While listening to one of the U.S. musicians speak he said something that I have always considered profound. He may have been quoting someone, or at the very least he probably isn't the only one who came to this conclusion. Either way he said something to the extent that every time he performs it is an act of faith.
I've been pondering that ever since. This is true for all performing artists, not just musicians. It is less so for visual artists, but only because the process is different. But the idea is still present. When faced with the blank canvas for the painter, the unformed rock for the sculptor, even the blank page for the writer, the next steps are always an act of faith. But this is not a blind faith. They believe that all that training, practice, patience will allow them to express their life and love in some new form.
Some Christians and counter-Christians like to talk about spiritual faith as a blind leap. If there was a reason to believe, then it wouldn't be faith. I don't think that is faith. To me that would be like someone who has never touched a guitar before in his life thinking he could just pick it up and start playing music like Eddie van Halen or Andres Segovia, or even Jack Black. Sure, after a short while they may be able to pluck out the bass line to Smoke on the water or possibly, maybe plink out the first few chords to Lean on me on the piano, maybe chop sticks, but that is a big maybe, and there is little chance of doing more.
I think Christian faith is like this. If we really want to learn a musical instrument or some other art form beyond just by chance creating some form, the best way is through studying under the guidance of, not just a teacher, but a master, a rabbi of sorts. They not only teach you technique, but also the expressive nature that separates, say, a lighting designer from the janitor who has the keys to the lighting closet. Even the artists who are supposedly "self-taught" find it necessary at some point to explore beyond themselves.
I see this in scripture. This is how the disciples learned. This is how Paul learned. This is the form of that era discipleship. Becoming a disciple was not a solo task. It wasn't about converting. Faith wasn't a blind leap, or a unreasonable act. It was built, developed. We've all been given a measure of faith. We all have the spirit of creativity within us. It is just a matter of pursuit.
There was a movement in art not too long ago that tried to develop without the "trappings" of formal training. The belief was that the only way to be truly and freely expressive was to dance/paint/write without being "bound" by technique. I don't believe it is seriously considered anymore except to demonstrate what futility looks like. Even free jazz, which by design is not to have a formal structure, requires a great deal of musicianship and virtuosity. Keep in mind I am not saying that the only way to be creative is to be formally trained. I firmly believe creativity is innate in everyone. But to reiterate above, it is a matter of pursuit.
No doubt there are probably exceptions, some miraculous babies who seem to be able to create right out of the womb. But we all know, if these examples truly exist, they are the exception, and the rarest of exceptions. Why else would we consider them miraculous?
Just something to ponder on,
Joe

2 comments:
And again, again I say- Joe scores!! Yes. Amen and thank you Joe. Well put. -Glenn
The last professional play I did was with a rather big-time actor who since won an Oscar. There were only three of us in the play, but it was primarily he and I.
I had the very first line of the play. I had to enter in darkness, the lights came up, and I started the whole thing off.
Well, one day, I couldn't for the life of me remember the line. Couldn't think of it. Couldn't find my 'emergency script' anywhere to refresh my memory. I remember distinctly saying to myself. Just go out there, hit your mark, look at ______ and just open your mouth, the line will be there. That's exactly what I did. I opened my mouth with no idea - as I was opening it, even - what it was I was supposed to say.
The line tumbled out. Play saved. An act of faith (and muscle memory instilled through plenty of rehearsal, but still).
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