If you have an idea you’re excited about and you don’t bring it to life, it’s not uncommon for the idea to find its voice through another maker. This isn’t because the other artist stole your idea, but because the idea’s time has come.
In this great unfolding, ideas and thoughts, themes and songs and other works of art exist in the aether and ripen on schedule, ready to find expression in the physical world.
We are all translators for messages the universe is broadcasting.
The best artists tend to be the ones with the most sensitive antennae to draw in the energy resonating at a particular moment.
energetic more than tactile, intuitively perceived more than consciously recorded.
Practicing a way of being that allows you to see the world through uncorrupted, innocent eyes can free you to act in concert with the universe’s timetable.
There’s a time for certain ideas to arrive, and they find a way to express themselves through us.
To the mind, this material appears to come from within. But that’s an illusion. There are tiny fragments of the vastness of Source stored within us. These precious wisps arise from the unconscious like vapor, and condense to form a thought. An idea.
If something strikes me as interesting or beautiful, first I live that experience. Only afterward might I attempt to understand it.
The ability to look deeply is the root of creativity. To see past the ordinary and mundane and get to what might otherwise be invisible.
By conventional definition, the purpose of art is to create physical and digital artifacts. To fill shelves with pottery, books, and records.
The world of reason can be narrow and filled with dead ends, while a spiritual viewpoint is limitless and invites fantastic possibilities. The unseen world is boundless.
Faith allows you to trust the direction without needing to understand it.
If a piece of work, a fragment of consciousness, or an element of nature is somehow allowing us to access something bigger, that is its spiritual component made manifest. It awards us a glimpse of the unseen.
When looking for a solution to a creative problem, pay close attention to what’s happening around you. Look for clues pointing to new methods or ways to further develop current ideas.
The more open you are, the more clues you will find and the less effort you’ll need to exert.
Look for what you notice but no one else sees.
We can decide to take three slow, deep breaths upon awakening each morning. This simple act can set a course to start each day still, centered, and in the moment.
Take a daily walk in nature, looking at everything entering our field of vision with gratitude and connection.
there’s an endless amount of data available to us and we have a limited bandwidth to conserve, we might consider carefully curating the quality of what we allow in.
The objective is not to learn to mimic greatness, but to calibrate our internal meter for greatness. So we can better make the thousands of choices that might ultimately lead to our own great work.
The world is constantly changing, so no matter how often we practice paying attention, there will always be something new to notice.
The person who makes something today isn’t the same person who returns to the work tomorrow.
Ultimately, it doesn’t make a difference whether your content originates on the inside or the outside. If a beautiful thought or phrase comes to mind, or if you see a beautiful sunset, one’s not better than the other. Both are equally beautiful in different ways.
There’s great wisdom in transitional realms between wakefulness and sleep.
it’s better to follow the universe than those around you.
If a creator is so afraid of judgment that they’re unable to move forward, it might be that the desire to share the work isn’t as strong as the desire to protect themselves. Perhaps art isn’t their role. Their temperament might serve a different pursuit. This path is not for everyone. Adversity is part of the process.
The mission is to complete the project so you can move on to the next.
some things are too important to be taken seriously.
Another approach to overcoming insecurities is to label them.
the Buddhist concept of papancha, which translates as preponderance of thoughts. This speaks to the mind’s tendency to respond to our experiences with an avalanche of mental chatter.
your desire to create must be greater than your fear of it.
By accepting self-doubt, rather than trying to eliminate or repress it, we lessen its energy and interference.
The imperfections you’re tempted to fix might prove to be what make the work great. And sometimes not. We rarely know what makes a piece great.
In Japanese pottery, there’s an artful form of repair called kintsugi. When a piece of ceramic pottery breaks, rather than trying to restore it to its original condition, the artisan accentuates the fault by using gold to fill the crack. This beautifully draws attention to where the work was broken, creating a golden vein. Instead of the flaw diminishing the work, it becomes a focal point, an area of both physical and aesthetic strength. The scar also tells the story of the piece, chronicling its past experience. We can apply this same technique to ourselves and embrace our imperfections. Whatever insecurities we have can be reframed as a guiding force in our creativity. They only become a hindrance when they prevent our ability to share what’s closest to our heart.
Distraction is not procrastination. Procrastination consistently undermines our ability to make things. Distraction is a strategy in service of the work.
Sometimes disengaging is the best way to engage.
