See It and Weep?
(I recently found this piece of writing in my blog drafts. I'm not sure why I didn't publish it when I wrote it last May, but I'm posting it now in hopes that I and other artists will be reminded of why we must create. In a world filled with many distractions which seem more worthy of our attention, may it help to remember the higher purpose our art serves and celebrate the collectors and fans who recognize this. Happy New Year! )
I was painting in my studio one afternoon when I felt the buzz in my right hand rear pocket indicating an incoming call. The display read Victoria, British Columbia so I chose to take a break from my work and answer. The caller identified herself--she wasn't anyone I already knew--and told me she was looking at my website and crying. She added, "These are the good kind of tears, I think."
We chatted for awhile and I assured her that she was not alone in her tearful response to my work. One day last summer I arrived home from a walk in the woods to find a woman I'd met previously when she'd visited the Studio & Gallery with some friends. She'd come back and had arranged with Roo to purchase "The Color of Joy," the painting that had captured her attention the day before. When I congratulated her, she started crying. Later, Roo filled me on the back story of her purchase and I felt privileged to be a part of a profound healing process. And, yes, tears like hers, are also the "good kind of tears," and I always welcome them.
Yesterday, another visitor, an aspiring artist, stopped in to look at my work. As sometimes happens, I told her something about myself and how I view my art-making. While I was talking I could see her eyes filling with tears. I don't know if this is typical for other artists, but I'm not unaccustomed to this kind of weeping, the kind that signals an intuitive connection has been made.
I'm reminded of how when I was a church minister, people would, often tearfully, stand in the reception line after a service to tell me how the words I'd spoken were exactly what they needed to hear. Art buyers report that a painting "speaks" to them and somehow claims them. It's very curious. Toward the end of my days of doing church I did not write out my Sunday talks; I'd meditate and then see what came out of my mouth. As with my sermonizing, I don't paint with some desired effect in mind; I simply get in front of the canvas and something appears. It means a lot to me when words and paint seem to connect with a receptive person--it seems to confirm that I'm doing my job.
What exactly is that job? I'm not sure I can articulate my understanding very well, but I believe it has something to do with allowing Something More than me communicate something needful through my intuitive actions. I believe my art serves a spiritual purpose in the world. "My" paintings aren't mine at all; instead, they have a destiny to fulfill that's a joy and responsibility to facilitate. People often remark that I'm such a good marketer of my artwork; what they don't realize is that I simply do what the job requires: I show my work so the people it's intended to reach can see it.
My words and paintings probably won't save the world, but there's some evidence that, like the birds that flew into my art almost 7 years ago(!!!), they are intuitive messengers of hope and healing for a troubled world. It's my prayer they give individuals with "ears to hear and eyes to see" a bit of insight and joy to help them save themselves. Does anyone have a tissue?
Happy Spring!
Ellie
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