My wife and I are sitting at the table, sipping our coffee as we welcome the morning. A subtle case of the Mondays roams about, but it's a nice morning nonetheless, and we are both softly smiling at each other. It must be that I was driven by the motivation to disrupt routine, or something I’m still not conscious of, because I began recording our conversation out of the blue. My wife’s habit of chiseling away at my reasoning is always helpful to my thinking, and I suspect that she enjoys disagreeing with me, so it’s always a win-win.
Today, our conversation revolves around art, a common topic between us, but today’s discussion is quite different. I’ve been contemplating the idea that art may be an attempt at immortality, and I wanted her to challenge this seemingly outlandish claim. This philosophical exploration might get the best of me, but it’s one I feel compelled to undertake. Allow me to start almost at the very beginning, with the fear of death.
For a while now, I’ve been thinking that art has an undeniable connection to death. Yes, I know that sounds hyperbolic, but if you allow me a few minutes of your time, I think you will, if not accept, at least consider my admittedly scandalous claim.
It seems rather easy to make the argument that fearing death has fueled countless works of art, whether poetry, music, or paintings. And maybe this is precisely the reason why these arts are so common among cultures, regardless of how different they may be from each other. What I’m trying to say is that there is a common experience here: death. All cultures, all peoples, have to deal with death, the limit of existence.
Some argue that the fear of death was also the fertile ground needed for the creation and proliferation of religions, but that’s another topic for another day.
To continue my explanation, allow me a foundational detour to ensure we are on the same page. The words I say might be robust enough on their own, but the mental landscape we inhabit when visiting these abstract ideas might make the conveying of them much easier.
At some point in life, we are bound to find ourselves staring at the famous pyramid of Maslow. Named after one of the most important American psychologists of the last century, his contributions to the world of psychology are incalculably valuable, and his approach towards treating people with care and positivity is now standard practice.
It’s my intuition that when most people look at Maslow’s pyramid, they find themselves in complete agreement with what it proposes. Forgive the redundancy, but everything on there just seems intuitive. That being said, I’m also of the idea that most of the time the analysis of said pyramid never follows, or at least it’s skipped for the sake of expediency in most casual conversations.
Art seems to be on this second, mostly obscure list, and in practical terms, it seems to be universal. But, what is it about art, in all its shapes, forms, and cultural wrappings, that society values so much? Think about this: All societies, both new and old, output art. We may disagree in taste, and that’s totally understandable, but for a second, let’s put that aside and accept that regardless of personal opinion, societal artistic output has intrinsic value in the society it inhabits.
I may not know this to be a fact, but I’m feeling confident enough to declare it one at the moment. Art is probably older than spoken language, and I know that is saying something bonkers. But somehow, if you truly think about it, it makes all the sense in the world.
We are, among other things, a species of ape that thrives on storytelling. We’ve been telling stories for millennia as part of our survival strategy, and it seems like this ability, which probably sprouted from the necessity to convey information to members of our tribe, eventually branched out into other things.
It mattered not only that we conveyed a message, that we told a story, but also how we did so. An important story, if well delivered, was probably life-saving in many situations. Stories then became delivery methods for wisdom, and probably through this method of informational proliferation, societies at scale came to be.
Even though this may not be the exact beginning of art, it seems to me like a perfectly serviceable starting point, and one that for the sake of expediency, I’ve chosen for this unusual philosophical exploration of mine.
Some months ago, my wife and I decided to give the show "Shogun" a go, and watched it from beginning to end with passionate curiosity. The window into such a foreign culture, and I mean that in the most loving way, is hard to resist for a curious mind.
To me, Japanese culture is so different from everything else in the world, I always end up having to halt my assumptions to deeply analyze how it is that they ended up thinking how they do.
In this sense, shows like "Shogun" truly help, because if anything, maybe not even wanting to, they’ve helped a lot of us Westerners get a solid idea of how different we truly are. And I say this with total admiration of this difference.
There are parts of the show where the would-be Shogun would ask one of the people of his court to make a Haiku of the events that had just transpired. I remember stopping the show after such a thing had happened a few times, so that my wife and I could discuss this curious habit of his.
