The Creative Act: A Way of Being, by Rick Rubin

Art may only exist, and the artist may only evolve, by completing the work.

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Carl Rogers said, "The personal is the universal." The personal is what makes art matter. Our point of view, not our drawing skills or musical virtuosity or ability to tell a story-Consider the difference between art and most other trades. In the arts, our filter is the defining factor of the work. In science or technology, the aims are different. The reason we create art isn't with the intention of making something useful for someone else. We create to express who we are.

Who we are and where we are on our journey.

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A point is an idea intentionally expressed. A point of view is the perspective-conscious and unconscious-through which the work emerges.

What causes us to notice a piece of art is rarely the point being made. We are drawn to the way an artist's filter refracts ideas, not to the ideas themselves. It's of no use to know your point of view. It's already there, working in the background, ever evolving. Efforts to portray point of view on purpose often lead to a false representation. We hold on to stories about our perspective that are inaccurate and limiting.

Wayne Dyer said that when you squeeze an orange, what comes out is orange juice. When you get squeezed, whatever comes out is what's inside you. And part of that extract is the point of view you don't even know you have. It's baked into the art you make and the opinions you share. Long after a work is completed, we may look back and understand our true point of view in it. We don't need to make a point of making a point. It will appear when it appears. The true point is already made in the innocent act of perception and creation.

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Much of art's greatness is felt on a gut level. Your self-expression allows the audience to have their own self-expression. If your work speaks to them, it is of no consequence if you are heard and understood. Set aside such concerns about whether your work will be comprehended. These thoughts can only cause interference, for both the art and audience. Most people aren't interested in being told what to think or feel. Great art is created through freedom of self-expression and received with freedom of individual interpretation.

Great art opens a conversation rather than closing it. And often this conversation is started by accident.

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Self-awareness is a transcendence. An abandonment of ego. A letting go. This notion may seem elusive, because in the same breath, it includes tuning in to the self and surrendering the self. Yet these are not as contradictory as they may seem. As artists, we are on a continual quest to get closer to the universe by getting closer to self. Moving ever nearer to the Point where we can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends. We're on a distant metaphysical journey from the here to the now.

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It's helpful to work as if the project you're engaged in is bigger than you.

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Think to yourself:

I'm just here to create.

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The most truthful and irrational aspects of ourselves are often hidden, and our access to them lies through the creation of art. Each work tells us who we are, often in ways the audience understands before we do. Creativity is an exploratory process to find the concealed material within. We won't always discover it. If we do, it may not make sense. A seed could draw us because it contains something we don't understand, and this vague attraction will be as close to knowing as we ever get. Some aspects of the self don't like to be approached head-on. They prefer to arrive indirectly, in their own way. As sudden glimpses caught in accidental moments, like sunlight glinting off the surface of a wave. These apparitions don't fit into words that can easily be expressed in ordinary language. They're extra-ordinary. Beyond the mundane. A poem can convey information that can't be transmitted through prose or conversation. And all art is poetry. Art goes deeper than thought. Deeper than the stories shout vourself. It breaks through inner walls and accesses

what's behind. If we get out of the way and let the art do its work, it may vied the sincerity we seck. And sincerity may look nothing like we expected.

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The goal is to get the work to the point that when you see it, you know it couldn't have been arranged any other way. There's a sense of balance. Of elegance. It is not easy leaving behind elements you've put so much time and care into. Some artists fall in love with all the crafted material to the point where they resist letting go of an element even if the whole is better without it. "Making the simple complicated is commonplace," Charles Mingus once said. "Making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that's creativity."

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Ultimately, the act of self-expression isn't really about you. Most who choose the artist's path don't have a choice. We feel compelled to engage, as if by some primal instinct, the same force that calls turtles toward the sea after hatching in the sand

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This is the call to self-express, our creative purpose. It's not necessarily to understand ourselves or be understood.

We share our filter, our way of seeing, in order to spark an echo in others. Art is a reverberation of an impermanent life.

