The End of Hope (part 6)
We must remember that in the very end of the matter we do not get to “pick” our particular expression of beauty. We are subject to era and experience, and frankly the availability of our class. What tools are available depend on when and where.
If you are born to a working class midwest family your options are different. Even with a father who poked around with music as a teen, there may not be any encouragement or development of artistic skill or talent. One is left to what is innate.
Something begins to emerge. It could be the paintbrush, the pencil, pop radio, fashion. #ChooseYourWeapon
Some expression begins to make sense to a young man or woman. It just does. Which one emerges we clearly do not pick, we discover. There is already an appetite.
Without familial support a young person in such a place has only the deep sense of longing to connect with. There is no shaping of a mentor, or fluency of the medium. It is simply gut-level determination to translate pain somehow through a medium.
But that is enough. It is enough grit to get through the many layers of self confidence issues and start-up posturing. The desire and love for that medium simply trumps all fears, and usually at an age when we are to dumb to fear anyway.
We jump into the thing because it almost feels like we have to. The escape we get out of that release is almost intoxicating. It strongly pulls us back in, time and time again. Those truly “in” forget to think about anything else.
There is no marketing plan. There is no long-range thoughts at all. It is simply the present freedom in doing the thing we love, especially in the late teens, early 20’s.
If not thought of as a burden of discipline, art can be a drug.
In the good sense. Creating art does give us a release. It is satisfying. It does feel good. It is intended to. We are actually to love and enjoy it before anyone else. We are actually to like the art and music we create. Really!
That’s ultimately the point: to enjoy the creative process yes but more so to create the thing (sound, color, gadget, etc.) we are envisioning. We see or hear something that embodies the art form for us. We are completely captivated by it. We immerse ourselves in it. We listen or watch it over and over. We are transformed by its imagery and sound. We run the risk at first of imitation when we start. Our master’s work is so fundamental to us. But that’s where it must start.
Eventually we begin to find our voice, somewhere in the midst of our context, our inner passion and drive, and what is at our disposal to use. We are compelled to write. We start and have no idea what is coming out, but “it” is coming out!
Something is flowing out of us, something beautiful and compelling. We can not be “fans” at first because it is so new. We can gaze at it like looking at a newborn, but we can’t “know” it, not yet. It’s not completely ours after all. It has a Father!