As a way of creative recharge, I've been immersing myself lately in the music of Sigur Ros, an Icelandic band best known for their elegant and enigmatic sounds. You can find their music under rock, but I'm not sure that category does this group justice. There's something deeper going on under the surface as any viewing of their new documentary will reveal. This is a band that serves as both sage and priest for any creative soul looking to make art from the heart of authenticity.

The documentary chronicles the band's return to Iceland after a long globe trotting world tour. To mark this homecoming, the eight member group agrees to hold a series of free concerts throughout Iceland in a variety of venues as a way of giving back to the communities that supported them in the very beginning. It's a familiar narrative, right? Hometown heroes returns and want to express genuine appreciation for the hometown crowd. Sigur Ros, however, takes the hero's return to a whole new level by seeking out the most remote venues in the tiniest villages. This strategy transforms the exercise from one of simple thanks to a deep veneration of the land and her people. As I watched scene after scene of this magnificent music being performed in the most unlikely places--an abandoned fish factory, the site of an unwanted dam, a tiny coffee shop, a village street--I realized I was witnessing a remarkable kind of tenderness not only for the people, but for the power of music to deeply connect the newest listener.

In the face of this kind of love, no ego was present, and I was reminded of how much can happen when we create our art from a place of pure intention with no thought of outcomes, financial gain or payoff. I wonder if it is only in this space that our creative enterprises take on the wonder of ritual and can really transform the people who take in our work. Without a doubt, by creating the opportunity to gather, Sigur Ros extended a kind of welcome that is unheralded (and quite rare) in art worlds of all kinds. Also, by planning the shows in venues where it was quite possible people would not necessarily come, the band made it very clear that their gift was for gift's sake only, not the kind of approval that comes from a well-oiled public relations machine. In the end, the members were presently surprised to have an engaged and multi-generational audience that took in the gift with the kind of solemn attention reserved for moments that can best be described as otherworldly and sacred.

Here's the trailer.

Who are the artists who help you remember we create first and foremost for the joy of being wholly present in the moment of inspiration? What music do you listen to when you need to be completely aware of your power to create a gift that connects people to one another? I'd love to hear your playlist in the comments below.

Other bits of goodness in the art/blogworld this week:
Blurb is hosting a photobook contest.
The StoryCircle Network has a wonderful set of personal writing prompts for members.
Art Camp for Women is taking applications for their October session.
Squam is not full yet.
Christine Mason Miller just sent a brand new book off to the printer.