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Tolia Astakhishvili, to love and devour, curated by Hans Ulrich Obrist

Biennale Architettura 2025

Mimi Lauter - Cultivating the landscape

May 10 – August 7, 2025

Barbati, Venezia, Italy

Thomas Schütte. Genealogies

Tatiana Trouvé. The Strange Life of Things

Cerith Wyn Evans

Dates: May 3 – Jun 21, 2025
Location: Taka Ishii Gallery Kyoto

Anselm Kiefer SOLARIS

Enoura Observatory

Echoes Unveiled: Art by First Nations Women from Australia

June 24 [Tue.]–September 21 [Sun.], 2025

Artizon Museum, Tokyo

Sending Love to an Aching World

a three-person exhibition featuring Rasmus Eckhardt, Loren Erdrich, and Blair Saxon-Hill

May 10 to May 31, 2025

KOTARO NUKAGA(Roppongi), Tokyo

Flashes of creation and destruction

A conversation between Yayoi Kusama and three other contemporary artists

GYRE, Omotesando, Tokyo

Hilma af Klint: The Beyond

Naofumi MARUYAMA NO DATE

Sat, 19 AprilSat, 14 June, 2025

ShugoArts Roppongi, Tokyo

Marius Bercea Shadow of Others

ZAAM ARIF Lost Time

APRIL 11 - MAY 17, 2025

Night Gallery, Los Angeles

Cy Twombly 24 Short Pieces

One can imagine the drawings »24 Short Pieces« as moments of a journey through a changing landscape of changing seasons. But at the same time they are the memory, the subjective recollection of what was seen. But finally they do not tell us how something could have been. In a deep space without degrees - the place of their origin - with flowing transitions between memory and projection, between the intellect and sureness of the hand, they assume their own reality. No metaphysics and axiomatics lead us behind the unrecognizable space of this physiognomy, because its written words have disappeared. The lightness, the transparent materiality is only an apollonic image of reflection, no more than an echo.

Cy Twombly 24 Short Pieces

Heiner Bastian

REZA ARAMESH Fragment of the Self

Night Gallery, Los Angeles

PRIL 11 - JUNE 28, 2025

The Songlines, Bruce Chatwin

The Songlines struck me, on first reading it, almost as a sacred text around which I could arrange my life and meaning. A decade later, I wrote in a notebook three days' walk east of Herat: "Most of human history was conducted through contacts, made at walking pace ... the pilgrimages to Compostela in Spain ... to the source of the Ganges, and wandering dervishes, sadhus, and friars, who approached God on foot. The Buddha meditated by walking, and Wordsworth composed sonnets while striding beside the Lakes. Bruce Chatwin concluded from all these things that we would think and live better, and be closer to our purpose as humans, if we moved continually on foot across the surface of the earth."

The Songlines, Bruce Chatwin, Introduction, by Rory Stewart

The Songlines, Bruce Chatwin

The "Notebooks" which form the third section of the book consist of more than a hundred vignettes, quotes, and episodes-each between seventy and seven hundred words long-reflecting seventeen years of thinking and writing. Scraps of academic research, lines of poetry, epiphanies on desert tracks, fragments of ancient lore; references to Muslim pilgrims, Indian monks, Lapland legends, modern Florida, Elizabethan plays; reflections on Stone-Age humans, nomadic tribes, and ancient myths, are combined to suggest that humans are forged and defined by two things—"the beast in the dark" and "the nomadic instinct." These themes, Chatwin argues, were present in the earliest hominids; they underlie many of the tensions in modern society; they echo through our religion, our dreams, and our literature. They are part of our origin, our life, and our purpose, Early hominids were not violent cannibals. Instead, they were themselves the prey of a great leopard like cat, Dinofelis, at the mouth of whose caves they were forced to camp. Fire, weapons, and even song evolved to keep the beast at bay. The primal terrors of this predator were hardwired into our consciousness.And when the cat was no longer a threat we invented substitutes, such as the devil and nuclear extinction, to meet our need for such an enemy.

Second, Chatwin argues, hominids were made by walking, and made to be in movement. It was our ability to walk upright that allowed us to hunt, and survive—when other apes couldn't—on the flat savannah, and ultimately to cover the world. Our brains evolved to fit our stride. Homo sapiens is Homo ambulans. Babies are happiest when being carried by a walking adult. Our minds, our souls, our bodies work most efficiently, most profoundly, most happily, when moving and, in particular, walking. Modern civilization imprisons us in offices, and treats tramps, Gypsies, mystics, and nomads as misfits. But in fact these wanderers are in tune with an ancient and more natural form of human life. It is homes and cities and sedentary jobs that are unnatural. To find yourself, you must travel.

The Songlines, Bruce Chatwin, Introduction, by Rory Stewart