When my artist friends complained of not being able to get themselves to do their art, I was stymied. If they loved it so much, why didn't they just do it, I wondered? It didn't make sense to me.
What would happen if we completely reimaged how we viewed ourselves? And our shadows? And the world around us? Let's say we brought to light all of our flaws, our other self, the part of us we only see in our dreams.
Witnessing my daughter's miraculous birth and then the death of my wife soon after forced me to contemplate my own mortality. I asked myself, if I died tomorrow, what would I regret? Only one answer surfaced.
If there is a boundary, trust an artist to cross it -- and then make you appreciate why.
The works which I find most deeply satisfying to create are the ones which feel like gifts that I have received through some sort of bizarre or miraculous circumstance.
In our attempt to define, decide and stake out territory, in our desire to eliminate uncertainty, messiness and ambiguity, why do we narrow something that should remain mysterious and somehow bigger than ourselves to whatever novelty we might think of?
When I went to the Met as a Columbia undergraduate, I skirted around the fee since the college had bought membership for its students. As an art lover, I am now happy to pay for my visits -- I would hate for the Met to crumble like the beloved New York City Opera -- but I'm not sure everyone is.