sonofableep

i stumbled across this old blog post of mine from 1999 documenting an episode i’d completely forgotten about.  this is of interest to no one but me (so of course it makes perfect sense to repost it here) as it clearly shows that a) i already had developed an exaggerated sense of my own cleverness, and b) i still could regularly locate the SHIFT keys on a a keyboard.  also, i was trying to write About Something, instead of just this daily diarrhea (get it?  see, the category for my daily posts is “daily diary, uh…”, and if you say it out loud…oh nevermind).  enjoy / ignore!

btw, i probably wrote this on that NeXT machine in what appears to be a pedophile’s basement.

08/01/1999: One Man’s Art Is Another Man’s Ugly-Ass Coffee Mug

Ever have one of those experiences that’s both disconcerting and edifying at the same time?  No?  Me neither, usually.  But I had one today in the midst of my first arts ‘n’ crafts venture since 3rd grade.  I spent my afternoon in a place called “Glaze and Blaze” – not a head shop but a place where customers select various pieces of pottery, paint them, cook ‘em up in the kiln, then take the results home and stick flowers or toothbrushes in ‘em.  Sounds like fun.  Sounds like something an artistic person could get into.  I’m all about it.

I pick out a blank mug.  I pick out 12 great colors.  I’ve got two dozen brushes, sponges, templates, and patterns at my disposal.  I’m ready.  I pick up the mug.  “Speak to me.  Tell me how you want to look.  I’m listening!”  And it comes to me: The Vision.  The creative impulse to make something where there was nothing.  To create Art where there was none (I know, I know…it’s just a damn cup).  I wet my brush and I’m off and running.

One and one half hours later, and a considerable amount of frustration by the wayside, I’m looking at one ugly-ass coffee mug.  Not only does it look like Helen Keller could have done better, but it in no way resembles The Vision I began with and doggedly clung to despite numerous runs, drips, and errors along the way.  I’m disgusted.  Seeing the walls lined with the works of other patrons isn’t helping my ego either.  I’m an artist dammit!  Alright, not a visual one, but still…I had The Vision! What went wrong?

Then (seeking some meager form of solace) I started to think about the relationship between Artistic Vision and Artistic Execution, how having a command of only one or the other leads to frustration for the artist or audience, while the purest artistic expression comes from a command of both.  Looking at my mug I had the vision, but not having held a paint brush in my hand in 20 years except to smear Weatherbeater on the side of my house, is it any wonder I couldn’t get my point across?  Portrait of a frustrated artist.

But far worse to have the other shortcoming: long on execution and short on vision.  Hell, I could always keep trying or take painting classes, and maybe someday actually get my point across.  But having the best technique in the world and only being able to ape what has come before is A) generally without remedy, and B) more prevalent.  That is, A) you can’t teach vision, and B) there’s no shortage of unoriginal, perfectly executed art.  A particular piece of music which shall remain nameless – not out of respect but because I’ve forgotten it – written in the style of Mozart but in the era of Boulez was once described to me as having “a poverty of expression”.  I love that!  How much music around us today has a poverty of expression?  Depends who you ask I suppose, but I’d say just about all of it.  Execution without Vision.  Portrait of a frustrated audience.

So the silver lining in this otherwise humbling experience was an examination of my ability to execute a musical vision; taking some satisfaction from the knowledge that more often than not these days, what I set out to accomplish musically actually comes to be.  That’s not a comment on the merit of my artistic sense, nor is it indicative of some kind of endpoint.  It’s a beginning, much like reaching the age where communication becomes second nature, when you’ve learned enough vocabulary to adequately express what it is you’re trying to say.  There will always be more words to learn, but having learned enough to not have to struggle is a turning point to acknowledge.  It’s the point where the process of execution becomes a transparent conduit effortlessly channeling vision.

I guess that means in the painting world I’m the equivalent of a six-month old stewing in my own turd cuz I couldn’t tell anyone to change me.  Guess I’ll use the turd to hold pens and pencils in a less-travelled corner of the house.