Art is enough to draw an artist out of her silent exile. When literature can’t reach her heart, as it always does, she forgets words, and creates the art; When music can’t comfort her, the way which comforts her for decades, she puts down her instrument, and takes her brush. Whenever an artist manages not to forget that silence, she makes it resound by different means of art.
Three passions have governed her creation: the devotion to literature because of the immersive experience of reading, the perception of music because of searching the parallel soul of mine, and unquenchable pity for the humankind because of the awareness of their suffering. I try to understand how these three passions influence artists’ decisions. The first gives them the consistent enthusiasm to discover the world’s abundance; the second grants them the ability to receive the most delicate quivering of spirit; the last affords them the indestructible courage to hear the pain all around them and seek to heal the wound.
Human meditation has no limits; at its own risk and peril, it analyzes and produces its own bedazzlement. There are in the world men who distinctly perceive on the horizon of the Absolute of art, and have the terrible vision of the mountain of the Infinite of life. The scene just can happen in the dream, the landscape that no one can step on, the creature that the artist is the only person can touch… they are always addicted to creating their world. The curiosity to explore the secret and unknown is one of the most powerful motivations for artistic creation. Artists are highly sensitive to human emotions. Paintings, ceramics, and sculptures, each of them doubtless feel called upon to reform their emotional world.
The isolation of artists is keeping themselves aloof from the glory and the crowd when they are working, which doesn’t mean they never stop for those who suffer the history. This world is inundated with lies, power, and stupidities. When people talk about how to free art in white supremacist, patriarchal, or heterosexual, etc., they are already immersed in discriminatory aesthetic judgments. Likewise, when colored race, feminists, or non-heterosexual appeal for their rights, they fall into the awareness of self-pity easily. The shameless uses the art to earn tears, fame, and money. Artists still wail their experiences, and ceaselessly emphasize the group they belong, which keep themselves away from the real world. Superiority and inferiority, both of them can be powerful tools to draw people’s attention. Artists are alone and never feel art can be a commitment to bear the misery and the hope we shared. But art is still eager for people’s frailty and persistence. Art is a weapon that defends the creeds, and also a shield that allows every individual to never be able to renounce the light. When I ask why life is full of uncertainties, the art says ‘it is possibilities’; when I ask why one’s heart should bear so much, the art says ‘that is the origin of courage.’ I hear the answer when I’m creating. The answer that does not just speak to one particular moment but speaks for all time, speaks to all of the people who devote themselves to the art in different ways but does speak to them—that is to say, does proffer its claim to speak truth, the truth of the awareness for the past, the courage for the present, and the assertion for the future. When I’m creating, I hear the answer. I’m certain every artist will give their complete approval.