Scooter, Novia, and I went to a play reading last Monday. It was for a play called "Sextet" by Tommy Smith. The play was emotionally brutal and sexually charged (and even sexually brutal in parts). Afterward, we had a conversation about the play focusing on the sexual relationships, friendships, hatreds, and betrayals in the three love triangles in the play.
One of the themes in the play that can be overshadowed by the physical and emotional violence is the relationship between the characters and their art. In each of the three groups there is a composer and in one of the groups there is also a painter. (They were real historical characters but the author took great license so I will not go into who they were. Its also beside the point). The point is that all of the artists hated their work.
I have a mixed reaction to artists who hate their work. I know that the creative process can be frustrating, and I know that in the translation from concept to reality something is always lost. The thing that keeps me from despairing about that loss is that something is always found in the process. As an artist (and I still have difficulty calling myself that), one must be open to the experience and not dominated by some monolithic vision. The inner word cannot ever be truly translated to speech or art, and to obsess over constructing something in the material world that perfectly embodies an artistic concept is an impossible task. Pursuit of this ideal can be fulfilling and wonderful but falling into hatred and despair over the inability to achieve the impossible helps nobody.
I have had my fair share of upsets when a project fell apart literally or figuratively but I am always energized by the creative act. This summer, I am not taking any classes and that has allowed me to work on some projects. I have been binding books, throwing pots, working wood, and having a blast. I will never be a tortured artist, I lack the narcissism, the self loathing, and the stamina. I wonder if this also means that I will never be a great artist? (I don't know what the right adjective is here influential? celebrated? ground-braking? popular?)
How about you? how do you relate to your art?
One of the themes in the play that can be overshadowed by the physical and emotional violence is the relationship between the characters and their art. In each of the three groups there is a composer and in one of the groups there is also a painter. (They were real historical characters but the author took great license so I will not go into who they were. Its also beside the point). The point is that all of the artists hated their work.
I have a mixed reaction to artists who hate their work. I know that the creative process can be frustrating, and I know that in the translation from concept to reality something is always lost. The thing that keeps me from despairing about that loss is that something is always found in the process. As an artist (and I still have difficulty calling myself that), one must be open to the experience and not dominated by some monolithic vision. The inner word cannot ever be truly translated to speech or art, and to obsess over constructing something in the material world that perfectly embodies an artistic concept is an impossible task. Pursuit of this ideal can be fulfilling and wonderful but falling into hatred and despair over the inability to achieve the impossible helps nobody.
I have had my fair share of upsets when a project fell apart literally or figuratively but I am always energized by the creative act. This summer, I am not taking any classes and that has allowed me to work on some projects. I have been binding books, throwing pots, working wood, and having a blast. I will never be a tortured artist, I lack the narcissism, the self loathing, and the stamina. I wonder if this also means that I will never be a great artist? (I don't know what the right adjective is here influential? celebrated? ground-braking? popular?)
How about you? how do you relate to your art?
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