If you would like an inside look at art forgery, and how perceived cachet, not quality or spirit, rules the art market, I recommend The Forger’s Spell by Edward Dolnick. The incredible events described in the book took place during World War Two and are as relevant today.

In a significant way, Dolnick’s story reminds me of the film, F for Fake by Orson Welles—a must see exploration of art forgery and the art market in the hands of that artful rascal, Maestro Welles, and company. 

Recently, someone confided in me that they didn’t know whether they were an artist, or not.

Apparently, this question plagues many who would aspire to a life worth living as a creator. Here is a brief excerpt from my book, An Artist Empowered:

A thought inside your head: Am I an artist?

If you have to ask someone, then projecting insecurity shouts: I dont know. And if you don’t know, you haven’t found your dharma. Somewhere along your quest you have faltered; you didn’t follow through, which is the undoing of many would-be artists. Its not that opportunity to confirm your gift and purpose didn’t surface; you chose to dismiss it, most likely out of fear and doubt.

I make this assessment based on my experience over many years with a master painter. I had witnessed flocks of so-called artists flit into his studio on the pretense of wanting to learn more about art.

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The other day, someone who knows my paintings and writing asked me about the difference between art and craft.

There is a distinction worth understanding, not for comparison or ego masturbation, but for clarity. When a sun is born in the galactic mist, the primordial matter and energy do not go back for another go at it to see if they can do better—the sun is born fully formed and perfect, ready to take its place in the universe.

Art from the soul is like the new star. When I paint, the flow is spontaneous, permanent, and does not require improvements, tinkering, or fixing when done.

When I write, however, I am in a different realm. I know can improve upon my words and structure for clarity, so it appears fluid to the reader and that it couldn’t have been written any other way. I can craft and tweak the writing until it speaks for me. If you can improve upon it, then it’s craft.

My mother, Adele, would often come up with spontaneous insights.

While I was writing An Artist Empowered, my mother turned to me one afternoon and said: “Giving up on your art is like giving up on your baby.”

“Beautiful,” I said, giving her a kiss on both cheeks.

This profound thought immediately made it into my book. If you have been floundering about your art, keep Adele’s words close to your heart, and you will persevere.

A happy July 4th to all—my mother loved this country: she appreciated its freedoms and was wary of its well-fed detractors, something she completely understood and appreciated after having survived the Nazis and the Stalinists.

Many have heard or read an ad promising to teach a new language in a short amount of time; some offer no memorization lessons or boring drills, or trying to recall by tedious rote. I doubt those exposed to such ads question that it does take concentrated work to learn the language of their choice.

When it comes to art, we have a similar scenario. It demands dedication to learn, absorb, and comprehend the language of a particular artist. If you don’t make the effort, then how would you ever know whether you are looking at art of substance, or cotton candy? If you rely on the experts to form your opinion, you will have missed the aesthetic experience, which happens one soul at a time.