My dad loaned me a book called The Art Spirit by Robert Henri. It was copyrighted in 1923 and Henri died in 1929. Henri was an American artist whose paintings are in museums all around the country, including the Met. And my dad, who loaned me the book, is Edward Reep, an artist whose paintings are in museums all around the country, including the Smithsonian. So – I’m flattered that Dad wanted me to read it, thought it might apply to me. It’s about art – teaching, beliefs, philosophies – and it’s incredibly engaging, especially having been written in the more formal prose of that day. 
That’s the best I could do for an image of the book – without leaving the chair in my bedroom. Thank you photo booth (love the macbook)! If the book weren’t held up in front of my head, and if I ducked my head, this is what you’d see.
My lamp in front of a still life of a lamp. And it’s the artist who painted this still life that continually comes to mind as I read this book. He’s William Jordan, a sophomore at King’s College in London and he painted this still life when he was around 15. If you read the London travel journal, you’ll see that I went to London specifically to visit this former student of mine, who is going to be a brilliant artist someday. I didn’t like this still life at first. Not only didn’t I like it, I really disliked it! But the more I looked at it over a period of time – several years, really, I began to love it. It’s not a wonderful painting – it’s done by a young man before the beginning of his career – but the quality doesn’t really matter. Because I can see into the picture. I’m not sure what I see yet, but I know something is there waiting to speak to me.
So why do thoughts of William keep running through my head as I read? Here’s a passage from the book: “The work of the art student is not light matter. Few have the courage and stamina to see it through. You have to make up your mind to be alone in many ways. We like sympathy and we like to be in company. It is easier than going it alone. But alone one gets acquainted with himself, grows up and on, not stopping with the crowd. It costs to do this. If you succeed somewhat, you may have to pay for it as well as enjoy it all your life.”
It’s a brilliant passage. It’s true. The artist, more than most, has to know who he or she is, and he finds that out (we’ll use “he” for simplicity) through deep, lonely journeys through the soul, through total immersion in work, through mingling with and alienating himself from others. It can indeed be a lonely journey, and it’s not easy to mix being an artist with a normal, regulated life.
Henri goes on to say that for an artist to be interesting to us, he has to have been interesting to himself. He must be capable of intense feeling and profound contemplation. It’s not an easy life.
In all of William’s 19 years, he has already fit this description over and over. It’s not been easy for him – especially the intense feeling and profound contemplation. It’s made his life tumultuous – the highs soar, but the lows reach great depths. William has The Art Spirit, of that I am quite sure. And I think I have a little bit of it too.
William and me in London - the Art Spirit is high.
