Tag Archives: Art

Rough Beauty

A few months ago, Karen and I were on a road trip, and Pandora was set to (I’m about to date myself and/or cause you to laugh at me…likely both) my Def Leppard station. Whether it is because she is genuinely interested or just wants to make me feel smart, I can’t tell, but my lovely wife, knowing that rock history is one of those strange interests of mine, will ask me here and there about bands and songs and that sort of thing. A lot of times we talk about lyrics, and, eventually, she’ll ask me to change the station. That last part is inevitable.

Periodically, I return to a specific collection of songs from my head-banging years. One of those is a classic ballad by Guns N’ Roses called Sweet Child O’ Mine. In my iTunes library, this song is classified as metal. I’m picky about my genres…another conversation that Karen and I sometimes have during road trips…but Guns N’ Roses’ work falls firmly under the broader heading of metal in my mind. What makes this odd to some is that I find this song to be one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. Slash’s guitar line is melodic, entrancing, and nearly brings tears at times (listen to the full-length album version, not the radio edit). The love for another person that’s contained in this song pours through those notes, even when the guitar work becomes more “dirty” and distortion-driven at the end of the song. Now, I certainly have a bit of nostalgia attached to the song: the memory of the music video…witnessed not long after my parents first got cable television and I had access to MTV for the first time, with Slash’s face completely obscured by his hair as he leaned into his monitor and let the passion flow from his guitar…is a very strong recollection for me.

I think, though, that, beyond that nostalgia, this song points out something about the way that I perceive beauty.

When I was in undergrad, I remember being drawn to plays that were different, odd…to playwrights that were quirky and raw. I like fiction that has a raw component to it, so raw at times that it is difficult to read, but that carries a poignancy that causes to you see something in life that is better, that rewards you if you force yourself through to the end.

I guess what I’m saying is that I see beauty in really rough places. Art that would often be considered rough, edgy, or even offensive to some, is the art in which I find these hidden moments of breath-taking beauty. I can’t articulate why…I suppose we could psychoanalyze my childhood insecurities, but I doubt that anyone, including myself, would really want to read that here. I just know that I do.

A little while ago, I was struck by one of those impulses to be spontaneously romantic. I wanted to let Karen know that I was thinking about her, and I decided to write a post on her Facebook wall. I could have said something poetic, or quoted a poem or something. Instead, I quoted four lines from a Warrant that I heard one afternoon on that same Def Leppard station, and that suddenly found new meaning at this point in my life as I thought of my wife.

This isn’t about old 80’s hair bands, despite my previous examples (and the fact that you really can’t beat those ballads). Just, for some reason, I find beauty in unexpected places.

Perhaps this is because I also often find Divine experiences more readily accessible in the rough moments of daily life than in intentionally carved, so-called sacred moments. Embracing the imperfect sometimes seems the only way to get a glimpse of the perfect for me.

The beautiful is sometimes hidden in the rough if we take the time to look for it…just as the princes and princesses of fairy tales were disguised as things that might initially prove repulsive…almost as if there’s a reward intended for the patiently seeking.

The Nature of a Hero: Epilogue II

Every time I think that this theme of the nature of a hero is finally settling itself in my head, I’m confronted with yet another example of it in everyday life, books, television…or, in this case, music.

It’s always really cool to listen to a track from a long time ago with fresh ears. A few months ago, I purchased a couple of my favorite songs by the Spin Doctors…a band whose pop-infused tracks were laden with popular culture and literary wit that always brought a smile to my face in my college days. One of my absolutely favorite songs by the Spin Doctors has always been Jimmy Olsen’s Blues. The song tracks the feelings of a frustrated secondary character in the Superman mythology, who dreams of having a relationship with Lois Lane, yet must live with unrequited love due to her relationship with Superman. Thus, Olsen resents the Man of Steel.

Throughout super-hero mythology, the normal human beings who encounter a hero in any way…whether as the potential victim saved from harm’s way, the companion, or the defeated villain…are unable to leave the encounter the same as they entered. Their lives have been forever changed by the hero, and they must choose how to respond. This song is a really interesting take on how those closest to the hero experience a very specific life-disruption, a sort of bittersweet ramification of their relationship to the larger-than-life figure who rescues those in need. This not only raises the stakes in their choice of responses to the encounter, but must also cause the hero more careful consideration of those whom they permit to become close, or those whose lives may be incidentally impacted in a negative way by their mere presence (Dr. Who’s two-part story arc, “The Family of Blood,” is a great example of this).

