”Musicians, artists, theatre people are among the strongest and bravest people on the face of the earth. In one year they face daily rejection by people more than what others live in an entire life.

Every day they face the financial challenge of living a freelance lifestyle, the disrespect of people who think they should find a real job, and their own fear of no longer working in the future.

Every day, they have to ignore the possibility that the vision they dedicated their lives to is an impossible dream. With every note, opera or performance expose themselves, emotionally and physically, risking criticism and arbitrary judgments.

Every year that passes, many of them look at how their peers achieve the goals of a normal life - the car, the family, the house, the savings. Why?

Because artists are willing to give their entire life to one moment, to that tune, to that sentence, to that agreement or to that interpretation that will touch the soul of the public.

Artists are people who tasted the juice of life at that crystalline moment where they let their creative spirit out and touched someone else's heart. At that moment they were closer to magic, God and perfection than anyone else could have. And in their hearts, they know that devote to that moment is worth more than a thousand whole lives."

David Ackert

Bowls are one of the most difficult things to photograph, especially shiny bowls. I think this is a pretty good representation of what I am trying to do with a bowl which is to leave every aspect of the bowl considered. The foot, the rim, the complete surface.....all attended to by my consciousness, all considered and responded to. I arrived at an inflection point many years ago. I remember the moment like it happened today, although years in the past. In that moment I realized that to make a functional pot rise above the essential function into the dimension of art and creative expression, I needed to give every single aspect my complete awareness and attention.

So, do I ever tire of make one more bowl, one more of cup after making 10's of thousands of cups? No way. Why? Because every movement, every detail gets my very best effort, my consciousness, my attention. So every moment is fresh and new when working with clay; firing a kiln, mixing clay, cutting a facet or groove into the surface is new, exciting and powerful. And that power flows directly from my heart through my hand, into the clay.

https://pine-mills-pottery.myshopify.com/collections/bowls-big-and-small/products/gh064-large-flat-carved-rim-bowl

The Things that Slipped by, A friends FB post got me to thinking about an interesting dynamic that I have noticed. Much of my life and approach to "accomplishment" has been linear, directed, point A to B. Revolving around the idea that a goal is defined and worked towards. No arguing that this is an effective approach, a good way to get "somewhere" or "some thing". But then there are those rare moments, those serendipitous "happenings" that fall out of the sky. Those relationships, experiences, and events that just appear, never even on my radar. The chance meeting and exchange with a new person, the approach by someone proposing a new idea, a unplanned exchange with a stranger, or an old acquaintance who reveals a facet of there personality/thinking never before perceived or revealed. I cherish those unexpected gems of happenstance, but then I wonder how often I blew past those gifts from the universe, so determined to reach my "goal". So as I embrace the inevitable process of ageing, slowing down, and consolidating my physical and mental resources......paying attention seems in order, and yes, letting some of those well defined "objectives" slip by me to concentrate on the "here", on the "now. Those things I have striven so hard to acquire and were with me all along, And in the enduring words of T.S. Elliot

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time

Time with ET.

I have a lot of stories about Elmer so I guess I better get going. All of them good. Those who only knew Elmer from a distance may have thought that he was really harsh and aggressive.......OK, I get that, but that was the outer skin. Maybe some defense mechanism he had adopted, because inside he was a really loving and caring man. I think you had to earn his respect before he revealed the real ET. He deeply cared about people and with students he used whatever approach he felt might work to move the person on down the road to doing better work. He expressed to me one time that some students need a kick in the ass, others need a hug. I think he was pretty good at applying the right approach. If the student was willing to make a commitment and give it 110%, he was right there trying to figure out how to encourage, cajole, direct......and yes, sometimes intimidate, although I don't think it was ever out of maliciousness or meanness.

