At one point I owned a chain-sawed sculpture of a small bear (made out of a tree stump) that I bought on my way back from a women’s empowerment retreat held at a lodge in the Adironacks. The bear was standing upright, and one of his craggy paws had a notch in it that was supposed to hold a beer can. I think I ultimately put a a big crystal in it. Or maybe a bunch of flowers. It was a long time ago.
I bought it because I thought it was cool, and at the time I was into Mother Bear as one of my Totem Animals. I didn’t think the piece was really “art,” but I liked looking at it — it looked powerful and playful at the same time. And it looked great standing outside my apartment door for all of my passing neighbors to look at and wonder about. It had meaning for me on many, many levels.
I’ve admitted before that I’m pretty much an elitist about “art.” I believe that there has to be inspired craft imposed upon an artifact of creative expression before I can think of it as “art.” That’s why writing poetry, for me, takes a great deal of time and revisions. I’m not just trying to express myself creatively; I’m really trying to create a work of art.
Long before I owned the tree-stumped bear, I remember staying up half the night with a bunch of friends arguing whether the most important thing about art is the process or the product. If it’s the process, the actual act of creation, then we might as well destroy all of the old art that’s hanging around in museums. Of course, I argued the other side: great art should be shared with those who also find inspiration and delight in the product. That doesn’t diminish the value of any kind of creative act, but we can all engage in creative acts and we can enjoy the creative acts of others. But that it doesn’t mean that what has been created is necessarily good “art.”
On the other hand:
Don