"How splendidly human it is to practice. Everything we do is practice, if you will see it that way. This is an optimistic perspective; it suggests that the awkwardness, failure, or drudgery of our current task will, sooner or later (and probably gradually), give way to something lovely, even beautiful.
For reasons that are difficult to articulate, art is vital. As we experience it, we increase. This is not necessarily to say that we gain information, but rather that we become part of a larger thing, and in some way we know or are known more completely. I believe it is this illusive quality that unites art as diverse as that of Rembrandt and Paul Klee. In this sense it is not a new thing that must continually be done in art, but rather the old thing, continually explored by new individuals.
Perhaps art is a rend—a hole, a place where a seam in the body or spirit did not quite come together, and as a result another pure authentic reality leaks out, not necessarily in intentional ways. Perhaps artists are the ones who through poetry, dance, story, music or what have you give shape to the issue and substance of that reality, such that it can be perceived as something more than just a mess that needs mopping or therapy.
I believe that the power of art is derived from this pure authentic reality, a reality which is concealed for what I trust are good reasons. Not all leaks from that world are to be broadcast or celebrated. Benefit can certainly be derived from these intentioned or unintentioned leaks. But only if treated with care. I believe that as an artist I should exercise such stewardship. The invasion to ourselves in creating art as well as the invasions to those who receive the art make it clear to me that the process should be handled with appropriate care, affection, concern and not least, virtue. Even in my pictures which are humorous and whimsical there is an element of danger because they must in some way acknowledge or address the existence of the very center of truth. In that truth, I have found that there is plenty to laugh about, but not at. There is plenty of comfort if I can learn how to receive it. There is plenty of joy, but it must have a foundation. And there is plenty of sorrow, but not despair. "--Brian Kershisnik
today i feel leaky.
today i feel full of leaks.
places where my body and soul don't meet up.
rent.
not enough fingers to plug up all the holes.
it's awkward to use my hands to plug up all the parts of me and find i have no hands left for living.
and i wonder if it is time to stop plugging up all the holes
in order to appear whole.
and as i stand in a puddle on the floor
i wonder
am i something more than just a "mess to mop up?"
scarred, and lined. . .
and wet.
can i be grateful?
in my mind i can.
but in my heart i can't.
i'm mad, and uncomfortable, and embarassed.
ashamed. . .
of my awkwardness.
and leaks.
and it steals my breath.
and fears washes through my belly
at the thought of others seeing
holes
but the fear is greater what if others just see
through.
right through me and keep on looking.
and i'm nobody.
so full of holes that no one sees me at all.
and so i keep running
in an awkward way
trying to keep up
and hold on to the holes
and keep it together.
but i can see i am leaking
and it's time to stop
and let go.
and ask to be seen
as whole
as me.
and that is my greatest fear.
and i worry
what i don't give way to something beautiful?
what if i am scarred
and ugly
and hurt.
and no lovliness comes.
and so i wait
and realize
the puddle i've created
is from my own tears.
and i look down
and step through the saltiness
barefoot, and shivering
and wonder
is this really me?
i'm thinner than before.
not puffed up with falseness
i can see my hips.
and i claim my breasts.
and look at what is me.
hello.
i say.
hello
i say back.
there is an awkward pause of newness.
i don't know what do say.
you're brave, i hear.
i'm skinny and shivering
i say back.
and real.
i feel those words more than hear them.
i think it might hurt, i say.
and then i feel hope
and magic.
filling up all your broken places.
You're just a big hole lotta woman. Those hole are like drains to catch your overflowing awesomeness.
Posted by: Tim | December 15, 2011 at 01:48 PM