Radical Transparency

A tribute to the Cezanne and Beyond exhibit we saw in Philadelphia this past spring...

Back in Ancient Rome, they had these little creativity gnomes that lived in studio wall cracks.  They'd pop out from time to time and bounce and sing and kiss and inspire.

Nowadays, if an artist ever sees a gnome, he tries to catch it and swallow it.  Which turns the gnome into an uncooperative lunatic heartache.  But, apparently, it's crazy to release a good gnome.  I mean what if it never comes back?

That's what Elizabeth Gilbert just told me.  In a TED Talk that's worth watching (even if you categorically deny gnomes' existence) for Gilbert's description of Ruth Stone's poetical process...

Gnomes or no gnomes, I think she makes an important observation about culture, creativity, and self-fulfilling prophesies:

Somehow we've completely internalized and accepted collectively this notion that creativity and suffering are somehow inherently linked and that artistry, in the end, will always, ultimately, lead to anguish.

And I think she takes that observation in exactly the right direction:

Better if we encourage our great creative minds to live.

I want to go see an exhibit of the greatest art forgeries of all time.  And by greatest I mean highest stakes, most perfectly reproduced, sneakiest, etc.

And I want awesome backstory writeups on every piece.

And I want the originals in the museum on display with the forgeries for comparison.

Too much to ask of the museum community?

The creative life is uneven. You have a few short bursts of genius now and then, the rest of the time you're trying SOMEHOW to get the magic back again, mostly without success. It's exhausting. I am exhausted, often.

Hugh MacLeod wrote that the other day.  On his blog, which is awesome.  And in a post that's pretty heavily religious, which I didn't expect but kind of dig.  Because I didn't expect it.  If that makes sense.

Anyway, I like the observation.  Makes me wonder how many of us not quite artists can be said to be living the creative life.

I talked to one of the purest literary minds I know tonight, and some turn in our conversation reminded him of his favorite Henry Miller quote:

Art teaches nothing but the significance of life itself.

But, according to the internets, that's not quite the quote.  What Henry Miller actually wrote was this:

Art teaches nothing, except the significance of life.

And that, the real quote, in my opinion, lacks the rhythm of its misremembered cousin.

Not sure what that means.  But I've certainly experienced it before.  And I like it.  I'm glad we do it.  I'm excited for the next time I get to see it in action.