I may no know much about Art

D A Y S    L I K E    T H E S E

Some have the ability to reason and use it to unravel the mysteries of the universe around us, whether the macro or the micro. Others, lacking creative ability or a three-digit IQ, have merely the ability to articulate profanity. As my sainted grandmother frequently said, "I wouldn't hold in my hand what you just held in your mouth." The quality of life is a result of the respect with which we treat it. Obviously some people would be quite at home in the world depicted by Hieronymous Bosch in his Garden of Earthly Delights. (Click here to see what it's like: Mark Harden's Artchive - "Hieronymous Bosch") Not a lovely place to visit, much less to live.

I realize I aim high when I quote the Bard, "You keep all your smart modern writers, give me William Shakespeare, you keep all your smart modern painters, I'll take Rembrandt, Titian, DaVinci and Gainesborough". (20th Century Man, words & music Ray Davies) Next time you're feeling smug, try singing that to a rock'n'roll beat! The Bard in question here, of course, is Ray Davies, leader and songwriter for the Kinks, a seminal British Invasion band who also delighted us with "A Well-Respected Man" and "Dedicated Follower of Fashion", both jabs at modern British life. His other observations along this line include "Sunny Afternoon" (my girlfriend's run off with my car, gone back to her ma and pa, tellin' tales of drunkenness and cruelty), "Apeman" (I think I'm so educated and I'm so civilized, cuz I'm a strict vegetarian, and with the over-population and inflation and starvation, and the crazy politicians, I don't feel safe in this world no more, I don't wanna die in a nuclear war, I wanna sail away to a distant shore and make like an ape man), "Waterloo Sunset" (but I don't need no friends, as long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset, I am in paradise, every day I look at the world from my window), and the incomparable "Celluloid Heroes" (everybody's a dreamer, and everybody's a star, and everybody's in movies, doesn't matter who you are....you can see all the stars as you walk down Hollywood Boulevard, some that you recognize and some that you've hardly even heard of, people who worked and struggled for fame, some who succeeded and some who suffered in vain). I could go on quoting the works of rock 'n' roll's most erudite songwriter, but I think I've made the point. To say Ray Davies delights in poking fun at the rest of us, as we take ourselves seriously along life's various paths, is to put it mildly. Someone has to, because we don't seem to be able to do it very well for ourselves.

Today's "artists" confuse anger and profanity with creativity and miss the point entirely. This lack of vision is painfully evident in "performance" artists who demonstrate bodily functions or worse, as if theirs were somehow different from our own. Indeed, the very same problem affects TV and movies, as the same old stories are recycled with new "stars", many of whom won't be remembered when they hit middle age, much less long after they have gone. The rare breath of fresh thinking is copied madly/badly, as NBC did with "Revelations", a blatant cop to the popularity of "The Passion of the Christ". The trend for decades in Hollywood is screenwriting by committee, as additional writers are brought in to "sweeten" the plot, to better adhere to the director's "vision", or to calm jittery studio executives about a particularly shaky film by "newcomers" (outsiders, not used to the "studio" system). Is it any wonder so many movies go straight to video with only a short detour through the local multi-plex?

What happened to cause this? Have all the original ideas been used? I know sometimes I struggle to find an original point of view, a new take on a storyline, some new perspective to make a point more interesting. When George Carlin started his routine about "7 words you don't say on TV", he was breaking new ground, charting new territory, pushing the envelope. Comedians today use vulgar language as punctuation; there is nothing interesting or shocking about it, as it serves only to cover up having nothing amusing or interesting to say. Chris Rock stumbled through the Academy Awards show, obviously hampered by having to watch his language, a far cry from the telecasts hosted by Billy Crystal, a comedian who has never relied on vulgarity to tell a funny story. Are "four-letter" words (and worse) really funny? Does ghetto language give one the cachet of "street credentials"?

Back to Ray, for a few closing words on the subject, who sings in "Better Things" (here's hoping all the days ahead, won't be as bitter as the ones behind you, and be an optimist instead, and somehow happiness will find you, forget what happened yesterday, I know that better things are on their way), a saccharine-sweet sentiment, to be sure, but no less valid, and in "Lola" (well, I'm not the world's most physical guy, but when she squeezed me tight, she nearly broke my spine, well, I'm not dumb, but I can't understand why she walked like a woman and talked like a man) a pithy comment on the so-called "equality" between the sexes. It's a "mixed-up, mumbled-up, shook-up world", for sure, a brave new world that fears originality as much as it fears competition. A friend of mine is wont to say, "Sure, I can do you a favor, so long as it doesn't cost me money, time or personal inconvenience". What more can one ask for? Somewhere, all the "creative" types seemed to have adopted this philosophy, paraphrasing it as, "Yes, I can create, so long as I do not have to think, work or otherwise exert any effort"...what a sad commentary on the arts today. (All lyrics quoted: words & music Ray Davies/The Kinks, protected by appropriate copyright)

On creativity....