Nothing begins with us. The more we pay attention, the more we begin to realize that all the work we ever do is a collaboration.
It’s a collaboration with the art that’s come before you and the art that will come after. It’s also a collaboration with the world you’re living in. With the experiences you’ve had. With the tools you use. With the audience. And with who you are today.
it is impossible for anyone to experience your work as you do, or as anyone else does.
A painting is just a painting until you put a frame on it and hang it on the wall, then it’s called art.
What is true is that you are never alone when you’re making art. You are in a constant dialogue with what is and what was, and the closer you can tune in to that discussion, the better you can serve the work before you.
Our thoughts, feelings, processes, and unconscious beliefs have an energy that is hidden in the work.
An intention is more than a conscious purpose, it’s the congruence of that purpose. It requires an alignment of all aspects of one’s self.
If we are a clear channel, our intention reflects the intention of the cosmos. Most creators think of themselves as the conductor of the orchestra. If we zoom out of our small view of reality, we function more as an instrumentalist in a much larger symphony the universe is orchestrating.
magnum opus
if ever do we know the grand intention, yet if we surrender to the creative impulse, our singular piece of the puzzle takes its proper shape. Intention is all there is. The work is just a reminder.
The rules artists learn are different. They are assumptions, not absolutes. They describe a goal or method for short-term or long-term results. They are there to be tested. And they are only of value as long as they are helpful.
Rules direct us to average behaviors. If we’re aiming to create works that are exceptional, most rules don’t apply.
The goal is not to fit in. If anything, it’s to amplify the differences, what doesn’t fit, the special characteristics unique to how you see the world.
The reason to make art is to innovate and self-express, show something new, share what’s inside, and communicate your singular perspective.
Art is confrontation.
Embedded in each medium, there are sets of norms that restrain our work before we’ve even begun.
The templates of the past can be an inspiration in the beginning phases, but it’s helpful to think beyond what’s been done before. The world isn’t waiting for more of the same.
the most innovative ideas come from those who master the rules to such a degree that they can see past them or from those who never learned them at all.
Be aware of any assumptions based on conventional wisdom. Rules obeyed unconsciously are far stronger than the ones set on purpose. And they are more likely to undermine the work.
Sometimes a formula has diminishing returns. Other times, we don’t recognize that the formula is only a small aspect of what gives the work its charge. It’s helpful to continually challenge your own process. If you had a good result using a specific style, method, or working condition, don’t assume that is the best way. Or your way. Or the only way. Avoid getting religious about it. There may be other strategies that work just as well and allow new possibilities, directions, and opportunities.
Holding every rule as breakable is a healthy way to live as an artist. It loosens constraints that promote a predictable sameness in our working methods.
Any rule is worth testing, be it conscious or unconscious.
Challenge your assumptions and methods. You might find a better way. And even if it’s not better, you’ll learn from the experience.
Beware of the assumption that the way you work is the best way simply because it’s the way you’ve done it before.
Examine your methods and consider what the opposite would be. What would balance the scales?
For every rule followed, examine the possibility that the opposite might be similarly interesting.
Many of us experience life as if we’re taking it in through a pair of headphones. We strip away the full register. We hear information, but don’t detect the subtler vibrations of feeling in the body. When you practice listening with the whole self, you expand the scope of your consciousness to include vast amounts of information otherwise missed, and discover more material to feed your art habit.
Formulating an opinion is not listening. Neither is preparing a response, or defending our position or attacking another’s. To listen impatiently is to hear nothing at all.
Listening without prejudice is how we grow and learn as people.
Listening, then, is not just awareness. It’s freedom from accepted limitations.
The artist actively works to experience life slowly, and then to re-experience the same thing anew.
To read slowly, and to read and read again.
Re-reading even a well-understood paragraph or page can be revelatory. New meanings, deeper understandings, inspirations, and nuances arise and come into focus.
There are those who approach the opportunities of each day like crossing items off a to-do list instead of truly engaging and participating with all of themselves.
Patience is developed much like awareness. Through an acceptance of what is. Impatience is an argument with reality. The desire for something to be different from what we are experiencing in the here and now.
If there is a rule to creativity that’s less breakable than the others, it’s that the need for patience is ever-present.
The AI followed the fixed rules, not the millennia of accepted cultural norms attached to them. It didn’t take into account the three-thousand-year-old traditions and conventions of Go. It didn’t accept the narrative of how to properly play this game. It wasn’t held back by limiting beliefs.
