All art is exorcism. I paint dreams and visions too; the dreams and visions of my time. Painting is the effort to produce order; order in yourself. There is much chaos in me, much chaos in our time.

Creating order from inner chaos

There's something oddly freeing about thinking of art—any art—as a way to get something out of your system. Not as decoration, not as something separate from real life, but as an actual release. When Dix talks about exorcism, he's not being dramatic. He's describing what happens when you take the swirling mess inside your head and put it somewhere outside yourself. The act of ordering it, shaping it, naming it—that itself is the cure.

This matters because most of us aren't painters, but we're all living with internal chaos. We know the feeling of having something stuck in our chest or mind that won't settle. Creating anything—writing, cooking, organizing, problem-solving—is an attempt to take that formlessness and make it into something that makes sense. Dix painted in a time of tremendous social upheaval, and he understood that his visions weren't escape fantasies. They were his time speaking through him. When he painted, he was ordering his era as much as himself.

The surprise is that this isn't about making something beautiful or perfect. It's about the work itself as medicine. The chaos doesn't disappear; it gets transformed into something visible, shareable, real. That transformation—that's what changes you.