Dear readers,
In the vibrant city of Berlin, the allure of artistic expression is undeniable. However, after 11 years of knowing this city, the embodiment of the spirit of creation is harder to find.
The city offers relaxed and endless fun, though authenticity is something I gravitate towards. While I surround myself with courageous artists who delve into new and diverse perspectives, challenging the status quo, I must confess that much of the art I've encountered in the wild lately feels unremarkable and predictable.
Interestingly enough, I felt this way just last night at an art show by an up-and-coming mixed media artist whose focus is consumerism. Part of the piece's complementary synopsis read, "So I log off, thinking maybe I don't need material goods to live a fulfilled life, maybe that's not where my happiness truly lies. Maybe I should get a facial instead."
I could not help but feel a sense of internal resistance to the contemporary art show and a questioning of the sentiment, which persists even as I sit here wearing my Perricone MD Chlorophyll Detox Face Mask (lol no joke).
The question which arose is, does all art come from a spiritual wellspring of inspiration, and if it does not, then where does it come from?
To me, art embodies a purpose of purity and is an offering to oneself, and others. As a result, I gravitate towards the ancient, the historical, and the divine in my artistic pursuits.
My only desire is for our creative endeavors to be driven by pure intentions, never losing sight of the abundant wellspring of inspiration that challenges the status quo. It possesses an intangible quality which always stirs something within us. I am not sure where all art comes from, though if I were to explore a main problem which blocks pure sources of inspiration, I would say this.
Let's address the problem: living in a bubble, living in a bubble and not realising it
How the symptoms manifest: fear, a lack of curiosity or empathy, grandiosity, unattainable expectations such as perfectionism
The cure lies in: shedding our egos, seeking therapy, tapping into the pure energy of creation
Shouldn't art, stripped of its human essence, lead us to profound insights? What is yin without yang? What is light without darkness? What is art if it does not illuminate a path to introspection? Maybe the show we saw last night has done exactly this . . .
While I may offer critiques, I also offer joyful tributes to all those willing to create. It takes great courage to create and to persist with joy in the act of creation. The extreme alternative is a mindless production of commoditized output, driven by numb complacency and the cutthroat nature of capitalism.
In recent years, to me, it is television which has successfully tapped into this eternal well. I have stumbled upon television shows that evoke this ethereal essence and inspire me. My brother has a knack for discovering such shows. One recent example is "American Born Chinese," where the TV writers genuinely told a layered story based on a comic book series, challenging the status quo, in a way that stirred something within us.
In conclusion, I must emphasize that we don't need to strive for anything to validate our humanity. Much like the nature surrounding us, the mere act of grounding ourselves and embracing growth is an impressive achievement in its own right. My call to action is for us to create, and where possible, to create from a place of purity.
With this in mind, I'd like to share a poem I wrote in 2009. It was first performed in our family kitchen, on a cold autumn night while my mother prepared stew. I wrote it within ten minutes, the words falling out of the sky into my heart, and through my hands. I grabbed a wooden chair and used it as my stage. My mother cried tears of joy at the end of it, though she always could understand what I was trying to say. I can't precisely pinpoint the origin of this poem, but if I were to hazard a guess, it emerged from that metaphorical wellspring of inspiration I have been speaking of. Even back then, this poem flowed effortlessly, much like ICARUS.
A Shift Was Heard Around the World, From Eden
“Stagnation is death!” he said. “Stagnation is death!”
So, I ran to the graveyard with a shovel in hand,
And I dug up all of those who had no chance —
Who knew nothing more than the four walls around them and
The ideas they learned, but never tested.
I looked around, and I realized almost the entire graveyard was excavated.
On the highest ground, with rain pouring and owls mourning, I proclaimed,
“Stagnation is death! Take back your life!”
Those bones began to quake.
The earth began to shake.
Those bodies began to wake.
An army of vigilance and a mindful set of brilliance.
We planted seeds of determination and yeah,
We got our hands dirty in the process.
Turning the soil over, we watered these new ideas.
We could see a difference being made!
The addict began to shout, “Stagnation is death!”
The mother began to shout, “Stagnation is death!”
The children began to shout. The world leaders began to shout.
The fathers began to shout. The oceans began to shout.
The world began to shout.
In a society first built so only the privileged could rise —
In a society first built so not everyone could thrive . . .
A shift was heard around the world.
The world was shouting, but not everyone was shouting.
And the poor man began to rise,
And the oppressed man began to rise,
And the sister began to rise,
And the man at the top finally opened his pale blue eyes and
He
Was
Mesmerized.