But here is the story I wanted to tell. My first semester with him at UNT in the spring of '74, he asked me if I wanted to go with him up to Oklahoma to attend a weekend workshop with some hotshot ceramic artist. I thought, why not. Elmer, Bill Dennard (who I think was actually Elmer's first grad student) and I got in the car and drove up to Norman for a two day workshop with Peter Voulkos. I had never heard of him. It was an amazing experience for someone (me) who had been working with clay for only two years. I remember the intensity, concentration and abandon he had working with clay. I remember that Voulkos made a huge platter with porcelain wads punched through, a tall stacked piece and several ice buckets, all the time drinking cocktails from a thermos. After returning to Denton, I did a lot of reading about Voulkos, and was surprised and delighted to see images of the beautiful functional pots that he made, casseroles, pitchers, bowls. Then I understood that the looseness and impressionistic quality of his works were derived from an acute study of utilitarian form. I later learned that making functional pots for anyone working with clay is an important activity because, as figure drawing is important to painting, making utilitarian pots is important to learn how to really see the intricate details of form and surface. That is what a three-year apprenticeship in a functional pottery studio does for you. Elmer made it possible for our time spent with both Michael and David Leach, where I really learned how to "see", and gained the skills and tools to make what I "saw".

I remember trying to figure out if this guy (ET) liked the work Voulkos made, or not. I never really did know, although he used Voulkos more as a catalyst for discussion. I know later down the road he had Pete for workshops at UNT one, maybe two times. The one I attended at UNT, Voulkos didn't show up until late at night to start the workshop. In hindsight, I think it was pretty generous for him to share that experience with me. It certainly gave me an indication of his level of commitment to my process.

So that first semester began a dynamic that lasted a long time. I put energy into making a lot of work and learning, Elmer matched that energy. The more I was present, the more he was present. I think that is the way it is supposed to work.
I have a lot of pictures, somewhere......of Elmer, Dianne Taylor, of mine and Daphne's time in Denton, in England, the many New Year's Eves we spent together, David Leach workshops (3) at our studio......a lot of really great times with Elmer and Dianne. Also, there are many other mutual friendships with others from my time at UNT that have continued. As many have expressed, it is really hard to get your head around his passing. Life has some hard things it hands out at times. Thankfully those hard times are mitigated by friendships and deep relationships/experiences with fine people. So glad our paths converged. Thank you Elmer.

Professor Elmer Taylor

Professor Elmer Taylor

I met Elmer Taylor in the fall of 1974 at the age of 19 years……43 years ago. I think Elmer was 25. It was my first semester at UNT and Elmer’s first year teaching there. His mentorship began the first day we met. Elmer, at 25 years old, did not have the maturity and grace as a professor that he did in later years, but he was intuitive, spontaneous, determined and ambitious. I knew right way that this guy was the real deal. I stayed at UNT another 2 years, completing my undergraduate degree in art and then with his encouragement and support (letter of recommendation) I went to England to work for Bernard Leach’s younger son Michael Leach in the studio where Elmer had apprenticed a few years earlier. Daphne and I stayed abroad almost three years working with David Leach as well, and others. It was a great boost to my self-confidence for Elmer to send me off to England with his full blessing and endorsement. If you know me, you know that I have had a rich career as a ceramic artist, a university professor and have maintained a studio, Pine Mills Pottery, with my wife and partner Daphne Hatcher for the last 37 years.

Would it be an overstatement to say I owe it all to Elmer Taylor? Probably not. Sure there was serendipity, and there was being in the right place at the right time. Sure, I have worked hard for many years to get my training and education, establish a viable studio and make my mark in the clay world.  But, where did that spark come from that ignited my intensity and enthusiasm? Elmer Taylor. And was I unique?  Oh, not really. He did the same for hundreds of students that came his way. He had an unspoken agreement with students. If you worked hard, he was right there. He had your back. If you were a slacker and did not take your work seriously you were lucky to get two words from him. You knew where this man stood. He stood with you as another soul on a creative journey or he did not invest time if you were not willing to do the same.   

Today friends, colleagues, students and acquaintances of Elmer Taylor, Regents Professor of Art at UNT, are grappling with some hard news received this past weekend. His year and a half battle with melanoma is approaching the end. Evidently the cancer is running wild in his body despite a brave and determined effort to restore health. His beautiful wife and devoted companion Dianne has been by his side doing everything humanly possible to jump start the healing process. She has been so good to keep those who love Elmer in the loop, in the face of her own fear and effort.

Those who have been his students have been fortunate. His uniqueness and powerful presence is impossible to describe. You just had to be there to understand. “Tall trees catch high winds”…..that is Elmer. Never one to hold back a definitive opinion, never one to avoid expressing his truth. This was true in critiques, academic squabbles, and assessment of art works or other artists. Agree with him or not, you knew where this man stood. He is present, direct and alive. What a refreshing spirit in this world of uncertainty and followers. Elmer has been a leader his entire life, rarely a follower.

