The Tree

I was sketching in a café last week - nothing important, just working through a visual problem. Nobody was looking. The sketches were garbage. But something about being present for that felt real in a way other things don’t.

That’s what Yoko’s talking about when she describes artists as trees in the park, making the city breathe better just by existing. You don’t need an audience for what you do to matter.

I read her letter to young artists every few years now. At 20 it sounded like motivational poster bullshit. Now, having made thousands of things most people will never see, it makes sense. Your work affects the world whether the world notices or not.

The way she describes it, there’s a feedback loop - you give something out, it comes back tenfold. I used to think it was mystical. She’s just talking about integrity. If you’re honest in what you make, you feel different after. More honest. If you’re faking it, you feel hollow. The world doesn’t judge you. You judge yourself.

I’ve been at this for twenty years. Most of it disappears. Some deliberately - private work, sketches, problems I’m working through. Some just gets lost. I don’t differentiate anymore. It’s all real if you care about it while you’re doing it.

She keeps congratulating people for choosing to be an artist, but you don’t choose it. You find out one day that you need to make things or you’ll lose your mind. And then you do it whether anyone’s listening. That’s the only condition that matters.