KOTTABOS

The (non) Art of Love

by Will Felix

For centuries, artists of all kinds have used love’s powerful forces as their muse. However, as a painter on indefinite sabbatical after an exhibit focused on the end of my battles with the conceptualization of love, I contend that, once found or totally lost by the artist, love ceases to be a potent influence on their body of work.

When you look at the many major works of art which deal with love: think Jean-Léon Gérôme’s “Pygmalion and Galatea” from 1890, or Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss” from 1908, or Paul Gauguin’s “Nevermore” from 1897… they all seem to have something in common. They are either about the longing for a love, or the establishment of said love, or about the loss. Seldom is it about the process of loving, for this process is something that is best lived, not observed.

Throughout my artistic career, my works have reflected thoughts on the subject of love: the peculiar curiosities, the complexities of expression, and even the struggles with sexuality within the confines of relationships. In short, much of which becomes expressed on canvas is the question of how we define these aspects.

Love, when in full bloom, defines itself. You are in the midst of feeling and enjoying the presence of the “thing” that it is. Love is an answer; thus, the need to express its “question” is relatively moot.

Popular wisdom argues that the best love songs are written by the broken hearted. And here again, as you wade through your memory of recent pop culture, you’re likely to stop on the classic ballads of courtship, full of promises and expectations; or you will reluctantly be reminded of the songs you played over and over after a breakup.  (Phil Collins made a fortune on songs like “I Don’t Care Anymore”.) How many hits though can you think of that celebrate an ongoing great relationship? I’m sure there are a few here and there, but they aren’t likely to be on the forefront of your memory, either through the scarcity of output, or they lack of poignancy given to the sadder subjects.

It may well be that the artists lose a certain spark once they have achieved their goals: that the driving force of their oeuvre may well have been their desire to succeed overall, and succeed in love in particular. For what would be the reason for a man to create a painting of a woman he already can be with in person? Or why would the musician need to write a song for a love that is actively reciprocated?

When you think of artists that seem to buck the trend of “fading out artistically” once they were famous, one name quickly comes to mind: Picasso. And when you examine how his life transpired, one can observe that he continuously embraced the chaos in his personal life. Once established with one lover, he started to pursue another, and almost relished pitting the women against one another, feeding his creative juices in the process. The quarrels between Marie-Thérèse Walter and Dora Maar are the epitome of this, as illustrated in the well-titled biopic “Surviving Picasso.”

I should clarify what I mean by loss of love, such as the muse of Phil Collins’ oeuvre – and the despair that an artist may feel if they no longer believe in love itself. Even at their most heart-wrenching moments, as long as there is still a modicum of belief that love may spring again, the artist may continue to express frustrations and hope. However, once all hope is lost, there may no longer be a spark left: no words or visions to share with the populace or the voice inside. At this point the artist may turn away from the craft or from life altogether.

With this perspective, you might revisit the drug-infused expirations of many creative geniuses over the years. Basquiat? Cobain? Perhaps it wasn’t just the unhealthy reliance on illicit substances, but an eventual loss in the belief that love is attainable for them.

Not all situations fit within these parameters, and in my own experience, it took some major introspection and a change of lifestyle to escape the potentially dangerous effects of losing belief in love. The “two” series in 2011, my last solo art exhibit, faced the realities of many of the ongoing hopes and ideals that drove my need to create. During the process, it became clear that those “drivers,” while instinctive after years of use, were no longer relevant in my life. I made the conscious decision to face these elements in my final works, whereas most creative people (or people in general) do not.

In the piece “A Cliché Manifested” I confront the notion that love itself can be represented with the image without making an objective caricature of the act. The word “love” is repeated over and over until it becomes a flat echo, detached from any actual feeling that the word itself might convey. “Post-Romantic Stress Disorder” exposes the fraud in continuously using the nude as some indicator of romantic bliss, purposefully aping Matisse’s work (think “La Danse”)  and juxtaposing the aspect of my own continuing metaphors… the redhead was a reoccurring allegory that was sometimes seen as more than that in my personal life; in this piece the red “hair” also serves as fire that is burning the landscape.

So am I saying that love is no longer a driving force in my work? I guess the answer is yes. After that show, I have decided to take an indefinite leave from the art scene, content with the fact that I have said what I wanted to say, for now.

And as we look at the works that are cherished as symbols of love, we are faced with the notion that as a society, we seem to celebrate the search, and the attainment… and the loss… but once actual love is found, or the belief in it is lost, the picture isn’t as clear.