When I travel (which is becoming more frequent), I spend majority of my time journaling and documenting my experiences. Once I’ve amassed enough trips and stories, I plan to publish them in some form or fashion. But here’s an idea of what goes on in my head while I’m in “nomad mode”. This post is an excerpt from my trip to Atlanta this past September.
Once again I’m on the road with a feeling burning in my soul. I have come to accept that this is what we call “passion”. It flares from the depths like a waking furnace ready to provide heat. This passion strikes me in the most unconventional ways, whether it’s in the subjects from my pictures, the words being inscribed in notebooks, or the phrases shared in conversations. This time it was words, certain targets that I seem to cling to when uttered. Authenticity, originality, creation, perseverance, determination, and most of all art. The elusive dream sought by all souls on this earth. We seek it, it seeks us as if we play a childhood game. We skirt around the idea, afraid that if we touch it or place the label upon ourself that it will disintegrate like the decaying leaf in fall. Why do we fear such a word?
Is it because we are incapable of understanding it’s meaning? Or do we believe that we are unable to call ourselves an artist without first creating art? Then the question expands, what shall we define as art! And most importantly, who’s definition of art is considered right? The concept and answer may lie in the individual. Some, as myself, will not take the title because they view art as a grand creation that required tireless hours and the handling of caustic emotions. Other believe that it is simply anything that is created by the hands of a man or woman who has passion in their heart? Although I am only a novice, adolescent at best, I have begun to ask the question that every aspiring artist must ask. Will I ever become an artist? I think if this question is asked and an answer cannot be found, then they must keep asking at each opportunity. The answer will come when the persistence of the producer matches up with the passion of the product. If your work has inside of it, a piece of you or your soul and another is capable of interpreting that at the most basic level, then you have created art. I do not need the viewer of my photographs to know why I took the picture, I must give the viewer the chance to ask that question and come up with their own answer. To be an artist means you must leave room for your viewer to create an idea in relation to the work you have created. It is a symbiotic relationship that must exist in order to reach the true purpose of art. If one is capable of doing such a thing, and consistently, then they have the right to call themselves an artist. As an Adolescent Artivist, I believe myself capable of producing such work; however I must improve upon the consistency. In an ideal scenario I’d want all of my works to entice a viewer, but now I am only able to have certain works fulfil that task. It takes persistence, an artist is not born overnight. He does not abide to the rules of time yet a single work does not denote an artist. The soul must toil, both internally and externally, hoping to find a balance between the order of their mind and the chaos of their heart. Our soul is the mediator between the two, and the spirit is God’s way of caring for the soul, because it is constantly drained trying to appease both elements. Once the soul has uncovered the secret to balance, and this is contingent upon the individual, it may now transmit its understandings into the body. The body will then utilize its power in relation to the physical world to create a work. This work is the sum total of the soul, spirit, heart, mind and body. If a work is able to withold all five qualities, in any degree, then surely it must have the power to generate an effect in someone else. The viewer will question the motives, the meaning, the concept and the technique; each will be answered by the different part of his existence. So to answer the universal question, will I ever be an artist, I smile gladly to the sky, with the soft raindrops kissing my eyelids and say “I am becoming one, everyday”.