Beginner’s mind is starting from a pure childlike place of not knowing. Living in the moment with as few fixed beliefs as possible. Seeing things for what they are as presented. Tuning in to what enlivens us in the moment instead of what we think will work. And making our decisions accordingly. Any preconceived ideas and accepted conventions limit what’s possible.
Innocence brings forth innovation.
Experience provides wisdom to draw from, but it tempers the power of naivete.
The past can be a teacher, offering tried and true methods, familiarity with the standards of the craft, awareness of potential risks, and in some cases virtuosity. It lures us into a pattern that absolves us of the opportunity to engage innocently with the task at hand.
experience doesn’t rule out innovation, it can make it more difficult to access.
The great artists throughout history are the ones able to maintain this childlike enthusiasm and exuberance naturally.
Try to experience everything as if for the first time.
Strip away the labels.
As artists, we aim to live in a way in which we see the extraordinary hidden in the seemingly mundane.
The word comes from the Latin—inspirare, meaning to breathe in or blow into. For the lungs to draw in air, they must first be emptied. For the mind to draw inspiration, it wants space to welcome the new.
To create space for inspiration, we might consider practices of quieting the mind: meditation, awareness, silence, contemplation, prayer, any ritual that helps us fend off distraction and papancha.
To vary your inspiration, consider varying your inputs. Turn the sound off to watch a film, listen to the same song on repeat, read only the first word of each sentence in a short story, arrange stones by size or color, learn to lucid dream.
Break habits. Look for differences. Notice connections.
Train yourself to see the awe behind the obvious.
Ride the wave as long as it can be ridden. If you are fortunate enough to experience the strike of inspiration, take full advantage of the access. Remain in the energy of this rarefied moment for as long as it lasts. When flowing, keep going.
A full, imperfect version is generally more helpful than a seemingly perfect fragment.
Think of inspiration as a force not immune to the laws of entropy.
The way we do anything is the way we do everything. Treat each choice you make, each action you take, each word you speak with skillful care.
looking at sunlight before screenlight, meditating (outdoors if possible), exercising, and showering in cold water before beginning creative time in a suitable space.
The more you reduce your daily life-maintenance tasks, the greater the bandwidth available for creative decisions. Albert Einstein wore the same thing daily: a gray suit. Erik Satie had seven identical outfits, one for each day of the week.
Limit your practical choices to free your creative imagination.
Mistaking adopted rules for absolute truths.
Create an environment where you’re free to express what you’re afraid to express.
Having a specific vision of what a seed will become could serve as a helpful guide in later phases. In this initial stage, it may cut off more interesting possibilities.
Placing too much emphasis on a seed or dismissing it prematurely can interfere with its natural growth.
Be wary of taking shortcuts or crossing items off your list too quickly. The seed that doesn’t get watered cannot reveal its ability to bear fruit.
Collect many seeds and then, over time, look back and see which ones resonate. Sometimes we’re too close to them to recognize their true potential, and other times the magical moment that inspired a seed into existence is bigger than the seed itself.
Sometimes the purpose of a seed is to propel us in a completely new direction. Along the way, it may morph into something hardly resembling its original form and become our finest work yet.
The work reveals itself as you go.
The heart of experiment is mystery. We cannot predict where a seed will lead or if it will take root. Remain open to the new and unknown. Begin with a question mark and embark on a journey of discovery.
Allow the seed to follow its own path toward the sun. The time to discriminate will come later. For now, allow space for magic to enter.
Give some attention to each seed, regardless of what you believe its potential may be, and look for a beautiful response.
Being open to possibility gets you to a place you want to go that you may not know you wanted to get to.
If you know what you want to do and you do it, that’s the work of a craftsman. If you begin with a question and use it to guide an adventure of discovery, that’s the work of the artist.
Base decisions on the internal feeling of being moved and notice what holds your interest. This will always be in the greatest service of the work.
Failure is the information you need to get where you’re going.
In creating art, the sum total of the parts often defies expectation.
Theory and practice don’t always line up. The formula that worked yesterday might not work tomorrow. The proven solutions are sometimes the least helpful.
There is a gap between imagination and reality.
To dismiss an idea because it doesn’t work in your mind is to do a disservice to the art. The only way to truly know if any idea works is to test it. And if you’re looking for the best idea, test everything.
