Here’s an excerpt from An Artist Empowered that clarifies terminology I use in the book and on this blog.

I also frequently cite the terms dharma, self, soul, and, as mentioned earlier, the true artist. In the context of this book, dharma is your purpose in life; self is the transcendental essence that is you; not the finite ego self, but the unadulterated self that, by being in direct contact with creation, is the communicator of infinite power and great art; soul is the bearer of intuition, which is the Creator speaking directly to you; and the true artist defies dogma, custom, and social pressure by creating for no other purpose than to create—and should the work edify or entertain, then so be it.

Art and everyday existence are inseparable to the true artist. 

The other day, Walking Man 1, a 6-foot tall bronze by Alberto Giacometti sold at auction for a record-breaking $104.3 million to an undisclosed buyer. Pablo Picasso’s Boy With a Pipe held the previous record of $104.1 million set in 2004.

Of course, in these very high-end cases, the buyers are acquiring artworks that come with a provenance (ownership and history of the work) and the cachet of the artist. The value of these works has escalated due to demand and perceived value—not necessarily based on intrinsic value.

Which brings me to my point.

Where does the art come from? Each story is unique. I’ve written a bio in broad brushstrokes that includes situations that I’m writing about in a bit more detail for the first time. You can read about my journey in About Eden—the link is in the upper right sidebar.

My advice to art lovers still stands: acquire the art of living artists; the departed no longer require your financial support.

Here is an opening statement from:

Lecture On Zen

by

Alan Watts

Once upon a time, there was a Zen student who quoted an old Buddhist poem to his teacher, which says:

The voices of torrents are from one great tongue,
the lions of the hills are the pure body of Buddha.

‘Isn’t that right?’ he said to the teacher.
‘It is,’ said the teacher, ‘but it’s a pity to say so.’

It would be, of course, much better, if this occasion were celebrated with no talk at all, and if I addressed you in the manner of the ancient teachers of Zen, I should hit the microphone with my fan and leave. But I somehow have the feeling that since you have contributed to the support of the Zen Center, in expectation of learning something, a few words should be said, even though I warn you that by explaining these things to you, I shall subject you to a very serious hoax.

Because if I allow you to leave here this evening, under the impression that you understand something about Zen, you will have missed the point entirely. Because Zen is a way of life, a state of being that is not possible to embrace in any concept whatsoever, so that any concepts, any ideas, any words that I shall put across to you this evening will have as their object, showing you the limitations of words and of thinking.

Eden speaking now: The same can be said for creating art from the soul, which is also in the Zen tradition of no thinking, no planning—only intuitive comprehension and creation.

From An Artist Empowered:

When I decided to write a book about kites in 1986, several authorities in the field and a half dozen literary agents told me that I was wasting my time.

I was informed that everything important about the subject had already been covered, the market was too small, and no mainstream publisher would be interested. After listening to this consensus concerto of advice, I felt opportunity calling and went with my intuition—which is the soul singing the divine song of the Creator.

I did find a mainstream publisher.

Nearly two decades later, my book continues to sell both here and abroad, and a new, updated edition was published in 1998. What did I learn? The experts, who may even have been earnest with their doomsday advice, couldn’t grasp the vision I had.

Don’t be deceived: sincerity is often totally wrong. 

An excerpt from a letter from Vincent van Gogh to his brother, Theo van Gogh, February, 13, 1882. Vincent counted on financial support from his brother.

I do not care so much about that “taking my part,” but I must say that sometimes I cannot bear Tersteeg’s (he initially encouraged Vincent’s life as an artist, but later on did not think much of Vincent’s eccentric attitude to life) saying to me over and over again, “You must begin to think about earning your own living.” I think it is such a dreadful expression, and then it is all I can do to keep calm. I work as hard as I can and do not spare myself, so I deserve my bread, and they ought not to reproach me with not having been able to sell anything up to now.

While Vincent felt he deserved his bread, we can finesse his thought to this: he “earned” his bread—which is more likely what he had in mind.