Lost and Found in Art

I think I engage my art as a means to finding parts of myself that had become lost, or temporarily misplaced, or forgotten about. Maybe they are parts of myself that were alive when I was a child, and then lost their vitality somewhere between growing pains and adulthood. Maybe they are parts of me that were suffocated by challenging circumstances or relationships. Maybe they are just new sides of me that spontaneously appeared as a result of expressing myself through art, and are looking for their first outlet. Or maybe they are old parts that are being resuscitated, and the photograph is acting as a medic, bringing them back to life.

In creating a photograph I feel as if I am creating a safe space in which to express myself as freely as I’d like to. It is an arena into which any parts of my being can feel welcomed into, and find a voice. Yes, my photographs are like my voice! It is a voice that has a lot to say, and is grateful for the opportunity to do that that through my art. I am most grateful, also, for those who hear my voice; those encouraging others who have appreciated my photography and thus inspired me to create more. This is especially meaningful to me, as I contrast it to times in my life in which I did not feel the expression of my voice was that supported. Through making and sharing a photograph, my voice is found, my voice is expressed, and it is heard. We all need to feel heard in life.

To me, sharing art is a way in which human beings openly hear each another. Existentialist philosopher, Paul Tillich once wrote that “the first duty of love is to listen”. I believe that in creating and sharing art, we come in touch with the parts of our selves, and others, that are most desirous of participating in a loving relationship. At least for myself, I experience the creating of a photograph as my traversing a path that aims at reaching my very core. I believe everyone’s core is love.

Maybe I engage my art to explore this belief that we are all made of love. To reach a part of myself that is unshakable. In attempting to do so, I inevitably encounter other parts of me that aren’t as solid: fleeting emotions, changing perspectives, temporary wounds. And I offer each and every one of them a release through the images I create. Once expressed, I find they are much more peaceful, and move out of the way so I can connect with something deeper. It is almost as if some parts of me need to be lost, so that others can be found.

In a single photo session then, I can potentially both loose and find myself. Sometimes over and over again. This is the creative process I am so addicted to! And what I find when making art is truly unlimited! I think this holds true for every artist: our creations are like doorways that open into an endless world of discoveries. Perhaps we just need to remember to loosen our holds on those parts of us that relate to limits, so that we can experience the boundlessness before us, each time we make art. In this context loosing takes on a positive meaning. As Henry David Thoreau once wrote: “Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.” It is this deeper understanding of self that I find each time I lose myself in my art.

Expressing Pain in Art

The human experience, by definition, includes pain. Not a single one of us is immune to it. For this reason, I have deep respect for pain: it seems to be an inescapable part of what shapes us. Pain is part of life. And everything that is part of life, is also an inevitable part of art.

One of the most powerful lures art had over me as a child was it’s brutal honesty! It did not try to conceal or deny pain and suffering. Instead, within photographs and paintings, musical compositions and dances, film and theatre; within the many forms of art through which human being express themselves, I perceived a raw exhibition of pain. And I loved this rebellious freedom to express pain through art! It seemed terribly constructive to me; certainly much healthier than keeping all the pain inside.

There are so many different varieties of pain! What would each one look like as a work of art? For each person pain would look differently, for how each of us experiences and expresses pain is as unique as our own original, artistic creations. To me, each such creation, even when birthed out of pain, is an extremely valuable one. Such art isn’t always visually pretty, but it is real, and I deeply appreciate it’s straightforwardness.

I have had my own share of pain in my life, like every person. Interestingly, emotional pain seems to stir my creative juices unlike any thing else. I might even say that I have been the most artistically productive in my life when I’ve been hurting the most. Pain seems to act like a war cry within me, challenging me to rise to the occasion and make something beautiful out of it. Not necessarily aesthetically beautiful, but beautiful in the sense that in expressing my pain artistically, I seem to engage that pain as a vehicle that eventually transports me beyond it. Pain turned into art then becomes a transformative tool that reconnects me with my own inner peace.

When I pour my pain into my art I am instantly comforted and calmed. Ironically, art that perceivably expresses deep hurt doesn’t have the same effect on the audience experiencing that art. Quite to the contrary! The observer may become uncomfortable. Most of the art I produced as an adolescent had this unpleasant effect on others, for my artwork was an honest reflection of my pain. Nevertheless, I chose to continue to express my pain in this way, as art seemed to help me process and understand my pain.

