cross-posted to The Decadence
One of the challenges for any writer is to find that balance between solitude and intimacy, independence and community.
An artist – and by this I mean anyone who takes art-making seriously, whatever kind of art that may be – is by definition a rebel. The whole point of art is to shake things up, challenge the status quo, get people to look at things anew and maybe, just maybe, alter their belief system.
An artist is a witness: to make art is to make meaning of things, and in order for that to happen you have to tune into the world around you. You have to steep yourself in your own place and time, because even if your work involves a different historical period, you yourself are a product of the culture that shaped you, and your art a commentary on it.
An artist is an outsider: to try and live as an artist is to set yourself against the usual structures of day to day living.
An artist is an outlaw: we steal from the stories around us to make stories of our own.
Rebel, witness, outsider, outlaw: these are all romantic notions, but might lead to an alienation that can slowly crush your soul. They can take you to a place so far outside the ‘normal’ world – and deep inside your own personality – that the things you say through your creations no longer have meaning for anyone except yourself.
Artists take a certain pride in their sense of ‘difference’, probably because that ‘difference’ was a source of shame when we were younger.
But it’s not enough to be different; we also need to be whole.
We need to be connected to something larger than ourselves and experience our place in the world.
We need ties – strong ties – to our community, our society, other people. Otherwise we risk depression and despair – and even the loss of ourselves, since you can’t know yourself without knowing other people, just as you can’t know other people without knowing yourself.