I’m not sure we get to choose what we create.  We can only be inspired by that which moves us and perhaps, in turn, inspire others.  Could be our environment, our upbringing, our experiences, our chemistry, maybe our fate.  The whole nature vs. nurture thing that drives us.  

I’m not sure.  I’ve been reflecting on this a lot lately thinking a lot about my art and what I need to be doing.  And I think that’s it.  It really feels beyond what I want to do, but is more of a need, an intrinsic engine…a calling.  

I big part of my inspiration to move towards a gallery wasn’t to just have a place to show and sell my art, but instead a format that drove me to explore this feeling that’s inside.  A place to evolve my feelings and my calling and hopefully, by sharing, inspiring others to do the same.  

There was a lot of hesitation at first in opening a fine arts gallery.  Whether they’ve been interpreted to this or always been this way, I feel like, for the masses, art galleries do not feel relevant.  We are made to feel unwelcome or unworthy having to trust that the “experts” know and we do not.  Up and coming artists are fed to us and like so many other things, we are made to feel we shouldn’t challenge this.  Now, I’m not saying that’s all bad for those that want that experience…who am I to judge, but for me, this misses the point of the art.  To engage with one another, to spark conversations, to appreciate what we may not otherwise, to feel compassion, joy, sorrow, love, honesty, etc..  That is the art.  That is the beauty.  Every single set of eyes offers an equally important perspective.  Although we all have eyes, we all see differently.  From different angles, perspectives, levels of clarity, reference points…all things that are the same are different.  Sharing our perspective is a gift for those who feel connected to it.   

As I continue to reflect on this idea, I can’t help but turn inside to ask, at this point, on this day, what is my calling?  

I took a walk with our new puppy through the woods, recently, in an effort to acclimate her to new surroundings and experiences so that she could learn to be comfortable and familiar with all the complexities these experiences bring.  Being aware of what I was doing for her, I realized it is the same for me.  I am reminded of my continued driver and my calling, which is seeing the unseen and recognizing that which is not recognized.  The things that most pass by are the things that call me.  Scars, drab, weathered, used, expired, dangerous, forgotten. old, unfortunate, homeless, unwanted, etc.  When I play music with my friends, we have an ongoing joke that if it’s minor and slow, Roben will like it…and it’s true.  What’s been interesting about this is how it is interpreted.  Clearly, I must be depressed to be drawn to pain and suffering, but, as I continue to reflect, that’s not it.  I see beauty in the wrinkles of life…fame in the humble forgotten.  These are things of beauty. Earned promises of humanity.  Inevitable states down a path we all share.  Should these ends be destined for sorrow.  Perhaps, if we take the time to look…actually look, there is promise and hope and joy that can only be earned.  Today, this is my call…and my sharing this perspective in the only ways I know how is my art.  

We have so much to learn from one another.  Are you listening to your call?  What is it saying?