Oh, Lord! I realize we’re living in a time of popularity accruing to the lowest common denominator, a fact that’s hitting us in the face each day like a punch! I’m not concerned here with that kind of popularity, but with something related: an artist’s quest for authenticity and its relationship to communication, in this here giant fishbowl!
In short, any kind of artist (writer, painter, etc.) is doing two things:
- Creating, out of some kind of Inspiration or spark within, some tangible piece of work that bears the stamp of the aforementioned authenticity (truth).
- On some level, making an effort to communicate that vision, that truth, to others.
Art is the bridge that enables someone—indeed, anyone, if the cultural markers are mutually intelligible—to vicariously experience what the artist has experienced. If the work is envisioned and expressed in form to the best of the artist’s ability, but the communication with others doesn’t follow, then the artist may have shared something profound and beautiful, but arguably, the fact that the landing of the content in other minds and hearts hasn’t taken place may (besides being disheartening to the artist) limit his or her experience.
Is there a “marketplace Democracy” in the arts, whereby what is best necessarily receives the most attention? To some degree, perhaps, but we must also allow for those who are so far ahead of their time that they’re scarcely comprehended by contemporary audiences.
One also hears now and then of a Buddhist poet who composes verses and then simply sails the paper they’re written on down a nearby stream, without being the slightest bit concerned about a human “audience.” That’s a different kind of experience than that of most artists, at least in the West. I’m more concerned here with the psychological risks for the artist who does try to share the work, believing it’s of value to others.
Art vs. other human endeavours
“What is Art?” is a question that has concerned artists and philosophers for millennia. Some of my own artistic colleagues and mentors maintain that Art isn’t really restricted to what we usually think of as “the arts.” They’re wary of the “artistic ego,” a kind of superiority complex that an artist can easily become prey to.
The poet Percy Shelley, in the early 19th century, spoke of artists as “the antennae of the race.” There may be a truth to that, because an attuned writer, painter, songwriter or dancer does work with Intuition and Inspiration, and many feel they’re guided by a higher power.
On the other hand, the process of making anything to the best of one’s ability and sharing the product with others has many things in common with what we usually call Art, and may even inwardly be identical. I used to frequent a restaurant that had exceptional natural food dishes. After awhile, I had an art exhibit on the walls, and became friendly with some of the people who ran the establishment. I got to know the head chef a bit, and one time I asked him, “What’s your secret?” He responded without having to think, in two words: “vibrational cooking.” Writing this many years later, I take his capsule description to actually be reduceable to one word: LOVE.
Ezra Pound, the 20th-century poet, defined poetry as “News that stays news.” Robert Bly, another poet whose prime was later in that century, edited and published a verse anthology titled News of the Universe. But the “news of the universe” may not always be something that can be put into words.
Most poets would agree that language is a cumbersome medium, at best. And if I walk away from a restaurant, having taken in the highest “vibrations”, meaning the consciousness of the person or people who cooked the meal and maintained the atmosphere in the room … could that be Art?
I wrote a short piece of verse once about walking into an Indian restaurant with a sumptuous buffet. There were no other customers and I saw the waiters standing at the ready, and the owner looking proud of his offering, but also concerned. He sought to have people come to eat the food he’d prepared with love and awareness. His desired result isn’t guaranteed. It’s no more guaranteed than responses to a new poem or painting I share on Facebook.
The “bridge” function of Art
Having established a kinship between what we all call Art and any human endeavour that attempts to share excellence, I’ll move along to focus more on the vulnerability of the psyche of someone creating works in the areas that are generally known as the Arts. As I mentioned above, and have also read in the writings and notebooks of writers and artists whose work has been consequential, Art can be a sacred bridge that successfully crosses the chasm of human isolation.
Often, an artist has been shown progressively through life that the effort to share deeply intimate emotional content via a story, a poem, a painting, a song, photos, a dance performance, a comedy routine or a monologue is worthwhile. Such a person considers it worthwhile to cultivate skill in the chosen or destined art form. Success in making an ambitious work of art vicariously accessible to someone else is a sublime experience, felt by real artists to be worth any amount of effort. This completing of the circuit that began within this artist is another step, beyond the act of creation itself.
