Iris Murdoch, in her 1970 book "The Sovereignty of Good," coined the term "unselfing" to describe that state of transcendence that comes from immersing ourselves in nature--or what she termed "good art." Although I don't like the term "good" because it implies its judgmental opposite, "bad art" (which is always in the eye of the beholder), I can understand what she means. Maybe a better term is "connected" art. Art that is made while its creator is connected to something greater than themselves, in the flow of nature.
Iris said, "Beauty is the convenient and traditional name of something which art and nature share, and which gives a fairly clear sense to the idea of quality of experience and change of consciousness. I am looking out of my window in an anxious and resentful state of mind, oblivious of my surroundings, brooding perhaps on some damage done to my prestige. Then suddenly I observe a hovering kestrel. In a moment everything is altered. The brooding self with its hurt vanity has disappeared. There is nothing now but kestrel. And when I return to thinking of the other matter it seems less important. And of course this is something which we may also do deliberately: give attention to nature in order to clear our minds of selfish care."
I always strive to "unself" while painting.
"Beyond the Skin 7," 2003
In fact, the "unselfing" happens without my control. I start to work, a great wave passes through me. I cry for a few seconds, then I continue painting, connected now to something bigger than me. It might sound woo-wooey or self-aggrandizing; but that's what happens. Every single time. The painting happens quickly, no more than an hour or two, then the feeling passes and I'm flattened. I can't do a stitch more work after that.
It's different with the commercial art. I still enjoy the work, but it's more of an intellectual exercise, not an emotional one. I can paint for up to four hours on that stuff. The "unselfing" is only slight, because I'm asserting my conscious mind to direct the brush through the client's preferences. But the magic is still there.
Like when I painted this family portrait for a dear client, and I included a dried dandelion in the little girl's hand, for some reason--then found out later that it's her favorite flower.
Family portrait commission, 2020
I've come to trust that flow. It's what guides every painting, from my Disney commissions to my most personal paintings. When I teach, I convey all the tips and techniques, yes; but what I strive to convey, above everything else, is how to unself. How to trust the Muse or whatever guides us to create. We each have our own relationship to it. And we're each capable of plugging in, at any time.
Just like when a hummingbird appears in our vision to take our breath away and remind us of the miracle unfolding everywhere.
"Here Now," 2021
Art Heals
Political cartoonist Art Young was tried for treason for his contributions to The Masses, a pro-socialist monthly once called "the most dangerous magazine in America"; but despite his politics, he was hired to do a series of tree drawings for the Saturday Evening Post. His quiet renderings of trees among anthropomorphized landscapes bring a sense of calm and connectedness. It reminds me of being a child and projecting myself into the natural world around me.
Despite being tried twice for his political art, Art was never convicted.
"Peace" by Art Young, from his series "Trees at Night"
With love and light,
Maggie
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