My brain, such as was afforded me by my forebears, has a certain penchant for forgetting to write, hence the extraordinary passing of time since my last entry. I have often thought about the merits of a routine, and how convenient it would be to follow said routine, writing this day, riding that, and so on, but it seems that the more I am in need of this mythic structure in my life, the harder it is to find.
I have been awake for a total of 14 hours, most of which were spent at work, or in transit, but I am just now sitting down with tea, listening to Coltrane, and writing here, all of which I should have started my day with. I believe most people, myself included, frequently do not know how to say YES to themselves, instead opting for a resounding OK or I GUESS to life and obsolete necessity, leaving them with nothing more than a false sense of accomplishment and worth, only to begin again the next half-satisfying day. I'm generally a positive and content person, but find myself faced with the fact that merely putting words to this backlit, electronic page means more to me than most of what I happened to accomplish otherwise today.
Most of this malcontent happens to stem from the bitter, hopefully temporary, reality that my career of choice only presents itself in a practical, lifelong reality for a select few on this planet. To be blessed with the opportunity to create for a living, to entertain, to love, to give those who are willing to listen every single artistic breath you have available, and be handsomely, or even fairly rewarded for such an act, is all but nonexistent in our society. In truth, I believe that to actually appreciate even the mere possibility of working toward such a life, one must find themselves lost in the thicket of pedestrian, everyday life, swimming in bills, working harder than they think possible, and all along the way, finding some time for themselves and their loved ones. How can someone learn to be give of themselves in the name of art if they can't manage everyday life in a simple, meaningful manner?
Considering the plight of the artist (one that I am sure has been philosophically beleaguered far to many times, yet poses a fantastic set of questions for myself specifically, and applies gracefully to the whole of humanity), I believe that this balance that we search for in everyday life is absolutely essential, and we can no more escape it than can we escape our fundamental need to create something permanent beyond ourselves. For example, although it seems desirable to abandon the daily activities that don't present any immediately obvious place of meaning in our lives, it is precisely these somewhat banal and tedious events that inform our decision-making process when creating something meaningful or lasting.
I wrote a little on this topic a few years ago that would suit this post, so I think I will end with that to conclude this train of thought.
"Revelation! One part art history (beginning with Ward-Steinman’s Analogs), another part personal experience and contemplation, and yet another part Herman Hesse, I feel energized in the most deeply affecting manner. Man’s gasping, continuous struggle with his tumbling procession toward an untimely demise is at the very root of all artistic endeavor; the reason that exists and continues to exist as a universal purveyor of character, love, feeling, and experience. Yet, as experience informs our character, shaping the notes we play, the words we choose, or the colors we apply to the canvas, we can never exist on the same plane as these things we create. Life is evolution, and as Hesse so eloquently poses, life is eternally “trickling away, changing constantly, until we finally dissolve,” but our artistic output remains unchangeable the same. Our tireless devotion to the creation of art springs forth from our need to leave behind an unchanging product of our changing spirit, wrought from love and fear of death, from the experiences we’ve had and yet to have. These sounds, words, and images we leave for the next generations to learn from and posture on are not subject to human joys and ills (which we can neither express properly or cure entirely), yet without these undeniable conditions, would not exist at all. It is our final aim to carve out of stone the innately human self that will eventually be lost, only a memory to those who will eventually be lost as well, and so on for eternity."
