TEXT SERIES "Rethinking Art": The Artist, the Psyche, Nature. What Really Creates a Painting? A Painting Without an Author, an Author Without a Painting. So What Really Creates the Painting?

In earlier texts, examining the question of a painting's nature and trying to understand what really creates a painting, we arrived at several important insights. It turns out that a painting, if it is a genuine work of art, arises from an impersonal part of the artist's psyche — the collective unconscious. In this process of a painting's coming into being — the creative process — the artist as a person becomes not so much an active participant in this process as a passive observer, an “instrument” through which the painting realizes itself. More precisely, it is not the painting itself that realizes itself, but the archetype of the collective unconscious, which makes use of the artist's consciousness as a creator in order to acquire a tangible form, a shape, which we, the viewers, perceive as a painting. From here arises a second important thought — in a good painting we will find almost nothing of the artist's personal individuality as a human being, and if we do find it, it will not play a decisive role in the work of art itself. Personal individuality impoverishes the painting.


Within the context of these important conclusions, the connection we are used to between the artist and the painting is broken. Where we are accustomed to placing an equals sign (the artist's personality = the painting), we must accustom ourselves to a new truth: the artist's personality is NOT equal to the painting. In this case, the painting remains without an author, and the author remains without a painting. The safe and familiar ground through which we used to explain the emergence of a painting slips out from under our feet. The knowledge that a painting was created by a person, the author of that painting, begins to be undermined by doubt. If the author is an “instrument,” his personal individuality and experiences are unimportant, and the work of art seemingly “arises” on its own — then what is it made of, and what really creates it?


The answer is as simple as it is complex: a painting is created by three equally important components — the artist's personality, the psyche, and nature. In this text we will try to “rehabilitate” the artist's personality within the creative process, and attempt to explore why the artist, as an ordinary human being, matters for a painting to come into existence. In examining this human component, we will try to understand that the author's personality is not devalued — it matters in the creative process, though it is not essential or of primary importance. The author's contribution cannot be denied, yet it is not placed on a pedestal either. It remains within that necessary balance, without which we would not have wonderful art.



It is clear that a human being is a necessary component for any work of art to come into existence — art is a cultural phenomenon, and culture is the product of human labor. If the painter, as a person, were unable to give form to formless material — an archetype — we would not see the development of a potentially brilliant painting. So let us go on to examine how the author's personality either helps a work of art come into being, or hinders it.



In order to understand the author's significance in the process of a painting's emergence, C. G. Jung's conception of the creative person helps us. As Jung notes, “every creative person is a duality or synthesis of paradoxical qualities. He is humanly personal, and on the other hand — an impersonal creative process. andlt;...andgt; His life is, as a rule, full of conflicts, because two forces are constantly struggling within him: the ordinary human being, quite legitimately seeking happiness, satisfaction, and a secure life, and a ruthless creative passion which, when the need arises, tramples all personal desires underfoot.” The author of a painting, the artist, the creative person, is constantly confronted within himself by two forces wanting to exist on equal terms. In other words, the author's finite psychic energy wants to be devoted both to building a happy everyday life and to realizing his full creative potential. What possibilities does the artist's personality have to act, when these two essential forces are struggling within him? I invite you to answer this question by examining several possible scenarios.



The first, and truly tragic, scenario, as the energy of the collective unconscious presses into consciousness (the “impersonal creative process” struggling with “human personal individuality”), is surrender. Surrender is the inability of human consciousness to understand the energy pressing in, and the state caused by this inability is called, in ordinary language, “going mad.” According to Jung, “madness” is not necessarily a mental illness — very often such severe pathological states are caused by the personality's inability to give form to the energy of the collective unconscious, and, accordingly, a person can “recover” and return to stability if he manages to give meaning to this pressing energy. In the case of surrender, neither the stability of a person's everyday life nor creation and a work of art remain — everything sinks into the chaos that has taken hold. The creator's personality cannot help a work of art come into being, because it collapses into chaos.


The second scenario is very favorable for the world of art. As the energy of the collective unconscious presses into consciousness, the creator's personality, his consciousness, directs almost all of its capacity toward giving meaning and understanding to this impersonal creative energy and toward giving it a fitting form. The author's personal life, in this scenario, becomes very severely impoverished, since no energy remains for its development and building. Such a creator will most likely be unable to take care of himself, will not have proper living conditions, will fail to adapt to society, will lack a proper understanding of how to relate to another person, will find it hard to form good personal relationships, and may perhaps even lack empathy altogether. But in return, he will create brilliant works of art, the most beautiful, the most wonderful paintings. We often speak of such people as “geniuses” — strange, unable to fit in, but people of extraordinary talent. According to Jung, “there are few people who do not have to pay dearly for the divine spark of great ability.” The creator's personality sacrifices itself for the sake of art.


The third scenario is very favorable for a person's personal individuality, but hinders their art. Human consciousness devotes all of its capacity to building a personal everyday life. In this case, the person will be a good friend, partner, parent; will live a fairly stable and satisfying everyday life; will have steady work, a secure place to live; will be able to take care of their own needs and respond to those of others. Step by step, they will realize the stages of their personal life and will do so well enough — this is where all their attention is focused. But with all the capacity of consciousness directed toward building a personal life, the creative side of the person becomes impoverished — their creative potential remains unrealized. Somewhere there remains a potentially brilliant painting that never took shape. Art is sacrificed for the sake of the person's personal individuality.



And the fourth scenario, as the energy of the collective unconscious presses into consciousness, is calibration. The person calibrates the two struggling forces, trying to deny neither one nor the other, testing and searching for ways to realize both the impersonal creative energy and their own personal individuality. A person capable of calibrating creates, in parallel, both brilliant works of art and their own personal life. History bears witness that there are brilliant artists without the stereotypical label of the “strange genius” — artists who live an ordinary personal life while at the same time creating great art. The ability to calibrate benefits both a person's individuality and their art — both forces are realized as fully as possible.


As we can see, the author's significance in the making of a painting is unquestionably important — the author, as a person, can either help a work of art come into being or hinder it. Many works of art never reached us, because, due to internal or external conditions, a person was unable to give form to creative energy. And conversely, today we can admire countless wonderful works of art, because the author helped them come into being — he worked hard to train his hand and technical skills; he was able to calibrate his personal individuality and his impersonal creative potential, or simply sacrificed his personal individuality for the sake of art; he was able to see the breadth and depth of life and of the human being with sensitivity and subtlety.


In this text we examined the first component that creates a painting — the author's personality, which can either hinder or help art. In the next text, “Archetype, Dream, the Depth of the Soul: The Collective Creation of a Painting,” I invite you to examine more closely the second component — the psyche — the creative energy of the collective unconscious. Without the collective unconscious, even with an ideal configuration of the author's personality, we would not have a brilliant painting. What do you imagine when you hear words such as “archetype, depth of the soul, dream, daydream, collectivity, unconscious”? Sit with this question, allow yourself to imagine and daydream, and in the upcoming text we will try to put these thoughts into words.


Author of the series "Rethinking Art," Anžela Duchovska