Art The Sacred Sexual Creative Instinct
ART, the sexually imbued creative instinct, instilled liberally in man, is that inescapable incomprehensibly undomesticated part of our nature which allows no imitation but reminds us constantly that, “unless we find and express our natural and convenient original sacred artistic heritage, we will never be satisfied”. With an incessant mocking inner voice, taunting and accusing, we try every available outer distraction and apparent entertainment to gratify but to no avail. Nothing but sheer artistic authenticity will satisfy. We know instinctively we will not be released from the constant nagging dull headaches, restless sleepless nights and consuming crankiness until our soul’s mistress is wooed, acknowledged and articulated. Her vacillating ways are unmistakably capricious, ruthless, and completely unforgivable. Her ever pervading impetuous spastic force of unconquerable ingenious surges demand the last breath of our undivided attention and every ounce of our solicitous blood’s respect without recompense. She invades without warning or invitation. She wields her unyielding hypnotically embellished artistic power, injecting into our mind’s irresistible passion the very blood tinged need, in our veins to create something, as our hands long/beg for articulate sacred expression.
Willing bones in our fingers plead/weep for discharge to carry out the work she so disinterestedly demands. Nobody’s concubine: Her first name is Passion; Her last Execution. Art weaves the omnipotent emotional indulgent fiber into the deflated human being operating as the unduly masked ill-defined impetus that drives him/her mad. Elusive innate disproportionately placed motivation lulls, lures, caresses, invites, snares, beguiles, woos,
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