A l o n e A g a i n O r

I have spent a considerable amount of time by myself over the years, and as a result, have developed several skills for filling the time. I enjoy reading, often spending hours in rapt concentration as the pages whiz by, whether a techno-thriller or a book detailing events in History, new discoveries in Science, a fascinating Biography or any of the marvels of the Physical World. Reading is a gateway to a universe of wonder, of knowledge, of self-understanding and the realms of Man’s stored knowledge. I feel sorry for those who do not enjoy this simple pleasure.

I also draw, filling page after page with doodles and designs, ideas for room arrangements and architectural details. I began drawing when I was a young teenager, adopting a style reminiscent to what I saw in comic books. I took a drafting class in the 8th grade, thinking I did OK, but not as well as some of the teacher’s favorite students. Little did I suspect I would make my living for the better part of my life doing this. Along the way, I expanded my repertoire of drawing skills, exploring the way design interacted with written words and everyday items.

When I was in freshman English, in high school, the teacher required us to write a poem. I tried my had at it and enjoyed it, then wrote several others. One of my first efforts was titled “Where are the flowers, now”, with a repeating refrain that ran, “where are the flowers, now, where have they gone?” Some four or five months later, I heard a song by Peter, Paul & Mary, called “Where Have All the Flowers Gone”, written by a young Bob Dylan. The only similarities in the two were in the repeated question/title, but I was razzed by my friends for “stealing” from a popular song. I had never heard it before, that I know of, and certainly didn’t consciously copy any part of the song, but who knows? We all take in stimuli from a vast variety of sources and then reissue it as refined by our own views, prejudices and perceptions. At any rate, this early success--did I mention that poem and another, with obvious homage to Poe, were well-received in class?--lead me to pursue an interest in writing that has remained with meto this day. I did quite well, writing in high school; at one school, the creative writing class published a “magazine” filled with students’ work. The first issue of the semester, I had one story and a poem; by the third issue, I had more entries than all the other students combined. Sadly, the next school I attended, a month after that triumph, did not offer Creative Writing as an elective.

Had you asked me in those days what I wanted to be, I would have confidently answered “a writer!” I seriously pursued this goal, although later that same year, at yet another different school, I encountered a less enthusiastic teacher, who told me I should “stick to writing about what I knew”, i.e. “teenage” issues. Her criticism took the wind out of my sails. The following school year, I had my own column in the school newspaper and almost anything I wrote was printed in it. When I submitted a story to a magazine that I had slaved over and felt very positive about, I received a rejection letter--an actual letter, one my friends and teachers at the time said was a good sign, rather than a rejection notice--I began to let that dream slip away from me. I still wrote, to amuse myself, and the friends I corresponded with, until one day I received a letter from a friend who said he was going to “start saving (my) letters, because they are little works of art, so creative”, and I stopped writing for others.

I have always kept journals, filling them with sketches and written snippets, recording my passage through this world, for myself, if no one else. I still do, sometimes “seeing”, in my mind, an entire piece, inspired by something I read or just saw on TV, or as a result of a conversation. I write to soothe that savage beast within that desires to roar, but instead is content to know the talent is still there, the potential still on tap.

I can say I came by it honestly; my maternal grandmother wrote and, with her sister, performed radio plays in the late teens and early twenties of the previous century, in their home town of Brooklyn. They were quite popular, and my great-aunt maintained a life-long interest in performing, appearing in dinner theatre and community theatre productions well into her 70’s. My uncle also took after this side of the family, achieving a modest level of fame in college and in the Los Angeles area for his appearances in community theatre and civic light opera presentations until he decided to forego his theatrical dreams and concentrate on professional pursuits. His is a case of too little ego, because ego is the fuel by which careers are driven; that he has the talent is widely recognized, that he is willing to sit in one office after another and attempt to convince someone who wouldn’t know talent if said talent were to bite him/her on the butt, is another story entirely.

Sadly this is the case with much of the creative arts; the loud, obnoxious and barely-talented rise to the top out of sheer persistence, while those who may well be the better talent wait tables….or move on to a more dependable source of income. Who’s to say whether it is an equitable arrangement? Not me, I’m too busy writing what I want, or reading to gather new ideas, or drawing the blueprints for a better world. I’ll leave that decision to you, gentle reader and wish you luck in your own private spaces.