Artist Thoughts

THERE exists a voice, a far voice if we dare heed, calling through the rainy days, calling on the breeze and speaking to the depths of a soul. It's a love, it's an agony, it's an ecstasy - the pains of child birth - but it's our joy our delight and our "life". It's a message yet to complete.

McCahon finds a radiant joy, a waterfall, and he speaks of the surprise of love out of his day, he discourses in strait lines and curves (that which is life/ love's foundation and flow). William Blake finds the end of a piece of golden string to wind it in. Hotere is not about his black but the white coming out. James K Baxter finds that for the gathering of the tribe the heart must be the spring of water. And that life, that love that underlies, that is still the mountain, still the peak, for every generation, colour or creed is still our home, no matter where we build our houses, whether fashions follow or turn away, or tackle in another style - it is still the foundation and still the goal.

It's not for the "got it together" - it's a Sacred romance enticing - and that's a journey indeed. It's not for the "good" and it's not for the "bad" within and amougst ourselves ( that's the wrong tree in the garden) the fruit of which being a non subtance "I am" vaneer. It's just for the hopeful lovers. It's a story for fools, romantic fools, that come to abide and hope - not in themselves, not in their pride, nor for their rights, for these (we) are all convicts to fear and fall "common sense" wise - life without life. Fallen life's laws are a drive whether we are lazy or not and never really completes, but love is a surrender a unity both done and completing - a rest. So we hope in a grace and come to home to rest and flight, to abide in love - to dream once more, to be alive once more. It is only in love are we both secure (founded) and free, a paradox that often eludes us when we (mankind) make our quests for either security or freedom (not love) and thus one tends to negate the other. Love does not need the law for love fulfils it. It is in love that we are human - love's "I am" - not in being human. It is in faith that we are created(ive), not in being evolved. It is in love that we are hearts of flesh liberated, precious and majestic - a river or a waterfall indeed. It is the sensual grace that eludes us when we seek sensuality or purity, the shurity or substance that eludes us when we seek control or anarchy - it is "I am" and it is love and it is love we must seek. Art should always aim to sight, always have a seek, for truth (strength or foundation) and beauty (flow) - the paradox of love and life in abundance.

What makes art over craft is the expression of heart, the sight of life, and the heart on the sleeve, not technique (technique is an extension to expression and thus for love is a servant, an intrument, not victim, slave or overlord). It's the story, the discourse, not the paint, and this is art's value as an instrument, servant or vehcile (for indeed Art initself must not become the victim, slave or overlord). Both the seeker of "fashionable" or indeed "antifashionable" may become a victim without a love "truth" they own - for it is love of which the object speaks (the relationship) not the object that inherantly adds to life. It's for those that store, not for the physical things, but for those that store for what they can keep - the inspiration to love. Live for "art"- there is no true life ,but live truthfully for life, there is always art. Art can only project or reflect what it sees, or what it has, the viewer can only reflect on the basis of what they see or have. CS Lewis describes a character of love as a "Man that tourists think is simple - because he is honest or "truthful" - but neigbours think wise for the very same reason". This is reflection on a solid character, a substance or nature. An object or character of love or seeking love simply "Is" or simply "becomes" and finds that confidence or shurity, while a race for "pride" often projects the opposite, it's the "goliath" on the outside with little real truth or substance and tends not to endure. Art should always have us climbing and reaching - but climbing and reaching to rest.

But what can my mortal do to climb such a peak or through such a gate - for we are often the lost tribe - but cling to a grace, hope in a grace, savour a grace, and even celebrate in that grace, a friend and a love that's with us all the way, a story that runs deep. For that grace, that love "Is" - and it's a dear life and life in itself. So to the day that voice, that far off voice comes home to rest, to stay, and we "be" - dear life.

For we ARE, and we must hear life's voice, the story, it's bitter and sweet, it's pains of childbirth and joy, to which we may incline our ears to celebrate, because of who we are - the beloved, the Children of "I AM" - the elect to life. This is our mountain to which we must come.