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Artistic Reflection
Jul. 30th, 2006 10:30 amWhen I was 19, I had a boyfriend (SC) whose mother did pastel portraits of guests for a local theme park. SC was hoping to drum up business for her, so he asked me to sit for her, figuring that if my parents (both sets) were to hang the pictures of me in their homes, people might ask about it and she might get more business on the side.
My mom hung it up in her house, but I don't think my dad and stepmom ever did. My stepmom and I had a great deal of solidarity around it. We thought the rendering was strange in ways difficult to express...it seemed both me and not-me. The colors were right, the face wasn't wrong, but still--something was missing somehow from the whole. Neither of us liked it. I tolerated the copy hanging in my mom's house, though, and I think my mom liked having my image around in the form of art even when I wasn't. (At the time, I was still living at home, but 'home' was always with my dad and stepmom.)
I was thinking about that this morning, after a conversation with Dave. Dave works in charcoal, draws mostly nude figures. He's becoming very good at it, and it's been neat watching him progress. He likes working from photographs rather than live models because he has a still pose to work from, and he can take as much time as he likes perfecting the form. I had offered to pose for him (either for a photograph or as a live model), as long as he needed, with no attachment to results. He shied away from that, though--what if I found it less-than-flattering and he had to endure months of 'wow do you really see me like that?' I don't think that I would do that to him, but I can also see why he doesn't trust it. ;-)
Anyway, talking about posing for him reminded me of the last time I had posed for an artist (with clothes on, bien sûr) and the aforementioned boyfriend and mom. The best analogy I can come up with is in the Snow Queen story, when a character gets a sliver of broken mirror in his eye and sees things as more hateful than they truly are. SC's mother's picture of me seemed similarly distorted.
I don't mean to suggest that the mom was hateful, though I do think her perception of me was complicated, and that perhaps she saw me as some sort of threat at the time. I believe that we all have these same metaphoric shards covering true sight. We see things inaccurately, see ourselves and each other in an unflattering light much of the time.
However, I also believe that it is, or can be, the task of the artist to clear away these shards--to look at something with eyes unfettered by narrow opinions and desires. Ideally, artists can clean away internal prejudices and create from a truer perspective, show an essential loveliness at the core of each of us.
There have been many times, while writing poems, that I've had to make this a conscious effort. I've had to take deep breaths, clear my mind before starting. I try to see someone else from a divine perspective...not exactly, of course, but with a faint glimmer of that sight. It's a spiritual as well as an artistic exercise, and it's often hard to convince myself to begin it. Still, I always feel better afterwards, after viewing a product with hopes that it can begin to mend the splinter in my own eye, as well as those in the eyes of others.
I don't know that this is or should be any sort of manifesto. Certainly the idea could be misused to refer propaganda, which is (obviously, I hope) not my intent. I believe that truth is more important for a writer than 'spin', but also that there is a Truth underneath everything that remains more than mere politics or perspective.
That Truth is what I aspire to find, even though I'm not sure I ever get more than tiny glimpses. In the end, I guess, what I hope for, as wacky as it may sound, is to be the channel--to be the mind and fingers that allow the words to come through. The sentiments, I hope, are more than I could ever generate on my own. Whether muse, god/goddess, or the healing power of love...I hope that somehow, words can flow through these hands in a way that will be beneficial to the world.
My mom hung it up in her house, but I don't think my dad and stepmom ever did. My stepmom and I had a great deal of solidarity around it. We thought the rendering was strange in ways difficult to express...it seemed both me and not-me. The colors were right, the face wasn't wrong, but still--something was missing somehow from the whole. Neither of us liked it. I tolerated the copy hanging in my mom's house, though, and I think my mom liked having my image around in the form of art even when I wasn't. (At the time, I was still living at home, but 'home' was always with my dad and stepmom.)
I was thinking about that this morning, after a conversation with Dave. Dave works in charcoal, draws mostly nude figures. He's becoming very good at it, and it's been neat watching him progress. He likes working from photographs rather than live models because he has a still pose to work from, and he can take as much time as he likes perfecting the form. I had offered to pose for him (either for a photograph or as a live model), as long as he needed, with no attachment to results. He shied away from that, though--what if I found it less-than-flattering and he had to endure months of 'wow do you really see me like that?' I don't think that I would do that to him, but I can also see why he doesn't trust it. ;-)
Anyway, talking about posing for him reminded me of the last time I had posed for an artist (with clothes on, bien sûr) and the aforementioned boyfriend and mom. The best analogy I can come up with is in the Snow Queen story, when a character gets a sliver of broken mirror in his eye and sees things as more hateful than they truly are. SC's mother's picture of me seemed similarly distorted.
I don't mean to suggest that the mom was hateful, though I do think her perception of me was complicated, and that perhaps she saw me as some sort of threat at the time. I believe that we all have these same metaphoric shards covering true sight. We see things inaccurately, see ourselves and each other in an unflattering light much of the time.
However, I also believe that it is, or can be, the task of the artist to clear away these shards--to look at something with eyes unfettered by narrow opinions and desires. Ideally, artists can clean away internal prejudices and create from a truer perspective, show an essential loveliness at the core of each of us.
There have been many times, while writing poems, that I've had to make this a conscious effort. I've had to take deep breaths, clear my mind before starting. I try to see someone else from a divine perspective...not exactly, of course, but with a faint glimmer of that sight. It's a spiritual as well as an artistic exercise, and it's often hard to convince myself to begin it. Still, I always feel better afterwards, after viewing a product with hopes that it can begin to mend the splinter in my own eye, as well as those in the eyes of others.
I don't know that this is or should be any sort of manifesto. Certainly the idea could be misused to refer propaganda, which is (obviously, I hope) not my intent. I believe that truth is more important for a writer than 'spin', but also that there is a Truth underneath everything that remains more than mere politics or perspective.
That Truth is what I aspire to find, even though I'm not sure I ever get more than tiny glimpses. In the end, I guess, what I hope for, as wacky as it may sound, is to be the channel--to be the mind and fingers that allow the words to come through. The sentiments, I hope, are more than I could ever generate on my own. Whether muse, god/goddess, or the healing power of love...I hope that somehow, words can flow through these hands in a way that will be beneficial to the world.