Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton
Blah, blah, blah, blah
Blah Blah Blah Blah. Mel Blochner, paints blatantly, to the point words on canvas. Many are ugly truths and sarcastic realisms. Mel Bochner is mostly known as a conceptual artist, even though his art has also been categorized as minimalist, post-minimalist and, he is considered by many to be the instigator of text-induced conceptualism. I see his art as conceptual realism. Blah Blah Blah Blah is one of my favorites.
I often believe writing, especially online, on a blog is a lot of Blah, Blah, Blah, and of late, we are fed an onslaught of which to choose from to tune in or tune out. Yet a blogger does not hold their audience captive, the reader can politely choose to click off.
Who is Original?
Robert Motherwell inspired by Henri Matisse’s 1909 painting Dance created Le Danse in 1952.
We may think we are unique, and we are. Nobody else has my same thumbprint and nobody else has my same dental profile. Yet, when I open up my world in relation to history, or contemporary culture, I may see many similarities; a repeat, the same old song. A friend once said to me, “There is no original story, only your unique version of it.” This familiarity can be both comforting and disheartening. While we want to believe we are unique at the same time we like to feel we are assimilating within a whole of society.
This brings me to the title of my blog. For many, many months I contemplated a blog name. I looked both inward and outward for inspiration, ultimately focusing on my bookshelf. I played with the words of the titles of my favorite books. Testing out several variations. One was “The World According to Me” (referencing The World According to Garp), but I found on Google a multitude of worlds according to me, Mary, Tom, Dick, and Harry. Another, “The Pursuit of Meaningfulness,” inspired by Jefferson’s words…of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness; because, I believe a pursuit of meaningfulness will lead to a life with happiness; however, I realized this lofty title inspired other writers. I abandoned “The Moments,” inspired by Virginia Woolf’s novel The Hours, even my version of Wuthering Heights which I cleverly altered to “Wittering Heights” only to discover that creative mind thought up this also!
All of this brings me to my beginning contemplation, who is original? Visual artists reference works from the past through appropriation of images and ideas. Consider Richard Pettibon, Richard Prince, Allan McCollum, Marcel Duchamp, and Eve Sussman. The list goes on and on, and is long.
Shown above is a c.1661 painting by Charles le Brun, Chancellor Seguier at the entry of Louis XIV into Paris in 1660 that inspired Kehinde Wiley to createThe Chancellor Seguier on Horseback in 2005.
Musicians lift beats from classical songs or old classical rock, and create popular remixes. The borrowed and appropriated become a new creation that is an original.
Lou Reed’s rock classic “Walk On The Wild Side” is the inspiration for a electro mood song of the same title compiled by DJ Disse and mixed into contemporary hip hop beat by A Tribe Called Quest for their song ”Can I Kick It?”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZ88oTITMoM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WImZgL-L1lY
Even our memories are new creations from our past happenings. None of us live in a vacuum; we are influenced by historical references. I ask, what is the judgment of originality? And, for those who strive ever so for creativity and originality, I dedicate a favorite song by Mac Davis.
These Eyes
A goal of my blog is to share my perspective when looking at art, reading literature, listening to music, or viewing a film; perhaps, offering you, the reader, another view. As the artist Paul Klee stated, “Art does not reproduce what we see; rather, it makes us see.” I think it is always important to open one’s eyes and mind to new discoveries within oneself and in the world.
In a ‘house’ of magnificent art sometimes it is the smallest of objects make the biggest impression, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art I lose myself in thought and time, wondering through the galleries. During my last visit I spent a couple of those hours in the Greek and Roman art galleries with my son, a fan of Greek Mythology. There, I found these magnificent eyes. Looking more contemporary than ancient, as if made for a Tim Burton animation, in fact, they are speculated to be from the 5th Century B.C. as a part of a larger sculpture and crafted from marble, bronze, frit, quartz, and obsidian.
These tiny orbs, for me, revealed the timeless symbolism in the eyes, as windows to our soul, as portals to our visionary experiences, and, precisely attuned and in focus while wondering the Met’s galleries.
go girl!
Recently I went on a solo journey to Morocco. Many of my friends wondered and worried that I traveled alone. Many people along the route were also curious about my desire to travel on my own. For me, it is liberating. I am just me, not part of a whole, not tethered to an itinerary, I am not responsible for anyone else; and, I can quietly observe the culture, life, and nature of a new place without my perceptions being interrupted or influenced by my companions.
This was not my first trip alone, nor will it be my last. Because so many people think this is an eccentricity, it made me pause and wonder how and why it never seemed strange to me. I believe I inherited my wanderlust adventurous spirit. My mother, born in Austria, born Jewish, and pre WWII, as a young teenager traveled from Austria to South America and eventually to the United States before she turned twenty. Most of these travels she did on her own. She was courageous and independent. I did not learn this from her because I did not know this side of my otherwise very domesticated mother who never went anywhere alone during my youth, and still doesn’t. She shared her youthful stories with me only recently. I suppose I saw a flicker of her adventurous spirit as her dreams of adventure diminished. I knew I was not going to live with the same regret.
