Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Paulo Coelho
In Paulo Coelho's novel "By The River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept" I was moved by the captivating love story of Pilar and an unnamed character. The book is truly about opening the heart to miracle. I decided to compare one of Coelho's greatest works to art. If we open our hearts to love and miracles, then isn't that the same thing as opening our hearts to art. Art is a miracle we are touched by on a daily basis. It is nearly impossible to move through the day without seeing at least one work of art. The miracle is love. An artist creates their piece out of love, so therefore art is love and love is a miracle. Art is miracle.
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This "art equates out to miracle" suggestion is an interesting proposition. I do not necessarily agree with the way that this is implied on a few levels of what you have suggested, especially to have come to this conclusion.
ReplyDeleteThe first thing would immediately be that I do not think that art is typically made out of love; for there are various other foundations of emotion that art can be derived from whence being created. In fact I would even argue that love is rarely the inspiration for art that is indented to be witnessed by anyone other than the one whom is loved, thus most art that is grounded on love is something that typically would not be seen.
Secondly, I do not give love the grace of being considered a "miracle". Love is rare, and though it is something that should be meddled with carefully, love is real, love is achievable. I think that looking at love with the title of miracle will forever undermine the real love you have in your life; one must be careful, for the use of a word as strong as love should be considered greatly before applying to another word as strong as miracle.
Which brings us to the most controversial point to me. Art is not a miracle. Viewing art is not a miracle. Art is possibly about the farthest thing possible from a miracle in my mind. It has no ties to the ethereal as it stands by itself. However, one of the best things about art is that it is a portal to the ethereal, the aesthetic universe, the mind and imagination. It is one of the strongest forms of communication, but that does not make it any more a miracle than the fact that you can read this sentence and know what my meaning is.
I do not want this response to come off as offensive, but it is a particular frustration of mine when love and art are used in such an immature fashion. I can’t support the suggestion that having art in our life is a miracle any more than still being able to still see is a miracle.