We Will Be Forgotten

We Die. Then We’re Forgotten.

We all know life ends. That’s not the surprise. The harder part is this: not only do we die, but we’re eventually forgotten. Completely. That fact sits at the edge of consciousness—rarely invited in, but always looming.

A year ago, I saw this video about Danish photographer Balder Olrik. It just resurfaced in my YouTube feed. An artist, going through a health crisis, came face-to-face with his mortality. It shook him. He realized, maybe for the first time, that he’s going to die. And not just die, but vanish from memory. No legacy. No monument. Just absence.

It hit me because I see this all the time: artists wrestling with death anxiety without having the language to name it. They circle around it, feeling it, expressing it, but never quite framing it. This is exactly the moment where Ernest Becker’s work becomes powerful. If I could talk to this guy, I’d walk him through Becker’s ideas—the tension between our symbolic hunger and our fragile biology. I think it would land. I think it would help.

What’s most interesting is this: in the midst of his anxiety, he’s creating. That’s the paradox. He’s using the very thing that can help him confront death—artmaking—without realizing it. Creativity isn’t a cure, but it is a confrontation. It’s a way to say: I know I’m going to die… but here’s what I made while I was here.

Spend 16 minutes and watch it. You won’t regret it.

Thinking About Doctoral Studies and V.2 Automatic Fantastic

THINKING ABOUT THE DOCTORAL STUDIES PROGRAM

Starting a doctoral program is a strange thing—part intellectual pursuit, part personal reckoning. You don’t just show up to study something interesting; you’re expected to bring something new into the world. The whole premise of a PhD is to explore uncharted terrain—to contribute original thought to a field that matters to you.

That’s not as simple as it sounds. Academia doesn’t reward echo chambers. You need a question that hasn't been fully asked yet, or at least not asked in your way. For me, that means going deeper into what I’ve already spent years wrestling with: mortality, creativity, and the human need to matter in the face of death.

As I write this today, my thesis is rooted in the importance of creativity—not as a luxury, but as a lifeline. Specifically, I’m exploring how artists navigate the awareness of death and the existential tension it creates. What does it mean to make something—anything—while knowing you're impermanent? Does that act of creation actually change anything? Does it soothe, disrupt, clarify? And if it does… how?

These are the questions that pull at me. They’re not abstract. I’ve lived them. I’ve applied these ideas to my own creative process for years, using photography and painting as a way to wrestle with grief, memory, and the inevitability of death. What I’m after now is a deeper understanding—not just for myself, but for others who feel the same pull toward making meaning in a world that guarantees our disappearance.

The doctoral program I’ve joined refers to this early vision as a “vision seed.” I like that. Seeds hold potential. They require care, patience, and the right conditions to grow. My vision seed is simple: I want to ask new questions at the intersection of art, psychology, and philosophy. I want to know what happens when creatives become fully conscious of the existential work their art is doing—when they no longer sublimate unconsciously but engage directly with mortality through the act of making.

If I can shape this into something useful, I hope to produce a thesis that not only contributes to the academic conversation but also encourages a more vital, creative, and psychologically honest way of living. Ideally, this research becomes the foundation for a university course—something like Creativity and Mortality: Confronting the Void Through Art. A course for artists, therapists, and seekers. For anyone brave enough to stop looking away.

Maybe it’s a workshop. Maybe it’s a lecture series. Maybe it's something entirely new—a space where art becomes both expression and inquiry, where mortality isn’t denied but invited into the room. Either way, this is the path I’m on. And for the first time in a long while, it feels like the right one.

AUTOMATIC FANTASTIC V.2
I wasn’t finished with this painting yesterday - I kind of knew that but wanted to think about it. I think this piece perfectly embodies what Becker would call our "immortality project"—the desperate creative act against the void. The black textured background creates this sense of cosmic darkness, the kind we all fear when contemplating non-existence. The twin red-orange circles with their dripping streaks remind me of weeping eyes, like the piece itself is crying out against its own mortality.

The scratched and chaotic surface texture feels like my own anxious mind trying to make order from disorder. Isn't that what we're all doing? Creating meaning through art to ward off death anxiety? The stark contrast between the vibrant orange-red and the textured black background creates this visceral tension - life against death, consciousness against oblivion.

There's something primal here that connects to what Terror Management Theory suggests about our symbolic defenses against mortality. The almost face-like quality emerging from the blackness speaks to me of the self trying to assert itself against nothingness. The dripping paint suggests impermanence, yet the work itself stands as a defiant act of creation.

