I aspire to be and consider myself an artist, proudly and unapologetically—an artist in the 19th century sense of the word. It was during this century that a distinguished pianist, after having a career as a child prodigy and could have retired, decided to become an artist. You see, art is about communication, so an artist must have something to communicate.
Liszt had to spend years reading philosophy, the Bible, learning about art, and history for hours a day (treating his learning as a full-time job), before he started to consider himself an artist—before he had something to communicate. Artists are vital in society, because we expose ourselves to as many points of view as possible, to as many ways of thinking as we can, to as many experiences as we can handle, and then we try to communicate that point of view to others who cannot or do not consciously expose themselves to uncomfortable situations or trains of thought. I’m glad for the current differentiating terms artist and entertainer, as it is very annoying (to say the least) to hear the term “artist” applied to pop stars pushing material that would insult a self-respecting 6th grader. Don’t get me wrong, I like “getting down” with the rest of them, but language is used to distinguish one thing from another, which is why artist should not be confused with entertainer.
An artist must live a life of constant learning and enrichment—constantly expanding one’s mind to see what angle has been missed, what feeling has not been felt. It is in a way a very selfish pursuit, and one that at times can be lonely. In my opinion, however, it pales in comparison to another pursuit that not only requires all of the above, but also requires an unselfishness that cannot compare in any meaningful way to a pursuit of the arts: parenthood. Being a good parent is like creating a work of art in another person. The molding and shaping of another person’s character is a task that begins even before birth, one of the reasons so many cultures give a semi-religious status to the mother role. Day after day, an artist learns how to mold materials, combine colors, or shape musical phrases to create a whole, drawing upon all of the above mentioned experiences and knowledge (and more) in order to create meaning, purpose, and beauty from inanimate, spiritless material. But a parent…. a good parent can mold a child’s heart, bend dispositions and create character, longings, and a life that will itself keep giving to others and multiply the initial efforts. A good parent can till the soil of a person’s heart, day after day, patiently and sometimes frustratingly molding the work they love, ensuring that the outcome is good.
In a very real sense, we can only teach what we have ourselves been taught; this is why artists proudly claim different schools and lineages going back to an original master. My personal pianistic heritage goes back to Liszt, for example. We can teach another only to the extent that we have been taught. While others outside a school might read about principles of a particular artistic movement and how to apply them, the value of spending time with a master of the craft is incalculable. While principles of true religion can be applied by anyone (and the more people do, the better society will be), there is no more valuable training than time spent alone with the Lord. Would that more of us had the discipline to put ourselves through that school of solitude so our lives would at least reflect the intentions of the Master.
After having considered the social norms that keep us from speaking about abortion, and the simple concept of when life begins (legally), what is one of the solutions to the abortion problem, which takes away around 3,000 lives a day in this country? A good step is valuing the role of parent for what it truly is. Whenever a single woman (however old she may be) becomes pregnant, our knee-jerk reaction should be one of elation and joy. All other concerns are secondary, because the parents now have an opportunity of infinite value, to mold and raise another person. Now a parent will have the hauntingly vulnerable experience of tearing out their heart and watching it walk around in the world. Since the moment the child has consciousness of themselves, a parent really has only about 10 years before the teenager starts to make big decisions on their own, which parallels the 10 years it takes to become a master at anything.
Just as the role of artist became more valued in the 19th century, we must also elevate the role of parent to its proper place. It is one that needs to be revered and respected, and that we intrinsically understand is valued. Equally, the shunning of parental duties should be socially ostracized and looked at with revulsion. The men who cannot muster the inner strength to, at the very least, be around their child every once in a while (in spite of how much their “baby’s mama” might make life miserable for them), should be some of the most socially shunned people in our society. Sadly as a society we still put most of the social pressure on the woman, neglecting the fact that it took two people making love to make that other person: that work of art-in-progress of infinite value that can either be diligently labored on, or tragically neglected and even killed.
- G. Lopez
Liszt had to spend years reading philosophy, the Bible, learning about art, and history for hours a day (treating his learning as a full-time job), before he started to consider himself an artist—before he had something to communicate. Artists are vital in society, because we expose ourselves to as many points of view as possible, to as many ways of thinking as we can, to as many experiences as we can handle, and then we try to communicate that point of view to others who cannot or do not consciously expose themselves to uncomfortable situations or trains of thought. I’m glad for the current differentiating terms artist and entertainer, as it is very annoying (to say the least) to hear the term “artist” applied to pop stars pushing material that would insult a self-respecting 6th grader. Don’t get me wrong, I like “getting down” with the rest of them, but language is used to distinguish one thing from another, which is why artist should not be confused with entertainer.
An artist must live a life of constant learning and enrichment—constantly expanding one’s mind to see what angle has been missed, what feeling has not been felt. It is in a way a very selfish pursuit, and one that at times can be lonely. In my opinion, however, it pales in comparison to another pursuit that not only requires all of the above, but also requires an unselfishness that cannot compare in any meaningful way to a pursuit of the arts: parenthood. Being a good parent is like creating a work of art in another person. The molding and shaping of another person’s character is a task that begins even before birth, one of the reasons so many cultures give a semi-religious status to the mother role. Day after day, an artist learns how to mold materials, combine colors, or shape musical phrases to create a whole, drawing upon all of the above mentioned experiences and knowledge (and more) in order to create meaning, purpose, and beauty from inanimate, spiritless material. But a parent…. a good parent can mold a child’s heart, bend dispositions and create character, longings, and a life that will itself keep giving to others and multiply the initial efforts. A good parent can till the soil of a person’s heart, day after day, patiently and sometimes frustratingly molding the work they love, ensuring that the outcome is good.
In a very real sense, we can only teach what we have ourselves been taught; this is why artists proudly claim different schools and lineages going back to an original master. My personal pianistic heritage goes back to Liszt, for example. We can teach another only to the extent that we have been taught. While others outside a school might read about principles of a particular artistic movement and how to apply them, the value of spending time with a master of the craft is incalculable. While principles of true religion can be applied by anyone (and the more people do, the better society will be), there is no more valuable training than time spent alone with the Lord. Would that more of us had the discipline to put ourselves through that school of solitude so our lives would at least reflect the intentions of the Master.
After having considered the social norms that keep us from speaking about abortion, and the simple concept of when life begins (legally), what is one of the solutions to the abortion problem, which takes away around 3,000 lives a day in this country? A good step is valuing the role of parent for what it truly is. Whenever a single woman (however old she may be) becomes pregnant, our knee-jerk reaction should be one of elation and joy. All other concerns are secondary, because the parents now have an opportunity of infinite value, to mold and raise another person. Now a parent will have the hauntingly vulnerable experience of tearing out their heart and watching it walk around in the world. Since the moment the child has consciousness of themselves, a parent really has only about 10 years before the teenager starts to make big decisions on their own, which parallels the 10 years it takes to become a master at anything.
Just as the role of artist became more valued in the 19th century, we must also elevate the role of parent to its proper place. It is one that needs to be revered and respected, and that we intrinsically understand is valued. Equally, the shunning of parental duties should be socially ostracized and looked at with revulsion. The men who cannot muster the inner strength to, at the very least, be around their child every once in a while (in spite of how much their “baby’s mama” might make life miserable for them), should be some of the most socially shunned people in our society. Sadly as a society we still put most of the social pressure on the woman, neglecting the fact that it took two people making love to make that other person: that work of art-in-progress of infinite value that can either be diligently labored on, or tragically neglected and even killed.
- G. Lopez