Myth and Reality
Creativity, Sex and Metaphor
I come from a family of artists: my sister is a painter and musician; my father a ceramicist and mother a decent amateur painter; my grandmother painted; my grandfather was a sculptor and potter who lived in a spectacularly unsuccessful menage-a-trios in a small village in the Pyrenees ; my great-grandfather was a stunningly good artist and engineer.
Closer to home, my wife is also an artist: Running through them all it seems (and now through my children as well as perhaps myself) is a thick, mercurial streak of unpredictability; a potential big bang of destructive creativity or creative destruction; words that while antonyms, I increasingly realise by no means cancel each other out.
It is a trait or an ability (maybe latent in all of us) that can disturb in some way: for much as creation and destruction are locked in a symbiotic, mutually sustaining embrace when it comes to art, so in some sense are reality and myth: two sides of the same coin; inseparable ingredients of the same primordial stew that you can witness bubbling and splattering everywhere when the heavens or abyss of creativity open up.
read the rest @ Jamblichus's Weblog
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