The Artist, Vulnerability and The Coup

We've all read about the coup d'etat of bygone eras.  An old regime falls as the new pretenders take power.  It happens from time to time to the state.

It also happens from time to time to the artist.  Captured stylistically, I'd describe the process as...

An artist enters an empty space and creates something beautiful.  Other people show up saying, "Hey, I want to control that."  The jostling then becomes so ugly that the artist one day says, "I have to go now" and leaves.

Indeed, the artist loses every time.

Why?  Because, creating art means making yourself vulnerable.  Being vulnerable makes you a poor candidate for fighting off coups, with their attendant deceit and double-dealing.

Interestingly, those who win such coups are, by definition, poor candidates for making themselves vulnerable.  That also means they have no art.  How could they?  Which, I suppose, is why they have to take control of others' art.

Is all this too dark?  I'm honestly not sure.  I myself recently suffered just such a coup.  Yes, it was messy.  Yes, it was awful.  Yes, it was wounding to watch such lies told of me.  (After all, those who win have to justify the takeover by smearing the reputation of the departed artist:  You know those artist types - unstable, irresponsible.  We're better off now.)

Yet, as I continue to ponder the event, an odd wisdom descends upon me, like a gentle rain: Yes, they took what I once created.  Brutally, too.  But that's all they will ever have.

I?  I still have my art.  And I'm free to take my art wherever I wish.  I always will be.  And no nasty ol' coup can ever change that.

Three-fold Masks Have I Worn

Three-fold Masks Have I Worn
One, all the lands to see
Another have my lovers born(e)
The last, serves sole for me.

Ah, but what joy, one to wear!
And one alone for all times
All places, all spaces where
In all variant of climes.

Ne'er more pretend, to fib,
To ride a pompous gust of heat
Or chill. To trim my sail, my jib,
To soothe a pfuffle eased.

Begone smooth face perfected
'Twout chip nor mar to see!
Too, smooth tongue affected
Honey dripped unceasing sweet.

Nay more! Just me, 'tis just me
You mark now, spotted and maul'd
Yet, burden'd light as can be.
For, one mask is no mask at all.

© Jeff Stilwell 2012

Long Have I Chased Inner Peace

Long Have I Chased Inner Peace
Flitt'ring flutt'ring, all flowers kissed
Brightly hued and fragrance sweet
A meadow's worth, nothing missed

But me. I called to Peace, chased
Through meadow deep, my palm out
Stretched begging Peace to land
Cajoling, pleading, a-shout

To my hand to come, just once.
My tears stinging, staining my
Calls, my cheeks, my heart, my sleep
Always that sweet Peace denied.

At last, wearied dear and spent
I breathed my pain to a calm
Long and last, to my surprise
Peace alighted on my palm.

© Jeff Stilwell 2012

Wisdom Haiku

The sun's light tints the leaf
As effortlessly
As wisdom washes the heart.

© Jeff Stilwell 2012