Freedom
I’m reading a book called The Artist’s Way. Really cool book. Here are some of my reflections:
Julia describes the Censor as such an evil character, like The Emperor in Star Wars or Lucifer. It’s true though. Art is about playing. It’s easy and anyone can do it. It’s easy because it’s what we are made for. Go for it, just go out and play, make some Art.
The Censor, on the other hand, says, “Build a giant tower up to heaven. Labor. Toil. Carry heavy blocks on your back until they break you, and maybe, just maybe, you can be a god.”
How lame.
Instead we finger paint. We put words together that don’t make sense. We write in handwriting that becomes a scrawl in our enthusiasm, like cavemen painting in embers and ash, like children writing what no one will be able to read, except for our God.
The Censor says, “You’re naked. Here, sew together these leaves and cover yourself up. That’s disgusting.”
Instead we say, “WE’RE GOING STREAKING! THROUGH THE QUAD! COME ON!” And we come, and we feel free like we are and hopefully always will be.
We try to play nice with our friends still under the Censor’s power, but we know better. We conform to some of their laws, and carry some of the burdens they place on our shoulders. We put our clothes back on and get “careers.” We try to look a bit respectable.
But only just enough, never more, because more would be a waste of freedom. We stoke the fire inside, giving our friends little glimpses every once in a while, the fire of freedom, little signs that the Censor has been put in chains. He has lost his power over our minds, over our hands, over our feet and hearts.
We pay lip service to him, but even that is converted because we do it for the sake of our friends. Then in over flowing joy, we finger paint. With words, pastels, neons. With metal, with wood, and marble and oils.
We create. We create. We create, because we were created, because the Great Finger Painter is creating. In joy our cups overflow and the creation spills out, and those who are thirsty are invited to drink. And some of them, the ones who learn the way, some of them find that same joy, and they drink and are satisfied. Their cups overflow too.
Then all of a sudden, ex nihilo, we have a scene, a church, a communion. Our lives are joined and bonded with each other, such that no one may put them asunder. The Great Finger Painter keeps on creating, and we are recreated.
Because all things are new, didn’t you know.
May his face shine upon you, and may your cup overflow.
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This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 8th, 2008 at 11:42 am and is filed under Joe Bunting the Artist. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
on July 8, 2008 at 12:42 pm cari wrote:
Such a good book. I am glad you are reading it. I am glad for your interpretations; they help me understand better.
on July 8, 2008 at 10:56 pm Shannon wrote:
hmmm, yes. I want to live like this. I want to write like my scratchings on the wall of the cave are for Seymour’s fat lady, and for joy, not to be edited and analyzed into obscurity I want to not worry about perfection, because that’s what the censor wants, perfect, unquestioned conformity, uniformity. Beauty is a different creature, darker and lovlier. Freer.
on July 28, 2008 at 4:24 pm You’ll Never Make It As An Entertainer | Joe Bunting wrote:
[...] aspiring artist like me, but I suppose I knew it was tough already. People like Thomas Merton and Julia Cameron inspire me by their simplicity when facing the task of creating art. For them, writing isn’t [...]