The Life of Art

Earlier today, A wrote to me saying she and (other) A had painted a photo I'd taken sometime back (part of which forms the header of this blog, at present). Of course, my first reaction was to be flattered and humbled that a photo I took could inspire further artistic expression, using alternative media. But as I continued to ponder, I found myself increasingly fascinated by the ways in which one artistic expression inspires another. And then my mind wandered to a beautiful book I'd recently read, one that drew out the longevity of art, holding it against the ephemeral nature of all else. It is true... these leaves may no longer exist, or if they do, they shall soon cease to, but once captured thus - in photo or painting, they will remain alive for a long, long time. I quote now Narcissus and Goldmund, at the risk of making this post unduly sombre:

He thought that fear of death was perhaps the root of all art, perhaps also of all things of the mind. We fear death, we shudder at life’s instability, we grieve to see the flowers wilt again and again, and the leaves fall, and in our hearts we know that we, too, are transitory and will soon disappear. When artists create pictures and thinkers search for laws and formulate thoughts, it is in order to salvage something from the great dance of death, to make something that lasts longer than we do. Perhaps the woman after whom the master shaped his beautiful madonna is already wilted or dead, and soon he, too, will be dead; others will live in his house and eat at his table - but his work will still be standing a hundred years from now, and longer. It will go on shimmering in the quiet cloister church, unchangingly beautiful, forever smiling with the same sad, flowering mouth.

I leave you then with the lovely paintings as well. And may they live forever.