Are we not productive in our society when we gather fabric through threads of love and prepare cuisine from thoughtful taste? I regard this creative waste with a fervor of discontent. Why does showing our fangs not represent the nature of our beast in a grandiose and meritorious way? It may have been the fixation of money that was cloaked as lifestyle in our subliminal rearing. Oh yes, the moral high ground was preached to disregard the lust of coin in search of spiritual enlightenment. Easier said than done comes to mind when expressing this thought to my own children.
"Do what you love in life without concern for money." These words exude guilt as I smile and clinch my teeth. I know what I say is a lie, since few blessed souls find content in their pursuit of a life. So many end their years with "what ifs" and regrets that maybe the advice should be to keep our mouths shut.
Do what you do and hope for the best. In
doing what we do, artists for centuries have been agonizing the sacrifices of
self. The self that is driven to paint, to write, to bake, to craft is socially
outnumbered by the self that is driven to eat, to pay bills, to support a
family, and pursue a lifestyle.
I
chance that Matisse was given a gift of illness that stonched his law career
before it burdened him into a life of remorse. His loss was our gain. Did
Picasso's uninhabital world haunt his dreams of riches and choice? Brassai
photographed the night and wrote about the day. I venture to say that the
journalist was in pursuit of his vision.
What
have you hidden behind a curtain of responsibility? "If you knew that you would
die today? If you saw the face of God and love? Would you change?" are Tracey
Chapman's words. Would you change? Would you rip off the ties of fear and seek
your vision? Would you pursue an unacceptable passion, regarded as a luxury not
afforded by your life?
Do
you have the guts to show the world who you are? "I am an artist", you could
say, and ponder the statement with a smile.