Last night I contemplated what suffering produces in the context of art. It got me to...well....contemplating (yes I'm a contemplative fellow) on a related topic.
Wouldn't it be cool if brand new babies could write books or music, paint or sculpt, sing, etc.?
What do you think they would create?
I believe that what would flow from their hearts would be the warm and undeniable connection they create when they roll down the street in their strollers. Watch when a stroller rolls by, the love just gracefully floats like a light chasing any darkness away that it encounters (even if Mommy or Daddy is navigating with one hand and chattering on a cell with the other).
Somehow, I think that a brand new infant would intuitively know how to capture the Om (as best I can explain it, the loving, connecting sound that vibrates throughout the universe) in ways that we know and would quickly remember but for whatever reason, we've forgotten. It seems that the beauty that arises from art that I see is often referenceable in the context of how life is suffering and because of that I see something in the piece that resonates with me.
For example, one of my favorite pictures is the one where there is a small boy and small girl in a meadow in summer outfits on a beautiful day. The boy is handing the girl a flower. It always touches me deeply.
Is it beautiful because of the yearning for innocence lost? Is it beautiful because it's what we "could" be? Is it beautiful because of a possible relationship I missed?
Or maybe, as I so infrequently consider, that it's beautiful because it's beauty.
Which reminds me, one night around Christmastime, Zoe and I had decorated a little Xmas tree in our house (by the way, when did Christ become X?). As evening arrived, the apartment was getting darker and I decided to turn the Christamas tree lights on and the apartment lights off. I sat back down and each of us went back to whatever it was we were doing (my bet I was reading, she was coloring...).
When she noticed the lights, she sat down in front of the tree. She was quiet for a few moments, which drew my attention. Before I said anything she said: "Daddy, it's so beautiful."
I remember being at a loss as to how to respond. I mumbled something like "You're right honey, it is beautiful" as I choked back (unnecessarily I suppose) tears.
She still is in touch with the idea of admiring beauty for beauty's sake and I believe that it is that loving nature that is the muse for every brand new infant artist. They wouldn't look for approval from anyone on their art. They wouldn't worry about what's right or wrong about their art. They would quietly adore the beauty in each other's work, in each other's hearts for the beauty's sake.
Wouldn't that be cool to see?