Reading this, I kept nodding along—I’ve always felt torn between making things for their own sake and hoping (maybe even needing) someone else to see them. Your point about time being an audience and the future holding space for our work is a perspective I haven’t seen put so eloquently. I wonder if the effort to create despite silence is itself a kind of quiet act of hope, one that connects us with artists across centuries. Thank you for writing this and for sharing a path back to what matters most about making art.
"effort to create despite silence is itself a kind of quiet act of hope" You know Sunshine, I have thought about this a lot over the years. I think we do have to have that hope and trust that the world will continue, that our culture will hold and that there will be a future beyond us to speak to. We all are, in the quiet of out studios, speaking to the future. To our future self, our future exhibition, our future collectors and even to future generations as much as to past generations. That is a hopeful stance to take. But, what else is there to do? We are not going to stop, I sometimes think about artists like Miro and Picasso figuring out how to work in the middle of WWI and WWII and the aftermath of those wars. They didn't stop working, some of their greatest works were made in response to those collapses such as Picasso's Guernica and Miro's Constellations series. So this tells me that, life somehow goes on and we are just little momentary whiffs of smoke in the middle of an infinite expanse of time. Accepting that, we carry forward as best we can with attention always turned inward toward the heart.
Thank you, Cecil—your response holds such depth and quiet conviction. I deeply appreciate the care you took in reflecting back. Your words remind me that creating is both a reaching forward and a rooting inward. I just wanted to say I received this, and it resonated.
Thank you for such thoughtful responses to the articles. That means a lot to me. There was enough substance in my comment that it will show up in an expanded form as a short essay on Tuesday the 13th. Watch for that.
I have finished over 175 pieces of art and am indeed running out of spaces for them but I manage. My dining room table is no longer for eating at as it holds many of my pieces. So I continue to move around other things to replace that space with my art. Sometimes a stranger will see them when they come over to buy something I'm selling (not art) and without solicitation, I get some really great feedback. I've tried to invite the necessary "art people" (patrons, gallery owners) over but no luck there and I'm not a pushy type to insist. But I'm not too bothered. I've been at both ends of showing and selling in galleries (years ago); and working for the necessity of just having to create for creating sake. That is so satisfying in its own way for me. And yes, it's cliche' to say it's my "therapy" but it is.......I go into the studio and make art and am into that zone of just me and all my objects, God's hands via me, ideas, playing around, and finding that right path towards creation. It's divine for sure and just a sublime place to be where I can leave any icks outside that place (unless I use any for the art), and just do/make. Great article Cecil. And audience is always lovely, but for now and who knows......I am an audience of one and will often go into that one guest bedroom which holds the majority of my work and just sit and admire the art that I created and it gives me great pleasure, a deep satisfaction. I know I'm really good at what I do (not a brag) as I'm also my worst enemy if something isn't up to par, but then it gets reworked if it doesn't make the final product. I've had a couple of children I've created, but in a way, my art pieces are (on a different level of course) a different yet important offspring of mine.
Reading this, I kept nodding along—I’ve always felt torn between making things for their own sake and hoping (maybe even needing) someone else to see them. Your point about time being an audience and the future holding space for our work is a perspective I haven’t seen put so eloquently. I wonder if the effort to create despite silence is itself a kind of quiet act of hope, one that connects us with artists across centuries. Thank you for writing this and for sharing a path back to what matters most about making art.
"effort to create despite silence is itself a kind of quiet act of hope" You know Sunshine, I have thought about this a lot over the years. I think we do have to have that hope and trust that the world will continue, that our culture will hold and that there will be a future beyond us to speak to. We all are, in the quiet of out studios, speaking to the future. To our future self, our future exhibition, our future collectors and even to future generations as much as to past generations. That is a hopeful stance to take. But, what else is there to do? We are not going to stop, I sometimes think about artists like Miro and Picasso figuring out how to work in the middle of WWI and WWII and the aftermath of those wars. They didn't stop working, some of their greatest works were made in response to those collapses such as Picasso's Guernica and Miro's Constellations series. So this tells me that, life somehow goes on and we are just little momentary whiffs of smoke in the middle of an infinite expanse of time. Accepting that, we carry forward as best we can with attention always turned inward toward the heart.
Thank you, Cecil—your response holds such depth and quiet conviction. I deeply appreciate the care you took in reflecting back. Your words remind me that creating is both a reaching forward and a rooting inward. I just wanted to say I received this, and it resonated.
Thank you for such thoughtful responses to the articles. That means a lot to me. There was enough substance in my comment that it will show up in an expanded form as a short essay on Tuesday the 13th. Watch for that.
I have finished over 175 pieces of art and am indeed running out of spaces for them but I manage. My dining room table is no longer for eating at as it holds many of my pieces. So I continue to move around other things to replace that space with my art. Sometimes a stranger will see them when they come over to buy something I'm selling (not art) and without solicitation, I get some really great feedback. I've tried to invite the necessary "art people" (patrons, gallery owners) over but no luck there and I'm not a pushy type to insist. But I'm not too bothered. I've been at both ends of showing and selling in galleries (years ago); and working for the necessity of just having to create for creating sake. That is so satisfying in its own way for me. And yes, it's cliche' to say it's my "therapy" but it is.......I go into the studio and make art and am into that zone of just me and all my objects, God's hands via me, ideas, playing around, and finding that right path towards creation. It's divine for sure and just a sublime place to be where I can leave any icks outside that place (unless I use any for the art), and just do/make. Great article Cecil. And audience is always lovely, but for now and who knows......I am an audience of one and will often go into that one guest bedroom which holds the majority of my work and just sit and admire the art that I created and it gives me great pleasure, a deep satisfaction. I know I'm really good at what I do (not a brag) as I'm also my worst enemy if something isn't up to par, but then it gets reworked if it doesn't make the final product. I've had a couple of children I've created, but in a way, my art pieces are (on a different level of course) a different yet important offspring of mine.