The
act of creation, of making something from nothing, is more
mysterious to me now than ever. It is a mystery cult of
which I am an initiate, a member, chosen long ago when a seed
was planted. I was chosen. I had no choice.
If
I have had a master it is Nature itself. I have endeavored
to divine its inner and outer aspects in my bumbling way.
A never ending exercise in humility is human creation.
Like
flowers, clouds and people, art blooms mysteriously.
Artists are the intermediaries and arbiters between the sacred
and the profane—aspects both revealed and perceived. We
are children who lift up rocks to reveal what is beneath them—just because. For this we have been exalted and
vilified. Again, the sacred and the profane! Which
is it? So bet it—so it goes.
This
is not an "Artist's Statement," for they are
invariably cloying, pretentious, and self-serving. The
pictures I make (forgive me) come from deep in the cave—my
cave—a place not too distant.
"We
all shine on, like the moon and the Stars and the Sun.
Everyone...come on!"
--John Lennon (Instant Karma) |