What is Art?

by Aletheia Schmidt (www.accordingtoaletheia.com)

I was recently asked why I love art – why I do it – and why it is important to me. And as loaded of a question as it is, I found that it was only a nanosecond after the words reached my ears that my answer spilled out in one hurried exclamation: “Ihavetodoart!” Inhaling deeply and forcing myself to breathe, I continued, “It is who I am...It is how I think...what I see...the way in which I talk...”

For me, art is what fills in the black lines of a coloring book and the inside of a balloon. It is what makes sense and what makes everything else make sense. Art is the best part of all things – the music in a movie, the imagery offered by the perfect words in a great book, the center of a sandwich, the corner of a brownie. It is what my eye catches and rests upon as I stroll downtown, rummage through my closet, poke my toes in the sand, sit on the grass outside my apartment, stand in line at a coffee shop, and flip through a magazine.

It is how I interact best with God, others, myself.

It is an essential, conscious and unconscious alike, part of every conversation. It is a sound voice, continually shaping and reworking my words and ideas, speaking new thoughts and revising old ones.

But even more than these things (and these are such very big things!) art, specifically my relationship with art, is the only thing in my life where I am completely free, and this is my very favorite thing about it. When I examine art, and especially when I create art, nothing else matters; my attention is captivated purely by the moment. Voices of perfection, expectations, and pre-conceived notions no longer hold microphones and all of the shoulds and coulds are poured into a bucket to be dumped out on the front lawn.

Art for me is simply being here, now. It’s about the experience, about interacting with the materials that are within reach of my hands and wholly giving myself over to whatever it is I want to do with them right then.

Art is my figurehead, a constant reminder of what’s on board my ship as well as that which juts out furthest, the first part of the boat that breaks the water.

And even my passion and love for art has been art; a dynamic, shifting, evolving process that is in-progress. It is something that leaves me with more questions than answers while still providing a deep sense of calm, satisfaction, and awe.

It has only been within the last three or four years that I have decidedly made art a regular part of my life, and only the last year and a half or so, that I would even think to consider myself an artist. Surrounded by creativity as a kid, I had a natural proclivity towards the arts, but my fear and doubt that I had anything of significance to offer kept me rooms away from paint brushes and sketch pads. Because I didn’t believe that I could create anything “good” I didn’t even bother trying.

But a few years back, while working for a university in the Midwest, I took an art therapy class and also began hanging out with Heather, an RA of mine who was really into painting. And between the introspective, creative activities, and my close observation and admiration of Heather’s ability to surrender herself to the oils, a deep and yet hidden part of me finally decided it was time to come out and play.

And I have been playing ever since.

I was who I was before art, but with its knock on my door, and its promise (and delivery!) that it could free my soul to express itself, and my decision to pull out my checkbook and give it a go, I have found that I am now an even fuller, more whole, fun, healthy version of myself. And what a wonderful surprise to see this become a catalyst for so many other areas of my life.

This past year, as I found an art mentor and made the commitment of setting aside time each week to do that which brings me life (paint, write, sketch, make things), I have come to realize too that, just like my hazel eyes, my cute feet, and my sweaty hands, art is a part of who I am. I like it, I need it, and it needs to stay. It must stay. I have to do art.