This piece doesn't just represent death anxiety - it performs it through its very existence. As an artist, I'm not just depicting mortality; I'm actively negotiating with it, creating something that might outlast my physical self. Isn't that what separates artistic creation from other forms of death denial? We don't just distract ourselves from death - we transform our relationship with it.

Update on My Book and Preparing for My Doctoral Studies (PhD Program)

Greetings,

I hope this post finds you in good health and good spirits. I know that’s a lot to ask in the world today, but remember gratitude, humility, and awe go a long way to lift your spirits. I try to employ them every day. Happy Spring Equinox, too! It’s warm here. We’re hitting 82F (28C) most days and sunny.

“In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering and the Origins of Evil.” 8” x 10”, 381 pages, seven chapters, and it weighs 3 pounds.

What About My Book?
My book is being printed as I type—the final draft copy anyway. I’ve gone through so many iterations it’s hard to keep track. I can tell you that I’m very happy with the work. In fact, I’m over the moon about it—excited. I hope to include a lot of it in my doctoral studies. I’ll keep you posted when I have copies ready to ship.

Visionary Practice and Regenerative Leadership PhD
I’m preparing to start my PhD work (Visionary Practice and Regenerative Leadership) at Southwestern College in Santa Fe, New Mexico. This is the ONLY school I would attend to do something like this. Period. It’s a great fit for me. It’s a lot like Goddard College, where I earned my M.F.A. These schools are rare and special.

What is the program, and why am I pursuing a PhD? This is how the school describes it:
This unique transdisciplinary doctoral program is designed to prepare you as a regenerative leader to navigate the complexities of changing the old story of separation, domination, competition, and control into the emerging story of cooperation, compassion, connection, and capacity to regenerate broken social systems and struggling ecosystems. Relationships based on authentic partnership are key to our future. This program responds to the question of ‘how shall we shape these relationships of mutuality in order for individuals, families, and communities to live in good relationship with each other and with the plants, animals, soils, waterways, weather systems, oceans, and atmosphere upon which we depend for our lives?’ Responding to these challenges requires “change agents” capable of honoring wisdom traditions and creating new knowledge to envision and enact a new paradigm.

It begins with these questions: “Do you have a vision?” and “Can your vision make a difference for the world?”

I can see my pursuit clearly in those goals.

I’ve given a lot of thought to this. A couple of months ago, I wasn’t going to do it. And I still have days where I wonder if I should or not. My reasons for doubting have nothing to do with the importance of the work. I feel strongly about that. I feel like I would be contributing something unique and valuable to the world. My concerns have been around funding and what the current government is doing to the DOE and other institutions that I would rely on. However, right now, I’m enrolled and ready to attend my first residency at the end of August. I understand part of it is on a ranch in Abiquiu, New Mexico. Does that sound familiar to you? I’ll write more about it later.

I’m going to use my blog as a journal as I go through the program. I think it will help me sort things out and use it as a reference as I go through the program. I have a lot of ideas and am well on my way to making this happen. What I’m hoping to find in the program is a community that I can interact with and expand my ideas. Give me new thoughts, approaches, and information that I don’t currently possess. I have a lot to learn. I know that’s what happened in graduate school (M.F.A.). It was wonderful and very enlightening. I hope for the same here, maybe even more.

What do I hope to accomplish? After reading Ernest Becker’s book in 2018, I discovered why I was making art and why I had the questions I did about human behavior. I've since married the two ideas and feel I have a decent grasp on the intersection of creativity and mortality. In other words, why artists create and how existential art is a powerful buffer against death anxiety. My goal is to show how creative types process and deal with finitude (their impending death) differently than non-creatives. Or at least that’s the question I’m going to address. Keep in mind, this can (and should) radically change over time, but that’s the gist of it.

I think I've found a powerful combination to work with. The interplay between visual art and writing creates a unique space to explore mortality and Becker's theories. Photographs and paintings can capture what words sometimes can't—those abstract, ineffable aspects of confronting mortality. The visual work becomes a direct embodiment of death anxiety and its transformation, while my writing provides the conceptual framework and personal narrative that grounds the experience.

This dual approach seems especially fitting for exploring Becker's ideas. His concepts often deal with the tension between concrete physical reality (our mortal bodies) and symbolic systems of meaning (our immortality projects). My combination of visual art and writing mirrors this tension perfectly—tangible images paired with explanatory text.

The autobiographical element adds another crucial dimension. By documenting my own journey through these philosophical territories, I’m not just theorizing about art as a mortality buffer but demonstrating it in practice. My creative process becomes both the subject and method of the book and my doctoral studies.

