Can Art Ever Be 'Pure'?

Here is my pain

Look how pretty it is! 

Love me

Understand me

Feel sorry for me 

Here are some words

Obscured by pretension

Thunderstorms of symbolism

Minimalism implying depth

lies

Aren't you proud of me?

---

Art can almost never be pure.

I would like to remove the word 'never' from the above sentence, but I loathe to make definitive statements. There may be an exception to the rule that I haven't explored and will never be exposed to. But as it stands, I am not convinced.

It comes down to intention.

The moment pen touches paper, intention is transmitted. That intention dilutes the purity of expression, forever tainting the page. Even if the artwork is never shared, the artist chose to create it, thus they are consciously or subconsciously acting to manipulate nothing into something. That manipulation is shaped by their unique place in space and time, by their upbringing, intelligence, personality, experiences, goals, and a plethora of other variables; most of which remain obscure to the artist.

They cannot help but leave themselves on the page.

These leavings constitute what we refer to as 'art'. But that art is in fact a melding of the intention of the artist and the unintended and unknown influences of the various obscured factors. Any changes to these factors will change the art that is produced. Thus, art is defined by and irrevocably tied to the artist.

This isn't to say that what is produced isn't of worth and doesn't move people. Such a statement couldn't be further from the truth; we consume art of all forms to be emotionally impacted. The best art seems to blend with the observer, irrevocably marking a change within. Before the art they were one way. After the art they were another. They can remember their past lives but will never again be able to return to it. The art has fundamentally changed them. A lofty goal to aspire towards, but even still the act of changing one another occurs all the time. Every conversation and interaction changes us. Every word read, movie watched, and painting viewed adds a small amount of data to our ever-expanding library of experience; subsequently rewriting or commenting on all that came before it. Most of these interactions are so subtle that they are ignored, but every so often we are moved so thoroughly that the very foundations of that library shift.

The impact of that fundamental shift is so complete that it results in us labelling the artistic catalyst as 'pure'.

How could that art not be divine? Look how it has moved me so!

Perhaps an artist's true job is to get out of their own way. To let divinity flow through them. To remove as many internal obstacles as possible on their journey towards filling up the blank page.

We can approach this by way of analogy. It is still possible to go into nature and find untarnished areas of pristine beauty, wonder and glory; this despite humanity's? ever growing presence. But the reality is that our view of this natural artwork is merely limited in scope. If we travel far enough, or sufficiently zoom out or in, the evidence of humanity is unavoidable. Thus, the only way to observe 'pure nature' is through our imaginations, or to accept humanity as an integral part of nature, warts, and all.

Just as it's impossible to take humanity out of nature, it is similarly impossible to take the artist out of the art. They may be a conduit for something greater, or merely a product of their time. Regardless, the art that they produce will change those who view it, even if that change is minute, it is still change. It is still impactful and worth doing.

Perhaps more importantly though, the act of creation itself causes change within the artist. They are forever chasing an ever-shifting goal of competency and recognition. As their technical skills improve over time, so do their expectations of their art. The cliché of the artist never quite being happy with their work exists for a reason: they can always see their own hand in their art. They can always recognise the signs of impurity. It doesn't matter if one or one million people are moved, they know how the bread was baked. They know the struggles they faced, and the compromises taken.

Ultimately, they know that they accepted imperfection.

At some point, the artist must say enough is enough. At some point the artwork must be complete. If not, that artist is forever doomed to be working on the one piece for eternity, or else have galleries full of works in progress. This situation isn't sustainable. Not only is the creativity of the artist held back by never having closure, but the practical limitations of time and resources will eventually catch up to them. So inevitably the artist puts the pen down, laments their failure, and moves onto the next project knowing that it too can never be perfect. Knowing that it can never be pure.

But move on they must, for their art moves us, and by creating it, it moves them.

I chose to start this book with the poem 'Self-Indulgence' and the above talk, because I feel that they best represent my view of the creative process. Dissecting how and why I write leads to some interesting, and at times not so flattering, answers. I would like to say that it is all an act of pure expression, but that is simply not the case. When I look at my motives, I see that the drive for purity is clouded by ego, desire, fear, and longing.

I also see hope.

The genesis of this book came from my use of writing as therapy. I initially wanted to create an instructional manual that would teach readers how to empty their minds onto the page, releasing negativity and uncovering their unique truth. I intended to share some of my work to be used as an example of self-expression, explaining how and why I wrote what I wrote. But very quickly I realised that I would also have to explain every aspect of myself that lead to its creation, both the stuff I am explicitly aware of, as well as the underlying influences. This is an impossible task. I don't have enough pages or introspective insights, and no reader has enough time or interest. Besides, the reader would ultimately have to take the plunge and put pen to paper themselves. The very act of writing would teach them how to use writing as therapy far better than I ever could.

The initial discussion of artistic purity is my attempt to justify to myself and you that regardless of what you create, regardless of your intent, regardless of the results, you still should create. Your intentions and creations may not be 'pure', but so what. I am the creator and conduit of the art that follows. Perhaps it will noticeably move you, perhaps not. Regardless, I am laying myself bare in the hope that it will inspire you to pick up a pen for yourself.

