Art and the Subconscious Stream

There is no clichéd phrase better than the expression 'stream of consciousness.'  Better than 'the river of time' or 'old man winter,' it perfectly defines what it intends to define, that is, the process of consciousness.   Consciousness truly does seem to have a stream-like quality to it, peacefully fleeting from one thought to the next, occasionally roaring to a rapid gait or pooling into a small pond of ideas.  The fluidity of water just seems to possess our essence like no other metaphor.  This leads me to my second point regarding the stream of consciousness, the idea of themes and the subconscious.  When we allow our thoughts to jump from node to node, we essentially allow our subconscious to rise to the surface and determine the tides.  This is sometimes known as 'free association,' but I'm not discussing that expression, am I?  Anyway, if the stream is followed long enough, certain themes start to arise.

When analyzing my own work, not surprisingly, water is one of the most dominant, recurring themes, constantly condensing into droplets on the edge of my brain like a glass of icewater in a midsummer swell.  (Was that one a bit of a stretch?  I thought so, too.)  Likewise, if you examine the entire body of an artist's work, you will inevitably identify certain themes that appear and reappear, and this, in my opinion, is the process and purpose of art.  In the same way that psychoanalytic therapy attempts to dredge up the subconscious, art is the process of self-discovery and the ability to reconcile with one's own inner turmoils.  This plays a very important part in my own work.  Consciously, I address the issues of the world at large.  This is, at least, my initial intent.  Subconsciously, however, my own issues are quite apparently (to me; I don't, and can't, expect everyone, or even anyone, to pick up on this) rising to the surface of words.  For me, then, art serves paradoxical purposes simultaneously and, in my opinion, that makes it all the more important to me and to a world that increasingly disregards the necessity of the humanities.

Throughout this blog's existence I'll be examining and developing these ideas further, both consciously and subconsciously.  Now, here is an example of what I'm talking about.  These two poems are closely related, so it wouldn't feel right to separate them.  It is going to cost twice as much, though, so fork it over.

"Anchored on the Edge of a Waterfall"

Awareness of the wandering mind

will help us live more vividly.

What does the brain chase? And why?

Thoughts, in a thicket of twisted nerves,

emerge from what? And where?

Brain collides with brane

in a kaleidoscopic hurricane of chaotic inspiration,

denying the Dead its much needed rest and

lifting the living to the heavenly kinetic heights of wholeness.

But where is that overflowing ocean at the end

of these careening streams of consciousness?

And are we even moving toward it?

"Far From Falling Water Now"

Riverside, I idle, and I

sidle alongside the subtle smooth-

moving water as it waltzes

from the waterfall, and I wonder

as I wander where it leads

and where it’s leading me.

The water is so calm,

but currents do curve into shape,

reflections ripple in distortion,

so a portion of the world is warped,

concave in light’s ricochet and retort.

The moment passes slowly

through my memory and I,

so the time it took was tenuous

in the context of my mind. Now

the sound of this idle resides

so soundly in the idyll of my mind,

idolized, idealized, and fully realized

as it bounces about and settles

in the slow-flowing ocean within.