A Beautiful Anarchy. David DuChemin

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      A BEAUTIFUL ANARCHY

      The word “anarchy” literally means “without a ruler.” In popular use, it’s a political word with heavy baggage, a bloody history, and occasional car bombs. This book is not about that: it’s about freedom.

      This is a book about the freedom to create—to live a life of unapologetic, passionate, daring creation—in whatever arena resonates best for you. Parents create when they raise a child, entrepreneurs create when they begin a business, and teachers create when they design a lesson plan. Some people identify with the urge to create more than others, and it’s to them I speak in this book, not because others can’t benefit, but because anyone who persists in the idea that “I’m just not really creative” is unlikely to read this book, believing instead that the die has been cast and they’ve been excluded. They, of all people, need most to read it, and I hope they do.

      This book is for people who have a sense of their own urge to create, or those who don’t but long to look under the hood and find it waiting there. But to its bones, this is a book about art and the process of making it, because what is our life but a chance to make the greatest art of all? Whether you ever set your paintbrush on actual canvas isn’t remotely the point, though I hope you will. What is very much the point is that each of us is given a canvas—from one edge to the other the span of our life—and each of us has a chance to do something brilliant with it. Each of us has the chance to fill that canvas with wild, achingly beautiful swirls of colour, and if you’re reading this there’s a chance that you feel right now that your canvas is empty, or dotted here and there with hesitant, half-hearted stops and starts, the brush pulled up before you could even gain momentum, for fear of doing it wrong.

      As I write this introduction to a now half-written book, the sun is rising in Bali. It’s August 2013 and a trailer’s just come out for a movie version of one of my favourite short stories, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Mitty’s a dreamer, working as a photo editor at LIFE magazine, allowing daydreams to be a substitute for actually doing what he longs to do. Working at LIFE, but never having one. And then he looks at a photograph of a photojournalist in a refugee camp (played by Sean Penn), and the photograph comes to life long enough for Penn’s character to gesture an invitation to Mitty. Come. Stop observing. Stop abdicating your life. Live a great story instead of just watching, telling, or dreaming them.

      I’m self-conscious about saying it, but I want to be that man; I want to be someone, among many, I hope, who calls to the dreamer and says, “Wake up.” I want to invite others to begin living now, not later, and to ask them with a straight face to step out of their comfort zones and face the fear. I want to see every person in my life doing what they long to do, free from the things that hold them back. Life is not in the dreaming, but in the doing. Don’t you dare get to the end of your life, your canvas clean and unmarked. There is no prize for the one who leaves his canvas clean, his scribbled signature in the corner the only thing to differentiate his own off-white rectangle of a life from all the million others who—too paralyzed by fear—have done the same.

      My massage therapist once told me the stars were aligning auspiciously. She told me it was a good time to dream big dreams. Not one with a particular reverence for the opinions of the stars, I told her I dream big dreams every day; it’s up to the universe to keep up. I wasn’t being sarcastic, and she knew it. I also wasn’t being cocky. I was just being honest. I do believe in dreams; the bigger the better. But I also believe in action. I believe in great ideas, too, but I don’t believe coming up with great ideas is the same as being creative. Being creative is about creating. It’s about doing. And so too is living, because life is an act of creation. Day by day, whatever else we make, our first act of creation is our own lives. We must first make the artist before we make the art. Out of nothing, nothing comes.

      This book is a call to colour outside the lines, in both art and life. It is a book about living free from the rule of everything that holds us back from being the humans we were created to become. It is about living free of the rule, or tyranny, of fear and shame, of debt and obligation, and every “should” or “should not” that we have not willingly signed off on. Your art, the thing that stirs from your heart, mind, and soul, the thing that moves you (and hopefully, others), is a free agent, and the moment you begin to ask, “What should I do?” or, “How should I do this?” you allow your art to teeter, to lean towards conformity and away from authentic expression.

      To do what we should in art is bondage. To tell others, with our art, what they should think or feel or do is propaganda. And to tell other artists how they should do their art, whether that’s visual art, the written word, or creating a business, is presumptuous, and unkind, and tells the muse we’ve learned nothing at all under her influence.

      All very well for the artist, but what of the rest of the world, those working a regular job, whatever that means? I think it all applies equally, if not differently, and that there is room (there must be room) to live our lives increasingly on our terms, as engaged and intentional as possible, as creatively as possible, with the freedom to follow the muse, or our own curiosity, down the road that’s unique to us. I think almost any endeavour undertaken on those terms can be art.

      I’m a photographer and author, a publisher, and former comedian. I’ve made a living from my own creativity since I worked my way through college as a comedian, and while making a living in the arts in no way means my art is good, per se, it does mean I’ve relied on it a little more than I might have otherwise, and I think that dependence on my muse has made us more familiar with each other than I might have been otherwise. To write that my muse and I are familiar, however, is to understate what’s happened between us. My muse and I have worked closely together over the last twenty years, and the uneasy relationship has become less turbulent over time. And while I’m never quite sure how she feels about me, I think it’s fair—if not overly anthropomorphic and unnecessarily romantic—to say I’ve fallen in love with her, and the life my creativity has made possible.

      There is nothing I would rather do than work creatively and, in so doing, to make a living. Whether making a business, making a photograph, or writing a book, the urge to create has always been central to who I am. I believe it is central to who we all are, СКАЧАТЬ