Ask yourself as many “what if” questions as you can. What if this were the first painting anyone saw in their life? What if I removed every adverb? What if I made all the loud parts quiet? Look for different polarities and see how they affect the piece.
Instead of talking through different solutions to work out which is best, take it out of the realm of the verbal. To truly weigh choices, it’s necessary to bring them into the physical world. Have them acted out, played out, or built into a model. Descriptions do not do ideas justice.
Give yourself permission to be wrong and experience the joy of being surprised.
Allow the work to grow in the direction it seeks, evolve in accordance with its natural state, and have its own life.
Enjoy the journey of cycling through all permutations to reveal a work’s true form.
Taking a wrong turn allows you to see landscapes you wouldn’t otherwise have seen.
There may indeed be times when our mental conception of a piece translates almost directly into the physical realm. At other times, it’s an unrealistic idealized version. And sometimes, our vision for the work is a goal to work toward, and in the process we come to learn we’ll reach a new and unexpected destination.
Falling short of grander visions might actually put the work exactly where it wants to be. Do not let the scale of your imagination get in the way of executing a more practical version of your project. We may come to realize that this version is better than the initial, seemingly impossible vision.
The more of the work you can see, the easier it becomes to gracefully place the final details clearly where they belong.
Art is choosing to do something skillfully, caring about the details, bringing all of yourself to make the finest work you can. It is beyond ego, vanity, self-glorification, and need for approval.
The Beatles were inspired by American rock and roll, artists like Chuck Berry and the Shirelles. But when they played, it was different. It wasn’t different because they wanted it to be so. It was different because they were different. And the world responded. There are countless examples of imitation turning into legitimate innovation. Having a romanticized vision of an artist, genre, or tradition may allow you to create something new, because you see it from a different perspective than those closer to it. Sergio Leone’s Spaghetti Westerns are abstract psychedelic mythology compared with the American Westerns of the 1940s and ’50s that he hoped to mirror. It’s impossible to imitate another artist’s point of view. We can only swim in the same waters. So feel free to copy the works that inspire you on the road to finding your own voice. It’s a time-tested tradition.
It’s a symbiotic loop. The culture informs who you are. And who you are informs your work. Your work then feeds back into the culture.
Turning off the lights and playing in the dark can create a shift in consciousness and break the chain of sameness from performance to performance.
Once you feel a project is close to completion, it can be helpful to open the work to other perspectives. The primary aim is not to receive notes or opinions. This is your work, your expression. You are the only audience that matters. The intention is for you to experience the work anew.
We’re not necessarily looking for an outside perspective. We are more interested in widening our own.
If you’ve truly created an innovative work, it’s likely to alienate as many people as it attracts. The best art divides the audience. If everyone likes it, you probably haven’t gone far enough.
The work is done when you feel it is.
When the last chapter is about to end, we may create excuses to put off the completion of the work. It can be a sudden loss of faith in the project. Deciding it’s no longer good enough. We find flaws that don’t really exist. We make inconsequential changes. We sense the distant mirage of some better creative option that hasn’t been discovered yet. And if only we just keep working, it might arrive someday. When you believe the work before you is the single piece that will forever define you, it’s difficult to let it go. The urge for perfection is overwhelming. It’s too much. We are frozen, and sometimes end up convincing ourselves that discarding the entire work is the only way to move forward. The only art the world gets to enjoy is from creators who’ve overcome these hurdles and released their work. Perhaps still greater artists existed than the ones we know, but they were never able to make this leap.
Releasing a work into the world becomes easier when we remember that each piece can never be a total reflection of us, only a reflection of who we are in this moment.
In an environment where nothing is permanent, we produce static artifacts. Mementos of spirit. We hope they’ll live forever, holding resonance through each passing decade. Some might, many won’t. It’s impossible to know. We can only keep building.
When making art, the audience comes last. Let’s not consider how a piece will be received or our release strategy until the work is finished and we love it.
There are forever changes to be made. There is no right version. Every work of art is simply an iteration.
One of the greatest rewards of making art is our ability to share it. Even if there is no audience to receive it, we build the muscle of making something and putting it out into the world. Finishing our work is a good habit to develop.
If we live in a mindset of scarcity, we hoard great ideas.
When we use our material, new content comes through. And the more we share, the more our skills improve.
Choosing to live in scarcity leads to stagnation. If we work on one project forever, we never get to make another. The fear of drought and the impulse for perfectionism prevent us from moving on and block the river’s flow.
