The Tibetan monks spend hours and hours making the most perfect mandalas out of sand. As opposed to most artworks, which represent the outer world (still life, portraits, landscapes, etc), the mandala is meant to represent the inner world. The monks display their perfect creation for a short time, and then dump the sand into the river in honor of the passing of all things. Very Buddhist.
I spend a lot of time making my paintings, which I suppose don't represent the outer or inner worlds; hopefully they're more akin to the illusion of the external we all experience in the land of dreams. Nonetheless, they take a good bit of energy to make, and I find myself in a catch 22. The artist's paradox? If you make something that is interesting enough to sell, you may fall in love with it yourself...
Can someone who loves their work make a living at art? Only if they can let it go, I suppose.
I think the Tibetan monks are onto something though. I have to admit, I still struggle with attachment to my paintings. It's difficult to determine a price. It's difficult to decide which ones to even sell. I would love to paint a series of huge pieces, and have a one man show, but I hesitate, since someone might actually BUY them, and take them away.
It's silly to spend all this time painting and assembling these Buddhas (and cutting up Buddhism books to fuel my subliminal messages) and still want to hold onto, cling to these things.
Today I mailed out a few paintings for Sarah's benefit. I really wanted to donate some artwork, not only to raise money for a good cause, but to simply experience the feeling of giving something away that I would have otherwise kept.
It didn't hurt at all.
So, Sarah, Dan, Marek, keep your eyes on the mailbox this week. I sent you a package, but you gave me something as well, so thank you.
And if they don't sell, just toss them into the sea!