I don’t care that my work is good. I care that it is correct.
There is a form buried in the substratum, a perfect expression to be unearthed, not true but absolutely perfect in it’s articulation and discoloration. It is the job of the artist to unearth this precisely, not to determine what it is, but to accurately present the shape and contour of god-consciousness as it moves through them, not as they would have it, but as it is. So one may say to hell with reception and marketability. Get it correct. The audience is the artist and creation itself.
In this way, we may stumble on truth.
We cultivate truth by cultivating silence.
This way of understanding creative work clarifies the role of the artist as a vehicle for an altogether different kind of intelligence that passes through them and allows the artist to about face to the question of whether or not their work is approaching something one might call authenticity.
Are you listening to your work? Or are you telling it how to be?
There is, of course, no “correct” form, not as a result of application of logic. Maybe the artist knows it when they see it. Perhaps it’s in some measure sufficient to evoke these questions to prompt one to ask who places value on work, who is the artist, who is the audience? Is there a perfect expression of sculpture already within the stone in situ? Does the artist follow or lead the dance in the creative act? Is there “correctness” for a long distance runner as they win the race or correctness in being completely consumed by passion in an exalted moment? How do I know when a piece is done, or if it’s worthy of being written–who do I ask for this imprimatur? Is it necessary to please the critics or the masses? Is commerical success the most important valuation of art? If no one likes art, is it art? Is there value to speaking truth even when it brings no comfort or inspiration?
When one truth is spoken, others are obscured.