The artist is nothing. Unimportant. Trivial.
If you are an artist: you are nothing. Unimportant. Trivial.
Is the aim of your work to express your self? It is worthless, then. It will die with you, after you have finished wasting your small life upon it.
Sacrifice the self. The work must be all.
The work is all.
If you cannot create something greater than yourself, you are no artist. If you cannot create something greater than yourself, what you do is not art.
Live with that in mind.
7 comments:
It depends hon how great or small the artist sees him- or herself:)
That is indeed some pretty hard core shit right there. I am basically now a sobbing, quivering, small and trivial mass in the corner.
Oh wait. I am not an artist. Phew. Okay never mind :-)
@Alice: You KNOW it.
@jeannette: You are indeed correct! In most cases, there is an inverse correlation between how great the artist's self-regard is, and how great the artist's art is. Among acknowledged masters there are a few exceptions, a la Dali, but these are usually judged to be the minor lights in the artistic firmament.
Man. I feel like I've been waiting for an excuse to say "a la Dali" all my life!
"a la Dali."
"a la Dali."
:-D Sweet!
Thanks jeannette!
@Alice: HEY! I misread that last line. I thought it said "Oh wait. I am an artist. Phew. Okay never mind :-)"
I hereby provisionally revoke my "You KNOW it"!!!
Hmm. Running to work, but I think I ought to clarify my stance a bit: I'm not saying artists lack egos (even at times, COLOSSAL egos).
But the nature of great art is such that it reduces even the most colossal human ego to a state of humility and gratitude before it - especially if the viewer is the one who was privileged to serve as the conduit for that outpouring of inspiration.
Those artists who believe their self to be greater and more important than their art are generally right. Righter than they realize, even.
The truly great masters have all been servants.
And of course, anybody can knock me on my ass here by mentioning the Classical masters, many of whom thought they were pretty hot shit, but most of whom also regarded the work they produced as more decorative and ornamental than eternal. Art wasn't thought of in the same way, yet.
I suppose my conception of art is grounded in the Modern, with wistful roots running backward to Romantic.
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