Poets logo

Sheep, Prisoner-Artists, and Making Anyway

How art brings light and clarity.

By Lydia StewartPublished 2 years ago Updated about a year ago 3 min read
Like

“’Please…draw me a sheep…’ In the face of an overpowering mystery, you don’t dare disobey. Absurd as it seemed, a thousand miles from all inhabited regions and in danger of death, I took a scrap of paper and a pen out of my pocket.”

“The Little Prince” by Antoine De Saint-Exupery has long been a favorite book of mine, and E’s, too. I read it aloud with my husband when we were dating; she asked me to read parts of it aloud at her wedding as it had become special to her and her husband, as well. So when she asked me in the autumn of 2021 to draw her some sheep for a short-term publication called “Light in Winter”, it seemed terribly appropriate. So I drew E a sheep…and then another…and another…and so on. I drew wool and curling ram’s horns and tangles of legs and lambs. I inked and painted and studied pictures of her flock and learned about the anatomy of her wooly loves like I never had cause to do before.

The concept of “Light in Winter” was to provide a little joy and light in the bleak months of long darkness and chill that sets into your bones. It has reached its conclusion, but the concept has not, because while we struggle and grieve and battle confusion and anger in this immensely broken world of ours, and crack and break under the weight of our own brokenness, that doesn’t mean that we drop our writing and painting and other arts in favor of doing something “more useful.”

A million artists in refugee, POW, and containment camps over the ages would likely say the same. It would indeed seem “absurd” to write operas in a concentration camp when there might be none to play it or the composer could never hear it, but there it is on paper. We can still hear the uncontained mind of the music maker. Why teach children to paint in an internment camp? Yet we have the artwork of those Japanese-American children, post Pearl Harbor. Why draw pictures on a death march? Why write poetry when you’ve just lost everything? In the face of overpowering mystery, you don’t dare disobey. If you feel guilty for indulging in creating because you are experiencing peace where other artists are not, remember that when David found out that King Saul and later his son Absalom were gunning for his life, he wrote songs before and during his escape. Remember that Longfellow wrote I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day in a state of intense grief over the Civil War and a dead son, all mixed with hope for the future. This is no indulgence; this is, in some way that isn’t easy to explain, essential.

Can art also be selfish indulgence and avoidance? Of course; any good thing can be. But only you know if you’re doing that. In the end, Makers make. Your peace or your grief will change what you put out, perhaps, but not whether or not you do or should. If you think that art is only the indulgence of the wealthy or the at-rest, then ask a few more questions of makers you have long admired. You will find that their art was a celebration of soul, a mechanism for understanding their painful confusion, sometimes escape, and sometimes a warning for those who would come after. We have volumes of health for our souls from people who were not at peace.

Draw yourself a sheep.

inspirational
Like

About the Creator

Lydia Stewart

Lydia is a freelance copywriter and playwright, watercolorist and gardener living in Michigan. She loves to collaborate with writer friends, one of whom she married. Her inspirations come from all of these interests and relationships.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.