By capturing these ceremonial and medicinal (Ute) plants, both alive and after death/going to seed, I’m creating a visual meditation on transformation rather than simple cessation. This connects beautifully to Becker's ideas about death as both an ending and a transition that humans seek to understand through cultural and symbolic frameworks.

The cultural significance of these specific plants adds another layer—these are plants that have been used in healing practices and ceremonies, often related to life transitions. By documenting their living and dead states, I’m tapping into indigenous wisdom about mortality that offers a counterpoint to contemporary death denial.

Meanwhile, my abstract paintings exploring my personal concepts of death—the abyss, chaos, the unknown—provide the subjective, emotional dimension of confronting mortality. The contrast between these approaches is particularly effective, to my mind: the photographs document an observable process in the natural world, while the paintings express the internal, psychological experience of contemplating one's own mortality.

This combination seems especially relevant to Becker's work and Terror Management Theory (TMT). The photographs acknowledge death's reality and place in natural cycles, while the abstract paintings might represent the symbolic systems we create to manage our awareness of that reality.

I begin this August with a six-day residency. This is what the first year looks like (2025-2026):

FALL
VPRL 600 Residency I: Seeking
VPRL 610 Embodied Cosmology
VPRL 620 The Phenomenology of Visionary Practice and the Call to Serve

WINTER
VPRL 630 Traditions of Native American Thought: New Minds and New Worlds
VPRL 640 Regenerative Leadership

SPRING
VPRL 670 Roots & Streams: Finding Your Voice, Clarifying Your Vision, Mapping Your Influences
VPRL 651 Self-Directed Study I

SUMMER
VPRL 660 Introduction to Research Methods: Pathways of Insight
VPRL 681 Self-Directed Study II

My (current) thesis idea: "Transcending Through Creation: The Artist's Existential Advantage in Confronting Mortality."

 Thesis implications: The title suggests a powerful hypothesis: that artists possess unique psychological tools for confronting death anxiety through their creative practice. It indicates my dissertation will explore whether creative individuals have a distinct existential advantage when facing mortality awareness.

I’ve been thinking about the first course, “Embodied Cosmology.” No, it’s not about Tarot cards (LOL!) or astrology. Although it might sound a bit strange if you’re not familiar with the verbiage. Let me explain how I feel about it.

I think about Peter Zapffe’s ideas about “cosmic panic.” Some people stare at the night sky and are exhilarated and engaged—buffering death anxiety with illusions. Some stare at the night sky and see the reality of the indifference and terror of it all.

Artists don't escape the fundamental human condition of mortality—they just develop different mechanisms for confronting it directly.

What distinguishes the artist in this framework isn't an immunity to death anxiety but a willingness to stare longer at the unbearable truth before turning away. Where others might immediately retreat into cultural or religious buffers that deny death's finality, the artist might instead develop practices that allow them to hold mortality awareness in consciousness just long enough to transform it through their work.

This transformation isn't about finding false beauty in terror but about developing the capacity to metabolize terror itself as a raw material for creation. The resulting work doesn't need to be beautiful or comforting—it might be disturbing, challenging, or bleak. What matters is that through the embodied act of creation, the artist has found a way to process mortality awareness without completely surrendering to either denial or paralysis.

In this sense, cosmological embodiment for artists might function not as an escape from Zapffe's cosmic panic but as a unique pathway through it—a method for physically engaging with the knowledge of cosmic indifference and personal extinction that doesn't rely on conventional meaning systems.

The artist's advantage, then, isn't transcending death anxiety but developing more sophisticated and conscious techniques for managing it—techniques that acknowledge the terror rather than disguising it as something else. This allows for moments of clarity about our true position that might be unbearable without the transformative vessel of artistic practice.

This approach offers rich territory for my studies, particularly in examining how my own artistic practice has functioned as a way to metabolize cosmic panic and mortality awareness through physical creative engagement rather than through denial or distraction. This is, in essence, embodied cosmology.

These are the kinds of ideas I’ll be tackling throughout the program.

Rituals and Selfies: Creating Shields and Seeking Immortality

A constant stream of thoughts go through my head about human behavior related to death anxiety and the denial of death every day, almost all day—or most of the day.

I would like to think that I am observing, not judging. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I would like to think I’m (mostly) objective.

The things of considerable importance to me are the concepts of epistemology and critical thinking. I like evidence and reason, too. Therefore, when I witness irrational or unreasonable behavior or thinking, it affects me deeply. And I see a lot of it. All of the time.

