art as a translation of suffering
a reflection
I was talking with my friend Mark about the onslaught of existential forces pushing against artists in our present moment. it’s questions like:
will our careers be subsumed by simulated/AI folk singers, trained on our music and owned by some MegaCorp?
will people, more and more, prefer an individuated consumer experience of screens over the wonderful evening in-gathering of people for a concert?
are we supposed to be making viral clips or full length albums? or singles? or youtube tutorials?? or hair care product placements??? or all of them????
the conversation turned towards things we can hold onto, things to keep us rooted, knowing the wind will do what the wind will do.
I can take what I’ve been given in life, in love, in family, in music, and I can plant it in the soil of work and time, and I can share it. I can do what I can with what I have.
I can’t know if the winds of consumer culture will scorch the little artists and make our small holdings unlivable. I can’t plan for that. I can’t know if the proliferation of fast-food/corn syrup style music will be a boon for us, driving people to crave and search out the music that is made from a slower, more rooted place. (this is a spectrum of course, not an indictment)
and if the seed of my life, and of my words & music, is good, then I hope it will bear good fruit in the lives and hearts and minds of others, and hopefully enough to earn a return for my work, and a living for my family.
our talk turned towards great albums that are like that—that flow out of the artist’s life (and have a long shelf-life).
of course, great songwriting, singing, production, players, etc, are all part of it… but something consistent behind the most memorable albums is a story. great albums are often nested in story—maybe it’s the story of a song, or maybe the process of creating the album. often, it’s the story of some struggle.
but it’s more than a concept album, more than a gimmick, or a marketing strategy.
the art becomes the embodiment of the story.
great art takes our human suffering
and transmutes it into something beautiful1art dignifies existence
and great art dignifies our existence.
this seems like part of why people resonate widely with great works of art. when I see a painter like Mark Maggiori with his landscapes and cloudscapes, the beauty isn’t only the painting itself. there is also beauty in witnessing the masterful and inspired hand of an artist transforming oil and canvas into a transporting image. it invites us to feel small and breathe in the scent of wet sagebrush. it draws us into wonder and into contemplating that, like Maggiori, we were also given two hands…
maybe we won’t paint. that’s fine.
but how might we take our bit of earth, our cast of people, and with our hands help to transform it (and with love, them) into something good, something beautiful?
some have suggested that Jesus was recognized as messiah by some of his own because he embodied the story of his people. as Jacob’s family went into Egypt during a time of famine, so did Jesus’ family flee to Egypt during the murder of the innocents after he was born—as Abraham took his son to be a sacrifice, so did God the Father give Jesus to be an offering—as Joshua and the people crossed the Jordan River as they came into the Promised Land, so did Jesus go to the Jordan to be baptized before undertaking a spiritual conquest of the same land…
Jesus identified with the story of his people. he entered into their experience and pain. and even as he experienced rejection, betrayal, and physical torture, he took it all and stretched out his hands and made of himself an offering.
Christ is not good art, per se—but perhaps our greatest art partakes of his cruciform love and and of his forgiveness while suffering.
greater love has no man than this—than he lay down his life for his friends
when we embody our stories, our lives, and our suffering through our art—our transformation of pain into beauty—we give like Jesus gave.
his is an invitation for us to meditate on and live into as people, and as artists.
Q: what if anything does this stir in you? make you think of? make you wanna do?
thanks for being here. I write weekly sharing poetry, songs, musings, thoughts on creative life, and hopefully some encouragement… my first collection of poetry, Snowmelt to Roots, is available in my shop, (or on Amazon). and my music is available here.
tour info is here.
peace,
Z
or meaningful
This is a bit tangential, but one thing it stirs in me is the very recent memory of a message I sent to a musician I've never personally met. Of many songs he's created and I've loved, one stands out in my life. I refer to this particular song as "my calming song." Whenever I am stressed or hit by anxiety, this song soothes me like nothing else. It takes me outside of myself and my difficulties. It has become possibly my favorite song ever. I never tire of hearing it, and it's one of those songs that, whenever the opening melody plays, my heart skips a beat like my soulmate just walked into the room.
I'm a burgeoning visual artist, so I personally love to know that what I create resonates with people, which was part of my motivation for reaching out. I wanted him to know that his creation is so dearly loved. My goal was to share some encouragement that what he's created, what he's still got inside him left to create, is so very important to the world. To thank him for making my world more beautiful.
I think that it's easy, as people who create, to focus on something we want to communicate, in hopes that it will resonate with someone in a similar fashion. The interesting thing is that I don't believe the song I've referenced was necessarily created with the intention of becoming what it became to me. One of the most fascinating things for me to ponder is the idea that every individual experiences everything in the world differently. I could produce a painting meant to convey something specific from my heart, but my particular use of color or blending, or even some small accent or detail included on a whim, could be the very thing that draws someone else in. They may completely disregard my intended message, but still be affected deeply by the piece.
Art, indeed, embodies stories. In a fluid, living, breathing sort of way, it embodies the stories not only of its creator, but of any who encounter it after completion. In an odd way, this encourages me to put aside my propensity for perfectionism, because no matter what I attempt to convey, the receiver will receive through the filter of their own heart and experiences. It gives me a sense of freedom to simply create and communicate, in hopes that what's meant to land will do so - wherever and however it's meant to. In hopes that it in some way enriches the world around me.
Wow... thanks for getting my gears turning this morning! :)