What is Art?
Note: This is a reflection upon (inspired by an abundance of 'absolute' espressed opinions about the same.) what I continue to come across regarding the relative value of this Artist and their Art, and how 'we' seem to think that we somehow know an absolute standard for judging others as well as our own work. Presumption is redundant, here.
It's always interesting to read the various comments, especially those that think that they are so 'free' in their expression of art. It has 'always,' yes, 'always,' been a 'this is art; this isn't art' world.
When Mozart or Beethoven or Wagner composed and performed their works they were hated and vilified. The same was the case for Bach, especially his organ pieces. The same was the case for painter and their forms. 'Impressionism' was at first a derogatory term, where the 'true' artists of the day would whisper, sometimes quite loudly, 'Oh, that's only an impression.' Every generation of 'new-er' (there is no such thing as truly 'new' as though coming out of a vacuum of exnihilo creativity; everything is the byproduct of 'all' of our influences, positive and negative, subjective all, expressed via the lenses that we see through.) -- every generation's elders and elderesses critique our work based upon their collective experience. So, and yes this is always the case, do we.
Listen to the critiques of this and that form of art and music, just in these few comments. The idea of this is 'good' or 'bad,' as though that there is some sort of absolute standard to judge such things. It may be good for you and bad for me, or the opposite, and even, and most often for me, a combination of all of the above. Jackson Pollock's work went totally unappreciated by myself until one day I was sitting in the Cleveland, Ohio Art Gallery looking at a 4ft x 8ft painting of his, and it 'hit me.' I exclaimed, and it was aloud, then I quieted down, 'I get it! There is peace withing this! This is the plethora of muse in my own head, but yet in the colours herein I find that there is also the eye in this storm of viewing!' Did Pollock mean this? He said that he meant nothing other than the rejection of form, which obviously is an acceptance of yet another form. It goes alongwith the ones that like to claim themselves anarchist, because once you make a claim, you've also given what you believe to be what defines true anarchism.
A now reposed friend of mine, an artist from Scotland, painted most of his life, and died while painting, used to say ,'The saddest thing that happens to artists,' including himself, 'is that we parody our own work and ourselves, yet claim it be creative' He would also say, and so like him to be transparently and painfully honest (This he would do when he'd decry the horrific nature of the de-evolution of Thomas Kinkade's 'look at my gift from God, and you must have it for $$$, so you to can behold this gift from God.'), -- he'd say, 'Yea, some day I'll sell out too, if I ever consistently make a living.'
Fyodor Dostoevsky, in his book, translated 'The Idiot,' gives us the famous, or infamous words, 'Beauty shall save the world.' Yet the beauty that he writes of in all of his novels and short stories is the beauty that is found in every day life, the words and lives of people that touch others. If your art and work effects another person positively, then be grateful. If it only effects you, also be grateful. If you don't know if it effects anyone else, then remember it is a big club that most artists, as well as most people belong to. The Artist that is truly free is the Artist that has no need to make judgments regarding the relative value of someone else's work. Do your own work and let the others' speak for themselves. If we are grateful for what we can do and or are free to do, then it is shown in one way, by doing it.
The 'who' of me is not necessarily the 'what' of me and what I do; however the 'what' of how I do what I do most certainly expresses the truth of how I've come to be the 'who' that 'I am.'
Note: This is a reflection upon (inspired by an abundance of 'absolute' espressed opinions about the same.) what I continue to come across regarding the relative value of this Artist and their Art, and how 'we' seem to think that we somehow know an absolute standard for judging others as well as our own work. Presumption is redundant, here.
It's always interesting to read the various comments, especially those that think that they are so 'free' in their expression of art. It has 'always,' yes, 'always,' been a 'this is art; this isn't art' world.
