|The Art of Charles Pilkey|
Philosophy is a buxome barmaid serving cocktails in equal measure
To artist and scientist. In her company both parties are relaxed,
Conversation flows freely and meaningful communication transpires.
The scientist orders a dry martini, the artist a pina colada
With lots of fruit on top.
|QUESTIONS of CONSCIENCE for the ARTIST
Are you one who nails your work to the church door and cries, "Here I stand and will not move!" or for sake of social harmony and getting on in the world, bend to the winds of propriety and public taste?
Are you genuine or merely the ape of fashion? Is your muse the goddess of inner necessity
or the whore of the marketplace?
What is the intention of your work? Was that intention fulfilled to your satisfaction, and if so, was
it worth it?
|The ARTIST and the LUNATIC
The artist and the lunatic descend
Step by step, on a similar journey
Into the unmapped, savage wilderness
Of the unconscious. The difference is
The artist comes back
(most of the time).
It's a curious fact that
After more than 2,000 years
Of philosohical discourse
From Aristotle to Wittgenstein
From Hsieh Ho to Derrida
None have come up with
A satisfactory explanation
Of what art is
Nor why we make it.
|SENSE of WONDER
Our sense of the the beauty, wonder and terror of the world,
Of some ineffable mystery larger than ourselves
Is the spiritual wellspring from which flow the currents
Of art, science, religion and philosophy.
The best works of art, like the best works of science,
Hint at this larger mystery.
|The EMPIRES of TIME
History throws up empires like a dog vomiting on the beach
And just as quickly time's waters wash the stench out to the sea.
Only ideas remain; the visions of poet, artist and scientist are all that remain.
Yet, inevitably, we exalt the empire builders more than the visionaries.
One should never forget: Napoleon and Alexander were merely great .........
But Michelangelo was divine.
Some irritant from the world
Some egregious insult
Or outrage at social injustice
Creeps insidiously Into the shell of the artist
Like sand into an oyster
Inducing the pearls
We call artworks
Art, like philosophy, is of value to the extent that it offers therapeutic rest
From the troubles of existence, either as escape or as utopian vision.
Otherwise it is merely decorative, self-indulgent, or worse,
Propaganda for the rich and powerful.