A Question To Contemplate

Question: What if we didn't know we were going to die?

I've been wrestling with this question for a while now. I’m sitting in my studio surrounded by my large-format cameras, lenses, and half-finished canvases, drawings, and pieces of ideas, feeling the persistent hum of mortality that seems to drive every mark I make and every plate I expose.

Becker wrote about our knowledge of death as the fundamental human condition—the thing that separates us from every other creature on this planet. But what if that knowledge simply wasn't there? Like your dog sprawled in the afternoon sun, or your cat stalking a shadow, or a lion moving through the African grasslands. They have no concept that they're finite beings. All they know is the immediate drive to survive and reproduce (and we have that too).

Imagine it. Really imagine it. You wake up tomorrow with no concept that your body will one day stop working, that your consciousness will end, that there's a finite number of sunrises ahead of you. How would you move through the world? What would the world look like?

I think about my own creative practice, how much of it is driven by the need to leave something behind to create meaning in the face of the void. Would I still feel that urgent pull to the canvas and the darkroom if death weren't whispering over my shoulder? Would any of us create anything at all?

Consider this: Would we still build monuments? The pyramids exist because pharaohs knew they would die and wanted to transcend that fate. Would we have cathedrals, symphonies, novels—these desperate attempts to touch immortality through art? Or would we live in a world of immediate gratification, where nothing needed to outlast us because we couldn't conceive of not lasting?

Think about love, too. So much of our romantic intensity comes from knowing our time together is limited. "Till death do us part" only has meaning because we understand death exists. Would we love as fiercely if we believed we had infinite time with someone? Would we love at all, or would relationships become casual arrangements since there'd be no urgency, no preciousness born from scarcity?

What about progress? Every scientific breakthrough, every medical advance, every technological leap forward—aren't these all responses to our limitations, including our ultimate limitation of mortality? We cure diseases because we fear death. We explore space because we dream of transcending our earthly expiration date. We pass knowledge to our children because we know we won't be here forever to guide them.

Without death consciousness, would we become a species of eternal children, living only in the present moment like animals do? There'd be no anxiety about wasting time because we wouldn't understand that time could be wasted. No existential dread, no midnight terrors, no desperate searches for meaning. But also no urgency, no drive to become more than we are.

I keep coming back to this in my work. Every painting I create carries within it the knowledge that both the artist and the viewer will someday be gone. That tension between permanence and impermanence—it's what gives art its power. Strip away death awareness, and do we lose the very thing that makes us human?

But here's what really haunts me: Would we be happier? Becker argued that our knowledge of death creates neurosis, depression, and the endless search for ways to deny our mortality through heroism and meaning-making. Without that knowledge, would we live in a state of pure being, untroubled by the existential weight that crushes so many of us?

Or would something else emerge to fill that void? Some other awareness, some other source of meaning and motivation that we can't even imagine because death looms so large in our current consciousness?

I want to hear from you. Sit with this question for a moment. Let it unsettle you the way it's unsettled me.

What do you think would change? What would we lose? What might we gain?

Would art exist without death anxiety driving it? Would you have the same intensity? Would we still reach for the stars, or would we be content to never leave the ground?

Share your thoughts. Challenge my assumptions. Push this question further than I have. Because if there's one thing I've learned in exploring these ideas, it's that the most profound questions are meant to be wrestled with together, not solved in isolation.

What would we become if we didn't know we were going to die?

Between Being and Ending: The Existential Significance of Art in a Finite Life

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what I'm taking on with the PhD work I'll soon be embarking on. I've been trying to build ideas around what I'm preoccupied with and the best ways to articulate it. Titles and the ideas that come from them seem to help me a lot. Here's a short one I just completed.

This title really captures something essential about my inquiry. What does it mean to create while knowing we will die? Why do I pick up a brush, knowing both I and the painting will eventually disappear?

The phrase "Between Being and Ending" places my artistic practice in that strange, tense space between existence and nonexistence. As an artist, I live in this in-between consciously—I'm painfully aware of my temporary nature while simultaneously working against it. This "betweenness" isn't just some abstract concept but something I feel physically in my studio, in my body, in those moments when creation happens. I want my research to dig into this lived experience of making art while death-aware.

