The First Rule of Art

I wrote recently about a novel that I read this past week that I enjoyed immensely (Still Life by Sarah Winman). Near the end of the book there was a scene that resonated deeply with me. In it, an artist speaks about

and though I like to think that the great thing about art is that there are no rules, I loved the rule revealed in the following conversation from the novel..

Miss Skinner? said Miss Everly. Do me the honor of telling me what you saw when you looked out your window for the first time. Be robust and adventurous. Hold nothing back. And Miss Everly closed her eyes, ready to receive the descriptive benediction (her words).

Mr. Collins leaned in close to Evelyn and said, She asks the same of everyone when they arrive. Make it good.

Evelyn cleared her throat. She said, I saw a lone rower carving across the Arno. The foothills were darkening, and the cypress trees around San Miniato were topped by a ghostly mist. Ochre walls appeared more golden as the sun softened. Lights appeared throughout the city and took their place on the surface of the river. The rower slipped through this spectacle of light. Water dripped off the blades of his oars, and momentarily, I was in that drip. Falling into the green twilight depths of history.

You have silenced the room.
The elderly twins applauded.

The lady poet laughed. She is smitten already! You have caught the fever of Firenze! Oh, my dear Miss Skinner, there is no turning back. You shall die with those lights in your eyes. Miss Skinner has turned looking into loving! The first rule of art. Looking into loving! Oh welcome, my dear! Welcome!

— Sarah Winman, Still Life

This passage seemed a particularly wonderful description of how becoming a photographer changed me. As I gazed at the world through the lens of my camera I fell in love with the world. And I found beauty everywhere I looked. It is the reason that I fell in love with photography — because turning looking into loving changed the way I experienced the world and continues to bring me immense joy every day.

Does This “Rule” Apply to All Art?

I’m not sure whether this idea of turning looking into loving applies to all kinds of art. I certainly feel it in the poetry written by Mary Oliver. Her love for everything, even the smallest insect shines through her poems. Perhaps dancers turn movement into love, actors turn their actions and words into love.

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird –
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

…

— Mary Oliver

I believe that developing and nurturing a deep love and respect for life (animal/plant/mineral/everything), mixing in wonder and awe, and seasoning with compassion, is a recipe for joy. Our capacity to love the world and one another is what gives me hope for the future despite all of the brutality, selfishness, and thoughtlessness that we humans often exhibit.

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb. (Don’t Hesitate)

― Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

I wish you the joy trying out the first rule of art, of turning looking into loving this week.

May you walk in beauty.

Note: today’s photos from a short walk at Lake Camelot Park to visit the trumpeter swan family this morning.