A musician may delay releasing an album for fear they haven’t taken the songs as far as they can go. Yet an album is only a diary entry of a moment of time, a snapshot reflection of who the artist is for that period. And no one diary entry is our life story.
Our life’s work is far greater than any individual container. The works we do are at most chapters. There will always be a new chapter, and another after that.
To assume there was a golden period and you’re past it is only true if you accept that premise. Putting your best effort in at each moment, in each chapter, is all we can ever hope to accomplish.
The recognition of abundance fills us with hope that our brightest ideas still await us and our greatest work is yet to come. We are able to live in an energized state of creative momentum, free to make things, let them go, make the next thing, and let it go.
Complete as many elements of the project as you can without getting hung up. It’s much easier to circle back once the workload is reduced.
Much of the artistic process involves ignoring rules, letting go of rules, undermining rules, and rooting out rules that we didn’t know we were following.
Novel problems lead to original solutions.
Whatever you choose, decide on a framework that breaks your normal rhythm and see where it leads. Just by the nature of the limitations you set, the work will be different from what you’ve done before. It is of little importance whether it’s better. The purpose is self-discovery.
the decision to limit your work to the familiar is a disservice to both yourself and your audience. The energy of wonder and discovery can get lost when treading the same ground over and over again.
The more formulaic your creation is, the more it hugs the shore of what’s been popular, the less like art it’s likely to be.
There is no more valid metric to predict what someone else might enjoy than us liking it ourselves.
Success occurs in the privacy of the soul.
Success has nothing to do with variables outside yourself.
Our calling is to make beautiful works to the best of our ability. Sometimes they will be applauded or rewarded, sometimes not. If we second-guess our inner knowing to attempt to predict what others may like, our best work will never appear.
If we can tune in to the idea of making things and sharing them without being attached to the outcome, the work is more likely to arrive in its truest form.
The outcome is not the outcome. The darkness is not an end point, nor is the daylight. They live in a continually unfolding, mutually dependent cycle. Neither is bad or good. They simply exist.
never assuming an experience you have is the whole story—will support you in a life of open possibility and equanimity.
Zoom in and obsess. Zoom out and observe. We get to choose.
Be aware of strong responses. If you’re immediately turned off by an experience, it’s worth examining why. Powerful reactions often indicate deeper wells of meaning. And perhaps by exploring them, you’ll be led to the next step on your creative path.
Art is about the maker. Its aim: to be an expression of who we are. This makes competition absurd.
You are creating the work that best represents you. Another artist is making the work that best represents them. The two cannot be measured against one another.
Being made happy by someone else’s best work, and then letting it inspire you to rise to the occasion, is not competition. It’s collaboration.
Think of self-competition as a quest for evolution. The object is not to beat our other work. It’s to move things forward and create a sense of progression. Growth over superiority.
Perfection is finally obtained not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there’s no longer anything to take away. —Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Generally our explanations are guesses. These vague hypotheticals become fixed in our minds as fact. We are interpretation machines, and this process of labeling and detaching is efficient but not accurate. We are the unreliable narrators of our own experience. So when an artist creates a work that comes together by an unseen hand, and the process is later analyzed, what we get is more storytelling. This is art history. Art reality is forever unknown.
We will never know a work’s true meaning. It’s helpful to remember that there are forces at work beyond our comprehension. Let’s make art, and let others make the stories.
We are dealing in a magic realm. Nobody knows why or how it works.
commercial success is completely out of your control. All that matters is that you are making something you love, to the best of your ability, here and now.
The system is not here for our benefit. It holds us back as individuals to support its own continued existence.
The more we identify with our self as it exists through the eyes of others, the more disconnected we become and the less energy we have to draw from.
It’s helpful to work as if the project you’re engaged in is bigger than you.
When you acknowledge a weakness, always consider how it could either be removed or improved before discarding the entire piece.
softly hold on to a question and go for a walk, swim, or drive. The question isn’t being worked on, just loosely held in awareness. We are posing it gently to the Universe and opening ourselves to receive an answer.
Each experiment is valuable in its own way if we learn something from it. Even if we can’t comprehend its worth, we are still practicing our craft, moving ever so much closer to mastery.
With unshakable faith, we work under the assumption that the problem is already solved. The answer is out there, perhaps it’s obvious. We just haven’t come across it yet.
Many people may seem walled off. But sometimes walls can provide different ways of seeing over and around obstacles.
commitment to remain open to what’s around you.
