The Soul of Art

The creation of any form of art is an entirely solitary journey. Yes, artists have friends, intimate companions whose proximity brings some measure of solace, healing certain wounds of the soul. Yet when creation beckons, the artist's first duty is to sever all connections with the rest of the world. Without the capacity to remain alone with oneself, without the opportunity to converse at length with one's own mind, the creation of art becomes nearly impossible. When the artist plunges into the act of creation, they enter a country unknown to all—even to themselves. There are no maps for walking the roads of this country, no shortcuts. The artist's path is one of fear, solitude, silence, and anguish. Others have no conception of this road. To walk this path is exceedingly difficult, with the threat of wounds at every step, yet the artist cannot tear themselves away from it.

The artist's road never ends. The moment one bend concludes, another begins. The artist cannot stop. In the realm of art, to stop is to die. Where others see nothing, the artist perceives the raw materials of creation. To cling to the old and remain satisfied is the hallmark of the ordinary. Artists are not ordinary. Their journey toward the new continues perpetually. The completion of one art heralds the beginning of another. There is no such thing as the greatest art. In the artist's eyes, each creation carries its own distinct significance. "The most beautiful creation in this world is at this moment in my hands!"—this feeling alone enables the artist to create. The artist's eyes hold fascination for the work in progress, their heart carries pride for completed works, their mind harbors hunger for the art yet to come.

Where one person's thoughts fail to align with another's, it is folly to seek even the remotest similarity between an artist's mind and that of ordinary people. Each person lives by their own path. Every way of living is a valid way of living. Nothing is ever acceptable from all perspectives. Whatever path one chooses to live by, if it causes no hardship and never obstructs another's path, then surely that path is infallible. No one has the right to judge or render final verdict upon it. Artists can perceive the paths of many through the eyes of their minds. Therefore, their way of thinking, speaking, moving, acting—in short, their way of living—will never align with that of ten other people. It's better to accept this simply. Many benefit from such acceptance.

For the artist, solitude is like a supreme blessing. Great art rarely emerges from noise and tumult. Art itself is of the highest order. To reach such heights, one must move away from the crowd into the wilderness. Beside art's altitude, human ordinariness becomes unworthy of consideration even as dust. The state in which a person can establish intimate contact with their own mind is called solitude. This solitude may come from being alone, or it may arise in the company of someone who is entirely kindred. By great fortune, one sometimes encounters such a person who becomes a faithful mirror of one's own mind. All communication with such a person then becomes communication with one's own soul.

Without the silence and solitude of the mind, the intimate practice of art is impossible! To create, one must spend time in uninterrupted dialogue with one's own soul—something that never occurs amid meaningless clamor. To become an artist, one must learn to embrace solitude. After solitude comes loneliness, after loneliness comes detachment, after detachment comes sorrow, and only after sorrow comes creation. The satisfaction that then fills the artist's mind surpasses all agony and toil. The supreme bliss of creating successful art can only be compared to the euphoria of pure erotic fulfillment. Yet here one must remember: the mother of good art is named Suffering.

Genius is born of labor, contemplation, practice, experience, faith, and some measure of divine inspiration. Until an artist can create exactly what they wish to create according to their own mind's vision, they must continue to toil, denying themselves the pleasure of idleness for long periods, thinking deeply about what is being created. In art, nothing usually happens all at once; the final stage is reached only through repeated creation and recreation. If the artist genuinely feels the art they create, and if this feeling properly fuses with their own knowledge, beliefs, and experience, only then does that art reach human hearts. Then the artist's feelings and others' feelings merge and become one. To know a person, one must first understand what environment shaped them and what kind of beliefs and experiences they carry in their mind and consciousness while living in their present environment. Without this awakening of understanding, people cannot be truly known. Artists possess some divine power that enables them to accomplish this task.

If one becomes lost in excessive worry about art's acceptability, art ceases to be created. Keeping a particular subject in mind, the artist proceeds by presenting its various associated elements in art's language. Take, for instance, the sea, wind, light, mountains, darkness—in short, nature's various aspects as they exist at any given moment. From these, both beauty and ugliness can be extracted, or one can remain indifferent to them all. Here the ordinary eye and the artist's eye see differently. What leaves others with nothing to say gives the artist much to express. What others are content merely to see with their own eyes, the artist's duty is to create with their own vision and deliver to others' eyes. The artist's creation shapes and reshapes others' vision. What the artist shows—whether previously seen or unseen—both groups can perceive with much clearer and more distinct sight. If this seeing awakens resonances of joy or melancholy, only then is the artist successful. Indifference toward art's subject reveals the artist's temporary failure. If this indifference never again gives birth to attachment through time's progression, then art suffers permanent death.

The true artist will remain steadfast in the truth of art's subject rather than being confined by personal beliefs. Without worrying about what others want to see, hear, read, or feel, remaining unwavering in the pursuit of truth is the artist's primary task. The artist's stubbornness or blindness toward their own beliefs and experiences only leads art astray. Good art is created only when the artist listens carefully to their creation's voice, follows the path the creation wants to take, and manages to resist the temptation to impose their own opinions and beliefs upon the creation's naturalness. Without consciousness of art's content, the artist unknowingly mixes personal philosophy inappropriately into every layer of the art. When creation's impersonality is lost this way, art's appeal itself vanishes.

To penetrate anything's essence, one must first shake off all ego. Every artist always keeps in mind: "What I am creating has its own momentum, which may not correspond to my mind's momentum. At day's end, I may not be like my art, my art may not become like me." Art has its own life, and that life often differs from the artist's life—nor should it be the same. Those who enjoy art actually want to experience art in art's own language. The artist's personal life influences this language somewhat, but never controls it. The artist has little hand in art's free movement. They merely show the path of that movement; self-imposed control over that path is not the artist's work.

This creation of art through conversation with one's own heart and soul—in this process the artist disconnects themselves from the external world and speaks in solitude with the God who dwells within. This responsibility of creation is most sacred, most beautiful, most comforting. Setting aside impulses like anger, envy, and ego, the artist wanders the paths of their inner world seeking happiness, distributing peace. This intimate journey of the heart is art's very life. History bears witness: artists can be wounded, bloodied, even murdered, but never destroyed. The suffering artists must endure from humanity's indiscriminate brutality later gives birth to art. At the very moment when artists give birth to ideas and art, the creatively impotent masses simultaneously give birth to envy and rage. Murdering artists does not make one an artist—it makes one a murderer. If it did, we would know the world's barbarians as its artists.