Through releasing my hurts into artwork, I explored taboo emotions the way astronomers explore the stars, and found the journey a very valuable part of my own self development. I also found that my own artistic displays of pain also proved valuable to others, as it seemed to help them connect with pains of their own, which they had been repressing. Giving voices to our pain is not easy, even when done through a painting or a photograph. Expressing pain through art requires that one become vulnerable and open. It also engages trust and courage.

Today, I honor periods of pain in my life the same way I treated them when I was younger: I give them a voice in my art, in my photographs. Why should I silence my pain and pretend it does not exist? Instead, I echo William Faulkner’s sentiments when he writes: “Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain.” At least when we hurt we know we are alive! Or as the poet Lord Byron says: “The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.” Since pain is indeed such an unmistakably unavoidable sensation in life, why not extract value from it? As I experience it, pain holds a beautiful value when married to artistic expression. In fact, pain has been the fuel throughout history for many of the world’s greatest works of art! May we turn our pain into artwork, and have them shape us, and others, in ways we never imagined possible.

May we each communicate our own hurts in constructive, inspiring ways.

Can I call myself an artist?

I am by no means a professional photographer, or artist. I have never been commissioned to create anything artistic for anyone. I have never had my work exhibited or published. I have never sold any art for profit, despite having a few of my photographs up for sale on the Internet. I have never received formal training in photography, or art, except a few painting classes I took in high school. I am an unknown, and yet, I define myself as an artist. Why?

I identify myself as an artist because it has been the one most consistent way in which I have related to myself most throughout my life. It was the one identity I felt I could depend on. Before thinking of myself as a sister, or a daughter, or a female, or a student, or as belonging to a particular nation, or ethnic pool, or economic group, or religion, or occupation; before any of these I have always considered myself an artist, first and foremost. It seemed to be synonymous with my nature.

What does it mean to be an artist? For me, it begins and ends with an insistent, utterly unquenchable, nearly compulsive desire to create. Creativity wakes me in the middle of the night and won’t let me rest until I give it my undivided attention. It can make me restless during the day and pull me from my schedule. The urge to create art, as I experience it, is a rebellious one that knows no timelines, or pays any mind to anything else going on around the artist. It seizes the artist with a passion and carries her away to where she can make more art. I equate being an artist with the sheer irresistibility of this force. It is a force which I feel originates within me, yet is simultaneously part of a greater field of being which is beyond me. Perhaps I have always most consistently identified myself as an artist because, in creating art, I feel myself connecting with something beyond temporary designations of self: with a part of my existence that is eternal. At least this is how I experience it.

Just before a work of art emerges from me I feel myself absorbed in a heightened state of sensitivity. Not just sensually, but emotionally. It visually conjures up the image of a dam gate within myself that has been opened, suddenly flooding my imagination with raging rivers of visions, and ideas, colors and shapes; but above all else feelings. My work is always emotionally charged. These emotions are fluid as they move me in my creations, never ceasing to surprise me with the final form they eventually translate themselves into as my art. I become a love-slave to the feelings that move me to create art, as each creation is an inevitable outpour of my heart.

Within the chambers of the artist’s heart (as known to me), is the limitless universe we draw from. Sometimes, in the drawing-out process, I enter into a rhythm that overcomes me at the expense of all else! Forsaking sleep and food, an artist who is caught in the flow of an emerging creation, will know nothing else but the creation before her, or him. The meditation is so absolute, some may relate it to a spiritual experience of sorts. I would like to say that there is even a certain sacredness to the creative process an artist becomes absorbed in when creating.

Art is sacred in the sense that it speaks to the soul, and crosses barriers of time and culture. Art is it’s own language. It is it’s own power. And I believe that art is something, without which, the world would not be as desirable a place to be in as it is today, for art nourishes our spirits. In this sense, perhaps artists, function as reminders of the divine, within us, and all around us. Defined in that manner; don’t we then all have the potential to be artists? I imagine it’s just a matter of what kind of art each of us makes. Thus, through this blog and my art, I hope to inspire others to find the artist within themselves and encourage us all to make more art!