Category Archives: art

Comment on “In the Company of Bees”

Of the previous five posts, two — “In the company of Bees (Again)” and “In the Company of Bees (and Again)” — were edits of the fifth post, “In the Company of Bees”.

I decided that instead of simply editing the original post, I would edit in full view. So I left versions 1 and 2 so that version 3 could be compared with them.

In general, I think too much polished product and too little process is visible in creative output, whether in mathematics papers, in poetry, in music, in film, etc. etc. While it is starting to be possible to get a look behind the scenes of large budget items like movies, and it is true that Youtuber DIYers sometimes post the full history of a project, it is still the case that creative output very often seems almost magical and not subject to struggle. This is true even if, in some rational, abstract way, we know a great deal of work and struggle was involved. Because we don’t feel the struggle, we can’t grasp the reality of the struggle.

So I thought I would experiment with having all three versions up there. Rubin’s book “The Creative Act: A Way of Being” played some sort of influence here. In particular, just before doing these two edits I read and felt “The Abundant Mindset”, “The Experimenter and the Finisher”, and “Temporary Rules”. I recommend Rubin’s book very highly.

A Sort of Synesthesia

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Experiences of seeing, hearing, feeling, and knowing, often compel me to try to communicate those experiences in some way.  A sort of obsession with the beauty, with the experience of being in the moment, undulating, flowing, singing, vibarting, simultaneously opens all the senses and quiets the mind in a way that, at least for me, makes translation into words extremely hard. Sometimes I find the words to transmit something of value, but very often I find what I have written is unconvincing or even completely mute.

I need a sort of synesthesia, making translations from what I sense to words more natural or perhaps even involuntary.

Talking or writing about the experience directly, as though it were a story or a play is something I cannot do.  The full experience is so rich, so overflowing, so infinite in possibilities that direct representation is clearly unattainable. But, like visual subtleties  easier to see with your peripheral vision, something of the experience can be captured indirectly, by way of analogies, of shadows and impressionistic portraits, in reflection, after the experience.

This is why some of the most effective, powerful art is abstract or impressionistic. To transmit infinity, direct representational art, creating an expectation of finiteness, must be abandoned. Minimalism in music, moving us into rhythms and flows that slowly shift us to different states, is again, a sort of indirect encompassing, carrying us somewhere, but not directly. Experiences in nature align with this method of illumination, gently soaking in, moving us, so that we gradually become aware of the fact that we have been transformed, our attention has been shifted, profoundly altering what we see and hear and know.

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Quietness — rich, vibrating, living, infinite — finds its way from our experiences to the experience of others as they immerse themselves in our art.

We have, together, attained a sort synesthesia.

 

 

 

 

Silence and Beauty

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Silence and Beauty – Makoto Fujimura (Jundt Museum)

Immersing myself in the light and color and feeling of Mako Fujimura’s paintings, I listened over and over to Bach’s “Erbarme dich, mein Gott”, as though somehow this experience could open my eyes to the words communicating what I was feeling and seeing.

 

immersing, drawn into deep stillness, the quietness sings.
time stops to listen, to know color and feeling

light shines through the brokenness

 

Words feel clumsy, infinitely poor in comparison to the visual experience. But words can tell my own story of brokenness opening me to light, to color and feeling, to quietness that sings.

It becomes clear. The deep drive to express, to illuminate the experience, can only be satisfied by taking others by the hand and leading them to their own experience of listening, of seeing, of feeling. I can invite others to “come and see”, to know why their brokenness is the beginning and not the end.

For there was One broken for them and that One is ready to shine His light through their brokenness, to pour Himself into their darkness and trauma, to heal them with his Quietness and Beauty.

 

come and see 
   the quietness and beauty

in brokenness