Hello, friends. Today's post was going to be about Motivation, but as I drafted and edited, I zipped right past 2500 words and closed in on 3000 without really breaking a sweat. To be fair, the air conditioning was on. But still, It dawned on me that this was exiting blog territory and reaching essay territory. With some additions, it could easily creep into manifesto territory. It certainly had that passion.
Manifesto? Really?
Well, with no small amount of panic I tabled that for another day. It's now four to five blog posts at least. And if I break it up, that means I'll only write more on each topic. Until it's 100 pages. A Manifesto.
Weird.
So tonight I want to talk about something else. This really should come after dealing with motivation, but I am particularly right brain tonight. So the after comes before. get it? Good.
As an artist ( and you are an artist, your art my be as precise as machine tolerances, but it's still an art) you need to date yourself. I don't mean take yourself to dinner and demand sex because you paid for lobster. I mean take yourself and do something enjoyable. Play in the mud in your brain and see what's stirred up
Artists need play. I believe everyone has an inner artist, and inner soul, and that soul needs to play. Don't worry if this waxes pseudo-mystical, like I said, I'm right braining it write now. bear with it. You need to take out the proverbial crayons, stuff hands full, and draw on the walls. Let it create, combining things and making a big ol' mess until something comes up. Till the soil. There more metaphors for this than I can count. And counting is left brain. If I start to try I'll come up with "Banana" and then Banana fallout will make me sick. Then the Banana Protection Agency will come in their nuclear, banana, and chemical suits and take me away.
I apologize, totally uncalled for. I shall give my right brain a proper spanking for that.
I want to suggest every one do it. Honestly, successful artists already do something like it. Artists with that certain spark most definitely must. This is how you restock your creative well. This is how you find more material. By playing; by being silly.
I certainly seemed silly tonight. I sort of wandered Bastille days. I hadn't planned on it, but one shop was selling paintings. In particular a monochromatic Paris scene caught my intention. It was impressionist, the heads of the strollers being not much more than dots, hats blotches and brushstrokes underlining them. But it captured vibrancy - without even being vibrant. The second was a abstract panting of squares and triangles in muted reds and yellows. All sharp angles on an cream-orange background. As I stood transfixed, I gradually saw a woman, powerful, magnificent, motherly. Sharp angles are not feminine, but with them the artist captured a woman's power. It was magnificent. If only I could have bought it.
When I slide into flow, the world (forgive me, more pseudo-mysticism) plays with you. When I look at people with my inner artist eye everyone becomes beautiful. It is as the old masters discussed. The golden "true" or "heavenly" ki becomes apparent. The man with skin burned brown by the sun with the cheap bear and the big gut, in the gray wife-beater becomes as noble to me as the well-proportioned Greek statues. His body becomes interesting, A thing to exalt. But the universe also plays. Patterns emerge in the way people move, and you can sense the connections. It is as if the subconscious of everyone reveals to me it's connection, like lines of filament racing between people. I am certain this makes me sound mad. The right brain is mad. You feel connected.
I wandered Bastille days. The shops did not interest me, save as back drop. A poem popped through the haze. It was transcendental. Anyone who has read about Kaballah will understand the Kether's soft hum and, bubbling from the pleasant fog came fragments, phrases, a poem. In part. Everywhere I look I saw subjects to paint. The man staring glassy eyed at a stage, the woman slapping her husband, laughing at his roguish joke. The three women sitting, base and classless, legs splayed ungainly and unconcerned. The almost desperate, predatory glance of the vendor looking for one last sale. The bored folk singer, unhappy that he was billed at 7pm on a Sunday.
The artist date is for everyone. But not my artist date. I see patterns and shapes. When I stood at the lake front near the Milwaukee Art Museum, all I could see were vistas needing to be painted. Every where I turned my view split into geometric shapes and proportions, ratios and colors: Bone and Coral white, Slate blue and midnight, Dark green and a brown so vivid you'd swear it black. The artist date is play and practice What you do when you play shows you who you are. I looked at the waves and knew intuitively the patter on the sea. I like big, complex patterns.
I use the term Artist Date, but people who don't believe they are artists can benefit from these sorts of dates. My friend Adam is a Physics genius. To him, these vistas are not very exciting. But a circuit board, or problem electronic piano, are his play. My friend Eric finds his play in the endless possibilities that simple bechemel creates. I only imagine Anne digging madly in the dirt surrounded by verdant plants. These things touch the deepest core of them and make them giddy. And perhaps Adam looks as foolish grinning over neon green printed circuit board, and Eric in chef whites with a lobster on his head, and Anne peering thoughtfully into a microscope, lips pursed and brow furrowed and coat smeared with dirt, as I do holding my thumb out and mumbling ratios, but it doesn't matter. This is play that touches your core purpose, and it's serious business.
I highly recommend everyone take an Artist Date. If you want more information about it, I refer you to Julia Cameron's "The Artist Way." That's where I got the term. Don't let the term spiritual throw you off. It is perfectly useful to us contended atheists.
From this one hour stroll, three things may develop. I have decided on two of the three skills I want to gain competency in: Oil Painting (It's been so long, i have to start from scratch), and Fencing (I met a local fencing team, they were awesome, i gushed like a fanboy). Second, a poem is being constructed, slowly, in my mind. Finally, I may paint or at least, build a portable easel so I may carry it to the lakefront.
This was not meant to be long. Perhaps I shall add it to my manifesto. I wish I could take credit for coming up with the idea. I can only hope I sufficiently encourage you to go out and play.
So tell me. If you've experienced the utter lightness of being that comes with core play, tell me in the comments section. If you haven't, go out and try it and see what happens, then tell me about it below or send me an email.
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