Art For the World
On Gratitude, Ego, and a Hopeful Thanksgiving Token
If one listen quite closely, one can just make out the sound of the ego scratching the surfaces of the mind. A frigid, errant, furried scream deep deep in the woods - rattling the chest - turning one’s head away from contemplative quietude, acceptance, and any gathered grace focused in the heart’s hearth.
It seems that with progressing years, diligent reflection past one’s Greek gaze, and the sometimes imperceptible moments of gratitude, such shrieks softly fade and the once easily distracted is left to gather and give out all they once coveted. Simply put: with gratitude and a giving spirit comes boundless inner growth. Fill the wells outward - rather than longing inward - and one’s cup begins to overflow. The magic in the simple. And oh the irony of every man’s struggle - stubbornly fighting so furiously for the opposite.
There is no doubting that this exists in art. The act of creation is a true gift we can selflessly give outwardly. Though if art is created simply for oneself, then the sweet magic subsides and the creation has no radiation, no transference, no growth. It sits there in a limbo of its own making. The art that changes the world must be made for the world, there is no other way.
We’re told in our circles that in order to create popular art one must make it relatable to all, approachable to all. And so perhaps one day you, yes you, write a ballad about your problems. These problems have weighed heavy, but you feel better. It would seem finished, but you are reminded that it is not relatable. So you purge the personal details. It is now vague enough for everyone. But if I knit myself a sweater, then alter my beloved rainbow thread to an acceptable pale blue - if I take the off centered neckline that warms the exposed side of my neck at night and cleanly center it for the high street’s tastes, it is still a sweater knit for me: only now I will also choose not to wear it.
Maybe one day you are laser focused on the idea of a creation. It is a hill to climb with an indiscernible number of pathways. The ones that pull on your mind go dark quickly. They are shrouded and lonely and you tire easily, but there is beauty there. Love is there. You believe your art is there. But other artists and the attentive onlookers begin to chant, tirelessly ringing in your ears that “no, silly! the way is simple and sun stricken!” and so you quickly climb the hill the way that is shown, shedding your intent for promises of ease and acceptance. And though it was yours and yours alone, in the end it is forgotten why you even dreamed up that hill in the first place.
Relatable isn’t the issue. Approachable isn’t the issue.
Intention is the issue. Gratitude is the issue. Love is the issue.
Gratitude is foundational to love, and maybe the only hope for those who sit too inwardly. When we make decisions throughout the day, so often do we hear those screams in the night; churning our bellies supine, scared - so often derailing decision making to a witless wide-eyed calibration of our perceived scarcity. A brainless fear based stew that even the smartest of us can’t seem to escape. It drains our arteries, filling literary pages, gallery walls, and airwaves with the dried airless veins of ego-driven art. That art won’t stand against time. Ironically, it also won’t make the difference your ego wails for.
So on this week when families collide, when words get misconstrued, when heavily laden and prepped battleships sink or sink their teeth or perhaps just spontaneously implode - I urge you to try just a moment of gratitude, a moment of love, even for the things that make you most furious. And put that love into the world you hope to create or leave behind. You may just change it for the better yet.
Love,
Anna
Songs That Have Meant Something This Week :
Old Pine - Ben Howard
Leave a Light - Glen Hansard
Che He Mise Le Ulaingt? / The Two Trees - Loreena McKennitt
May You Never - John Martyn