If paper falls and nobody catches it…

To be a person that inspires anything in someone else.
As an artist this is a huge thought. It is the whole point of art, the reason things are made and shared. To hopefully change the way someone perceives something or the choices they make. To show someone how something could be or, perhaps, should be. I feel like an invisible presence in the lives of everyone who views my art. A voice that will remain with them for 5 seconds, 5 hours or maybe not at all. My artistic voice could subconsciously affect a single action somewhere in a future that I will never see or it could do nothing at all. Why do I continue if there is no guarantee that anything will come of my work? Right now, it is because nothing is guaranteed and there is no knowing that anything you do will actually change anything. There is no way I can know if a member of my past, present or future audience will even think about my art for longer than the duration of viewing. There is no guarantee that the entire audience won’t drift off into a day-dream like state while my work is being viewed. And there is certainly no guarantee, that even if I put my work out into the circulation of the world, that it will be seen. So, again, why do I bother? Why do I dedicate my time and money to this? Because there is no difference between life and art. Art is beautiful, so is life. ‘Beauty can be coaxed out of ugliness…Wabi-Sabi suggests that beauty is a dynamic event that occurs between you and something else. Beauty can spontaneously occur at any moment given the proper circumstances, context, or point of view. Beauty is thus an altered state of consciousness, an extraordinary moment of poetry and grace.’ – Wabi Sabi for artists, designers, poets and philosophers. So why is everything not considered art? Probably because some things conform to our ingrained compass that dictates beauty. I’m not saying you have to go around taking pictures of the trash strewn street but if you stop and consider how many millions of choices and random events had to occur in a very specific order for you, wearing exactly what you are wearing, and that crushed Coke can to exist on the same block of the same street together. You inevitably must come across some sort of beauty in the unfathomable. Something akin to looking into the night sky and knowing that the stars you can see only represent a small portion of the stars in existence.
A friend brought up Van Gogh the other day. It reminded me of a line from ‘At Eternity’s Gate’ ~”Maybe God made me a painter for people who aren’t born yet. It is said, Life is for sowing. The harvest is not here.” What does this mean for me? For us? It gives me solace, the potential for even a single person to take real interest in my works after I’m dead. Somewhat like Vivian Maier. Maybe it’s a vanity to think that someone will care when I’m gone but I’ve known enough people in this world that care as much as I do about things that are unconventional, so I believe that someone might take even a moment to properly view what I have made. That’s enough for me.

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