It is well-documented that art history contains a rich source of spiritual content and imagery. There are scenes from the Bible, themes rife with gods and goddesses, narratives with entities, ghosts and demons, parables of natural force and cosmic will. Artists have chosen to explore profound questions about the meaning of life and death because the spiritual path parallels the creative experience. Certainly, there are similarities: inspiration, a “calling,” struggles with obstacles, aspects of perseverance and transformation, guidance from teachers, the provision of some service to the community by sharing discoveries and explorations.
But do artists need a spiritual practice to supplement their work? No, of course not. For many, engagement with their art is the practice itself. Even a mildly derisive term such as “Sunday Painter” cannot completely dismiss a hobby pursuit from recreation in association with a sacred day. Realms of mystery, grace and ecstasy are awakened with equal intensity by an artist, immersed in the power of creative expression and by the seeker of wisdom and insight. However, benefits do occur when a spiritual practice exists along side with art-making. Whether it’s meditation, prayer, or mindfulness, the frequency of a regular routine allows for benefits ranging from a widening perspective on life, a sense of balance and harmony, increased powers of focus, concentration, improved capacities for coping with stress, and the renewal of depleted energies– if so desired. These qualities may be useful to artists whose lives are vulnerable to instability, especially those who struggle with chronic demons. During career vagaries and disappointments, a spiritual practice lends strength and support in moments of creative self-doubt. So too, can they guide us towards the awareness that– devoted as we are to the craft, as much as we strive for recognition, grants, and shows– occupation in the creative process itself still gives us joy and well-being despite success or failure.
I wonder though, how much artists realize the spiritual impact of their work, even when there is no obvious spiritual content. Artists who have a deep connection with a particular landscape always evoke for me, environmental causes whether they are deliberate champions or not. The spirit of a place portrayed touches upon that facet of our individual relationship with a much greater whole, call it God, the power of the Universe, Great Mystery, the Tao or Divine Mother of Us All. In turn, the future of the planet becomes a source for concern.
Much of the figurative work, including subject matter that comprises the dark side of our culture: drug addicts, homelessness, victims of crime or political systems– for the last few decades, seemed to revolve around love or its absence, faith and its loss, community and a lack of belonging, intimacy and loneliness, the quiet or not so quiet celebrations, the grief of being unable to celebrate. Perhaps during events of incomprehensible magnitude, the candle of spirituality appears extinguished. Not a few artists felt a sense of momentary obsolescence after September 11th, questioning their purpose, the validity of their work in comparison to such an overwhelming tragedy. But if anyone remembers, artists did rally and put back into perspective the need for their services, particularly in difficult times. We may not be priests or ministers; many of us don’t aspire to be. Yet we can, through our work, inspire again and again, provide testament to hope, honour and remember those who have gone, encourage and comfort those left behind. We can offer the belief that life is still worth living. Indeed to bear witness to the human condition through our medium of choice as artists is, in itself, a spiritual act.
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