I’ve had this painting finished for some time. A local gallery put it on their wall for awhile, but I’m just now uploading an image to the online showcase. Nobody bought it, and I’m sort of glad; I don’t part with paintings easy.

I think if my output was higher, I wouldn’t miss a particular painting so much. But, I only paint about one canvas a year—usually on a frozen-puddle day between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, or on that first spring weekend that’s ripe for jacking up the windows and venting the house early with music, a pitcher of margaritas, and the reeking perfume of neighbors trimming yards and lighting grills. Sometimes I’m geared to paint an entire one-man show’s worth of work, but by the time that first one’s finished, it’s out of my system. I’m definitely in the Beethoven camp.

See, several years ago I started lumping artists into two categories: Beethovens or Mozarts. First a little history…

Mozart died short of 35, but he wrote a ton of works: operas, concertos, and a whopping 41 (actually, more…) symphonies. Little Wolfgang was banging the ivories at three, composing at four, and performing by five. When he was six years old, the little tyke could tear up the piano blindfolded with his hands crossed while whistling at the girls. At seven, he picked up a violin and played it like a professional, even though he’d never had a lesson.

Mozart’s music runs along playfully, like a happy stream, like a mountain brook that I guess was constantly running through his head, just waiting for the diminutive bastard to reach in and draw out a pailful of magic whenever he felt like it.

Beethoven, on the other hand, wrote a lot of smaller works and nine symphonies. Ludwig had talent, but he was in his teens before getting paid as a musician. By the time he was 28, he was going deaf. For a six-year stretch in his forties, he hardly wrote anything, and then he came out of a creative slump and wrote his greatest works without being able to hear the music.

His compositions reflect his work ethic: thousands of back-breaking, granite notes hoisted one-by-one into idyllic position, until slowly, by sheer will and faith, a colossal timeless monument emerges. Joyful joyful, we adore thee, indeed!

So, let’s compare: Mozart artists are prolific, they pull masterpieces out of their hats almost as afterthoughts–maybe even while watching TV or talking on the phone—they live and breathe genius. How many books has Stephen King written? How many albums has Prince put out, frequently playing all the instruments and singing all the harmonies himself? How man thousands of paintings, prints, sculptures and ceramics did Pablo Picasso create? These people—they got Mozart.

Beethoven artists have to grind it out with a lot of sweat and effort. They have to go off by themselves and concentrate and it may take years to get a work as perfect as the vision in their head that haunts them, and sometimes it drives them mad and makes them antisocial until they can fully express the dream that’s driving them. Take Harper Lee, who’s only published one book in her life, but To Kill a Mockingbird is on everybody’s 20th century Top 100 Novels list.

So, if you’re you’re a Beethoven, don’t envy the Mozarts, and if you’re a Mozart, don’t envy the Beethovens. Both were geniuses in their own way, and everybody’s a genius at something.

P.S. If you need a refresher to remember how Mozart’s 40th symphony goes (you’ll know it when you hear it…) just press play:

Read More: Mozart, Beethoven, art, creativity, 40th Symphony, Stephen King, Picasso, To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee

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This entry was posted on Sunday, October 29th, 2006 at 9:10 am and is filed under Art & Culture, Consciousness. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.