I'm drawn to existentialism because thinkers like Heidegger talked about "being-toward-death" as the most authentic way to exist, and Camus somehow found meaning despite the absurdity of it all. I think art-making isn't just a psychological defense against death anxiety (though Ernest Becker would say it is) but a fundamental way of building meaning in an existence that doesn't come with meaning built-in.

What fascinates me is whether we artists face mortality differently. Does the act of creation offer us a particular kind of existential authenticity that might not be as available to non-artists? Looking at how artists throughout history have positioned themselves in this tension between being and ending—from memento mori paintings to Rothko's void-like color fields—there seems to be something unique happening.

“My purpose is to use art as a mirror—confronting mortality, memory, and denial—to reveal what we’d rather not see and to ask what we might create from that truth.

I see my calling as this: to bring death back into the room—not for shock, but for clarity. Through art, writing, and dialogue, I work to transform death anxiety into something conscious, creative, and potentially redemptive.”

— Quinn Jacobson

Of course, my own artistic practice becomes a case study in all this. How does my awareness that I'll die shape what and how I create? How does my art simultaneously confront and transcend my mortality? The personal and the philosophical are completely intertwined here.

Beyond just me and my studio, I'm curious about how art functions culturally as a response to mortality. Through Becker's lens, art becomes a significant "immortality project"—a culturally validated way of symbolically extending beyond our biological limits. Art isn't just personal expression but a culturally embedded practice with existential significance.

This framework feels right for combining phenomenological investigation (the lived experience of creating under mortality's shadow), cultural analysis (how art functions as immortality project), and autobiographical reflection (my own artistic practice as case study).

I think this title captures the philosophical depth I'm seeking while remaining accessible and evocative. It acknowledges both the universal human condition of mortality and the particular way artists engage with this condition through their work. It positions my research at the intersection of existential philosophy, terror management theory, and artistic practice—precisely where I believe the most interesting insights will emerge.

Now to begin the actual work of existing between being and ending...

Ocotillo

I think this painting speaks beautifully to themes of mortality and resilience—the red buds almost seem to burn against the chaotic background (ocotillo is sometimes translated as “torch made of pine”). It's reminiscent of how creativity itself can be a form of rebellion against death consciousness. The way the ocotillo reaches upward with those flame-like blooms feels like a perfect visual metaphor for transcending mortality through creative expression. The desert holds so much beauty and inspiration.

Last night we were blessed with our first real storm of the year—thunder and lightning (very, very frightening, as the song goes). It woke me up, and I got up and watched the roof scuppers gush water. It was a beautiful sight. My rain gauge registered almost a quarter inch, and you can practically feel the desert exhaling in gratitude. It's fascinating how the landscape transforms after rainfall, how plants and creatures emerge from their dormancy with such urgency.

The ocotillos caught my attention the other day. Those stark branches suddenly crowned with fiery red blooms—what perfect symbols of life's persistence in harsh conditions. I pulled out this 30" x 40" canvas and simply had a go at capturing that defiance.

Looking at this piece now, I'm considering a few final touches: perhaps more definition in the lower background where the blues and greens transition, maybe strengthening the shadow beneath the ocotillo to ground it more firmly in space, and possibly enhancing some of the textural elements in the background to frame the central image more deliberately. I’m not sure I’ll do anything - just thinking out loud.

My approach to making art has changed radically over these past years. I'm less fixated on outcomes now, more immersed in process. What fascinates me is becoming conscious of my sublimation—watching my thought processes unfold as I create. This phenomenon seems connected to Becker's ideas about creative work as an immortality project, a way of managing our death anxiety through meaningful production.

The medium doesn't seem to matter much anymore. Whether I'm photographing, painting, or writing, the fundamental experience feels remarkably similar—this conversation between mortality consciousness and creative response. The ocotillo, with its torch-like blooms emerging from seemingly dead branches after rain, feels like the perfect visual metaphor for this dialogue between death and creation.

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.

Automatic Fantastic

While I’ve been working through the printing process for my book, I’ve been spending some time every day painting. Here’s a critique of one I just finished (I think).

This painting seems to embody the very essence of mortality consciousness that's central to my book, “In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Otheirnf and the Origins of Evil.”

The dark, weathered surface creates a sense of archaeological discovery — as if we're uncovering something ancient yet deeply personal. Those two circular red forms pierce through the darkness like eyes or portals, creating an almost skull-like suggestion within the abstract landscape. This duality between abstraction and figuration mirrors the tension between confronting and denying death that Becker describes so beautifully.

