A child is born. Five months later, it is still learning and lying around. Yet we deem it perfect. It can’t do anything but we marvel at its perfected form.
We do not expect a master’s work from a pre school youngster, but from their freedom of expression we nourish our souls. Without restraint and full of force the line of the little one carries itself in his drawings, as a direct expression of his being, banned on paper.
And therein we find the essence of art. It lies not only in finalized craft, but in the presence of the artist: The artist is – and what he does comes from who he is. There is no projection and no masquerade. The soul of the artist is capable of presenting himself, herself without restraint or polishing. And in that, art becomes to us the real thing, as it bursts through our blunt world with a glimpse of depths of candor and truth.
Art. The artificial. The not-real. It becomes the vehicle of something real. Something lost, hidden and veiled in depths we drowned with silly attempts to quiet our pain.
This is its purpose. This is its destiny. To draw from the depths, bring forth and release, to spread and multiply.
Removed from the practical, art demands a purpose beyond the banal. It’s the ultimate messenger. Since there is no purpose of the imminent and tangible, it must be clothed in destiny of deeper value. What is lost to us in the banal, as we have lost our presence in days drowned out by meaningless fluff and pointless dust must receive its rightful reinvigoration by the real – as it is reduced and distilled into art.
It’s not merely skill, the perfection of craft that makes art good but the power of the ambition and idea – the spirit it has received – shines forth and through and gives life to it. Without that, art is just an empty car. A car is built to drive, it is built to be driven – it needs a driver. Something more valuable than it itself, that it contains.
Art to become real, it needs life, a spirit, a soul.
We appreciate ambition. We value the steps of the baby. The first movements. They are all forerunners of what’s to come. You can’t speed it up, you can’t skip it. They are necessary. But we want our child to move on eventually, to overcome, to start walking.
The artist needs to accept this: That there is a road paved with higher purpose, and that there are steps on the way he cannot skip. He needs to aim high, at the highest goal. It doesn’t matter if he’s there yet. Art without ambitions of character and virtue is aiming low. It’s vain. It doesn’t matter how well it’s executed. It’s rotten. It has failed as a default.
It doesn’t matter if it’s there yet, what matters is the projection – the right aim, and the relentlessness of the pursuit.
You’ll close the gap. Let people watch you doing it.
Accept the risk. Take the risk, you know where you’re going and why you’re on the road. Put everything on the line.
Real art pushes. It puts everything on the line. It lives all out, with full force, full ambition. It’s the best trait of the teenager.
If you put everything out there, everything you have, give everything and put everything on the line, you grow, you find out what you’ve got and gain whilst finding out. And you show up, you’re fully there. It’s finally you we’re seeing.
Don’t apologize.
Go all in.
Go all out.
Full force.
Full stop.
What I desire is everything of you all out, all there, unveiled. Fully aligned towards purpose and destiny. Released, given, subjected.
As you’re subjected to just one thing, you’ll be free of everything else.
As you fully submit, you’ll be free. Free from all the meaninglessness, senselessness, weakness, and confusion.
The opposite of depression is expression, the opposite of focus is absence, fragmentation.
Realign, realise.
Live fully integrated.
Go slow, take a step back, go find the right road.
Speak to the few with taste.
Most know McDonald’s. Many know Madonna. What has that to do with taste? Do you recommend McDonald’s for its taste? Because many go there it’s good now? No, the many just love shit.
I don’t care about how many are interested. What do they know anyways? I mean, for real? Do most of the people really care and dare to stick out or do they just go with the tides? How is the taste formed? Is this the measure of reality and the measure of the value of your work? Are you solely formed or do you form also? Do you have something to inject back?
Face the resistance. Become the teacher. As you resist, and flourish despite spite, they will taste your strength and they will desire it more than they want to remain amongst the resistant.
If the masses don’t know good taste, if they are uncultivated, who’s to blame than the bearers of culture?
Step up.
Maturity awaits.
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