The Artist Erotic

The artist has agreed

to be a co-creator,

and in that agreement

becomes engorged

with potentials:

symbols, sounds, senses,

and image-incantations

that flood the psyche and

make the body full.

The power to make

according to

what they know, feel,

sense, experience

and wonder about.

Moving thought across

the veil of form

through the hands,

the feet and the body

is our sensual education.

From the energy of idea

into the matter of form,

this is life made manifest

through the causative

prowess of the artist.

Mind is often the last

of the faculties needed

and only then

to organize the raw materials

into shapes that correspond

to the invisible vision made

manifest by the artist

performing their intimate craft.

Oh yes, it is a craft.

Not a spell to bind, however.

An artist,

unbinds the bonded,

setting free the

birds lodged

in the house of constraint.

Both their own

and that of the collective

which throttles like a pulse

against the consciousness

of the artist.

At times the artist must

draw a boundary in

white chalk around their territory

to defend the ground

that is often so crowded

with the unmet needs

of the many seeking expression.

The artist has summoned

the contents of their

consciousness

into the art itself which

takes the shape of

The art which is an artifact

of the artist conjuring from

themselves in collaboration

with creation and the natural

divinity all around them.

We do not seek to extract,

consume, denude or destruct.

Not those of us who work

with the intention of co-creation.

We seek to expound, identify,

amplify, uplift, express,

contribute, and make.

And in what we make,

to find and share beauty.

The artist is not fond of

being thought of as one

who pursues a hobby,

a skill, a side-gig or

a frivolity assigned to either

the very poor or the very rich.

We treat art and artist as

if they are not that important

meanwhile the establishment

grinds out our ideas

for the commodification

of the masses and

mass production,

art-by-the-pound,

hoping the homeopathic

doses of simulated beauty

will pass like formula

instead of breast milk,

just close enough but

not as life-giving as we need.

Many crave to consume

what the artist has,

but cannot give enough

to satisfy the craving.

Only through the making

of one's own art can we find

what we seek.

Which is why artists who are loving

seek to invite other artists to life.

We will not hide what we know

for the sake of mystery,

we will give what we know

for the sake of beauty.

We know the artists exist and yet

we know not their deeper

function in the fabric

of every society

since the start of this experiment.

The artists have crafted the

revolutions by hand, you know.

You don't quite notice them

as they move

about the quiet neighborhood

or busy streets, looking quite

disheveled or quite glamorous

in a jaunty hat and sunglasses.

Pockets stuffed with poetry

and necklaces of shell and bone.

Or pinstriped suits and cowgirl

boots, you never can be sure.

Yet sure as the day is long,

I tell you this:

Artists are healers,

weaving the world together

with the threads of longing.

The threads discarded

by those who claim

to be too busy and

too important to

divine the needs of the day

from a drawing board

or potting wheel or pot of soup.

Too busy to make with intention.

Yet to make without it,

is disastrous for all.

So we shall go forward,

both seen and unseen,

ministering to the sick of heart,

the confused of story,

and those hungry for meaning.

Setting caged birds free

at every turn of the wheel.

For an artist makes every

attempt to inhabit the vessel

of self they are given

to care for,

in full sensuality.

For that vessel of

stardust blood is the

alchemical chamber

from which creation

springs forth onto the

scenes of life.

The artist makes use

of the erotic, bursting

forth their potentials

into shapes, sounds,

symbols, vessels,

songs, bowls, stories

and bounty to share with all.

Every village needs artists

for without them

the true vision is lost.

A village without a vision

soon loses trees and shade

in favor of parking lots

and blinding lights.

We must nurture those

who envision the future

that make it possible

to find the way forward.

Artists tell the stories

that become legends.

They don't just report on

what has already happened,

rather they bring to life

what could be, might be.

Our studios are sanctuaries

studded with stars

and swelling with promise.

The artist makes use of

the erotic every time

we create.

Every time we create,

life flows forth.

~ Shiloh Sophia