What if a man could write everything that came into his mind. You could find there gems of wisdom, depth of utter despair, heights of the most cherished hopes, killing fields where we slaughter our enemies, moments of faith and moments of doubts, dark chambers where we commit infidelity against our partners, counting the goods we have stolen, hell nightmares, heaven blessedness, cursing of our enemies and blessing of our friends, and many other things. If one could write his mind, it would be a mirror to other minds where they could find themselves and not feel as the only wretched souls in existence. Go on then, write your mind in a book and publish it.
―Bangambiki Habyarimana, Pearls Of Eternity
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves
Art is often judged useless, even stupid. What does our definition of art reveal about our self image and worldview?
Public Domain Image via Pixabay
Experimental artist Max Glaser was born in Georgia, but makes his home in the fast paced reality of New York City. His work has been featured in several galleries and museums, including MoMA PS1 in Queens and the BOSI Gallery on the Upper East Side. He seeks to punch a hole in the fabric of modern life, which has become increasingly abstracted, full of people reacting to images of things rather than the things themselves. How do we regain contact with the natural, corporeal world?
The project described in this short film by Evan Harms is the carving of fifty thousand candles. The method Glaser uses? His teeth. At forty candles a day, he figures it will take a little less than three and half years to complete the project. During that time he will be chewing, spitting and biting into candle wax almost constantly. He says he can’t even imagine being able to stop. Can you imagine ingesting wax and wearing the enamel from your teeth?
Glaser asserts that art does little in the world. It doesn’t build bridges or feed hungry children. Or does it? I can think of many examples of art that does something useful: the works of Plastic Ocean Project, an organization which makes art from sea trash and uses the profits to fund research to make our oceans cleaner; the work of street artists, particularly those in Egypt and Libya, which contain messages that may put the artists at risk for persecution but encourage human beings living in unthinkable situations; the works of poets, novelists and photographers which reveal people that have been marginalized and tell their stories. Art can influence minds and produce change.
Does Glaser’s view strike you as cynical or full of self-loathing? Before you discount his project for those qualities, remember that art has always been a place for revealing all facets of the human being, including the darker ones. Surely one of the jobs of art is to reflect humanity in all its delight and vanity.
There must be at least as many definitions of art as there are human beings walking the Earth. Some believe that real art is without message, while others won’t consider anything that doesn’t have one. Debates rage over whether art should be representational or abstract. We require beauty, style, structure. Unfortunately, when we get so wrapped up in defining art it slips right past us, taking with it our potential for growth.
If the future looks dark, all you have to do is to find a candle and carry it with you. If it looks bright, the best thing to do is still to carry that candle, because the future can always create a different story. Always carry a candle by your side!
Lorna Fraser is a sculptor who takes her inspiration from gardens, imitating the structures of plants, including water lilies and various seedpods, in black and white ceramics. This medium allows her to fully explore the effects of light and shadow on her subjects “whilst also trying to capture their vulnerability and sensuality. (Lorna Fraser, website)” Her creations often combine textures and shapes from different plants to create fascinating hybrids. From spiny to knobbly to smooth, Fraser is enchanted by texture. She has exhibited her delightful work in Scotland and internationally. Enjoy her lovely personality in the video below.
Texture is most evident where dark meets light on the turning edge and at the outer edge. Experience has taught us to assume that the areas in between have similar features.
The rose shadows said that they loved the sun, but that they also loved the dark, where their roots grew through the lightless mystery of the earth. The roses said: You do not have to choose.
She did not know yet how sometimes people keep parts of themselves hidden and secret, sometimes wicked and unkind parts, but often brave or wild or colorful parts, cunning or powerful or even marvelous, beautiful parts, just locked up away at the bottom of their hearts. They do this because they are afraid of the world and of being stared at, or relied upon to do feats of bravery or boldness. And all of those brave and wild and cunning and marvelous and beautiful parts they hid away and left in the dark to grow strange mushrooms—and yes, sometimes those wicked and unkind parts, too—end up in their shadow.
― Catherynne M. Valente, The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There
Lover’s language, give me an exact and poetic comparison to say what those eyes of Capitu were like. No image comes to mind that doesn’t offend against the rules of good style, to say what they were and what they did to me. Undertow eyes? Why not? Undertow. That’s the notion that the new expression put in my head. They held some kind of mysterious, active fluid, a force that dragged one in, like the undertow of a wave retreating from the shore on stormy days. So as not to be dragged in, I held onto anything around them, her ears, her arms, her hair spread about her shoulders; but as soon as I returned to the pupils of her eyes again, the wave emerging from them grew towards me, deep and dark, threatening to envelop me, draw me in and swallow me up.
― Machado de Assis, Dom Casmurro