These streams of thought are usually productive, or at least beneficial, to start a piece of art or to write about. Sometimes, it’s simply connecting the dots and ending up in a feedback loop that I can’t break. Input and output. Output cycled back around as input. Do you get it?

Here’s one that keeps coming back to me most every day—I think writing it out might purge it from my mind.

Ernest Becker said, “I think that underneath everything that is at stake in human life is the problem of the terror of this planet. It is a mystic temple and a hall of doom. If you don’t see it that way, you’ve built defenses against seeing it as it is.“ Wow! That hits me so hard—I mean really, really hard. Every time I read it, it feels like the first time.

What does he mean?

I think this quote reflects his view that at the core of human existence lies a profound awareness of mortality and the terror associated with it. And if you don’t see it that way, you’ve adopted distractions to avoid seeing it as it is. Period. These distractions (I call them illusions of importance) are prolific.

He captures the paradox of life by referring to the world as both a "mystic temple and a hall of doom," where beauty, wonder, and mystery coexist with the certainty of death. This awareness is the source of deep existential anxiety that drives most human behavior.

Most people build psychological defenses—systems of meaning, beliefs, and cultural symbols—to protect themselves from fully experiencing this "hall of doom." They can function without constant existential terror by distancing themselves from the reality of death. However, Becker believed that living authentically means facing this awareness directly, acknowledging both the mystical and the doom-laden aspects of life. It’s a path that not everyone takes because of the fear and vulnerability it demands, but it can lead to a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. And, as a creative person, if you are one.

“I think that underneath everything that is at stake in human life is the problem of the terror of this planet. It is a mystic temple and a hall of doom. If you don’t see it that way, you’ve built defenses against seeing it as it is.”

— Ernest Becker

This idea forms the foundation of The Denial of Death and Escape from Evil (two great books you should read), where Becker explores how our defenses against death influence culture, religion, wars, climate change, and interpersonal conflicts.

Which brings me to my point. One of the ideas I’ve been thinking about is religious rituals (of any flavor) and social media selfies. It sounds like an odd combination, but hear me out.

RELIGIONS, SHOPPING, TV, & DRUGS
First, religious rituals. Religion has been something humans have leaned on to quell existential terror for as long as we have been conscious of our mortality. And most prescribe some kind of ritual or rituals—rules to obey—and are preoccupied with. The “immortality seeking” is strong with religion. Most religions offer some kind of afterlife or immortality. We crave that. Whether it’s symbolic or literal. In the end, we know we are decaying sacks of meat that will die. Psychologically, we can’t handle this—we find ways to deny and lie about it.

In religion, it can be any ritual that’s executed over and over again. I think about Catholic rosary beads, Hindu chanting (Vedic chant), or Orthodox Jews swaying back and forth while praying or reading the Torah; called “shuckling.” The word comes from Yiddish and means "to shake, rock, or swing." Or even praying or meditation for long periods of time. Any of it can be a sign of extreme existential struggles (all happening outside of consciousness).

Organ Mountains - Las Cruces, New Mexico

That kind of constant diversion or distraction is, to me, a sign of palpable death anxiety. To occupy your mind so completely and fully is a sure sign that we want to avoid the thought of death at all costs. The non-religious do it for shorter periods of time, things like movies, shopping, sporting games, and music concerts. Anything that transports you away from the mortal coil and thoughts of dying.

Drugs are a very common way to escape reality too. It’s interesting we use the term “escape reality.” What does that mean? Reality equals “I’m going to die.” After all, the human mortality rate is 100%. Drugs can lead to some pretty bad endings, so not a good choice to use as a buffer. I might argue that with shopping and other activities we use to distract ourselves from “reality.”

SOCIAL MEDIA SELFIES

Social media selfies. I have struggled with this for a long time. I’m amazed at the number of people whose feed is almost nothing but selfies. My first thought is malignant narcissism. However, that's just a fraction of it. To see older people curating their lives and making sure they “look good” for the photo is so obvious to me—it’s like I’m seeing the Dunning-Kruger effect of visual information. In the end, I’m sad about it. I feel sorry for the people. The phoniness, the construction of a life they DO NOT have, and the looks they DO NOT possess (our culture craves youth and fitness—immortality). The fear of death—the fear of growing older and closer to death—is real. And it shows.

