The labour of art

Miranda Lehman

Found on Gabriele Beveridge's site:

Inside everyone there are secret rooms. They're cluttered and the lights are out. There's a bed in which someone is lying with his face to the wall. In his head there are more rooms. In one, the venetian blinds shake in the approaching summer storm. Every once in a while an object on the table becomes visible: a broken compass, a pebble the colour of midnight, an enlargement of a school photograph with a face in the back circled, a watch spring - each one of these items is a totem of the self. Every art is about the longing of One for the Other. Orphans that we are, we make our sibling kin out of anything we can find. The labour of art is the slow and painful metamorphis of the One into the Other.

I love this and how well it resonates with the artistic process as it is described by Etienne Gilson. Her image of the man on the bed also reminds me of Leibniz and his world of infinite variety and perfection.

There is a world of created beings - living things, animals, entelechies and souls - in the least part of matter. Each portion of matter may be conceived as a garden full of plants, and as a pond full of fish. But every branch of each plant, every member of each animal, and every drop of their liquid parts is itself likewise a similar garden or pond.