The power of the arts

If I see yet another post that neglects the power of the arts and insultingly describes an artist’s work as something ‘my two-year-old could do’, I’m going to throw an almighty fit and might possibly even scream.

The moronic ‘insight’ that these idiots have, boils down to nothing more than using the same judgement they would use whilst looking at a photograph. They need a good copy for it to be valid. If it doesn’t look like the ‘real thing’ then there’s something ‘wrong’.

However, no matter loud my protest, the art world is bigger than my anger at the twats. It is such a wonderful place that it can take numb nuts criticism and let them off with a mild scolding, because it knows that the beauty in art is truly in the ‘eye of the beholder.’

I’m loath to admit it but the twats have to be forgiven for their immature judgements, for they have not yet learnt to look. The sad fact being that no-one bothered to take the time to teach them to see. And until the day someone does, they will stay forever blind.  Education has always been the key.

Educational establishments (with some notable and rare exceptions) have never in my opinion, taken the power of the arts and the language it speaks, seriously.

The power of the arts (all of them) to offer a resting/healing place, a time out, a retreat, has always been neglected except sadly, by those who can afford to do it for themselves and who do so, usually late in life.

It’s interesting to note that attempts to take school children out of their usual environments to somewhere/something that might jolt them into awareness of a bigger world usually revolves around nature (which is great) but hardly ever concerns the arts which is brain-achingly sad because, we are, I believe, all artists and all able to partake, explore and discover.

Ian.

Why I paint.

Somebody asked me the other day why I paint and it didn’t take me that long to provide an honest answer.  Simple.

I paint because it keeps me sane (ish).

For a few hours I’m away with the fairies. My head is in the clouds; my breath is soft and low and my heartbeat regular, and that includes the moments I spend wondering what the hell I’m going to put down on canvas.

In short, painting for me is a healing process that someone or something else (it can’t be me, can it?) is in charge of. It is outside of me.

If you’re wondering where and when and if my business brain kicks in, again, in all honesty, the will to make a profit from my work is way, way down the line. Keeping a noisy brain occupied by something restful and all-consuming even if for an hour or two is my priority. Making money from the peace that surrounds me is, when it happens (rarely), is a bonus.

From this; An Orc To that;yes, it is me

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The Outsider Art of Ian Frederick Harris
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