Extrinsic text: Artist in Common
Perhaps I am hopelessly an amerikan...
The son of immigrants, people caught between two worlds, one of never ending promise, work ethics and rewards. The other, a bureaucracy of petty bureaucrats, monarchies and sad little men whose intellectual power rests in their desk top ink pad temples. A world of hopelessness, yet a better place to paint than any other…
Although I did grow up in Chicago, with literally no recollection of my Italian heritage other than Christmas cookies and Sunday Mass, there are many things inside of ones Being ~if you will~ which speak out. The childlike sense of wonder in aesthetics, color and light spilling over a landscape, an umbrella illuminated in a sun shower or windowsill shadowed with tree leaves. The rhythm of language, its depth and nuance, a love of laughter, songs which still the Heart, a piece of paper blown helter skelter by the wind, all things which evoke a sense of wonder or humor… These I carry on the inside, cloaked in mystery and poetries wound round my heART.
On other things: Taking a road less traveled, the expat, the outsider…
It is interesting to find oneself at the crossroads of life, at whatever age that might occur, or as often as this might transpire, this too is a moment of wonder, the unexpected. So often uncomfortable, usually accompanied with a disruption of the great plans we’ve envisioned for ourselves or others for that matter, who may be drawn into our schemes.
Perhaps these too belong to the Beingness of humans and are not innate to some form of human experience ~what for one is an opportunity for another is a calamity and yet for another is ridiculous. It seems as if these blessing in disguise have often played a critical role in the movement, activity of artistic expression, vision, awareness and individual evolution as it pertains to creative expression. It may go even further to contemplate the joy of being. One capable of expression and not only the resulting ‘product’ where another value emerges, and the object however beautiful, aesthetic whatever, is what an artist strives to do to survive.
On Creativity:
That which draws one to reflect on a great piece of art or listen to the melodies of musical genius at work or to be fully entranced in a theatre piece of rare ingenuity is of course in the cultural milieu ~ our living vicariously thru inspiration or entertainment for the masses, the fleeting dreams of grandeur which accompany even the most well intentioned citizen. Why is it that ‘the collective we’ wants to have this experience second hand as it were? Everyone wants to own a Van Gogh, yet no one wants to live the life that Vincent suffered to produce these wonders (as if there was no connection between the two). As unique as each individual impression, why are we not drawn to explore the expression of our singular nuanced experience, -a dance a melody an expression- but wish to possess another’s (and in doing so, imagine that we are happy). Why not: “Paint as you like, and die Happy”. (bromage to Henry Miller)
On the present:
I went to several openings last night, and I admit to being surprised at my response to not only the works being on exhibit but my complete joy of seeing several dear old friends or collaborators from years gone by. My heart was suddenly ambushed in deluges of joy at greeting these “friends,” fellow artists with whom we together share many many memories and creative adventures. This sense of community is a rare gem, a thread if you will, binding that intangible moment of spark with the physical world. I am humbled and held in honor to be in such good company… there’s nothing quite like the look in those eyes smiling. Salute!
Atelier. / gp. 1989 edit 2024