautiful place for those who don’t practice art as a part of daily life. Through the artist, humans understand they are not alone with their demons and desires. Through the artist, humans are touched at a level that stirs the cells and sweetens the soul. Art, for those of us who make it, is full of raw emotion. We struggle, in so many ways, to harness our creativity and make it presentable and good and true. And if we’re in tune with our souls, and only then, we rise to a level that exceeds mere existence. We connect with spirit, we commune unfettered with God and become wholly the consummate, soul-filled human beings we were meant to be.

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