I recently read an article in the Daily Mail (British Paper) about a study done in Israel. It said,

“Many of us have phones filled with selfies documenting everything from holidays to duvet days. But what's behind the modern fascination with taking photos of ourselves? Psychologists have come up with a rather morbid answer: fear of dying. Researchers from Tel Aviv University in Israel quizzed 100 students on the motivations behind their selfie-taking. They found that those who took the most had strong signs of death anxiety, an intense fear of dying that affects up to a fifth of Britons. The experts said they think endless selfie-taking may actually be an attempt to 'preserve a fake feeling of immortality'. In a paper published in the journal Psychological Reports, they wrote, Selfies possibly fulfil a need to remain immortal. One of the behaviours used to achieve feelings of immortality is photography, and nowadays photography is literally on the tip of our fingers.”

I’m sure what they mean by “remain” immortal is looking youthful and good. The idea is that by taking pictures of yourself, you find psychological security in “preserving” yourself forever. They went on to say, “We found the more people were aware (and afraid) of their death, the more they were taking and sharing selfies. Other studies have suggested that people spend an average of seven minutes a day grinning into smartphone cameras for the perfect snap to post on social media.”

So the next time you see a social media account with endless selfies, or even a lot of them, remember that existential struggles are real for people. Moreover, think about how you cope with your knowledge of mortality. You have something you use, or many things; what are they? Are you aware? Or does this happen without your conscious acknowledgment?

You're Obsessed With Death and Art! I Don't Understand What You're Talking About!

The Creative Mind & Mortality (Artists & Anxiety): Show and Tell

Greetings,

This week we’re going to have an hour of “show and tell.” Tim Layton, from Tim Layton Photography, is going to join us and share some of his work with calotypes (paper negatives) and the projects he’s working on in service of his existential struggles. (https://timlaytonfineart.com)

In what ways do the ephemeral qualities of calotypes (paper negatives) symbolize the human confrontation with mortality and the passage of time?

The paper in paper negatives is like the human body—fragile and temporary, yet it holds the impression of a moment in time, much like our lives carry fleeting memories before they fade, degrade, and decay with age.

Stream Yard: https://streamyard.com/h8xk5frc74

You Tube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hySgChnIZNM

The Studio Q Show LIVE! September 21, 2024 at 1000 MST

Greetings! 
I hope you can join me on Saturday for a conversation about war and violence in our culture. This is episode six of Conversations with Solomon. 

Some questions to ponder after watching the video:

What aspects of the video did you find the most engaging or thought-provoking?

Do you believe that war and violence are inevitable aspects of human existence?

If you agree, what reasons support this belief?

How might the themes of violence and war in our culture be expressed or transformed into artistic creations?

Can you give any examples of artists using war and violence as a topic in their art?

I wanted to have this conversation a couple of weeks ago. It's so timely; I think we should look at the idea of war and violence as a jumping-off point for creating art. This is a topic that hits close to home for me. For those that have served in the military, these ideas can alleviate some of the trauma and stress from serving. I'll share some personal insight (my military time) and how Becker had a similar experience in the Army after WW2 liberating the death camps of Europe. Ernest Becker served in the infantry as well.

If you can, spend some time with this; take some notes and wrestle with the questions I asked (above) or your own. It's 40 minutes long, but worth every minute. 

Conversations With Solomon: War and Violence

The links to the show on Saturday:

Stream Yard: https://streamyard.com/tvn88jifd2

You Tube: https://www.youtube.com/live/AG2mKG-VrP0?si=Rar2IUvz-shViVLW

I hope you have a wonderful week, and I hope to see you Saturday! 

Addressing My Existential Concerns

I feel pretty good about this one. At least I don’t hate it. For me, it’s got some interesting marks, colors, and textures. It feels like a piece I would paint.

If you watch the video, you’ll get an idea of the textures and some of the “decay” coloring. It was a lot of fun making this painting. I’ll keep making marks and spilling paint!

The Creative Mind and Mortality (Artists & Anxiety): Writing An Artist's Statement

Join Quinn on Saturday, September 14, 2024, at 1000 MST for a talk about writing an artist statement. We'll address questions like:

What's the purpose of a statement?

Do I need one?

What should it contain?

What should I NEVER talk about in a statement?

Bring yours to share!

Stream Yard: https://streamyard.com/m83k3a75aq

You Tube: https://www.youtube.com/live/2I7TOJozYuY?si=lMtnK83V7qX0JK3Z

The Studio Q Show LIVE! September 7, 2024 at 1000 MST

Join Quinn on Saturday for a talk about the Ernest Becker Foundation's paper called, "Death Anxiety and Social Change." This paper explains how to approach these ideas both in your work and talking with other people about how death anxiety influences our day-to-day lives.

Stream Yard: https://streamyard.com/qw7aq7725j

You Tube: https://www.youtube.com/live/xrrVChZd-Nc?si=CedDtlW_xp8tdgw3