The art we make soars
upon our longing
as we comprehend it.
I consider art a bridge.
I use it to cross from ordinary, everyday life into "another country." This place is akin to a dream "landscape." Colors are brighter, more intense. When I am there, time has little meaning, at least temporal time. There is a sense, rather, of being part of eternity. I simply follow the dictates of my hands and heart. Intuition is magnified. I have frequent conversations with angels and archetypes. We speak symbolically: everything is rich with meaning, and import. I am given tasks to attempt, and insights about how to perform them. My spirit sings--It feels completely, blissfully, at home.
It brings me great joy when I venture onto, and even over, another artist's bridge. I have a deep visceral sense of what their art is trying to say.
A similar euphoria results from someone else coming into "my country." Sometimes they ask me to help them cross my bridge. Sometimes they are just suddenly there, and we converse in the same dialect. We often experience laughter, tears, very personal conversation and a recognition of our affinity.