The Artist Inside

artist. what does this word mean to me now? for many years when I heard the word artist I said to myself that means painter. a person who paints with a brush. stands at an easel. depicts life and people and things and their imagination on a canvas. picasso, van gogh, dali, david hockney..certainly not jeff koons

but now it’s much bigger than that.

its all the arts. and how big is that? sculpture, pottery, painting, sketching, calligraphy, writing, directing, acting, producing (I struggled with that as an art from for a long time..I still do sometimes), composing, performing, instrumentation, songwriting, designing, architecture, I’m stopping now only because my mind has blanked and the flow there stopped.

I feel like an artist. I am an artist. I ooze art in the way I think and feel and behave. and yet for some reason sometimes the word brings up an uncomfortable feeling. it has a slightly snobbish sound to it. is a tv reality show pop star an artist? of course, but the fact their sound and vocal have been manufactured by machines and a team of svengali like (probably) men pushing certain well tried buttons to formulate a successful financial operation interferes with that. but then they are still artists. manipulated and bullied ones. but still artists. but would everyone consider them artists? the cognoscenti, if that still exists, for instance?

but the artist INSIDE. 

what a title tom gave me. how do I respond?

I guess i’m only just beginning to discover him. i’ve always known of him, he’s always been there. existing, being, creating, producing. but how well do I know him? recently tom said to me..”you need to let go of james the actor and find james the poet”…as well as being in recovery and learning to be clean and sober one day at a time, accepting my bi-polar disorder and learning to manage it, be a better, more responsible father and get financially secure, now I have to find james the poet?!

but they all interlink. all of them. like the great flow of life. I just have to put the pieces together and make them fit.

but it is a struggle for me. james the actor comes naturally to me. I don’t have to dig deep to find the character that entertains, amuses, occasionally irritates, shows compassion and care for people, is kind, scatty, ill disciplined at times and suffers from attention deficit disorder.

but james the poet? he needs to be quiet, dig deep, enjoy the silence, be at peace with himself alone, avoid distractions, don’t share everything and anything with everyone. and discover what lies within. Like the beautiful opening to Pat Pattinson’s book Writing better lyrics I need to become the pearl diver. Who doesn’t dive into clear waters and immediately surface clutching a glinting pearl in his hand. He has to struggle through the silt and sand, almost blinded at times, close to running out of breath before he finds his treasure. “keep digging for gold’ said Tom. 

It taps into my addictions. Coffee, my Iphone, social media, wanting to share everything, being a social animal. the poet isn’t these things and dislikes them. but the actor thrives on them. I’m also a Gemini so the planets and the stars had a plan for me the moment I emerged in the afternoon of june 9th 1973.

I was 3 years old when my parents encouraged me to play the violin. I don’t really remember it. but I was taught the suzuki method. Would I teach that way now? I can’t answer that until I re discover what was taught to me. But I do believe a child should be allowed to explore and discover. I agree that some discipline is necessary to help focus but discipline as a word sends shivers down my spine. it feels old fashioned and forced. The wish for people to exert control over others. And it feels like it somehow runs against a part of the serenity prayer which is so important to me as a guide in life and the whole ethos by which I choose to live these days.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference”

But that was how I first learned what music was. Thats where a life long love affair began. On a 4 stringed instrument small enough for a 3 year old to hold standing up, under his chin, with a bow in the other hand. Surrounded by a few other boys and a girl my age. I saw a photo recently of the group in the London garden of our teacher, Helen Brunner. Who ended up running away with a much younger man and engaging in an exciting yet I suspect ultimately ruinous affair.

at 5 my parents introduced me to the piano. again, I don’t remember this. but I am so grateful. when I play the piano I feel calm, at peace and filled with the magic that comes when you place your fingers on the keyboard and alternate between the ebony and ivory. one of my favorite lyrics i’ve written so far says..

”The piano that I play on every day, only lets me play in minor keys

I wrote a song about you anyway, because the piano sets me free”

when I think about the piano, I feel a warm glow. rather like the feeling you get when you think of someone you love. it’s helped me to process emotions, to cry, to laugh, to sing, to act, to really feel those pure emotions that sometimes are so hard to access. I guess in a way it’s been a form of therapy. the piano as therapist coaxing feelings and emotions out of me by challenging me to express myself.

then came singing. I don’t remember singing before I was 8 years old. I must have, I just can’t recall. But I became a chorister in Salisbury cathedral. 6 days a week we sang every evening in the glorious surroundings of that ancient vessel of worship to god. magnificent, mysterious, awe inspiring, nerve racking are some of the words that spring to mind when I think back to those years and my time as a choir boy. we would be given a piece of music in the morning at the rehearsal before breakfast. later that day we would perform it to the public. I believe thats where I really learned to sightread music. a gift I am beyond grateful for. and one I know many people would love to possess. much like I would to have perfect pitch. But being able to slowly play a piece of music as long as its not too complicated straight away and the enjoyment that brings has brought me countless hours of joy and pleasure. and others too.

so by the time I was 8 I was playing the violin and piano and singing in a cathedral choir. was I an artist by then? yes. I was. i’ve never thought about that until now and I think, like a lot of people, i’ve always had the assumption engrained in me that you don’t become an artist until later. but the artist inside me was growing by then. of that i’m now sure.

I can’t remember the first time I wrote anything of my own. i’m sure I must have but it’s gone now. I would have had to compose something for GCSE music and A level music but I can’t remember it and can’t find any evidence of it. 

but I do remember writing my first song “why”..I can’t remember ‘why” I wrote “why”..it feels to me now that it must have perhaps come from a dream. the opening lyrics..

“who is she standing there. in that dream with the same flower in her hair.

she comes to haunt me every night and every day.

I don’t know who she is but I wish she’d go away”

my mother has always felt it must be about Ophelia. Or rather that she thinks it is. thats what those words and the music evoke for her. I had read hamlet by then I think. But it was Macbeth I was more drawn to, performing the dagger monologue on many occasions.

“is this a dagger I see before me, come, let me clutch thee”