I served as guest editor for The Studio Potter some years back assembling essays around the idea of “mentoring, the way we learn clay”. As I have continued to grow and mature in my life as an artist/potter/professor it has become very clear to me that in my field the mentoring component is essential. This may have come from the master-apprentice relationship established over centuries, but what is certain is that mentoring is alive and well, it is an essential component of good teaching. That component is the willingness of the mentor to be open with the student. By open, I mean willing to be present, be available and to share what is theirs to offer. Share their techniques, esthetic considerations, perspectives, inspiration, convictions, and material information……an openness and inclination to share is essential.

And when did Elmer’s mentoring end? It never will, never will it end. He will forever be present in my life. After I returned from England we continued to develop a deep and layered relationship as friends and colleagues. He went on to write many more letters of recommendation as my career unfolded, he came and helped us build our studio, literally loading and hauling bricks, he nominated Daphne and I for the UNT Distinguished Alumni award in 1999, which we received thanks to his impetus and most importantly, we shared a continuing relationship through visits and phone conversations over the decades , as both a friend and a fellow colleague, as a university professor, as I have been, counseling me when I needed a peer who had gone before me.  He made himself available when I called.

The relationships Elmer has had with students is deep and wide. He has stayed connected with many of us. He has contributed much to hundreds of people. So it is easy to understand the outpouring of tears and heartache being felt at this unfair turn of fate shortly after his retirement from a lifelong distinguished career as a ceramic artist, a prolific maker, professor and leader in his field. But, you know what, this man made an indelible mark. He kicked ass and took names, he has done a lot of good in this world and left us much to contemplate.

We love you Professor Taylor, you are one of a kind.

"There are many ways to prostitute yourself." Maya Angelou. Prostitution. Yes, I have been thinking a lot about prostitution the last couple of days since reflecting on the death of Maya Angelou. Prostitution not so much in the sense usually thought of, but more along the lines of creative prostitution of the soul and the proliferation of power. In this video clip, Angelou relates her response to an interviewer when confronted with her early involvement in prostitution. She quickly turns it around with the interviewer saying, "There are many ways to prostitute yourself." Everyone of us sells something. We make compromises and accept personal hypocrisies and paradoxes in our behaviors and ambitions. Society punishes sex workers and others who make socially unacceptable choices while celebrating those power mongers who sell religion, consumer products, and creativity. I see it in fine art and music continually. In the academic arena some administrators are almost exclusively focused on their own career enhancement making institutions that should be places where students and learning are put first into personal ladder climbing adventures. In the corporate world the most egregious like a Bernie Madhoff who destroyed and upset the lives of thousands are the obvious. The less obvious continue to enhance their wealth at the expense and suffering of others.
We all have to draw the line. A line that defines what we are willing to sell and at what price we can be bought. In the end, these are very personal decisions, although in a larger context those empowered (read ministers, educators, doctors, abundantly wealth etc.) in our culture have special responsibility. A responsibility to be accountable for how their self-serving activities impact those of lesser power. Those who whore there sexuality for survival are the least we should be concerned about. It is those who enjoy privilege and power disproportional to their ethics and values who are dangerous. Those are the whores society needs to take off the streets.

Jung, Claudio Arrau, Creativity, Performance and the Artist

I re-read an essay today by the pianist Claudio Arrau written and published in 1967 in a magazine called "High Fidelity". I think the first time I read this  essay, I made a comment about it. Those of you that know me know that I have been interested in C.G. Jung from a very early age. For me he has always offered fresh ideas and insights that have helped me make sense of my world, my mind and keep the wheels on the road. For all my artist and musician friends, I would highly recommend this essay. Arrau of course wrote very little and performed a lot. A dominant figure in 20th century classical music. 

The following article by Claudio Arrau appeared in the February 1967 issue of 'High Fidelity'.

"A Performer Looks at Psychoanalysyis" by Claudio Arrau

Friends and pupils often have heard me say that in my ideal music
school, psychoanalysis would be a mandatory part of the general
curriculum. That and the art of dancing.

