In January of 1941, the French painter Henri Matisse underwent a risky and grueling operation for intestinal cancer. Though the surgery was successful, his recovery was difficult and long. The ordeal left Matisse so weak that he was largely confined to his bed, as he would be for the rest of his life. In that bed and in his wheelchair, Matisse found himself the unhappy prisoner of a new physical reality. He couldn’t mix colors, or walk around his studio, or stand at his easel. He could no longer use the tools that were closest to him — his brush and paint.
Despite his handicaps, Matisse was desperate to create again. What he needed were new tools and a new way to make art. His solution? Nothing more exotic than what every child uses — scissors and colored paper.
To Matisse’s surprise, not being able to use brush and paint wasn’t limiting at all. The simplicity of scissors and paper released him to imagine forms, color combinations, and designs that he had never thought of before. Reinvigorated by these paper cut-outs, Matisse found a new vitality. “I have been given a second life,” he wrote to his son.
Living through this pandemic, many of us now face what Matisse fought against after his operation — isolation, confinement, an existence changed by circumstance. But while responsibilities such as food, rent, and caring for children and parents are newly challenging in profound ways, we are in charge of our creative world. Our imagination isn’t a finite resource that runs out or gets used up. It replenishes itself, drawing power from its own exercise.
A dozen years before his illness, Matisse traveled to the South Pacific island of Tahiti, looking for artistic inspiration. The trip left him disappointed. He complained to a friend, “I came back from the islands absolutely empty-handed.” The burst of creativity that he hoped would be sparked by a visit to the other side of the world didn’t happen.
French Polynesia (Image by Michelle Maria, Pixabay)
But years later, confined to his bed and wheelchair, he drifted back to swims in an emerald blue ocean and sunlight glinting off blazingly white sand. In his imagination, he could see palm trees swaying in the breeze and smell the heady fragrance of gardenia blossoms. Voyaging in his mind to a place he could no longer go, he found, in memory, the inspiration he had been looking for.
We will get past this and return to our former lives, but in the months and years until that is possible, we can learn from Matisse how to turn unwelcome limitations to creative advantage. In flights of imagination we can overcome deprivation. In solitude we can find new strength.
Describing one of his most joyful cut-outs, The Parakeet and the Mermaid, Matisse wrote, “As I am obliged to remain in bed because of my health, I made a little garden around me where I can walk. There are leaves, fruit, a bird. I am the parakeet. And I have found myself in the work.”
The Parakeet and the Mermaid, Henri Matisse, Stelelikj Museum, Netherlands (Hemis: Alamy Stock Photo)
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Published here on Forbes.com
July 19, 2020
