Last night I watched a little of the Lifetime story about Georgia O'Keeffe. In spite of the fact that I only saw about half of it, the movie still managed to inspire. Two lines, for example, especially resonated with me. The first, was when O'Keefe stated that she saw her whole life in every empty canvas.
I SO get that.
A blank piece of paper (or computer screen) can definitely have the same effect. Life experiences, collected and neatly filed away, somehow clutter every inch of space. Every encouragement, criticism, inspiration, and doubt are present in the glaring emptiness of the unblemished page. There is a trick, I think, to making that first (and second) stroke, some combination of ignoring and embracing that lifts the chin, trains the eye, steadies the hand.
But maybe all that's just another way of saying it takes guts to begin and even more to keep going.
In the movie, O'Keeffe's husband said, "Work doesn't become art until somebody buys it!" That sounds superficial because there is obviously more value in art than any price tag (great or small) ever reflects, but I had just been thinking about the reciprocal nature of art when he uttered that line and it seemed to make a lot of sense.
I was reminded of the old riddle..."If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?" Scientifically speaking, of course, the vibration that a falling tree generates is only categorized as sound when it's received and has an impact on some creature's ear. Pressure waves exist and do their thing regardless of the audience, but "sound" is a term of perception. Sound must be sensed.
It seems like art is kind of like that too. It's a communication that wants to be received. Work that isn't seen is like a voice that isn't heard. So maybe work really doesn't become art until someone values it, invests in it, finds a place for it in their life or soul. Maybe it's only then that the cycle is complete.
Only then does some lonely percussion become the inspiration for others to dance.
