Reconstructed Art And Thought: My notion of what art brings to thought is a gambit I love to pursue. Define art in less than a million words; no less will do. The story of art is perpetual. The long-continued dialogue that desperately struggles in its notion of what truly is an original work of art is never liberating.

The story: Intent on forcing the meaning out of the unsparing and sometimes redundant brushstrokes of the nearly completed painting before him. The aged artist solitarily sits in a heavily paint-splattered wicker chair, brooding over what will come of this particular work of art. And all the others that are accumulating another yearly layer of dust. The completed treasures are randomly stored in adjacent studio space. Each and every one of them are hoping that they will live out their lives in some museum or at least beautifully displayed in an elegant mansion.

The conclusion: To be an artist is a life filled with glory and doubt. High hopes. The pledge. The commitment. The never fulfilled promise of what could be or what should be. Yet: expectations are a powerful force. The reward is rarely monetary but always spiritually elevating. Once you start to create with paint on canvas, you become bound to the whims of a muse that shows little or no mercy. Can you run away? Should you run away? Never! Your soulful imagination and desire to create would fall into an abyss. Nothingness would take place of your inner joy, that can never truly be described because it’s something you can only feel.

“The painting before me never conceded to a final brushstroke. Always demanding, just one more. It screamed loudly; take a chance; don’t be afraid; just add one more; a dozen more after that.”

 

Rod Jones Artist-Writer