Thursday, September 06, 2007
That thing which bends time
I have been drawing in some capacity since childhood. It was always something I did, but rarely the focus of any concerted effort on my part. My time was spent playing football and basketball, riding bikes and burning time just hanging around. Art was there, it was an interest, but not the interest. Even now, I would say art's potential as a means of expressing myself is more interesting to me than art in and of itself, if that makes any sense. It would be fair to say that I am not a student of art for art's sake. My knowledge of art and art history are fairly limited. By most standards, I am fairly ignorant where art is concerned. But my ignorance is inconsequential to me, as I am not interested in being an historian or an afficionado. I am aware of and admire the masters for their technical prowess, sense and style, or their scale, but I could not walk into a museum and lead a tour or give a dissertation on any given period or movement. In fact, I probably know just slightly more than any other 'layperson'.
And I'm fine with that. Obviously, I will have to learn some of those names and attain a better understanding of art's evolution through history to be an effective instructor, but history is only as valuable as its application in the present. In the case of art, artists become preoccupied with being new or making a name for themselves as the next big thing. I think of modern art and its historical significance seems highly dubious. Where is the passion of Michelangelo or the inquisitive power of Da Vinci? Where is the introspective, existential energy? It is being spent in pursuit of different, edgy, or some other adjective. As it is in society, so it is in art, the superficial and even the banal win out over substance. Art's greatest power is in its work as social commentary and as a chronicle of the day's sociology. I suppose modern art functions well in this capacity.
The conscious awareness of my love for the creative process came relatively late for me, but I can remember a time when creating art, drawing specifically, used to consume most of my spare time as a matter of course. I did not recognize it at the time, but I was most certainly in love with the act of picture making. During a break from class this evening, I had a conversation with the prof and a couple of other students about passion and its role in life, particularly in careers. At some point, I was reminded of a day in my youth when drawing literally consumed an entire day without me ever being aware of time's passing. What I was drawing is lost to me now, but I do remember laying down in front of a blank sketchbook page and beginning to draw.
It was probably sometime in the late morning when I started, maybe 10 or 11am. As I said, I can't remember the subject matter, or even if I liked the work, but I do remember losing a significant part of the day to graphite and paper. My mind was completely unaware of time. Hours may well have been minutes and I wouldn't have known the difference. By the time I came back to reality the outside world was dark and the house was full of artificial light. I remember feeling vaguely disoriented, but not particularly aware of what had just happened. In sacrificing most of a day to what I considered a pastime then, I set the stage for where I am today. I had no idea at the time, but I had already been fully engaged in my passion for years by that time. Where I would rather be playing football or basketball, my heart was elsewhere. Maybe that made it easier to quit football tryouts in my Freshman year of high school or to refuse a tryout with the East Lake basketball team. Or maybe I was not ever good enough at those things to have had a chance to make either team. At this point, it is irrelevant, as I had already found the thing that allowed me to break free of time's prison.
Given the finite nature of our breath and bodies, what more can any of us ask for?
----------------
Now playing: Janis Joplin - Summertime
via FoxyTunes
Read or Post a Comment
<< Home