The scratched, excavated quality of the surface reminds me of how artists often dig beneath cultural immortality symbols to expose more authentic relationships with mortality. My technique here - layering, scraping, revealing - feels like a physical manifestation of terror management theory in action.

The limited color palette (Mars black, cadmium orange, titanium white, and burnt sienna) grounds the work in a primal, existential space. Those touches of warm copper/bronze tones against the dominant darkness suggest a kind of alchemical transformation happening within the composition.

This painting seems to demonstrate precisely what I'm exploring in my writing—how creative practice can serve as both a shield against mortality anxiety and a means of directly confronting it. The resulting tension creates something profoundly meaningful.

The Title: “Automatic Fantastic”

The "automatic" part suggests spontaneity and unconscious creation—like automatic writing or drawing, where you surrender conscious control and let deeper psychological forces emerge. This concept connects beautifully with how creativity can bypass our rational death-denial systems and access more primal truths. When I look at the scratched, layered textures in this work, I can sense that automatic process—the hand moving across the surface, driven by something beyond calculated thought. And that’s precisely where I was when making this.

"Fantastic" carries dual meanings here. On one level, it suggests the realm of fantasy or imagination—perhaps our immortality projects, which Becker would say we create to escape death anxiety. But it also connotes something extraordinary or heightened - the fantastic as a transcendent state that art can achieve.

Together, "Automatic Fantastic" suggests a kind of spontaneous transcendence - a creative state where consciousness shifts and mortality awareness transforms into something beyond ordinary perception. The title perfectly captures that paradox at the heart of artistic creation: that by engaging directly with mortality through automatic processes, we sometimes access fantastic realms of meaning that rationality alone cannot provide.

Humans Are Emotional—Not Rational

It shouldn’t be news to tell you that humans are irrational and emotional.

As human beings, we often pride ourselves on being rational creatures. We point to our advancements in science, our mastery of complex tools, and our ability to build societies governed by rules and logic. However, when it comes to matters of life and death, we reveal a different, more primal truth: we are emotional beings. This distinction becomes glaringly apparent when we confront the existential reality of our mortality. Death anxiety and the mechanisms we employ to manage this fear expose the raw emotional underpinnings of human behavior, challenging the veneer of rationality that we so often wear.

At the heart of our emotional nature is the profound discomfort with the knowledge that we will one day cease to exist—impermanence and finitude. Unlike other animals, humans possess a heightened awareness of mortality. This awareness creates a paradox: we have the intellectual capacity to understand our finite nature, but emotionally, we find this knowledge unbearable (Half Animal and Half Symbolic). Ernest Becker, in The Denial of Death, argues that much of human behavior is driven by a need to escape the paralyzing fear of death. This fear is not something we reason through; it is something we feel deeply, viscerally, and often uncontrollably.

Terror Management Theory (TMT) builds on Becker's insights, demonstrating how our emotional responses to death anxiety shape cultural worldviews, self-esteem, and interpersonal behaviors. According to TMT, humans create and cling to cultural systems that provide a sense of meaning, order, and immortality. These systems, whether religious, nationalistic, or ideological, are less about logical coherence and more about emotional comfort. They serve as psychological defenses (coping mechanisms), buffering us against the terror of our inevitable demise.

Consider the way people react when their belief systems are challenged. Rationally, one might expect open-minded discussion or a willingness to adapt to new evidence. Yet, more often than not, such challenges evoke defensiveness, hostility, or even aggression. This is because these belief systems are not merely intellectual constructs; they are emotional lifelines that protect us from existential dread (meaning system buffers). When they are threatened, it feels as though the foundation of our existence is being shaken, triggering a fight-or-flight response that is anything but rational.

This emotional foundation extends beyond our cultural worldviews, or meaning systems, to our personal identities. Self-esteem, for instance, is deeply tied to our ability to stave off death anxiety. TMT research shows that when people are reminded of their mortality, they often seek validation and strive for achievements that affirm their worth within their cultural framework. These actions are not driven by logical analysis but by an emotional need to feel significant in the face of insignificance.

Art and creativity provide another lens through which to examine the emotional nature of human responses to mortality. Artistic expressions, whether through painting, literature, or photography, often grapple with themes of death and immortality. These works resonate not because they offer rational solutions to the problem of mortality but because they evoke and articulate the emotions associated with it. They allow us to confront our fears, find solace, and connect with others who share our struggles.

