An Era of Art: Funerals, Rebirths and Crossings

I told you about the Funeral for Art- few people where there to carry the corpse, to cover the grave.

It was a silent event, a slow death witnessed by all. And it all seemed that very normal. At many times in Man’s cultural history, Man has fallen into what some called the Dark Ages- times when grand eras of Civilization arose to swallow itself in a vortex.

It is always a suspect period to live in, when men applaud the mediocre, and raise altars for self-ordained Art. Of course the artists are to blame, for yielding to the capricious longings of the crowds to build them a golden calf. He has the skill, and his will must always be for the right use of the Gift.

             The Rise Of Art, soft charcoal drawing, 02/2011

Art and the Mortician are familiar friends, Art with the Priest are great friends. Art cannot stand alone, Art cannot stand over all. The encouragement of the people’s primordial joys in Life is the very blood of Art. The merchandising, and packaging of Art to fill superficial desires and to soothe bloated egos will in the long run alienate Art from the Masses for whom It was the Mouthpiece.

Of course Art has a lofty class beyond mere ranting and longings. I will speak about The Rise of Art. When Men said ‘Peace, Peace; when Kings built gardens and high walls in times of peace, they hired the Artists to decorate those high walls. They adorned the streets with apt sculptures. Nigeria-Seme Border

We live in a land of personal gods, and so also they have personal altars raised. But the binding fact in all life is the belief in the One. A recognition of Who He is has led to battles, and heavy death tolls. The Artist keeps pointing to the One, keeps referencing. It is the Glory of Art to rise beyond the Mimicking of mere appearances and dig into the deep psyche of humanity in all mankind for the golden, the sometimes forgotten Age of Innocence and Unpretentiousness. Abstract strokes are quite eloquent and beautiful convolutions spewed from Pure Creative id.

I enjoy the gestures, the spirals and the deliberate, guided lines, the silent white spaces in-between. Silence must be heard as profound, albeit suppressed speech. And Art will spur Men to become more contemplative, to occasionally withdraw the external noise into the quiet place of Ideals and dreamed landscapes of the Golden Age. In this Globalisation it is the only way forward, as Cultural borders fall. One wonders-is there a human loss, at what price do these borders open up? Will there be an embrace of Outsider Culture by the Centre,an vice-versa; or a harm to the Other,a form of neo-colonialism as some writers have suggested?

These issues are better catalogued by the historians. I am a mere artist, a mouthpiece of the people. Mine is to stand by my people and declare their experiences in context of the realities on the ground. Art is beyond one man’s grasp.

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