Every idea, every person of greatness and appearance, is a miracle of life – in the truth of his experience, it has been a way of not accepting Nos, not a way of being allowed, no. so-called success that gives fame at the price of authenticity.
One night after a long day's shift as a watchman, a young mother put her sick daughter in bed and gave her one of the few precious relics of her childhood – a 19th century illustrated poem for boys and girls with the title of responsible boys and girls Silver pennies.
just as A fairy tree He awakened a young nick cave in Art, this was Patti Smith straight as an artist. The opening sentence of the wormwood:
You must have a silver penny to enter Fairyland. But silver pennies are hard to come by.
It seemed like a clear teaching, the value of what he longed for: “Entering the world of mystery.” That's how children touch the truth of basic things, he understood the two things needed to intervene: “The heart to pierce other dimensions, the eyes look without judgment.”
He wouldn't have known it at the time, but this could be the pure definition of what it takes to be a musician; He could not have known that he would spend his whole life not getting silver pennies but making them get them, to get his salvation, being his custom, by paying the price of his nos living with Enchants.
In his dynamic face Bread of angels (public library), he takes the path of life by force that defies problems – the arms of survival in the body, and 'childhood' full of tuberculosis, measles, measles, A / H2N2 virus; Success factors: Born into a poor family, his father, who can't afford a car, walks two miles to catch a bus to burn his bus at night; The problems of spiritual survival, with the loss and therefore exploded so it is difficult to see it is difficult to imagine living with it, her husband who is her partner dies of AIDS, and because of all their misery they are killed there, and they are killed by what they suspect. daughter.
What can save him is his respect for the magic and mystery of life. He recalls his first experience of it when, amidst eviction notices and temporary housing in urban buildings marked for demolition, his family moved into a modest house in a rural suburb:
There was mystery here, not so much in the people, but in the land itself, the peaks, the Outhouse, the surrounding swamps, the red earth containing the clay of existence. I felt myself saying to me, inviting me to find a frequency that I had never known. I was consumed with the idea that each of us knows everything, has our key and the key to change it. I wondered what I could find, what my contribution would be, and what I could add to the infinite pool above.
Not long after that, he finds the door to his key:
Our family-only visit to the Philadelphia Museum of ART was a revelation … we had never been to a museum or gallery, never been to the movies or a restaurant together. There was no money to do anything save for a summer picnic together.
When he meets Dalí and Picasso for the first time in those foreign marble halls, he is overcome by the idea of being among the two who would lead him to “a whole new world.” It is because of that “invisible change” that he was able to break away from the ancestors of Jehovah's witnesses and began to hit his map of meaning, discovering what he believed, “the many languages of nature, the language of trees, and the clay of the earth.”
Looking back on his idea that the artist is the “material mouthpiece” of the Divine and on his desire to find “an equation that will encompass all things,” he writes:
I renounced my religion, not without escaping a painful sorrow, but accompanied by a feeling of liberation. I had chosen my path, I dedicated myself to art, and I decided to prepare myself that the life of an artist proves to be focused regardless of whether many threads seem to have many things that revolve around each other, containing everything. All history, all knowledge, is waiting to reveal itself, if only one can crack the code … We are born with a mind, we are open to everything, without known law, the limit of the mind is different. We learn to live as in the distance of thinking, in relation to the world, in the social order, to measure the harmony between thinking and the visible State.
Once the imagination is freed, the revelations can keep coming. Where the chances are at Oscar Wilde's Selfish Bullyhe is counted by it, so unlike anything he has ever read, but full of the same shock of respect he had found in the writings of Picasso, the poems of Yeats and the pictures in between Heaven.
He pulls the mysterious golden thread that binds these dividing lines and suddenly the whole tapestry of the creative spirit is revealed:
Then it hit me: everything was a potential poem. Steic prayers for mantises, the knowing eyes of my dog, a writing pen. The white snake awakened, and the invisible lines of the REVEL HUMP turned and filled like a coat of many colors.
All its contributions, even if they exist, are marked 'shaft suddenly containing the vibration of a certain moment, “and in that the heroes who became musicians themselves, shared with Bob Dylan (“both poets seemed to be bound in the future while they saw the future the magnitude of the correction and it appears from each other”), Alice in Wonderland Also Allen Ginsberg, Virginia Woolf and Susan Sontag. He shows:
I felt that I was working primarily and I believed that it was our right to be counted. There were walls everywhere, cracks were created by others. The only thing we had to do was kick with all our might, put them away, clear the debris and create space.
With the struggle – the periods of looking at eggs and oranges, the danger that took him to the moon's sheath, remains true to its vision, its nos, no, its nos to dress, its nos, its nos insists on covering his events, The star if he allows him to take “full command,” no to the change of the mature lyrical line of molded respect.
Life responds with a fiery Yes, Radiant and Redelamptive: The first record is pressed at the Selsame New Jersey Plant where he once turned when he applied for the factory.
Placed with the knowledge that those who have been given a gift are responsible for working it well, he comes to see the struggle as the sacred price of real work: “Opening the wounds of poetry.” In a sense that invokes the idea of Kafka's calculation of what ends up being the gift of life with its gifts, he writes:
Finally we have to act, set to move the process that will move us closer to the open wound.
In his particular life he rises with a great sense that art is the alchemy of transferring the wound, the artist that he will remain a ramsackle is the light, and he climbed with each balcony gearn – once he climbed with the “incandescent restless” to fight for the Indissoluble The Filament connects us all, “the form of giving that” with the insecure grace of grace “that is” the bread of the angels. ”
Underneath it all is “love, a miracle that works” – that's the delicate art of catching and letting go, our training ground for a time of hope. You write:
All must fall … Spilling is one of life's most difficult tasks … we evolve, we change, we learn from our mistakes, and we repeat. We went into Abyss and worked hard to get out and find ourselves in another lap time. Then I find the courage to do so, and we begin the expensive but wonderful process of quitting.
What emerges from the page is the idea that art is like love, a mysterious reaction between time, truth, trust – trust in the truth of one's vision, trust and the tenacity of the creative spirit. In such a hope, time is not a river but a well, we enter all the pools of sorrow itself in Sunlit Plaza's Sunlit For a moment before we go down to wash the silver instruments of the dead, and then we start again.
