Art and Crabs

Picture an artist.

Is he painting? Does she dance? Does he write poetry, act, sing, sculpt? Is the one who sews a dress or builds a beautiful table an artist? Must the art be decorative, meaningful, concrete? Is there art in piecing together parts of others' work, or do we call it art only if it's 100% original?

Is an artist still an artist if they never support themselves by selling their work? Are they less of an artist if they do? Is an artist still an artist when he's just watching TV, or sleeping, or eating his dinner?

We all have different ideas of what constitutes art, and therefore, what makes an artist. Opinions on the topic are varied and changing. Most would say they would know art when they saw it, but few could define it with any sort of clarity. That's because art is an intangible magic, half the expression of the artist and half the perception of the viewer, listener or reader. It is a communication, an offering and acceptance. The artist can never know his art completely because the gift changes with each recipient. He may take joy in the changes, marvel at the reactions his work evokes, but like a good parent, he must let go and allow his art to live. Art that's not shared is only half what it could be.

So, an artist gives, and the creation of art, that giving and expression is, for every artist, intuitive. Certainly, there are technical skills and work in the creation, but the spark that sets it all in motion comes from a deeper place. We are all capable of being artists because we all have this deep connection to the world buried in our souls. It's human nature.

Most of the time, we ignore our connection, cover that artistic spark in the practicalities of our lives. It's easier to isolate ourselves with distractions and let the primal level of feeling become dull and muted. It's easier to talk than listen. What makes an artist is awareness. An artist feels, listens, and asks. Artists are like soft shell crabs.

Soft shell crabs are not a distinct breed of crab. They can be one of a number of different varieties, but rather, they are crabs at a stage in their development when they have shed their hard shells in order to grow. They are temporarily soft before their new shell forms, temporarily vulnerable and sensitive for the sake of self improvement.

Artists are like soft shell crabs. They risk living their lives open. They feel, see, listen, resonate to that string that binds us all. It means pain sometimes. Living without a hard shell leaves you vulnerable to scuffs and gouges, but it's the only way to grow. It deepens understanding of the world, makes you receptive to others' art, and inspires expressions of your own.

We can all benefit from living a while as soft shell crabs. My advice is this: Shed your hard shell for a bit. It doesn't have to be permanent. Just spend a little time out in the current, feeling things. Pay attention to what you see. Contemplate what lies beneath the surface. Recognize the connections between things. After a while, you'll find that your soul's outgrown the old shell. It's become greater and richer, and you may even discover the artist lurking in all of us.

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