Nostalgia

The Art Writer has been doing something that I hope everyone takes time to do once in a while: rereading old letters. Of course it goes without saying that to reread them, you probably had to write some -- to which these that you reread are replies.

When the Art Writer was young and first struggling with learning to paint, these letters exchanged with a friend were a source of shared feeling of camaraderie and purpose. I never realized when these letters were new how much they lifted my spirits. I enjoyed them immensely then. But reading them now has an effect that is really hard to describe. The correspondent, and I have lost touch over the years. But the topics of the letters takes on renewed meaning.

Over time, you can begin to question the worth of what you do. Artists really struggle with this worry when they are earnest and idealistic -- as we were. Over the years -- even though you have various triumphs (I've come a long way with my painting from where I began) -- it's still tough not to doubt, especially when the current of the "art world" rushes past in a different direction.

Reading these old letters from my friend reminds me of the ways we held ourselves to high standards -- to how we were quite firm in our decision to do painting the way we wanted -- as realists (of a sort) when realism wasn't at all trendy. (Goodness, it's so less trendy now!)

I admire our spirits of determination back then. We were so young. But we had guts. We did so much work from life. We wanted to have the immediacy of the subject before us. We looked at things really deeply. We wanted to understand nature and life.

I am also struck by our qualms. My friend particularly asked again and again: is this the right way to be an artist? Gosh, I wish we got some of the well deserved credit for earnestness that truly characterized our seriousness of purpose.

How many others ask themselves in spells of recurrent soul-searching -- does what I do matter? Do congressmen in their endless finger pointing ask this? Do all those companies that put you on hold when you call them ask this? Do bureaucrats who put you through endless mazes ever ask themselves? Artists, real artists, don't get near enough credit for their very laudable sense of purpose and their high standards.

Does what I do matter?

And so often, in the cases where the answer is resolutely "yes" -- yes, what you did really did matter -- in those cases, so often the answer doesn't even come until decades, perhaps even centuries later!

That's dedication!