The emotionality of human beings is perhaps most evident in the collective rituals surrounding death. Funerals, memorials, and acts of remembrance are rarely about logical considerations. Instead, they are about processing grief, celebrating life, and reaffirming our connections to one another and to the cultural narratives that give our lives meaning. These rituals are deeply symbolic, and their power lies in their ability to address emotional needs that logic cannot satisfy.

Acknowledging our emotional nature does not diminish our humanity; rather, it deepens our understanding of it. By recognizing that our responses to death anxiety are rooted in emotion, we can better understand the behaviors, beliefs, and systems that define our lives. This recognition also invites compassion—for ourselves and for others. It reminds us that beneath the facade of rationality, we are all grappling with the same fundamental fears and seeking the same solace in the face of the unknown.

In the end, it is our emotions, not our reason, that drive us to create, to connect, and to seek meaning. Our attempts to manage death anxiety may not always be rational, but they are profoundly human. They reveal our capacity for hope, resilience, and imagination in the face of mortality. And it is through these emotional endeavors that we find not only a way to endure but a way to transcend the limitations of our finite existence.

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!

I Feel Pretty Good About This Painting

In some cultures, fish are believed to be messengers of the spirit world, connecting the living and the ancestors.
I've been painting and working with these two figures for a while. I did a painting that was very "primitive" using the drawing here of the homo sapien. The fish is something that I've been working around in ideas. This is multimedia piece; 9" x 12" paper, acrylic and cardboard.

“What the herd hates most is the one who thinks differently; it is not so much the opinion itself, but the audacity of wanting to think for themselves, something that they do not know how to do.”

— Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860)

From the Rocky Mountains to the Chihuahua Desert

We’ve been here just over a week now. So far, we love it. I mean, everything fits and feels good, and we are excited about the future here.

There’s still a lot of work to do, including unpacking, organizing, figuring things out, etc. It’s a process, not an event. We’re on no one’s clock except our own. It’s a wonderful feeling to have a beautiful climate, time to do whatever you want to do, and easy access to most anything you’d need or want. I want to remember how grateful I am for this; I don’t ever want to become desensitized to it. I really appreciate it beyond words.

Jeanne and I trekked out onto some trails behind our house today. We did almost 3 miles and really enjoyed it. There are trails everywhere around here to walk or bicycle on; someone told Jeanne today that there’s one about 2 miles from us that goes south all the way to El Paso, Texas. Wild!

I found myself inspired today by the color and shapes in the desert. I want to paint some of these ideas and start making paint sketches again. And I’m looking forward to getting my darkroom setup again and making some photographs.

Once I’m organized, I’ll begin working on my book again. I really feel like I might be able to finish it this year. That’s my goal. I think with the better environment here, I’ll have more time to devote to it and really make it what I know it can be. About 90% of the writing is complete; it just needs to be edited. And the photography is complete, unless I end up adding anything here. That could happen; I’m not really sure at this point. And I have several paintings that I may include. So, it’s just a matter of carving out time and making it happen. And it will!

Radical Mindfulness Why Transforming Fear of Death is Politically Vital

This is a book by Dr. James Rowe that I would recommend reading if you want to understand what I’m trying to address through my artwork and my life in general (my interests). He is addressing Ernest Becker’s theories and terror management directly. I’ve never seen anyone write about the results of death anxiety applied to politics and modern and historical problems directly. My book will address these theories in detail, but I’ve made it personal. I’ve explained how the theories have driven me both creatively and psychologically.

Radical Mindfulness examines the root causes of injustice, asking why inequalities along the lines of race, class, gender, and species continue to exist. Specifically, Dr. James K. Rowe examines fear of death as a root cause of systemic inequalities and proposes a more embodied approach to social change as a solution.

Collecting insights from powerful thinkers across multiple traditions—including black radicals, Indigenous resurgence theorists, terror management theorists, and Buddhist feminists—Rowe argues for the political importance of seemingly apolitical practices such as meditation and ritual. These tactics are insufficient on their own, but when included in social movements fighting structural injustices, mind-body practices can start to transform the embodied fears that give supremacist ideologies endless fuel while remaining unaffected by most political actors.

Radical Mindfulness is for academics, activists, and individuals who want to overcome supremacy of all kinds but are struggling to understand and develop methods for attacking it at its roots.