The act of creation may begin with an Inspiration like a lightning bolt, or possibly with a gentle intuition. Then that “hit” is fleshed out, a process which usually involves some transformation or development of the original vision. When that stage feels complete—although some poets say no poem is ever really finished—the artist-midwife* feels it’s ready to be born into (shared to) the wider world.
The vulnerable psyche of the artist
Financially, a restaurant can’t stay in business without a certain amount of success in the form of financial return. A poet, however, isn’t liable to have a practical “business plan” stipulating not only a profit, but enough profit to keep the business going and hopefully also live and raise a family on.
In contrast, a poet can just keep writing, if inspired, regardless of external “success” measured by any conventional definition. Kahlil Gibran has a poem called “The Poet” about a man who lives in a hut and has few, if any, actual readers or followers. Yet Gibran extols this figure as a herald of the new age, bringing truths from the deeper intuitive or inspired realms to where they can be imbibed by anyone who can read or hear a live recitation.
Gibran’s romanticized image of this hypothetical poet would be nice were it not coloured by sentimentality. I and many poets and artists I know go through considerable emotional struggles in our efforts to create something that we feel is truly significant, and then offer it to the world in total vulnerability. One reads of, and possibly has known, poets who are broken by the self-imposed pressure. This is certainly true of visual artists as well, with Vincent Van Gogh being the best-known.
Inspiration can carry us so far. Inspiration plus craft and effort, of course, takes us farther. But there is an inscrutable formula that brings an artist a following: readers, viewers or listeners find themselves in the work!
Some stern choices
For those who don’t have a following, what happens? Do they/we just “retire” from artistic efforts? Get a job as a shoe salesman? Sales, when done with integrity, is itself a kind of art, of course. But for someone who feels a destiny to be a writer, painter, etc.—does such a person just keep plugging away?
How much non-recognition can one take? If one has a spiritual intention as an artist, it can feel egotistical to be concerned too much with objective results (“fame”, etc.) or to do much of what has come to be called “shameless self-promotion.” Yet in many respects, success in the arts is not democratic. There are stern requirements. They involve a ruthless, mature self-honesty on the part of a practitioner.
The universal maxim in any spiritual endeavour is “Do your best and leave the results to God.” One prays for true discrimination, not in the least about his own process and work; for Guidance in life and art. Often, we aren’t given ready-made answers, but when inner guidance comes, it’s vital to listen to it.
A brief optimistic coda
A hopeful scene from the film Lawrence of Arabia comes to mind here at the tail end of what I have to say: Peter O’Toole (Lawrence) has a memorable reply to some Arab youths who had warned him not to go out in the desert to try and save a child who has gotten lost there, because, they say, “It is written.” O’Toole/Lawrence goes anyway and does save the child. Then he comes back and loudly tells the naysaying Arab youths, “Nothing is ‘written’!”
Meher Baba on Art
Meher Baba was consulted by many artists of all kinds, during his ministry from the early 1920s until he “dropped his body” in early 1969. Perhaps most universally, he told one person, “Art, when inspired with love, leads to higher realms. Love art, and that art will open for you the inner life.” Meher Baba maintained external silence between 1925 and 1969, though he lived an extremely active life of service and guided many, many others.
Here is an anthology of short articles documenting Baba’s meetings with artists and statements about art.
Finally, here’s an article that appeared in The Mindful Word several years ago, telling the story of how I was connected with Baba.
* (“artist-midwife”“) J.R.R. Tolkien, author of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, discussed his philosophy of artistic creativity in an essay titled “On Faerie.” In short, I think Tolkien can be described as a Christian mystic, although he studied the pagan languages of northern Europe. In the essay, he expressed his understanding that there is only one Creator: God. He referred to himself and other human artists as “subcreators” within the one great Creation. Here are some of Tolkien’s writings on this topic.
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image 1: Max Reif; image 2: Roy Parks; image 3: Wikimedia Commons; image 4: Wikimedia Commons; image 5: Meher Nazar