I've been rereading Asher Lev. The Gift of, this time though, not My Name Is. I meant to read it a few months ago, but forgot because of something-or-other in my busy life. But the past few weeks I've been thinking a great deal about art. Art as therapy. Art and its relationship with religion. So, naturally, I turned again to Asher Lev. And this passage yesterday seemed more important than it has in the past:
A friend I had a long time ago suggested on more than one occasion that I try painting to express my feelings. I've been doing it lately, funny enough, but I don't have enough talent or demons for it to really say anything. What I ought to do is write.
But I can't.
"Oh do not think it was all done out of the goodness of my heart, Asher Lev. Artists are not kind. Artists are selfish and calculating. If you had only a talent for drawing, it would have ended quickly. But you possessed the capacity for rage. Even the Rebbe could not see the anger in you. I saw those demons. They were the source for your art."
A friend I had a long time ago suggested on more than one occasion that I try painting to express my feelings. I've been doing it lately, funny enough, but I don't have enough talent or demons for it to really say anything. What I ought to do is write.
But I can't.
Oo, how I love the new blog banner. I haven't actually been to the actual blog in a while, so if this is a not-so-recent change, please excuse my tardy compliment.
ReplyDeleteI need to reread The Gift of. I wouldn't know what to write either.
PS Did you know that Asher Lev was supposed to be a trilogy, but Potok died before he could finish it? I wonder about Asher's fate.
My sister is an art education major and I'm always super jealous of the way she can express herself through art. I can like, paint a pretty nice tree. Snooze fest. I think painting is a potentially awesome outlet though.
ReplyDeleteAnd I love you. A lot.