All refined artists are lonely.
Whether a writer or a painter or a musician, at some point, loneliness settles in. And there’s need for peace: to think, to gather the thoughts and make observations to penetrate into the core of one’s subject.
An artist true to his heart is a lonely creature vaguely but surely destined to be different.
How is an artist born?
“By declaring him/herself the best artist in the world.”
You need one true statement about your determination. The truest sentence from your conscience; declared towards the sky, to the world, but spoken to your heart.
By doing this, while you’re true to your heart, you have something to keep up to and always labor towards to.
This almost is madness; stupefying and terrifying.
Question yourself: Are you the best artist in the world? No. And you may never be. But are you willing to do so and act as firmly to have tried which the outcome will never foretell until the time comes? Either yes or a no, it’s a tough choice.
So there you have it.
A dream. A goal. A hope. Whichever the name it may possess, take one.
– “It’s a start.”
From here on, it’s a constant Fear.
It’s a kind of fear with a definition much foreign to the soft-hearted. It cripples every time you remain idle. Not a day goes by without tasting it.
I taste it every day, night and dream. I am within it every moment; forget to eat, lose appetite at the dinner table. I am literally failing at eating these days. Because what I seek isn’t in nourishments.
They are in the books and words wise to the wisdom by those walked the road before.
Remaining idle means dying of dream, thereby an equal portion of death within one’s self. The embarkment which at the beginning promised to be the greatest, truest adventure of one’s life now remains ceased at complete stop.
This is how the daily imprisonment works on artist.
You remain idle long enough, you in a way die; both in and out.
Albert Camus (L’Étranger) and Jean P. Sartre (No Exist/ Nausea) shared in common the philosophy which I concord greatly: “one should fight constantly against the closing tide of social imprisonment of daily life. We need to escape the prison at all cost.” (Except Sartre wanted the prison exploded)
“I believe the only mechanism against the closing imprisonment is determination.”
(*After writing mindless to this point my rationale on whether to further this topic is at large. If you desire a normal and decent, gratifying life, be merry and be away from this part of life. As we humans remain reflective in essence however differ extensive in our definition of what life is and how life should be.
A Cup of Loneliness and Solitude For Adventurers?
After the above process of finding and being feared, out of determination and fear are ‘solitude‘ and ‘loneliness.’
Solitude: as mentioned, an artist requires solitude. He knows his way around to tame it. Solitude (*IMNSHO) is a span of time needed to be alone. It is required as a writer needs time to write, painters needs time to paint and musician needs time to compose. What good of solitude is it if one can’t enjoy the content by himself – as a wine owes to dust its centuries of quiet? It’s a time span of development. It’s voluntary, purely voluntary; also, natural, absolutely natural, as well.
Loneliness: as solitude requires peace and ‘me time’ and much more extensively as artist ripens in his understanding of himself. Loneliness is, shall I call, the most virgin part of artist no one can even dare to see. It is to him and only to him the path to its chamber. Loneliness shows and disappears but never leaves. Such a damning character hidden between entr’acte. It’s neither voluntary nor acquaintable, lest it be your favored emotion because it will slowly ugly you.
Loneliness comes and goes no sign to taxi or tolerance high enough to prevent it. Let it be a lodger in the corner of solitude. It will quietly take a nap and leave when the time is about.
What Makes a Good Artist?: ‘Honesty’ and ‘Truth.’
All good Artist are true to themselves.
They’re not afraid of the arrows of hatred pointed to them; rather, they’re always occupied with the thought of producing a work that isn’t true. To prevent them to the best of their abilities.
If the work is bad to them, then it’s a bad work. If the work is bad to the eyes of spectators but still shows characteristics of an honest work, then it’s an honest work which thereby falls as a good work.
Honest work doesn’t equal to a good work but it is the fundamental of what a good work requires.
Hence the question is: 1. Is your heart honest. 2: Is your work true.
If your heart is deep enough for the world and the work you produce contains the whole of it each time: “the world is waiting for you.” The world is your oyster; you can slide down, play with the pearl, be famed, and be gloried in books written by others.
An Amateur Tip to Be a Little More True About Your Work.
In order to do so just above: “You must want to write.”
This of course brings in the question of do you enjoy what you do?
I can’t fathom an artist whose talent is good but doesn’t like what he does and hopes to prevail over others.
If your heart isn’t in the process you can’t be certain at all the feelings which in the end reveals the voice of the artist, in this case: Your Voice.
The beautiful thing about an honest work is that regardless of the length of the time span which you revisit the following work, it still remains true as ever apart from the paradigm.
You may grow old and move on to the finer things in life but an honest work stays as is. And it is owed to your heart being in it along the passing years.
I have a blind belief in a saying: (Confession: Not a saying, I wrote it in one of the letters to: Mlle A…)
“If I have failed as a writer then I must have failed as a person. Therefore, I have failed in life. For a writer is a person who turns his life into words, as a form of his own, giving birth to his word.” -D.
In the end, it’s really just a few things:
- Tame your solitude;
- Be honest to yourself and true in your work;
- Fight the fear with determination.
- When in doubt, Google things.
That’s all I can say, except the last part.
Refuse to accept the fateful imprisonment.
Essay: How An Artist is Born.
– Fini –
© 2016 D.
(*Self-Note: Don’t drink while writing – that’s my practice)