“ The Seagull’ s Treasure” Mason Deja
To the Reader, March 12, 1997
Cynthia Belmont
Why write? Why paint? Why take photographs of aster or ice formations that are disappearing even as they are being photographed? It is not the self-serving desire to make a lasting impression that motivates a true artist’ s work, nor is it the misguided wish to capture the ephemeral. It is not necessarily the urge to share their vision with others that prompts artists to spend much of their lives in darkrooms, studios, or in front of computer screens. Beginning as a telltale sign like a cramp, a sudden tightness in the chest--a buzzing inside--art often happens simply because it has to. Why, having gone through it, do we show people what we have made? Because art, our own and others’, brings us joy. Desire. Vague wistful sadness. It remakes us, over and over, into ourselves. Writing or reading quietly in a quiet room, we are bathed in our own light.
Studying, teaching, working at an environmental college, we are reminded constantly of both the magnificence and vileness of the world. To love the earth, to want to protect it from what destroys it every minute, we have to maintain a balance between joy and grief. Sometimes the grief we feel, recognizing the horrors of which humans are capable, can be overwhelming. Art helps us heal. It is fair to say that among the few things that may both repair and redeem us in the face of our egregious original sin, abusing nature, is our art--our gorgeous, melancholy, humorous, shimmering art.
In an interview with Derrick Jensen, Terry Tempest Williams speaks of“ throwing flowers against evil.” Discussing the importance of rising to the occasion when faced with tragedy, she recalls a time when she and a group of children sprinkled basketfuls of flowers onto contaminated ground at the Nevada Test Site. She had learned of the concept of throwing flowers against evil, a part of the Yaqui Easter ceremony, from an anthropologist who told her that this ritual and the story it represents exist for all people as a way of understanding how to act in the world. She recounts how, preparing the flowers, she and her nieces told stories of their family and discussed the possibilities offered by the idea that one can in fact throw flowers against evil, that such a small act can make a real difference. They discussed the“ power of gesture,” the
4 fact that, while gestures like this may not appear to make a direct impact on the world, they convey the energy and passion of hope. This is also a function of art, of story, which is our link to each other and to memory. Enjoying art is perhaps the most familiar means through which we discover the power of gesture: art does not affect the world in an obvious way, but it helps us to see, remember, commune with ourselves, each other, and the world.
In one of Shakespeare’ s great comedies, As You Like
It, the character Duke Senior, banished from court by his corrupt brother and biding his time in the forest of Arden, remarks that the cold winter winds are“ counsellors / That feelingly persuade me what I am.”“ Sweet are the uses of adversity,” he adds,“ And this our life exempt from public haunt / Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, / Sermons in stones and good in every thing.” We may not often find“ good in every thing,” but through art, through the rapt focus or our senses, we may find hope and wisdom in wind, trees, water, and stones, in each other. We must listen.
“ The Seagull’ s Treasure” Mason Deja