I was a writer before, but after a series of deaths - friends, a lover - my interest in writing died. Shortly after, I found myself attracted to making art, and discovered a special alchemy between sorrow and passion. I've explored many different mediums: pen-and-ink, etching, colored pencil, watercolor, egg tempera. My art is the result of sorrow's transformation.

In the Beginning

Nine months after my lover died, a profound shift happened in my ability to make art. I was working at a bookstore at the time. A co-worker, a friend of mine, had written a series of short stories and told me that he hoped to have them illustrated one day. I felt a rush of adrenaline. I could do it, I told him, having no idea that I could. But I hungered to do so. It was the first time over those long months of grief that I wanted to do anything. When I sat down to do the first illustration, I found myself settling into a comfortable state of concentration. That, too, was something new. The drawing proceeded easily enough. I was amazed by the results. Not only had my technical ability improved greatly, but my work seemed more alive to me. I was electrified by the process. I couldn't sit still. I paced my apartment, returning again and again to add some new detail. Where did this excitement come from? This new spirit? It was like a river of gold flowing through those dark years. It's still a mystery to me, but it has sustained me ever since.

The Artist and the Mythic Imagination

When I read Karen Armstrong's A Short History of Myth, I realized that my personal transformation may have deeper and broader roots. According to Armstrong, creating myths is as natural to us as breathing. Our need for mythology began when our species first became aware of death. That shock in coming face-to-face with our inevitable oblivion spurred us into reaching beyond ourselves. We created cosmologies - stories and images - to explain our place in the universe, how we began, and what lies beyond the death of our physical bodies. We developed mythic imagination. This may be the birthplace of muses. The seed in which all human imagination flowers.

But in our modern age, past cosmologies have lost much of their potency. Religion seems to have diminished. Desperation has led to rigid fundamentalism. For most of us, we are left with the religion of material acquisition and rational explanation. But this seems thin and hollow. We sense that there must be something more. Science, with all its power and intellectual prowess, fails to satisfy some deep yearning.

Yet, the mythic imagination remains strong in us. We carry the collective imaginings of our ancestors. Our heritage is rich with centuries of stories and images. Our unconscious is a conduit to our past. Through art, along with other creative mediums, we can touch the dreams and imaginings of our ancestors. Our imagination sparked, we see the world through the artist's eye. Experiencing this inner landscape can take us out of our everyday lives and restores a piece of our soul. My art allows me to feel around the edges of places in-between, unseen yet intimately connected to this world, both archetypal and personal. Life, Death, Renewal, Birth: All a part of our common human experience - but told in fantastic terms.

-James Breeden - July, 2005