“You are not accidental. Existence needs you. Without you something will be missing in existence and nobody can replace it. That’s what gives you dignity, that the whole existence will miss you… Everything in the universe will feel a small place is vacant which cannot be filled by anybody except you.” -Osho
Last week we lost one of the most brilliant performers of our time, to suicide. Without Robin Williams, who will disrupt the sadness of the world? Who will bring comedy and understanding to the under-dogs, the outcasts and the others? Who will combine vulnerability and electricity in that same explosive combination? No one. Robin Williams was unique. And the rest of us are left wondering what a world without the grown Peter Pan will be like? What was so hard and horrible about our time that he had to return to Never, Never Land? And yet, while we can never assume to know exactly what he was feeling, as artists, a part of us understands his suffering, his alone-ness, his vulnerability, his inability to exist anymore in this place.
When we go on stage, when we produce our first film, or embody a character far different from ourselves, there is this palpable vulnerability that we experience, in sharing ourselves with the world. We fear deeply their rejection, we fear deeply that the world will simply not care, that we won’t be effective, that we won’t ping a nerve in the collective subconscious. Or even worse that we will be ridiculed, called out, shamed by the commentators, by our peers, by the critics. That the constant rejection by studios, agents, casting directors, and high school bullies invalidates our vision as artists, invalidates our very reason to exist.
Artists are brave. Artists are vulnerable. Artists have heeded the call that our perspective is vital to our communities. We believe in the power of the story to bring people together and to reveal the unseen. The world is our sounding board and we have a unique point of view that calls us to pursue our creative endeavors. By telling stories we help others tap into their emotions, make sense of the world around them, connect the dots, and experience catharsis. We tell stories which bring elements of the collective subconscious to life on screens of all sizes, and in countless mediums. Yet why do so many of us suffer from depression and doubt, on scales that are as immense and overwhelming as our desire to create art?
The effort of birthing something into the world can be monumental. We are taking something that exists only as neurons firing off in the part of the brain devoted to imagination, and breathing life into it: investing our time, our money, our hearts into its birth into the world. And we may fail. Again and again. Or we may fail to ever get off of the ground. This world is not easy on artists. This country is even less kind, and there are few opportunities for government supported artworks. The arts are almost exclusively privately funded. So we are forced to monetize the gifts we have for our communities, and we must struggle to support ourselves to the extent that our gifts fail to result in profits. This is a life’s work. And as Robin’s life has shown us, there is no guaranteed enchanted land of success where we will feel fulfilled and complete. The Artist’s path is a treacherous one. The emotional empathy that allows us to connect can be so profound that we need to detach at times to protect our hearts. The power of that which we channel can be so immense that we lose ourselves for moments, days, or longer as we enter into the void of creation. And to the extent that we reveal ourselves to the masses, we may be equally vulnerable to the yay or nay of their opinions.
So I am asking all of the artists to care for themselves this month: to nurture the spark inside, and to love it for what it is— complete, unique and vital to all of existence. I ask us all to practice liberty of creativity, to let go of our own judgment and fear of the outcome: to play and imagine freely, knowing that the expression of our joy and curiosity, compassion and sorrow is enough in this world. Our very existence is an artistic act. Our artistic selves must be nurtured and cherished. We have the ability to lead the way to whatever is next with compassion: to be the loving parents of the artists inside us. Laughing off the bullies, dusting off the scrapes, bruises and stitches we need after a tumble, and taking the time to listen to what will nourish and feed the creative being we have brought into the world. The artist’s path is one we have chosen, and it is one that requires dedication, imagination and most importantly love and compassion.