Here's the kicker. You do something with your life; you invest, you commit, and then you realize that you're not succeeding at it and you think maybe you should do something else. You search. You try. You become embittered, and angry at yourself for allowing this. You walk away.
But, there's always the glimmer; there's always something or someone and you encounter it and you realize you're not alone and a failure and speaking gibberish on some street corner. This person/moment/idea/thing/poem/word/image caresses you; and the pulse slows and you know you can never quit yourself. You can never quit what you didn't choose; because that thing chose you.
Maybe there are many paths to somewhere. Perhaps, that somewhere doesn't even exist, -so (what were you so upset about yesterday?) why are you banging your head against a wall right next to an open door? Why make it hard?
Partly, because we are human. It's in our nature to choose the hard way. It's in our nature to choose the easy way too, that's the fuck-all shame of it in the end. We worship logic and intellect, but then we do something completely stupid the next minute. Everybody. All day, every day and then you die. But living; ah, there's the mix. How should we live? Who is to say?
I've been sick; the whole house has been sick. I'm sick of being sick. I'm sick of cold. And then, out comes the sun and the warm days and I drag some paintings outside into the light and I don't know...I just don't know. Because, for me, the not-knowing is the life in them. That's what I think people connect with in those instances when I make a good painting. I go through life under the false assumption that everyone else knows exactly what they are doing; they've got it all figured out and it's all running according to plan. Or, that if I had more of this, or less of that, I would somehow be "better" or "more successful" or all the dreamy phrases that we cling to in order to keep us from looking in the mirror and taking stock. Because I am never satisfied with my work, because I am constantly shifting and trying new directions, because I am unmarketable in both my surfaces and my personality at times, maybe in spite of myself I am making something real and true and enduring and touching. I wish it was of my own talent and acumen, I really do; but I think it is despite my best efforts that I succeed and make something beautiful and personal and universal.
I stumbled upon that thing; that moment that captured me like a lover's glance that flies through a crowd finding its mark. The glimmer. Funny, it's never a light with trumpets and neon. It's never declarative. Prophets are about nuance, after all. We hate literalness and facts. Better to howl in the wilderness, that's the job description, isn't it? To wander. To wander and perhaps to find, if only for a moment, that rush of life pulsing through our being and expanding out into all consciousness and every other being and then to try to bring it back and show it, and talk about it, and take others there. A monkey can paint a picture. But when something stops you in your tracks, and forever alters your way of perception and maybe even challenges your core beliefs, that is something else. There are those who do that for me; Goya, Turner, Rothko, to name some. I remember standing in front of a particular Goya in the National Museum and weeping for a very long time over how he painted the lace on a sleeve. I can still see it, and it defies technique.
My crisis of faith over the past few months is, I must admit, ongoing. Maybe that's what is so strange about a calling; that one doubts so often -not in the source- but in the ability of oneself to rise to the task of that calling. Or maybe that's just me. In any case, no absolutes right now. I'm in no condition. I haven't the wherewithall. I'm going to drive a few hundred miles and see an old friend and probably stay up entirely too late; and perhaps I will even see the morning again. It has been a long time since I've really seen the morning.
Such a good post. And you're so right, everyone is searching for way to make it work, no one has an answer. Two of my friends who I've known a long time are excellent artists and left it for the past decade+and are just now returning to it. Sometimes letting go for a bit can be a good thing because it lets you come back and really hit it hard. I'm convinced that nothing great happens without some discomfort. But everyone has their own way and I have no doubt that you are finding yours perfectly.
ReplyDeleteHope your late night was a good one.