Original works of art.

A few years ago, I painted a scene I really liked. I found the picture of a painting in a magazine and set off to see if I could paint it as well. The result was better than any painting I had done up to that point in my artistic life, and I was not surprised when it sold quickly. Since then, however, I have thought about the painting and recently decided to try and recreate it. The problem was, I no longer had the picture from the magazine, only a pictures of my version.

It was clear to me early on in the process that I was yet another step away from the original. First, there was the scene itself, then the original painting, then the photograph of the painting in the magazine, then my rendition, and now there was going to be another layer of artistic interpretation. This version of artistic whisper-down-the-lane made me realize that with every layer comes distance from the original and, in the end, we will hardly recognize the original interpretation. 

I fear we often try the same things with our lives. One generation is named after another, and another, leaving only roman numerals to keep track. A mother tries to be like her mother, who tried to be like her mother, before the most recent translation bares no resemblance to the original. Examples are everywhere and remind me of something I recently read: We are born unique but end up like everybody else.

How sad.

I am reading a book about how our lives are works of art. Whether we are lawyers, plumbers, waitresses or writers . . . mothers, fathers, sons or daughters, we have the opportunity to be unique. Not unique for the sake of being unique, or to get people to notice us, but unique because there is literally no one like us. How dare we squander the gift by creating reproductions? How dare we create a version of someone who has already been?

In the movie, “Dead Poets Society”, the teacher takes his class outside and tells them to walk freely. They begin with wild and unique gates, only to fall into a military march of conformity. Monet, on the other hand, was told to develop his talents by going to the Louvre and imitating the masters. Instead, he chose to look out the window and the art world has never been the same.