Psychoanalysis to teach a young artist the needs and drives of his
psyche; to make him come to know himself early rather than late and thus
sooner to begin the process of fulfilling himself, which until the end
of his life must become his main driving force as a human being and as
an artist. Indeed, only insofar as this will be his goal, his conscious
or unconscious goal, will he grow as an artist and become worthy of the
name. I would include the art of modern dance for the use of its
liberating, expressive movements in the release of psychophysiological
blocks, tensions, and inhibitions and for the greater awareness and
projection of feeling.

We have all heard of psychic blocks; of musicians suffering
breakdowns, of fingers, muscles, and memory suddenly collapsing and
refusing to function, of fear so acute that high notes in singers vanish
and all technique and mastery seem to evaporate. At such dire times, we
say that he or she needs psychoanalysis. Yes, indeed, but at such time
analysis usually comes too late. Only the most aware, the most
intensely driven by the will to live and the courage to be, ever make it
to full light and health. Others flounder in a perpetual half-light of
suffering, the mind's real Purgatorio.

In my ideal school, a young artist would never be driven to such an
impasse. Learning and guidance would light the way from the beginning,
the same as in ancient times the Mysteries helped initiate the Greek
neophyte into the stream of life. But, unfortunately, in our own
society today, with its insistence on the competitive and material
aspects of life above all else, growth and development are not the
natural order of things. Although, as Jung pointed out over and over,
life often does take matters into its own hands and carries us along,
sometimes to our good fortune, life can also play us terrible tricks --
putting out stumbling blocks when we are not looking, or bringing us to
dangerous precipices down which we sometimes fall, and from which only
the most heroic ever find the way back.

Psychoanalysis has come a long way since Freud published 'The
Interpretation of Dreams' in 1900. We know today that there are many
ways to self-knowledge and self-fulfillment, which in the end is the
cure of any neurosis (or at least must be the aim of any cure), whether
it be lengthy analysis going back to the age of one, or Tillich, or
Buber, or Zen, or sheer life-giving everyday good sense. But to me, the
most pertinent way for the life of the artist is a return to the ancient
knowledge and wisdom as embodied in the writings of Jung and expounded
in his idea of the Collective Unconscious.

This, as distinguished from the personal unconscious, is the sum of
man's total psychic history from the beginning of time, which has come
down to us in mythology, fairy tales, religion, and ancient customs and
rituals. As man's mind and soul evolved, as he fought his psychological
battles of attainment, renewal, realization, and conscious awareness and
gave them concrete form and symbol in his learning, art, and literature,
so was formed the whole mystical and mythological store of our entire
psychic past. Individually, in our own time and lives, we go through
the same psychic battles as recorded in mythology, only without the aid
of the Wise Old Man to guide us (save when we find one in the guise of
the analyst in time of need); we undertake heroic journeys just as the
great heroes of mythology -- Hercules, Perseus, and Theseus -- did, and
sometimes we are even helped in our tasks by similar miraculous advice,
forewarnings, and assistance. And like Prometheus, we challenge the
Gods, courting disaster, which we sometimes reap and sometimes triumph
over. Over and over again, we repeat what Man in his short and
dangerous passage from birth to death has undergone consciously and
unconsciously from the beginning of his history.

In the course of a lifetime of struggle and achievement, the artist,
creative and recreative, as society's culture bearer, carries out the
patterns of individual growth and development, and sometimes final
realization, more clearly than other people (or we see the patterns more
clearly, if for no more reason than that the life of the artist is more
often recorded).

If the artist's gifts are exceptional, he will often show in his
early years the qualities symbolized in the archetype of the Divine
Child, which, as Jung describes it, "is a personification of vital
forces quite outside the limited range of our conscious mind: of a
wholeness which embraces the very depth of Nature. It represents the
urge, the strongest, the most ineluctable urge in every being, namely
the urge to realize itself. It is, as it were, an incarnation of the
/inability to do otherwise/ [Jung's italics], equipped with all the
powers of nature and instinct, whereas the conscious mind is always
getting caught up in its supposed ability to do otherwise."

