I've been repressing an issue regarding the artists creating today and the work they create. I've always been a firm believer in the concept that when someone dedicates themselves heart and soul to a creative endeavor, then the work's significance becomes inextricably linked to this pure and genuine sacrifice. Too often, my friends, art world aficionados and especially critics dismiss such artistic creations as narcissistic self-absorption - Abstract Expressionism ended years ago, my friends exclaim, and true, quality art must present depth, complexity and a finely-tuned awareness of the human experience. Internal, personal struggles and an overwhelming sense of self-loathing have no place in art being created today.
Although I tend to agree with such critical analysis, I cannot forget the power and intensity of artworks created from the depths of the trouble subconscious, both in painting and poetry. The greatest works of Robert Lowell, Anne Sexton, Frank O'Hara and, of course, Sylvia Plath, were crafted, in part at least, by their inner demons.
And this brings me where exactly? I'd really like to know.
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