The Art of Daniel AmbroseHauntingly Beautiful Paintings
The Profound Beauty of Silence
Sometimes words are too shadowy to describe the luminous spectrum of life experiences. When words fail, all that remains is the profound beauty of silence.
The need to express the ineffable existed in humans long before we invented the written word. We communicated in symbols and gestures. We burnt sticks and drew pictures on earthen walls, sharpened rocks to etch figures in stone.
What compelled us to do these things? To bring forth images that only lived inside ourselves, to birth beautiful things that lived not in the world, until we created them? What purpose did art serve in our evolutionary upbringing?
Does our art emanate from the same source as our instinct for spirituality? Will scientists someday identify the exact atom of inspiration? Where does this spark of creativity live in our bodies? Or. . . maybe our creative impulse resides in every molecule of our very being.
Maybe the art of humans is the blood and bone of everything we are, all that we have lived, cried over and cursed at, moments we laughed with others or lied to ourselves. Moments of awareness that shook us to the core.
Last week I returned from Maine, by way of Boston. During my trip I spent a lot of time drawing. Drawing focuses my rabbit mind. Something about pencil pressing on paper imprints the image in my mind. Typically I take notes too, but I wrote very little. I simply drew to remember this.
For maybe drawn memories are more viable truth tellers of the human experience than accurate recording of places.
I began a new tempera the day after I returned. The inspiration came out of the blue, and I have been working on it day and night for six days. It is mostly memory. I intended to post it and share my thoughts, but found I have no words. Only the painting can speak for me in the beauty of its silence.
So instead I’m sharing a painting I made in Port Clyde at Drift Inn beach over several mornings. I left this painting in Boston, but kept the memory.
Maybe in our brief lives here on earth, our art is simply the deepest expression of all that we witness and love.
Maybe we don’t need to know all the answers to everything. Embracing the sublime mystery of wordless things, and celebrating them through our art is enough to honor the profound beauty of silence.
I’ll leave you quietly with a poem from Longfellow:
The Sound of the Sea
The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
I heard the first wave of the rising tide
Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
A voice out of the silence of the deep,
A sound mysteriously multiplied
As of a cataract from the mountain’s side,
Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
So comes to us at times, from the unknown
And inaccessible solitudes of being,
The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
And inspirations, that we deem our own,
Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing
Of things beyond our reason or control.