There's a parallel to working quietly for a future that might never come, for a world that might never exist for a humanity that might deploy a scenario that wipes itself out in what we do for helpless children, older folks suffering dementia or too aged to understand; picking up trash on streets or a bicycle that's fallen over, or like that kind and smart person who discovered my studio keys outside my door and put them on a ledge for me to discover, untouched and visible, the next day. Making art is clearly one of the strangest things humanity has fixed on. My thinking has always been "I'm making this to see what it looks like." But in reflecting on your text I'm a bit more aware that the chasm yawning from creation to perception, whether my awareness or any future audience's awareness reminds me of how this world got built. As if no one was looking.
This moved me deeply, Cecil. Thank you for weaving my small comment into something so expansive and resonant. Your reflection on art as a quiet act of hope speaks to the core of why we continue creating, especially in uncertain times. I felt seen in your words—and reminded that even our most solitary gestures are part of a much longer, enduring conversation. Grateful to be in it with you.
Cecil - This is very nice . I've been a fan of yours for many years now and enjoy not only your artwork but also your writings ... some like this piece are very touching and much appreciated - As an artist it hits a note that feels good - thank you - Lori Dorn
Longfellow alludes to that line in "A Psalm of Life," my father's favorite poem. Dad and I both had it memorized over the years. Dad would be 113 were he still alive, but I can hear him reciting it, in my mind. Longfellow says, "Art is long, and Time is fleeting," https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44644/a-psalm-of-life.
Thanks for posting Ruth. Yes that is a lovely Longfellow poem. The writer of the other link who is a teacher at a Christian school make some good points. But the heaviness of dogma kind of twists her perception I think in a way that could be devastating to young children under her supervision. When the goal is indoctrination instead of natural exploration and discovery, she would tend to edit the child's thinking in a way that would be crippling and difficult later for the child to sort out as they grow. In terms of indoctrination that is the point. To shape their young minds before they know what's being done to them. I personally have avoided having my own children subjected to that before they were old enough to have their own capacity of discernment. I think it is unethical. This is probably based on my experience of having grown up in 9 years of catholic educational indoctrination. A related article to this issue is here: https://www.touchonian.com/p/from-one-commandment-list-to-many
Each art piece tells a story yet I may not have the entire story to unwrap but it's there to be interpreted by whomever. Long ago I curated a show at the gallery I was with as I got hold of over a dozen female mannequins. I put out a call to artists, writers, photographers. One artist was in a hospital or hospice as he was recovering from bacterial meningitis, was bitten by a spider, and found out he had full-blown aids. He was not doing well but got out of a coma weeks before. I brought him a mannequin torso and some art supplies and he works so hard on an art piece for the show, perhaps knowing it was going to be the last piece of art he'd ever create. It was a beautiful piece too and I loved that he gave a damn into making it a great piece of art too. His stories live on as does his art work in many collections even though he passed away soon after that show. He had many friends who loved him. His name was James Bettison.
I remember James Bettison's work. I don't think I ever met him personally. His studio burned downed too before that. Here is an article that talks about him.
Thanks for the article. I miss James. We used to go to flea markets to shop for cool junk. He was such a gentle genius and so much fun to hang out with.
There's a parallel to working quietly for a future that might never come, for a world that might never exist for a humanity that might deploy a scenario that wipes itself out in what we do for helpless children, older folks suffering dementia or too aged to understand; picking up trash on streets or a bicycle that's fallen over, or like that kind and smart person who discovered my studio keys outside my door and put them on a ledge for me to discover, untouched and visible, the next day. Making art is clearly one of the strangest things humanity has fixed on. My thinking has always been "I'm making this to see what it looks like." But in reflecting on your text I'm a bit more aware that the chasm yawning from creation to perception, whether my awareness or any future audience's awareness reminds me of how this world got built. As if no one was looking.
This moved me deeply, Cecil. Thank you for weaving my small comment into something so expansive and resonant. Your reflection on art as a quiet act of hope speaks to the core of why we continue creating, especially in uncertain times. I felt seen in your words—and reminded that even our most solitary gestures are part of a much longer, enduring conversation. Grateful to be in it with you.
Cecil - This is very nice . I've been a fan of yours for many years now and enjoy not only your artwork but also your writings ... some like this piece are very touching and much appreciated - As an artist it hits a note that feels good - thank you - Lori Dorn
Agreed - a quiet act of hope. So necessary for artists to do. And dare I might say, it is an act of love too.
Dear Cecil,
I enjoyed your article on "a quiet act of hope."
I was reminded of Seneca and "Ars longa, vita brevis." Here is a good link about that phrase. https://classicaldifference.com/art-is-long-life-is-eternal/
Longfellow alludes to that line in "A Psalm of Life," my father's favorite poem. Dad and I both had it memorized over the years. Dad would be 113 were he still alive, but I can hear him reciting it, in my mind. Longfellow says, "Art is long, and Time is fleeting," https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44644/a-psalm-of-life.
Warmest regards,
Ruth E. Bell
Thanks for posting Ruth. Yes that is a lovely Longfellow poem. The writer of the other link who is a teacher at a Christian school make some good points. But the heaviness of dogma kind of twists her perception I think in a way that could be devastating to young children under her supervision. When the goal is indoctrination instead of natural exploration and discovery, she would tend to edit the child's thinking in a way that would be crippling and difficult later for the child to sort out as they grow. In terms of indoctrination that is the point. To shape their young minds before they know what's being done to them. I personally have avoided having my own children subjected to that before they were old enough to have their own capacity of discernment. I think it is unethical. This is probably based on my experience of having grown up in 9 years of catholic educational indoctrination. A related article to this issue is here: https://www.touchonian.com/p/from-one-commandment-list-to-many
Each art piece tells a story yet I may not have the entire story to unwrap but it's there to be interpreted by whomever. Long ago I curated a show at the gallery I was with as I got hold of over a dozen female mannequins. I put out a call to artists, writers, photographers. One artist was in a hospital or hospice as he was recovering from bacterial meningitis, was bitten by a spider, and found out he had full-blown aids. He was not doing well but got out of a coma weeks before. I brought him a mannequin torso and some art supplies and he works so hard on an art piece for the show, perhaps knowing it was going to be the last piece of art he'd ever create. It was a beautiful piece too and I loved that he gave a damn into making it a great piece of art too. His stories live on as does his art work in many collections even though he passed away soon after that show. He had many friends who loved him. His name was James Bettison.
I remember James Bettison's work. I don't think I ever met him personally. His studio burned downed too before that. Here is an article that talks about him.
https://www.outsmartmagazine.com/2024/02/empowering-houstons-third-ward/
Thanks for the article. I miss James. We used to go to flea markets to shop for cool junk. He was such a gentle genius and so much fun to hang out with.