I drove to Peoria on Monday to take down the art exhibit that had been hanging for the last six weeks at the Gallery of the Peoria Public Library. It was an odd sensation to have the art there, on the wall. And I am not there.
When I was over in Ireland, I thought about that as I spent time painting Croagh Patrick, the holy mountain that dominates the landscape around Westport, County Mayo. My art hangs in Peoria, Illinois, miles away from where I am. Here I was, sitting in the light rain on a stone fence, painting the scene of Croagh Patrick as rain clouds scuttled across the face of the mountain and a rainbow, as if on cue, descended in a perfect arch from the mountainside and over the bay.
Art is an extension of myself yet, independent of myself. That sort of psychological split is perplexing. In many ways more perplexing than the creation of a song. For once a song is made, it is made to be put out there in a form easily used. A CD, a download, perhaps even sheet music. All those are but copies of “the song.” But the song itself is nowhere really to be found. It’s performed, and the closest to being something of what an original piece of art is would be the recording session itself.
Original visual art is much more challenging in the sense that for someone to purchase it, they make a commitment to live with it. Sort of like having that part of an artist take up residence on the wall of your home. Prints are closer to what exists in the music world.
But the idea of seeing (and possessing) a piece of original art is that connection to the artist, the very physical exertion and thought process that is locked in time. That’s why artists like Bansky love the idea of art that gets destroyed. In some ways it becomes what the song is, something “out there” and never to be solely owned by anyone.
The purpose of visual art, I feel, is to release art to the world. With sincere optimism and belief that the world will accept it. Sometimes that acceptance takes longer to take shape than the artist's own life. In the meantime, the daily struggle of the visual artist is to not only produce, but give the art a place to hang, to be seen. Or better yet, someone to purchase the art, to give it not only artistic, but material value. That too, may never happen in the artist’s life.
As I and my brother Joseph packed up the art, I was somewhat saddened by the thought that this art would have to reside for a while, hidden and covered, protected but not enjoyed. Not until the next opportunity to present an exhibit or gallery surfaces. Still the urge to create cannot be denied. And the most important element an artist must possess is that of optimism.
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