Imagination And The Artist

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Michelangelo, Versailles, photo by Adriana Geo on Unsplash

For thousands of years the mind of man has worried about the sick soul, perhaps even earlier than it did about the sick body.

The propitiation of gods, the perils of the soul and its salvation, these are not yesterday’s problems.

Religions are psychotherapeutic systems in the truest sense of the word, and on the grandest scale.

They express the whole range of the psychic problem in mighty images; they are the avowal and recognition of the soul, and at the same time the revelatio of the soul’s nature.

From this universal foundation no human soul is cut off; only the individual consciousness that has lost its connection with the psychic totality remains caught in the illusion that the soul is a small circumscribed area, a fit subject for “scientific” theorizing.

The loss of this great relationship is the prime evil of neurosis. ~Carl Jung

I’m fascinated by the old world, with its old ways and old beliefs. I want to live in an old building on an old street and wonder about the ancient history of the place. I think that the human mind needs roots in history, in ancient stories and arts. Yes, I’m a modern artist, but my practice and education is nurtured in the mists of time.

My imagination is ignited by the history of culture.

I don’t want to live around shiny new anorexic architecture that advertises the empty reflective modern mind. I like things made by hand imagining the ancient gods’ influence on the world. I like the ancient stories and wisdom that come from minds listening to dreams and myths.

A good part of my life has been spent with my nose in a book or else making art by hand. My hands want to join in the age old effort to produce something beautiful, something that has a spark of soul in it. Those practices somehow manage to enhance my humanness, I feel. I grow more alive in the process.

Living in Mexico now is very much like attending a theatre, God’s theatre you might say, with fantastic characters in fantastic costumes engaged in a fabulous song and dance show. I don’t know why I can’t see my own culture this way, but I can’t.

I’ve noticed that in certain environments I feel less neurotic. In my own culture, my sense of being an estranged-but-incognito outsider begins to weigh on me after a short while.

My natural state is as an expatriate.

Finding your soul’s natural home is not always easy. You have to listen to your given eccentricities, follow them where they lead, affirm them. They are your birthright. They constitute an innate intelligence. They are your genius.

You have to turn a deaf ear to those who can’t hear your inner voice trying to speak. You just have to tune yourself to your inner song.

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