Writing these poems healed me. For that reason alone, they are worth sharing.

Art can almost never be pure.

I would like to remove the word 'never' from the above sentence, but I loathe to make definitive statements. There may be an exception to the rule that I haven't explored and will never be exposed to. But as it stands, I am not convinced.

It comes down to intention.

The moment pen touches paper, intention is transmitted. That intention dilutes the purity of expression, forever tainting the page. Even if the artwork is never shared, the artist chose to create it, thus they are consciously or subconsciously acting to manipulate nothing into something. That manipulation is shaped by their unique place in space and time, by their upbringing, intelligence, personality, experiences, goals, and a plethora of other variables; most of which remain obscure to the artist.

They cannot help but leave themselves on the page.

These leavings constitute what we refer to as 'art'. But that art is in fact a melding of the intention of the artist and the unintended and unknown influences of the various obscured factors. Any changes to these factors will change the art that is produced. Thus, art is defined by and irrevocably tied to the artist.

This isn't to say that what is produced isn't of worth and doesn't move people. Such a statement couldn't be further from the truth; we consume art of all forms to be emotionally impacted. The best art seems to blend with the observer, irrevocably marking a change within. Before the art they were one way. After the art they were another. They can remember their past lives but will never again be able to return to it. The art has fundamentally changed them. A lofty goal to aspire towards, but even still the act of changing one another occurs all the time. Every conversation and interaction changes us. Every word read, movie watched, and painting viewed adds a small amount of data to our ever-expanding library of experience; subsequently rewriting or commenting on all that came before it. Most of these interactions are so subtle that they are ignored, but every so often we are moved so thoroughly that the very foundations of that library shift.

The impact of that fundamental shift is so complete that it results in us labelling the artistic catalyst as 'pure'.

How could that art not be divine? Look how it has moved me so!

Perhaps an artist's true job is to get out of their own way. To let divinity flow through them. To remove as many internal obstacles as possible on their journey towards filling up the blank page.

We can approach this by way of analogy. It is still possible to go into nature and find untarnished areas of pristine beauty, wonder and glory; this despite humanity's? ever growing presence. But the reality is that our view of this natural artwork is merely limited in scope. If we travel far enough, or sufficiently zoom out or in, the evidence of humanity is unavoidable. Thus, the only way to observe 'pure nature' is through our imaginations, or to accept humanity as an integral part of nature, warts, and all.

Just as it's impossible to take humanity out of nature, it is similarly impossible to take the artist out of the art. They may be a conduit for something greater, or merely a product of their time. Regardless, the art that they produce will change those who view it, even if that change is minute, it is still change. It is still impactful and worth doing.

Perhaps more importantly though, the act of creation itself causes change within the artist. They are forever chasing an ever-shifting goal of competency and recognition. As their technical skills improve over time, so do their expectations of their art. The cliché of the artist never quite being happy with their work exists for a reason: they can always see their own hand in their art. They can always recognise the signs of impurity. It doesn't matter if one or one million people are moved, they know how the bread was baked. They know the struggles they faced, and the compromises taken.

Ultimately, they know that they accepted imperfection.

At some point, the artist must say enough is enough. At some point the artwork must be complete. If not, that artist is forever doomed to be working on the one piece for eternity, or else have galleries full of works in progress. This situation isn't sustainable. Not only is the creativity of the artist held back by never having closure, but the practical limitations of time and resources will eventually catch up to them. So inevitably the artist puts the pen down, laments their failure, and moves onto the next project knowing that it too can never be perfect. Knowing that it can never be pure.

But move on they must, for their art moves us, and by creating it, it moves them.

I chose to start this book with the poem 'Self-Indulgence' and the above talk, because I feel that they best represent my view of the creative process. Dissecting how and why I write leads to some interesting, and at times not so flattering, answers. I would like to say that it is all an act of pure expression, but that is simply not the case. When I look at my motives, I see that the drive for purity is clouded by ego, desire, fear, and longing.

I also see hope.

The genesis of this book came from my use of writing as therapy. I initially wanted to create an instructional manual that would teach readers how to empty their minds onto the page, releasing negativity and uncovering their unique truth. I intended to share some of my work to be used as an example of self-expression, explaining how and why I wrote what I wrote. But very quickly I realised that I would also have to explain every aspect of myself that lead to its creation, both the stuff I am explicitly aware of, as well as the underlying influences. This is an impossible task. I don't have enough pages or introspective insights, and no reader has enough time or interest. Besides, the reader would ultimately have to take the plunge and put pen to paper themselves. The very act of writing would teach them how to use writing as therapy far better than I ever could.

The initial discussion of artistic purity is my attempt to justify to myself and you that regardless of what you create, regardless of your intent, regardless of the results, you still should create. Your intentions and creations may not be 'pure', but so what. I am the creator and conduit of the art that follows. Perhaps it will noticeably move you, perhaps not. Regardless, I am laying myself bare in the hope that it will inspire you to pick up a pen for yourself.

Writing these poems healed me. For that reason alone, they are worth sharing.

---

This piece is the introduction to the book, 'Bound to the Wings of a Butterfly'.

Out now: eBook, Paperback, Hardcover & Audio