Art delivers the truth out of us.
That’s why we fear it.
That’s why we crave it.
Something about the way creation has to come about that demands surrender, demands not just a letting go but a not-holding-back.
In that you are never alone when you are creating art. It’s not a thing you can pull off singly.
Ever tried to surprise yourself? Tickle yourself?
Can’t do it.
Ever been surprised by something you created? Looked back on it and said, Wow, that’s good, where did that come from?
It’s a wild road, art. But what would we do without it? Wither, dry up, break into crumbs?
To be creative is to seek something. To seek a glance, a dance with the most beautiful, exotic creature in the room. To dare to believe that you are even meant to make love to it.
To stroke, to feel, to touch; to sense and temper the heightening and the turning toward or away.
To guide, to be guided.
To command, to be commanded.
Creativity opens you so thoroughly as to slice you up the middle and down the back and to beckon you and finger you into play.
You are not alone.
You are seeing something as it mysteriously forms – and you get the muted but fixed sense that you, too, are being seen.
Can the making of our art be so powerful that we at times become afraid of it? So that because we desire to be seen but we also fear it, we hide from delivering on our truest art; we dismiss it, we shackle it off and forbid ourselves from it.
Art, spirituality, sexuality. Pleasure, exploration, glory.
All of these: invitations, offerings, chances to undress. Nakedness, teasing, seeing.
Seeing so fully it yields total exposure and in doing so, total freedom. Past uncomfortable. Way past shy, past coy, well beyond simple gratuitous uncovering.
Seeing that is rather an eager readiness, an acceptance of our innate desire, our heavy, encompassing, disarming need to be whole. To be recognized by ourselves as whole.
No one, when creating art – not even the loneliest person in the world – is really alone.
Is it not erotic to muse on the creative process of giving ourselves over to something else?
Is it not sensual to write about a connection to something that occupies, stimulates, beckons, presses upon, pulls at, makes ecstatic and delicious friction with your being?
When I talk about art, about writing, about creativity, I’m not talking about my experience alone. There’s something there with me.
There is an exchange. The closest thing to Truth I’ve ever known is when that exchange is full and complete. Honest in the first degree.
In it, there is surprise. There is a release and a satisfaction you can’t bring about by yourself. You cannot surprise yourself because even if you try, you can’t react. You can’t feel surprise alone.
Something has to act on you, something has to want you to join in.
Something has to invite you to feel something. Something has to delight in seeing you.
There’s something about art that makes
telling being the truth alluring, toothsome, sexy.
That’s why we fear it.
That’s why we love it.
Maybe, that’s why we need it.
And it needs us.
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© 2014 Allison Marie Conway at Glory Begin