AUTUMN LEAVES

Not so long ago, on a weekend not too far away, I found myself in the clutches of a formidable cold, one from which I am still recovering. This bodily affliction, as I have come to realize, often arrives like an unexpected cherry atop life's cake. But let me rewind a bit.

In the week that preceded my encounter with the cold, I had had several days of improving differebt skills and discovering new ones too. I took part in various workshops, participating in the worlds of Art and the intricacies of turning that into a business. Within these quite disparate realms, I got introduced to the art of the pitch. A construct, which I found reminiscent of the workings of other capitalist structures, this pitch followed a rather rigid set of steps: I had to first speak of #Myself, then delve into the #Need, followed by an #Approach, extolling the #Benefits of my #Product, and finally, culminating in a compelling #Outcome, ultimately leading to a decisive #CallToAction.

As an artist who has traversed half a century of existence, I've come to find that pitching art as a mere product often falls short. Art, you see, is a luxurious tapestry that ushers humanity to the forefront, a necessity for world "piece" - I mean, peace. Yet, the price of an artwork? It demands more than just a desire. It necessitates a life already secured, with expenses for housing, sustenance, and the daily to-and-fro accounted for, before one is in a place to consider adorning bare walls with an original artwork, and not just a poster.

I find joy in sharing my own narrative and the stories woven into each of my works. This is one facet I'm tirelessly honing. Another, involves pitching projects in grant applications - a useful, albeit challenging pursuit. Both written tasks hinge on storytelling at their very essence.

The distinction between pitching a pint of organic milk versus its inorganic counterpart extends beyond being valued by mere individuals. It pertains to the environment and climate also. It recognizes a need and a product. When I want to pitch an art project, I am acutely aware that not all of it is crafted from environmentally friendly materials. I also must understand why I create art, the inner wellspring from which it emerges, in a manner that doesn't involve directly selling myself or my art, but rather, by deferral or by beckoning others. Through storytelling, my dear reader, you are meant to experience subtle "aha" moments leading to a sensual not quite so easy to place yearning to be in close proximity to the artwork, a yearning so compelling that you must or "need" to possess it. Because it grants you a sense of [add that which art imparts].

Let me share a moment of my Sunday, spent in a symphony of sneezes and not only existential headaches, while immersed in the pages of a tiny, timeworn book about #Greek #Mythology. This little tome, inherited from my mother, a restorative architect, held within it not only her handwritten name drawn by her own hand once upon a time, it contained everything I craved on this particular day. It was a reminder of her, and that's the thing, isn't it? Sickness often roots itself in our “need” for the comfort of a mother, even as we age, in our longing for tranquil moments, and for nourishment that fosters inner impulses, away from external distractions, nurturing those nuggets necessary for realigning with our soul’s purpose.

From a financial standpoint, I might aspire to be a factory, churning out artworks for sale in quick succession. But, alas, I am not. Crafting but a single new "peace" - no, piece - each month would be a master feat.

In the intervals between creation, there is a lot to learn: I read, I contemplate, I acquire new techniques, I master the art of networking, I learn to compose enticing emails and headlines - not to sell per se, but to allure art enthusiasts and collectors, and with hopes of some time, securing gallery representation, that resonates with my work. I also strategize my marketing efforts, meticulously prepare and schedule them, and venture into the realm of tax and VAT comprehension. Not to forget the painstaking tasks of photographing and scanning artworks, ensuring the right file format, and identifying the perfect art printer, all followed by impeccable packaging. Did I forget somethibg? Yes, all the financial aspect of learning to keep the books, registrering them under the right VAT code, etc.

Now, let's return to that aged book on Greek Mythology. It delves into the #Greeks and their #Myths, exploring the origins of these fascinating tales - a chaotic jumble of gods, goddesses, and muses, mortals, and curious hybrids like Mino-taurs and Pan-odils. Ups. Life and magic intertwined in narratives conveyed through spoken word, tales passed from mouth to ear, giving birth to the term "O 'rally," and incidentally, the origins of RAP. Music. Believe it or not, it's true - history attests to it.

Greece, however, boasted its own literary luminary, not the yellow Homer but another Homer. A much older version, and altigether more mortal than the doh-one. He had a penchant for penmanship, and he became the first writer in the Western world, weaving his stories into the fabric of all the spoken words from the immanent and enigmatic past, spanning East, South-East and South of Greece, brimming with references to phantasmagorical gods, goddesses, ingrained in every person alive at that time, from birth. The Iliad and The Odyssey were his gifts to the world, unsullied by the bounty of explanations. That didn’t bother Homer! Everyone was familiar with every name and event he let his characters participate in. One could argue albeit a little stretched perhaps, a little sketchy too, that Homer was the first journalist.

Subsequent generations, hungry for understanding, penned countless of books expounding on Homer's work, unveiling the hidden, mythical references behind the stories. It's a practice that might have sown the seeds of our philosophical traditions, as we know it today.

And so, as I sneeze my way through this narrative, my hope is that you, dear reader, have found moments of giggle, perhaps i sight, or maybe, an irresistible longing to be close to my artwork, driven by a compelling "need" yæto own it. For art, after all, bestows upon us a sense of [insert what in your eyes art offers].

Achoo!

©️ Camilla Howalt