Painting of the day

I just fell in love with this when I saw it. It's The Human Condition by Rene' Magritte. As usual with Magritte, my first response was to chuckle. Damn, this guy just got it, didn't he?

Or at least, he would have gotten me, my mind that is. Well, get my mind, and the rest follows, but that's another blog entry for an entirely different type of blog.

This just says so much about the creative process and limitations. When I'm seriously writing, it's solitary work. When it's going well, it's far from lonely. I feel connected to everything and everyone in a deeply spiritual, joyous, metaphysical way. That doesn't change the reality of me being alone in my office while outside a rich and luscious world awaits.

If I'm doing my job well, I get something down in print that's honest, true and real, something somebody else can recognize and know on a personal level. It's never the real thing, though. That's always beyond me as a writer, always beyond any artist. No matter how well I've listened and observed, regardless of how honest I get, the legs of the easel still show. No matter how creative something might feel, it's still just an imitation of life. As complex, beautiful, grotesque, bizarre, silly and wonderful as life is, a good copy is good enough. In fact, it's glorious.

art, creativity, Magritte