This is the unconscious power of the child prodigy. But passing
over from the divine innocence of unconscious security to the young
manhood of conscious responsibility takes an act of supreme courage and
heroism. For the young artist, it represents one of the most difficult
periods of his life. He must pass through a great test in which he wins
his standing in society (the first prize in a competition usually as his
reward) along with the Princess, even as Tamino does in his Rite of
Initiation in Mozart's 'Magic Flute'. First he must slay the terrible
dragon (attain conscious understanding), then he must pass through the
test of fire and water (with Sarastro, the force of conscious knowledge
and commitment, as guide), and only then does he attain Pamina (his
soul), and his heart's desire. In doing so, the dark, terrible forces
of the unconscious (Queen of the Night), which always seek to drag him
down, sink into the deepest layers of his psyche from where he can then
begin to draw his creative power, but this time mastered by his
conscious mind.

If passing the heroic test -- usually preceded by such depression,
discouragement, and fear and trembling that the young artist often
contemplates suicide -- were all that had to be achieved, life would be
comparatively simple. But in the life of the artist, as well as life in
general, it is only the first of many essential tasks that he must
accomplish.

From the age of twenty to forty or fifty, man is in the full flush
of his life force. Eros is behind him and in him. His work makes
strides, he wins success and recognition, and he usually marries at this
time. But even with Eros within him and the drives of ego-attainment
running instinctively, each accomplishment, each success, must be a
conscious labor. No less than Ulysses, the artist must pass trial after
trial, until little by little he reaches his life's goal and finds his
soul in the guise of Penelope waiting for him.

This is if all goes well. Most of the time, as life goes, it
doesn't. Eros may be within us, but so is the Death Wish (in the
Jungian sense of the symbolic fear or urge to slip back into the dark
unconscious state of an earlier stage of development), and we do the
most inexplicable things. We frustrate ourselves constantly. Out of
fear -- fear of failure and, strange as it may seem, fear of success as
well -- we artists suddenly fall sick before major appearances. We
create frightful emotional upsets, we risk losing what we hold dearest.
We fall and break an arm. We have car accidents. Singers suddenly
become hoarse, can't make their high notes, and often tighten their neck
muscles into such a vise that it is amazing that their vocal cords can
function at all. Instrumentalists suddenly lose the use of some fingers
or suddenly can't play the simplest (or the most difficult) passages.
Or out of competitiveness and the wish for almightiness, as it were, the
least sign of imperfection can cause one to give up in the middle of an
otherwise fine performance. Worst of all, the struggle may suddenly
lose all meaning, and the artist, lost in a terrible maze of conflict
and despair, may give up performing altogether. This giving up is a
real death, the death of the soul. One descends into the abyss and the
return takes the most heroic battle with the Furies (the dark aspect of
the unconscious) which man is ever called upon to make and which
requires all the remaining power of his soul to overcome. If he wins,
he is a true hero who accomplishes his own rebirth.

The no less terrible, if less dramatic, effects arising from the
failure to deal with psychoneurotic blocks are the blocks of
communication. The blocks of emotional life and feeling which hinder
the flow of communication and expression are often the result of
teaching and upbringing, but more basically of the fear of commitment,
the fear of putting one's stamp on an interpretation, so to speak. In
the end the failure of communication is the failure of psychic growth
and development in general. Most often, communication is blocked
through unawareness and often through sheer vanity, where the artist
becomes the victim of his own success and, disconnecting himself from
his essential being, becomes increasingly isolated from the source of
his creative powers.

Fortunately, in young artists emotional blocks of communication
frequently can be broken through with the right kind of teaching. I
have been astonished many times to see pupils with seemingly nothing to
express, virtual emotional blanks, suddenly experience an inner
emotional explosion through the sheer means of playing with the whole
body instead of stiffly with only the fingers, arms rigidly at the
sides. It is as if the newfound freedom of movement works back on the
psyche to awaken and release the dormant creative imagination and enable
it to begin to grow and blossom. It goes without saying that the
potentialities of creativity must be there to begin with. Where there
are no such potentialities, a good psychic and physical shaking-up will
be a stimulant but only for the moment.

As the first half of an artist's life is dominated by Eros and the
outward driving instinct for work and attainment, so the second half of
life must be a time of stocktaking, a turning inward to the essence of
one's being where unessentials fall away and only the most meaningful
and deepest sides of our nature and gifts are fulfilled. This period of
life can be as much a crisis in an artist's life as the very first
gropings for the identity of self and purpose. Then there is the fear
before the demands and dangers of life. Now there is the terror of the
dissolution of life and the oncoming night of nothingness and death.

