A painter, a sculptor or crafter of beauty–
A singer, a dancer or maker of music,
A magician of words, a teller of tales, a master of the senses,
Surely, these are artists.
Do you extend life with a scalpel, an army, a microscope, a touch?
Are you a good father? A good girl? A good enemy? A good you?
Does ‘good’ matter to this conversation?
Ah, the fly-fisher. Now that’s an artist, isn’t it?
What about the mailman, the clergyman, the Santa-man?
And all of the ‘ers’, ‘ors’, ‘ists’ and ‘icians’?
Today, I’m wondering about such matters. What makes an artist?
Am I an artist?
And this, from David Whyte, entitled, Naming, from his book, Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words:
We name mostly in order to control but what is worth loving does not want to be held within the bounds of too narrow a calling. In many ways love has already named us before we can even begin to speak back to it, before we can utter the right words or understand what has happened to us or is continuing to happen to us: an invitation to the most difficult art of all, to love without naming at all.
Let me know what you think.