I believe a common trait among all artists is that they are empaths.
Where someone else may enjoy a pink sky and speak of what it foretells, an artist sees the ever-changing layers of light and shadows, and imagines her next oil painting. She feels the poetry in how the view differs, depending on where you look.
Where someone may see a dilapidated barn on a hill, an artist sees the story being told by the overgrowth blowing in the breeze. She takes pictures of the rusty gate hanging half-open, and wonders if it is hinting at the finality of abandonment, or an invitation for someone’s return.
Where most passersby would simply take notice, of the homeless man on the sidewalk in his blanket, an artist feels the pang of the ironic juxtaposition, of how he lies beneath a billboard for the next $50 million lotto. In this scene, the artist imagines a poignant photograph of the great disparities of humanity… the way that greed drives us more than compassion. She sees the people coming and going, stepping over him, who would rather bet $4 on an impossibility, than to buy a hot breakfast for a cold, hungry man. And the artist sees this without judgement, for she understands both sides of each equation: the desire, the desperate yearning of the working class trying to get ahead, the panic of the masses, who think they need more… and she also feels the suffering, the despair… An artist knows that the greed, the hopelessness, and the judgement are equally necessary pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that complete this poetic picture, and that none of these could exist without the others.
Where most people focus on the sidewalk as they head to their offices, an artist studies everything in her path, from the crunch of the leaves to the birds perched on the eaves. She breathes in the autumn air and writes a poem in her mind about a time when she was young. She notices the condemned building with ugly wire fencing, and how the trees growing at its base have become a part of the fence, with flowers nestled in the chain-link, having withstood the first few frosts. She appreciates the dichotomy of the fresh young growth, blooming against a barren and lifeless background. She enjoys the evidence of how life thrives, despite its harsh circumstances, and in some cases, because of them.
An artist walks down a city street, overwhelmed by a cacophony of sounds and smells. She can close her eyes and listen to the clanging of steel, the voices, the frustrated honking amidst the joyful exchanges between friends and strangers. What others call noise pollution, the artist would call the melody of a vibrant and growing community. An artist hears music being written in the banging and clanging and sing song voices; the air brakes on the buses, the hissing and the hammering off in the distance.
An artist breathes in the smoky garlic smells of the street vendors. She hears the accent and immediately she envisions his story: the hard-working immigrant with his PhD who's now selling hot dogs on the corner of 5th and Main. She dreams up the movie of his life: the family he's sending money back home to, with the dream of a better future… She feels the injustice of what he could and would be contributing to his society. She appreciates the beauty of his humility, that he can find contentedness in the hand he was dealt; knowing what he's capable of doing, but accepting of the limitations and the ceiling that he can't rise above. The artist sees both the adversity and the triumph… and she can see all of this, with only the smell of a hot dog and a kind word.
An artist doesn’t just see an addict nodding on a step, she sees a girl who lost her ability to connect with her higher truth… someone whose song was stifled, and beauty trampled. An artist sees hope through the desperation; she sees a chrysalis, and imagines the potentiality of the butterfly. An artist appreciates the beauty of the master plan, less evident in those ugly stages of decomposition and rebirth, but knows that it is that very struggle which makes it even more beautiful.
And where most people remain stuck in denial of life’s evolution, they’ll see a woman with dementia struggling to hold on to recognition of her husband, and they will curse at the gods for the unfairness and sadness of it all. But the artist listens to the intricate weaving of a mind that is fragmented. She watches the tender caring from a loving husband, while the woman admits to a developing crush on this man who’s been coming around a lot lately. The artist observes with a smile and knows she is witness to the most beautiful love story, that has been writing itself for the last 60 years, but will remain forever untold. The artist sees the poetry in that tragedy, as well as the beauty in that secret.
Artists understand the need for mixed media, and for the complicated tapestry that is being woven all around us at all times… because they understand, that beauty lies in contrast, in the unexpected. That complementary colors and hues are what make up a pallet. That songs are more interesting when they feature a sharp note or a flat, or a pause in between… staccato, allegro and legato, because it is the diversity in expression that best reflects the human experience, which is so grand and beautiful, so tragic and twisted, yet completely and unexpectedly magical.
And why artists are empaths, is that they create these expressions, not for the money or the fame, but because they have to. Because they feel so much, and so deeply, they cannot possibly contain it inside of themselves. And they realize that they are needed. Not everyone can see these things that they see. Many are lost in the mundane, grumbling at life’s little hiccups. They need the artist to offer them a new lens. They need help to feel. And that is what artists do best.
- Aneas MacInnis