This does not mean that from the age of fifty or so an artist begins
to flag and accomplish less. Just the contrary happens if everything in
his psychic development has gone well. His energy is as enormous as
ever. Only now, if, as Jung describes it, the full process of
individuation has taken place, or is taking place -- the process by
which a man, through ever greater consciousness, effort, and wisdom
finally attains his complete selfhood in harmony with the cosmos -- does
he do his best and most meaningful work. If this last task is achieved,
it produces a new wave of creativity arising from still deeper sources
than anything before.

In our time, Picasso, Stravinsky, Chagall, Casals, Klemperer,
Rubinstein, Ansermet, among many other great old men, are the best
examples of the power of individuation, of what I call continuous and
endless evolvement, where the limits of one's persona begin to break
down and evaporate, leaving behind all vanity, which can lead into the
final fusion with the All. In the creative field, the continuous
invention, active imagination, endless curiosity, and the wisdom of
concentrated expression are wondrous facts in Picasso and Stravinsky
particularly. Only the greatest creative spirits ever attain so far --
the saying of more through less.

In creative life, or in the recreative, there are all kinds of
levels of realization and fulfillment and at all stages of development.
Mozart died not quite thirty-six, Schubert at thirty-one, and Beethoven
at fifty-seven. Yet each fulfilled himself creatively in the fullest
sense if quite differently. Mozart shows a creative power of such
magnitude from 'Idomeneo' to 'The Magic Flute' that one can virtually
say that he tossed out of himself one great masterwork after another.
Schubert's creative forces toward the end of his life grew in depth and
richness (the 'Great' C-major Symphony, the Quintet, Op. 163, and the
three Op. Post. piano sonatas among other major works) so that had he
lived, I feel he would have gone on to give us still more masterworks.
Beethoven underwent many rebirths and finally a complete transfiguration
at the end. Sometimes he even tried to fight the early battles over
again (on a higher level), as in Opus 106 when (probably tempted by the
new Broadwood piano under his hands) he tried to go back to the time of
the 'Appassionata' in an attempt to give birth to yet another heaven-
storming sonata. But he was now beyond such things and far on the way
to a spiritual transformation of the highest order, and the attempt
after the fiery opening proclamatory bars seems to break up under his
fingers. Instead, he goes on to the profoundest slow movement of his
entire corpus and then concludes -- the virtuoso once more to the fore
-- with the most ragingly difficult fugue imaginable, as if to say, "Now
that will show you." Beethoven always won every battle. That is why
his message to mankind and especially to young people is still so
powerful today.

Closer to our time, Mahler showed the same ability to overcome the
dark night of the soul and over and over again to transcend the death
wish, achieve rebirth and renewal on ever higher levels, and win through
to the final exaltation and apotheosis of the last symphonies. We know
today that Mahler consulted Freud about some of his most personal
problems and we can be certain that he was helped, at least to some
extent (even one good talk with a wise person can open a window to self-
understanding), for toward the end of Mahler's life his anguish and fear
of death had given way to a firm belief in the indestructibility of the
human soul and the divine possibility of man's fulfillment on earth.

When Jung wrote that life takes care of us, he uttered an often basic
truth, but only for those most positively and consciously oriented.
When we have the drive and courage to enter contests (never mind that
not everyone can win -- it's taking the risk that counts), when we take
on the responsibility of marriage and family, when we overcome obstacles
and win successes, that is life taking care of us. (At this point, what
with the renewed interest in contests vis-a-vis our political
competitiveness with the Soviet Union, it is most important to remind
young artists that contests are only a practical means in the launching
of a career and, while important psychologically as a test of endurance
and courage, are not the meaning of art. In my ideal school, young
artists would compete but there would be no first prizes, only many
prizes for different gifts.) When we need a guide and mentor most (our
own private Merlins) is when we come to crossroads and crises. Only the
most informed and aware get help out of their own beings. The rest are
fortunate if they have the luck to come across a helping hand.

