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  • Writer's pictureQinghong Wei, PhD

So, Why Create Art?

Recently I've been pondering on the impact of genuine art making in life. As many of my watercolor friends know, a primary purpose of the Art of Flow that I practice is to be more grounded. As I have started the farm life, I spend so much more time working hard in the field, literally grounding myself in the earth. I started to wonder if the art practice was still necessary.

I sorta did an experiment. I went for days without doing any art, and then I would do a little piece, like a watercolor journal, or writing this little poem below. After I did the watercolor journal of the duckling, which took about just fifteen minutes, I noticed how deeper I connected with this life experience, felt greater abundance of life, and a sense of wholeness.

This morning, I wrote this poem based on the experience of living on the farm. When I was reading it to my husband, to my own surprise, I burst into tears. Emotions and energy that might have been confined at a deeper level started to flow. Afterwards, I felt my genuine feelings, tender or hard, were affirmed through this creative process, and I felt more in balance and in tune with life's flow.

Through all this, I am more illuminated about the significance of genuine art making. It helps connect the two dimensions of being a human: earthly and ethereal. It transforms the mundane and transcends life. Like a lotus growing out of the mud, reaching up to the cloud, and shining light in between. It helps complete this sacred experience that we call Life.

And here is the little poem I wrote the other day.

The Wind Rises

When the sun sets behind the blue mountains, The moon lights up the emerald lake. When geese fly home in twilight, It is time to rest the tired hearts. Between cloud and mud, Plays a million sounds. Loud like thunder, Soft like lover's whisper. When the geese fly by, When the wind rises, When the moon dreams, The tender music of life Plays freely in the heart.

日落青山后,月明碧水上。 秋雁过长堤,归人洗尘衣。 此身云泥间,此心听尘音。 但有清风过,万事何所羁。

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