Why? What would be the reason to need a poem? It’s almost as if it’s an attempt to summarize a novel in three lines. What would be the need for this?
The brainstorming that followed, and my current understanding of this, is what has fueled my thinking on this subject for many months now. Hence why I feel the deviation from the main subject needed this pit stop.
Practical record keeping. Short, difficult, beautiful storytelling. Stories, in the form of poems that work as effective bookmarks for our brains.
Yes, let’s remember the setting, the mood, the event, but more importantly, how we felt, how I felt. Let’s remember it all, and if we are lucky, we can do this for eternity.
You might be able to guess the direction I’ve decided to take by my usage of this word. Yes, my hyperbole is intentional, but it’s very adequate for the task at hand.
What if I die, and my message, my important message, does not live on? I could be wrong, in which case my message would simply fizz out like a fire losing its useful coals, but; What if I’m right? What if “THIS MESSAGE” is my purpose?
It seems to me that most artists, and by proxy, most art, have the mission of transcendence written on their DNA code, so to speak. If this was not the case, why is the drive ever so present, regardless of the artist being aware of such a mission?
A lifetime ago at this point, but I remember this story quite clearly as if it was told to me just a few months ago by a good friend. Mostly due to my wife’s persistence of ditching the terrible music of today’s radio waves, I found myself a fan of NPR and its nerdy programming.
I beg your forgiveness for not providing her name, but as ashamed as I am of this important detail escaping my mind, it does not take away from how amazing the story of this lady truly is. How much it impacted me, as I was getting mentally lost waiting in the South Florida traffic.
The centerpiece of the story was an amazing artist who lived a life that at first glance would be mistaken for a common one. As it turns out, she spent almost all her life painting, making art, creating messages, stories on a canvas, even though she never worried much about her audience.
It’s my understanding that she passed in obscurity, and never saw a dime from her work while she lived. But, her work was so extensive, it could fill multiple galleries and then some.
Something from the story jumped out to me too, a detail that in my book is just as important as her prolific nature, which was the center of the informational piece. Turns out that she took “one break” from making art, and it was only when she was tasked with the terminal care of a relative. After those dark years, she resumed her work and, as far as I remember, continued her output almost until the end of her life.
These days, her work is extremely valuable, so much so that there are copycats out there, falsifiers of her work, if you will, attempting to dupe unsuspecting collectors all around the world. She made so many pieces in her lifetime that the idea that a new one pops up every now and then is just expected at this point.
What is it about this Cuban lady that I find fascinating? What about her life’s work is important to the point I’m making? I can’t guarantee to be correct, but the speculation is too sweet to resist.
Let me ask you this: What drove her to create so much? What was she consciously attempting to do? Was she even aware of what was driving her?
And, before you answer, if you feel motivated at all to do so, let me also propose the following idea for your consideration.
Did she transcend?
In Mexican culture, it is believed that a person dies three times: once when their heart stops beating, once when they are buried, and finally, when their name is spoken for the last time.
Reflecting on the Cuban lady’s story and the broader themes of art and immortality, I’m left with a profound sense of wonder. Art, in its myriad forms, seems to be a timeless pursuit, driven by an innate human desire to leave a mark, to transcend the boundaries of our mortal existence. Whether it’s through the delicate strokes of a Haiku, the vibrant colors of a painting, or the timeless narratives of storytelling, art captures the essence of our experiences and emotions, preserving them for future generations.
In the end, perhaps the true measure of art’s success is not in its immediate acclaim or financial value, but in its ability to resonate, to provoke thought, and to endure. The Cuban lady’s prolific output, though unrecognized in her lifetime, now lives on as a testament to her spirit. Her story, like many others, reminds us that the drive to create is a fundamental part of the human condition, a bridge between the ephemeral and the eternal.
I began writing this so many months ago, attempting to end with an uplifting hopeful tone. I can't say I've achieved it, but allowing these thoughts to mature in my mind, has allowed me to conclude in a poetic summation.
Art, is just a dialogue, a conversation between an artist and the world. Sometimes that conversation is so powerful, the world remembers.
MenO