From the time I was fifteen, when my teacher Martin Krause died,
until I was twenty, I went through the most difficult and unhappy years
of my life. I continued to work. I won the Liszt Prize twice in
succession at sixteen and seventeen, but hardly a day passed when I
didn't think of death. Then at twenty, twenty-one, after my first
United States tour and my return to Berlin, I was overwhelmed by the
difficulties of the struggle before me and wanted to give up then and
there. But a friend brought help. This friend had heard of how much
analysis had helped Edwin Fischer to continue to play (Fischer's problem
was a stage fright of paralyzing proportions -- when he was able to
overcome it, he gave some of the most demonic never-to-be-forgotten
performances I have ever heard), and since Fischer was Krause's older
and more famous pupil, I decided to go to an analyst too. Actually, at
that time I would have gone to a witch doctor if help had been promised.
My analyst, Dr. Hubert Abrahamsohn, not only helped me (in three years I
had enough interest in life to enter the Geneva Concours of 1927 and win
First Prize) but he has remained my friend and mentor to this day. His
help and teaching (he started out as a Freudian and came to Jung and
finally to what today is called Existential Psychology) opened so many
windows for me that I could finally interpret my own dreams -- or at
least recognize them as dreams of anxiety, forewarning, and, sometimes
in moments of despair, of a foretelling of fulfillment. Over a period
of thirty years, analysis helped clear my personal psychic jungle until
my full creative forces could flow freely. Layer after layer of
covering and unessentials were stripped away in a process which must
continue until one's death. In this sense the old saying that "when one
stops growing one dies" is literally true.

If so far I have not mentioned women artists, it is not an
oversight. The psychology of woman differs from man's as wholly as her
sex. The woman artist in today's world is not only confronted by the
problems of her own individual feminine psychological development but
with making her way in a man's world. Since man's goal is to achieve
his total personality through work, attainment, and family, a career is
his natural state -- nay his necessity. A woman artist must also
fulfill herself as a woman. If she can do that and succeed in her
career as well, without ambivalence, she is indeed blessed. But since a
woman artist's career can be no less demanding, no less ego-centered
than a man's -- the more demanding it is indeed, the greater will be the
conflict which will arise in the fulfillment of her personal life. Due
to her many ambivalences, a woman artist's chance to win through to a
great career is consequently more difficult than a man's. She has to
battle twice as hard, I think, and fairy tale and myth are rarely on her
side. (Patriarchally grounded, they are usually concerned only with the
princess who has no other aim in life than to live happily ever after
with her prince charming.)

Even in this day of rather waning patriarchy, when we seem to be on
the threshold of a new society based on the equally strong personalities
of both sexes, the normal man shuns the strong, independent woman; he
has no need of her. It takes an exceptional man to effect a happy
marriage with a woman artist, and lucky she is if she finds such a man.
But more often she doesn't find him; she wins him, as Psyche, through
trials of patience, courage, and love, finally wins back Amor.

In the Jung canon of the Collective Unconscious, the archetypes of
the Anima and the Animus figure prominently. The anima is man's womanly
aspect, the part of himself which he must not reject as unworthy but
which he has to absorb and integrate into his psyche to become a total
man. The less of this integration he accomplishes, the more of a child
he remains. The woman must absorb her animus, her masculine aspect, in
order to achieve full femininity.

The creative artist, I think, is among the few happy ones most able
to achieve the union of opposites into the total whole which is the goal
of the process of individuation -- the attainment of the unity of the
total self. In the artist, the tensions to be overcome may be greater,
but the union -- the whole -- can become more perfect. The dragon
slaying done with and the hero battles won, the artist can now allow
himself to remain open to the sources of his imagination, divination,
and creativity -- his unconscious -- which now no longer will appear as
an aspect of the dark dread but of beneficial wisdom. Without that
source, no amount of intellect, reason, ego-stability, and control would
ever have enough meaning in art.

One last thought. I am often asked by friends and pupils: isn't
psychoanalysis dangerous to artists, isn't it important for artists to
have conflicts and neuroses and problems and to suffer? Yes,
absolutely. But then psychoanalysis or self-analysis or group
psychotherapy doesn't do away with conflicts and suffering. It is the
finding of a 'modus vivendi' with conflict and suffering -- of how to
deal with them and live with them -- that matters. For the artist,
tensions and handicaps, once understood, conquered, or sublimated, are
important and need not be erased, for it is these very tensions that
give the creative process its intensity and are a vital source of
creative power. But what psychoanalysis can do is to eliminate the
handicaps of fear -- the fear of being unique, or of not being unique.
For the truth is that every artist, who in a greater or smaller way is a
true artist, is unique.

from

Arrau on Music and Performance by Joseph Horowitz