Aspiration painting by Robert Arthur Wilson
What do conservation, history, and photography have in common with one another? When one aims to conserve the land, or the integrity of the natural environment around us, or catalog and portray the world they inhabit, they are attempting to preserve the state of things in time. When historians research, write and chronicle the tales of ages past, they too are trying to conserve the memory of the past. And when a photograph is taken, that moment in time is held transfixed in a photo for years to come.
The conservationist, historian, and photographer all have a sense of protectiveness over their subjects at hand. They recognize the value and integrity of their focus. In this way, a poet too is a conservationist. What is an artist if not someone who finds a way to capture the essence of an object, the beauty of a flower, the majesty of a sunset, in a way that is relatable to the rest of us? I would argue that all the professions listed above, at heart, are truly artists of a different fashion. When Andrew Marvell wrote his poem, The Definition of Love, he was perfectly capturing the essence of unrequited love. As lines, so loves oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet; But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet. William Wordsworth, in his poem about wandering, expertly describes a vividly glorious scene. I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. Each of these examples, and thousands of others like them, preserve not only the intention of the author, and the beauty of their observational talents, but literally capture their thoughts, hundreds of years later.
Human beings are uniquely gifted as a species with an ability to identify, translate, capture, and relay their experiences. And those of us who pay attention to the little things seem to have the easiest time of it. A good artist sees not just what is there, but sometimes, what should be there too. Their imagination is a fountain of expression (the source of their inner world manifest outward.) This power invites and challenges us to be better versions of ourselves, whereby creating and cultivating a more loving, compassionate, and beautiful world for the rest of us.
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