The Pulitzer Prize-winning author writes on the turbulent writer’s mind, how coffee somehow helps, and the merit in serving an apprenticeship Annie Dillard first came to my attention several years ago when I came across the perhaps now over-played, yet accurate quote; “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives” […]
What is an artist? What is art? How is an artist defined and who exactly gets to set the definition? Is everyone an artist like Picasso said or is it that creative genius is reserved for those fortunate enough to be blessed with talent at birth as the ancient Greeks and Romans believed?
The artist’s duty is often doubted by the artist herself, but can never ultimately be in doubt. What motivates the creative person is inherently personal, coming from a multitude of real world and psychic experiences. In that, it is as all art should be, boundless. When we define art we box it in. The self cannot be boxed in, not ultimately.
Everyone is an artist, and everyone has the potential to create art in their work if they choose to. But very few of us choose to. For most of us, work is a means to an end. It’s something that we’d rather not do but we do it because we have to. We have made our commitments, primarily to others, and we’ve got to keep them. The goals we have are largely head goals and they are rarely our own.
The Sky Is On Fire The sky is on fire to the west of here, Clouds grow as evening draws near The old man said as he stood and watched, The familiar hues of the colour swatch, Of the light. She said, sure where will you go? alone in the mix in your overcoat? Back […]
Coming here to please others first, to work for money, to make a living, was not in the plan lads. Yes this is how society has been built but we don’t have to follow those rules. The creative process is automatic, it’s there waiting, willing and able to give us everything if we can only let it do its thing.
I’ve met a million men who would have loved to live their dream. Count them, ONE MILLION times I’ve been told, late at night by the guy at the end of a darkened bar. When the last beer loosens the cage door to his dream and, just for a second, he lets it glow in his eye, and ah… how he would have loved it.