Creative Rebellion Essays: Creative Courage in a Time of Uncertainty
“Chuushin” exhibit July 29th - August 14th at Topanga Canyon Gallery.
My painting show, Chuushin, ends on 8/14/22, and on 8/13/22 I gave an art talk entitled “Creative Courage in a Time of Uncertainty.” You can see the archived Instagram live stream here.
The essay below is from the speech.
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In the end, all stories end the same
“Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.”
― Ernest Hemingway
The pandemic: something that was peaking in its intensity and uncertainty in 2020 when this painting series began. Death came to my family in the span of the past two years: my father, my uncle, my mother-in-law. Our two dogs.
But in the darkness, I found light. In paint.
Life is, by definition: “the ability to get and use energy, reproduce, grow and respond to change” (Merriam-Webster).
In other words: Movement. Taking action.
Making, creating is the essence of life – we literally move and reproduce. We are constantly creating, whether we are conscious of it or not.
I’ve known for some time that focus destroys fear. Chuushin was the result of my focus on destroying fear.
Paint is like a recorder. Like sound waves being caught on a wax cylinder, paint captures the energy, mindset and intention of the creator.
Unlike music or cinema, which are time-based with a beginning, middle and end, a painting is happening all at once. No beginning, no end – all middle.
Abstract art is difficult to take in. However, it has been shown to activate more parts of the brain than representational art does
“…abstract art frees our brain from the dominance of reality, enabling it to flow within its inner states, create new emotional and cognitive associations, and activate brain-states that are otherwise harder to access. This process is apparently rewarding as it enables the exploration of yet undiscovered inner territories of the viewer’s brain.”
Since the advent of the camera, the ability to replicate reality has been dominated by the photograph (aside from the parlor trick of making something look just like a photo). All art should resonate with CONCEPT and EMOTION. Now, super-representational art can also resonate conceptually and emotionally but we are often stopped once the mind sees the thing for what it represents. For example this large self-portrait (FACE). You see the features and perhaps you think, Well, that’s a big face. And maybe you look at the brushstrokes but then that’s that.
Abstract art (which has been around for at least 100 years, starting with the female Swedish artist and mystic Hilma af Klint in the last 1800s (before Kandinsky, Malevich and Mondrian!) but we still consider it modern. For me abstraction is probably closer to jazz – there is an armature that you work within but then there is spontaneity. And like jazz, it’s not for everyone.
I’m aware that my art has an initial visual appeal (bright colors, metallics) but that is just the first layer of the works. Each one is imbued with meaning and process, referencing both the East and West, ancient and modern, flatness and depth, process and concept. Living with the works allows them to express themselves, insinuating themselves into the psyche over time.
In Zen Buddhism, the main concept of humanity’s suffering is “desire.” The desire for what you lack, what you want to be, where you want to be – some perfect future state.
This makes us miserable. The wanting.
The same thing happens with art. Or writing. Or music. If you have a specific, desired outcome, you will be constrained to that limitation. You may accomplish your goal but I would wager that it was probably not a comfortable, flow state. These paintings began with a concept and an emotion but no solidified end state. Just a general notion that served as a North Star. But then the state of being in the Now took over and then after the first colors, the first strokes, the works started to let me know what comes next. Being in a state of flow was critical.
Life is a series of interruptions and obligations. We have to work. We have family. We have friends. We have a broken dishwasher. The dog is throwing up in the next room. All these things are reasons for you to stop creating. To stop writing or dancing or painting. We will do it tomorrow, we say. We never do though.
There is only so much energy you have, right? Only so many hours in the day.
But then again, there is only so much life. And it’s not guaranteed.
Life is always going to throw things at you. People will question your commitment to evenings and weekends, working on that 3 act one-person play. Doing that stand up after hours. But if not now, when?
That stressful deadline at work. Is it going to be important tomorrow? Maybe. Next week? Perhaps. Next month? Less likely. Next year? No.
That book of poetry you wrote. That collection of ceramics you made. That novel you cranked out. That album you created. That painting or drawing? Will it be important next year? The years after that? Probably. Yes.
So, even though the through line for my work is Impermanence, in the end it’s optimistic. It makes me get up early to create.
It wakes me up to the Now. To what’s important.
John
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