On the other hand, my father, who claims to not like traveling, often did and does solely. In my youth I recall him taking his motorcycle and being gone for a day or two or more, as he would say, “just going for a ride”. I remember him getting in his airplane and soaring off, “just going for a flight”. For him it was never the destination, it was the solitary journey. I have both desires-the desire to explore new places and the desire for the solitary journey.
Lari Pittman’s “Go Girl” 1995 painting serves as a daily inspiration for me. Probably the artist has a different interpretation than the one I have, but I believe if you only live it once, live it well and don’t let regret, guilt, or fear spoil or overwhelm the experience.
Chaos with a Laissez-faire attitude
I have one phrase which sums up my overall impression of Morocco: chaos with a laissez-faire attitude. Everywhere I looked, there was destruction amidst construction. Proficient commerce thrived in makeshift shops, where merchants of beautifully hand woven textiles managed negotiations on sales with a sense of playfulness and professionalism. Directly next to their stalls, you might find the local money changer or the poultry purveyor–supplied with baskets of live fowl cooped together much like “fresh” fish swimming in restaurant tanks like those found in San Francisco’s Chinatown, awaiting their certain fate.
This laissez-faire/live and let live attitude I observed reflected in the acceptance the Moroccans appear to have towards their adherence to religious practice. The people on the whole are deeply religious, even though some choose to close up shop and rush to the Mosque at the call to prayer, others pause where they are kneeling on a small rug and chanting their alms to the Almighty, while many others continue on with their daily routine, hearing the call to prayer mingled with honking car horns passing and the noisy, bustling streets filled with various modes of transportation.
I found the mesh of tradition and modernity remarkable.
Some people chose to wear the traditional fashions that have been worn for centuries of long-hooded caftans called jelabas, paired with slippers, while those sitting or walking beside them donned contemporary garb of skinny jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. And, even with the prevelence of cell phones many people use pay phones which are as readily found throughout the city as Starbuck’s coffee shops are in Seattle.
In conclusion, I found Marrakech, Fez, and the Atlas Mountains to be places where the past and the present meet with warm-heartedness, sharing stories over a cup of mint tea.
Untitled
I wonder, how much a title can change the viewer’s perspective on seeing art. For me, at least, knowing the title of a work of art can alter how I view it. Words offer multitudes of images and signify meaning. The title alters a personal narrative and an individualized resonance with the art. The openness of the narrative is another dimension to art, especially art with an element of ambiguity.
These drawings, from my perspective, symbolize many hours of talking to myself: daydreaming, reasoning, scolding-my moments. Macy Gray’s “A Moment to Myself” would be my choice of musical accompaniment to these images. (I often hear music when I look at art. Or see images when listening to music.) The Francis Alys drawing on the left is titled “Untitled: (Study for Father and Son)”. I do not know the title of the Alys’s drawing on the right, so I shall offer, “Untitled: (A Moment to Myself); it illustrates that too much self talk can be like slamming into a brick wall.
Francis Alys’s performed an art video piece, titled Rehearsal 1, in which a vintage Volkswagen Bug repeatedly drove up a steep dirt road, only to roll to the bottom before cresting the top of the hill. The video footage was synchronized to the musical accompaniment of a marching band. When the band made an error the car would descend. Often Alys’s work involves a performance of a Sisyphean task, questioning a life with an eternity of futile labor. For some, this is a hideous existence, while for others it offers satisfied life pursuit. If one were to think of the Sisyphus myth in terms of the natural world and consider the contented life of a bee, an ant, or squirrel, each of these creature’s daily routine fulfills its life’s work and is essential to nature’s cycle of life. Look at the life of athletes, as I am, and how day-to-day, week-to-week, athletes train to reach their personal best. Perhaps Sisyphus was pursuing his personal best, hoping each and every time his assent up the mountain would be faster than the last, perhaps he cursed the gods or reigned defiant against them for his lot in life. One could say in every ascent he reached his goal. Alys might be expressing his personal striving to reach perfection in his art. A friend, an artist, who studied four years with a Zen-brush painting master, and in those years she painted over and over the letter I, striving to find not only perfection, but Zen.
In some sense, talking to oneself is a Sisyphean task. Many people, in spite of talking themselves into changing, find themselves in the same situation over and over again, working out the same problems from before. Writing a blog is a kin to talking to oneself; but it is more like shouting at the edge of valley and allowing your voice to echo into infinity. Perhaps, somewhere, someone will hear. Hopefully, if it is a Sisyphean task, with each post I might influence change in others and maybe also in myself. So, in summation Francis Alys’s art is about each individual’s contribution to the cycle of life.
And, on a final note…
KMessays 