“……As Bledyard said, each must find his own way. And as you said, his remarks are too abstract. The answer to him is the works themselves. And your answer is your work. When you’re not distracted by theories, when you’re alone with the work, you know what you have to do, and at least in what direction perfection lies.”
–Iris Murdoch The Sandcastle
I set the book onto my lap with a faint growl and a weak shrug. The passage reminded me of those too many days in the studio when the disorderly perfection of abandon lay before me on the canvas, on the sheet of paper, unconscious knots of line and flow untied and strewn, messy genius they seemed to me at the moment, teetering on fulfillment, passionately disturbing, alive and free. Then the daemons corrected my eyes: the daemon of my academic study, the daemon of theories, the daemon of design, the daemon of self-conscious, the daemon of my skill, and the daemon of doubt. As always, I dressed my daemons and re-entered the work, adeptly fashioning it into a more practical, sublime mediocrity.
There is still space to correct such destructions.
(image: untitled watercolor, 40” x 26 ½ “ )
