Why is art important? As I’ve pondered this question, I’ve realized there is no way I can depersonalize my answer. I honestly can’t say why art is important to another but I can express my experience. I would love to get your thoughts on the subject and, as with the earlier question about what art is, I’ve asked some of my artist friends to play with the idea as well and I’ll be posting their views this week on Thursday and Friday.
One day while working in a semi-public studio, a woman I didn’t know came in to look around. There was a painting on the floor, leaning against the wall, a commissioned portrait I’d just completed. This woman stopped in front of the painting, put her hand up to her mouth, turned away from the piece and began to cry. The woman in the painting was estranged from her family and had suffered from mental illness and severe depression her whole life. While painting the portrait, although I’d never met its subject, I felt a deep connection to her and I wept. I tell you this story to illustrate my belief that we can’t help but put energy into the artworks we make and I believe this same energy lives in the piece and is released to its viewer. How many of you have felt inexplicable emotion in the presence of a painting, a sculpture, a photograph? We’ve all been moved by music, a play, or poem. Art often holds within it a mysterious power that can’t be explained or quantified.
Over the years I’ve stripped away much that was not necessary, living more and more simply, in order to build the kind of life that supports making my art. What has not been simple, though, is finding the faith that is required to live each day within the uncertainty of an artist’s life. I think more than any other aspect of being an artist, the necessity of practicing hope has forced me to go deep, to be conscious of the path I walk.
William deBuys writes in The Walk, “… he clung to a species of hope that was based not on an expectation of outcome… but on a visceral faith that good inhered in what he was doing, that it was intrinsic, and that because of it, what he was doing was right and necessary whether it succeeded or not.” This “species of hope” of which deBuys speaks is a fundamental part of my life and, as a result, ends up in the art I make. It is a pure expression of believing. And I think our society hungers for it.
deBuys also says, “In the darkest times we search for what is durable, for a hope that does not melt like snowflakes and that does not depend on external energies or even on our own good behavior.” This is what art offers all of us, I believe. It is how and why it has the power to move us; to break and open our hearts; to connect us each to the other; to speak, with or without words, the old knowing, the ancient languages that have bound us since before time. Art is visceral. It gives us what we need even when we are not conscious of need.
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“How many of you have felt inexplicable emotion in the presence of a painting, a sculpture, a photograph?”
I had this experience in 2001 while viewing George Chacona’s show ‘Sorrows of Isis’ at Esther Claypool Gallery.
It was a tough year for me emotionally and I was searching everywhere for some answers or relief (release). When I walked into the gallery, I was immediately overcome with emotion. All of the paintings were speaking to me simultaneously, but one in particular would not leave me alone. “Stranded” kept pulling at me so I gave in and
stood for the longest time with that painting. Eventually the tears welled up with absolutely no explanation…I was
confused and started out the door. About half way out the pull was so strong I returned to “Stranded” and gave
in…I purchased it because I felt I “had” to for reasons I couldn’t explain.
I was just reading a review that was included in the packet I got with the painting written by Regina Hackett of the P-I. Of the show in general, she says that “throughout the texts run the theme of improvement: ‘I have
destroyed my defects,’ and ‘I have gained power over my heart.” Power over my heart was EXACTLY what I was
searching for that summer! And of “Stranded” specifically, she says, “…a willowy
figure hovers just past the edge of her sure footing, ready to slide into the purple haze around her.”
Magical….
Oh, Linda, thank you for sharing your experience. Magical indeed! You speak, perfectly, of what is so hard to put into words about art. And I guess we don’t so much need the words as we need the art. And yet George’s work is such a gorgeous blend of word and marks. I’ve heard he’s no longer making art. Do you know if that’s true? I certainly hope not. Thank you, again, for taking the time to share your very meaningful experience.
Linda–I had another thought while I was just out walking. I have long believed that art has the power to heal, its maker and its viewer. I think your experience is a perfect example of that. So glad you bought that piece!
Jeane…unfortunately, that show was George’s final show. He told me he was done with making art after that
show and would never return to it. He didn’t explain why, but I suspect he felt he learned all he could through
his art and no longer felt the pull to create.
There may have been a clue when he said that show brought together several cultures he had been researching
and immersed in. He had wanted to bring them together into one piece or show for years but was concerned
about how to do that. I think he pulled it off beautifully with ‘Stranded’ specifically and the show in general.
His vision is so large, so educated and so gentle…the show truly was emotionally timeless (at least for me).
I’ve lost touch with him. We were both laid off the same day and we’ve only talked once since then.
George is a wonderful, tender man who hides those qualities so well behind his rough, tough exterior!
L.
Oh, it saddens me to think of George not creating. But each of us does know, when we’re willing to listen, when our personal seasons come and go. If the peace of not making his art is what George was seeking, I celebrate his decision and his right to make it. George and I had many long, silly and deep conversations when we were together at Ivey. He was a great support to me during a challenging time. If you DO connect with him, will you please tell him I think of him often, and fondly?
Absolutely!!!
Thank you!
I can share this: While gathering ideas and inspirations for a watercolor/collage, my goal was to strictly listen to instinct. After the piece was finished, there came a time when my younger sister and I spoke over the phone from several states between us. We talked about the painting and she identified with not only the components, but the green mat turned out to be the exact shade of green on one wall in her house. She had never seen the painting before, and I had nothing in mind when I created it, however, the collaged images held personal meaning for her and she ended up with the painting.
There have been times when I have prayed for people I didn’t know. After a while, either I came to know the person, or helped the person pass on.
Art is created within mystery, I believe, in that place we have no adequate words for. When we create from our hearts, our souls, the work springs from a connection with the Divine, I believe. Through us, unconditional love is given out to the world. You created a piece for your sister without understanding that’s what you were doing. We do the same with all pieces we make, I think. I know my paintings were painted for particular people, whether I know them or not. Magic happens when the paintings and “strangers” meet each other in the gallery and they go home to live the lives for which they were created. Our art is a form of prayer, I believe, and we meet the objects of those prayers in remarkable ways.