Paying attention and listening. Looking for connections and relationships in the outside world. Searching for beauty. Seeking stories. Noticing what you find interesting, what makes you lean forward.
Quality isn’t based on the amount of time invested. So long as what emerges is pleasing to us, the work has fulfilled its purpose.
Faithful note-taking by a connected observer helps prevent special moments from getting lost in the churn of excitement.
When testing, don’t overintellectualize your choice of criteria. You’re looking for that first instinct, the knee-jerk reaction before any thought. The instinctual tug tends to be the purest, whereas the second, more reasoned thought tends to be processed and distorted through analysis.
The goal is to turn off the conscious mind and follow our impulses.
sometimes the smallest elements are the ones that weigh the most.
There doesn’t need to be a purpose guiding what we choose to make.
If we like what we are creating, we don’t have to know why. Sometimes the reasons are obvious, sometimes not. And they can change over time. It could be good for any of a thousand different reasons. When we’re making things we love, our mission is accomplished. There’s nothing at all to figure out.
We have no responsibility to anything other than the art itself. The art is the final word.
Find your most generative method, apply it, and then let it go when it is no longer of use. There is no wrong way to make art.
The passive element of practice is as important as the active one.
“I’m both a professor and student, because if you’re no longer a student, you don’t have the right to call yourself a professor.”
You can train for anything.
Learning provides more ways to reliably convey your ideas. From our enlarged menu, we can still choose the simplest, most elegant option.
The ability to create as an artist and experience the work as a first-time viewer, dropping baggage from the past of what you thought you wanted the work to be.
Time is where learning occurs. Unlearning as well.
In new surroundings, the same object can take on considerably different meanings.
The context changes the content.
When a piece isn’t living up to your expectations, consider changing the context. Look past the principle element, examine the variables around it. Play with different combinations. Place it next to other works. Surprise yourself.
The best work is the work you are excited about.
Our bodies decay into the earth to bring forth new life, our energetic mind is returned to the universe to be repurposed.
Find a clue, follow a lead, remain unattached to what came before.
Whether the work comes easily through play or with difficulty through struggle, the quality of the finished piece is unaffected.
If you’re looking for the work to support you, you may be asking too much of it. We create in service to art, not for what we can get from art.
Creativity is contagious. When we spend time with other artistic people, we absorb and exchange a way of thinking, a way of looking at the world. This group can be called a Sangha.
Being part of an artistic community can be one of the great joys of life.
In a prism, a single beam of light enters and is broken into an array of colors. The self, too, is a prism. Neutral events enter, and are transformed into a spectrum of feelings, thoughts, and sensations.
The more we accept our prismlike nature, the more free we become to create in different colors and the more we trust the inconsistent instincts we hold while making art.
Any framework, method, or label you impose on yourself is just as likely to be a limitation as an opening.
Sometimes the most valuable touch a collaborator can have is no touch at all.
Competition serves the ego. Cooperation supports the highest outcome.
Believing an idea is best because it’s ours is an error of inexperience. The ego demands personal authorship, inflating itself at the expense of the art. It can reject new methods that appear counterintuitive and protect familiar ones.
The moment one collaborator gives in and settles on a less preferential option for the sake of moving forward, everyone loses. Great decisions aren’t made in a spirit of sacrifice. They’re made by the mutual recognition of the best solution available.
When on the receiving end of feedback, our task is to set aside ego and work to fully understand the critique offered.
When one participant suggests a specific detail that could be improved, we might mistakenly think that the entire work is being called into question. Our ego can perceive assistance as interference.
language is an imperfect means of communication. An idea is altered and diluted through its mistranslation into words. Those words are then further distorted through our filter as we take them in, leaving us in a world of ambiguity.
Ask questions to gain clarity.
The synergy of a group is as important— if not more important— than the talent of the individuals.
In art, sincerity is a by-product. It cannot be the primary aim.
We like to think of ourselves as consistent, rational beings, possessing certain attributes and not others. Yet a person who is completely consistent, who possesses no contradictions, comes across as less real.
“Making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity.”
When you contribute your point of view to the world, others can see it. It’s refracted through their filter and distributed again. This process is continuous and ongoing. Taken all together, it creates what we experience as reality.
Art has an ability to connect us beyond the limitations of language.
However you frame yourself as an artist, the frame is too small.
Even in perceived chaos, there is order and pattern.