the sunrise through the trees this morning
…aesthetic pleasure in the beautiful consists, to a large extent, in the fact that, when we enter the state of pure contemplation, we are raised for the moment above all willing, above all desires and cares; we are, so to speak, rid of ourselves." (Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation, vol. I, § 68, Dover page 390)
I'm reading a co-workers Master's thesis based on Schopenhauer's view of art being a means to overcome life's suffering. If I subscribe to this philosopher's take on the role art plays in our lives, then maybe it explains why I've always been drawn to dance, to write, to draw, to play music. It certainly brings a level of emotional reaction. I get goosebumps. I well up with tears. I am moved.
I've never been wealthy, but if I had plenty of money to live a comfortable life, I'd be spending the majority of my time exploring artistic endeavors. I'd nudge my photographer friends to teach me about this rather complicated camera I got for Christmas last year. I'd go to dance classes for eager adult-kids that want to move with a fluidity that seems to be only grasped by the young. I'd renew my passion for drawing and fill my spare bedroom with empty canvases to explore shapes, texture, and color. I'd travel and write vibrant commentaries on the places I'd visit, of the people I'd observe. I'd play with all of those things that bring us to a state of expression and be raised above the suffering that is what Schopenhauer describes as life. That is what living should be... not suffering through the daily grind of clocking in and checking out, the mundane tasks of housewifery, the repetition of our scheduled life that Schopenhauer would say is our suffering.
Relief from that is expression. I feel it. Art transports us away from all that is repetitive, yet necessary evils in our lives. Art is an escape.
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