When Mozart or Beethoven or Wagner composed and performed their works they were hated and vilified. The same was the case for Bach, especially his organ pieces. The same was the case for painter and their forms. 'Impressionism' was at first a derogatory term, where the 'true' artists of the day would whisper, sometimes quite loudly, 'Oh, that's only an impression.' Every generation of 'new-er' (there is no such thing as truly 'new' as though coming out of a vacuum of exnihilo creativity; everything is the byproduct of 'all' of our influences, positive and negative, subjective all, expressed via the lenses that we see through.) -- every generation's elders and elderesses critique our work based upon their collective experience. So, and yes this is always the case, do we.
Listen to the critiques of this and that form of art and music, just in these few comments. The idea of this is 'good' or 'bad,' as though that there is some sort of absolute standard to judge such things. It may be good for you and bad for me, or the opposite, and even, and most often for me, a combination of all of the above. Jackson Pollock's work went totally unappreciated by myself until one day I was sitting in the Cleveland, Ohio Art Gallery looking at a 4ft x 8ft painting of his, and it 'hit me.' I exclaimed, and it was aloud, then I quieted down, 'I get it! There is peace withing this! This is the plethora of muse in my own head, but yet in the colours herein I find that there is also the eye in this storm of viewing!' Did Pollock mean this? He said that he meant nothing other than the rejection of form, which obviously is an acceptance of yet another form. It goes alongwith the ones that like to claim themselves anarchist, because once you make a claim, you've also given what you believe to be what defines true anarchism.
A now reposed friend of mine, an artist from Scotland, painted most of his life, and died while painting, used to say ,'The saddest thing that happens to artists,' including himself, 'is that we parody our own work and ourselves, yet claim it be creative' He would also say, and so like him to be transparently and painfully honest (This he would do when he'd decry the horrific nature of the de-evolution of Thomas Kinkade's 'look at my gift from God, and you must have it for $$$, so you to can behold this gift from God.'), -- he'd say, 'Yea, some day I'll sell out too, if I ever consistently make a living.'
Fyodor Dostoevsky, in his book, translated 'The Idiot,' gives us the famous, or infamous words, 'Beauty shall save the world.' Yet the beauty that he writes of in all of his novels and short stories is the beauty that is found in every day life, the words and lives of people that touch others. If your art and work effects another person positively, then be grateful. If it only effects you, also be grateful. If you don't know if it effects anyone else, then remember it is a big club that most artists, as well as most people belong to. The Artist that is truly free is the Artist that has no need to make judgments regarding the relative value of someone else's work. Do your own work and let the others' speak for themselves. If we are grateful for what we can do and or are free to do, then it is shown in one way, by doing it.
The 'who' of me is not necessarily the 'what' of me and what I do; however the 'what' of how I do what I do most certainly expresses the truth of how I've come to be the 'who' that 'I am.'
And Thomas Kinkade makes me roll my eyes
go to this site and, if you choose, see an interview
as well as some paintings from two shows back at the same time.
It is a strange thing, for me, to write
all I need to do is to sit down and write, on most days.
To paint, however, or even sketch, I seem to be
inspired mostly by hope in order to do so. Hope comes in various forms,
sometimes, most times, with children that may not have any objective reason for it,
yet do have it nonetheless. This just blows me away. Then the other is a lover, but
this is memory's delight and desire to be truly in the present. Next to my children,
and others that may not have overt reasons for it, are friends that bring forth a smile from
me, and more so a laugh, and even more so when I find myself laughing out loud.
It is out of apparent darkness that light comes, and rarely is there any light beheld
save for a contrast or enlightening by a little tenderness of a shadow.
I've been sketching off on of late. Must be smiling. Must be laughing out loud.
'Moderation in all things,' a moderate thought that I've only learned after
a full baptism into the whatever of joy, at least each time in my eyes.
I love the to respond, and fully in all sincerity and honesty, as far as I am aware,
save for my own delusion, to each person asking me concerning my 'conversion experiences,'
with, 'This time?' Then, 'With each breath I am gifted conversion into the present.'