This is a really interesting aspect of the nature of a hero, I think. Part of what makes a hero character so compelling is when we see their humanity, and the painful choices that they must make due to the fact that they are not like the rest of us. When the hero chooses to sacrifice, he or she shows a heroic nature more profoundly. Yet, none of us think less of them when they choose to enjoy a simple human pleasure, even though it may have consequences to those around them.

Or do we? Do these simple decisions carry the same weight as life or death decisions when made by a hero? When the hero makes the choice to permit himself a romantic relationship, do the feelings of resentment caused elsewhere result in magnified results because the actions were taken by a hero? Isn’t that sort of tragic in its own right?

I’m not sure, but it’s a fascinating part of this thing to consider.

And, it makes for a really great song.

 

Optimistic Considerations

In retrospect, my parents modeled a bit of an “us vs. them” thought process during my childhood. This showed up more profoundly in some spheres than others, and there a few ways that it was actually helpful. For example, my parents were careful stewards of our finances. Frivolous expenses were quickly identified and pro-actively prevented, and advertisements selling such wildly un-necessary items were painted as someone wanting to trick you into giving up your money to them for something that was far from worthwhile.

As I moved forward into the world and into various educational and professional pursuits, I found myself quickly disabused of this “us vs. them mentality” in most areas of life. It has unfortunately and persistently hung on in some ways, but most frequently its just a whisper in my head that tells me to not spend the money on something that I was considering purchasing.

Even there, though, I have to be careful. Being impulsive with one’s finances is never a good thing, but there’s such a thing as letting those same finances rule you, as well.

Last week, I had a break from class. I’m not on a large campus right now, but attending a small arts school that’s far detached from the parent university’s main campus. As such, I spend my time in one of two buildings that are across a pleasant Massachusetts street from each other, and nestled among various other small, local shops and restaurants. Immediately next to the building in which I have class, there’s an independent bookstore that I wandered into during my break. I love these types of bookstores… an environment that feels precarious in our digital marketplace. This one had a wealth of different books in different genres, ranging form political non-fiction to plays to current bestsellers. I paused and glanced through some acting books, and then flipped quickly through a book on dancing. I found myself wondering about the number of titles on performing arts, such as acting and dance. While I’m certainly no dancer, I’ve read my share of acting books, and I know that a very few of them would be classified as excellent books. I’ve become a bit wary, in fact, of such non-fiction, and found myself glancing dismissively through the dancing text. I could suddenly hear that old caution from my parents echoing in my subconscious…this was someone trying to trick a reader into paying for something that wasn’t worthwhile.

Now, before you look at me too judgementally, I stopped this thought process in its tracks quickly. I can’t judge the quality of that book, because, as I said, I’m no dancer (even though I did marry one). I think that the “us vs. them” mentality is harmful in this area, though, because a desire to be a good steward of one’s money can lead one to forego books with suspicion that may, in fact, be excellent books. I hold onto what may perhaps be a naive belief in other writers: most books aren’t written to take advantage of a marketplace in which they can make money for stringing together words. The vast majority of writers are honestly trying to contribute their thoughts to the public sphere, and we all benefit from this.

Now, of course, the opposite can be true, as well…readers that will buy any book because of its subject matter, with complete disregard to the fact that it may well be a poor book. I see this often in religious spheres, my own faith included, and perhaps specifically. This is an exception, though, and not the rule.

What this comes down to is my tendency to distrust others, which frequently isn’t a good thing. We are all better for hearing one another’s thoughts, and we can’t truly know if we disagree with those thoughts until we’ve heard them out.

I’m not saying I’ll buy that book on dance, but the next time I see a book like it, I’ll do my best to push down that nagging suspicion in the back of my mind.

Conventional Assessments

I love discussing movies and books with other critical viewers/readers. You know, the conversations that go beyond “I loved that movie, it was so cool!” There’s nothing wrong with that…I just like to know why I liked something, and to have conversations with others about those reasons.

Last night, some family members watched Beastly at Karen’s recommendation. As Karen was out of town for most of the weekend, they talked to me last night about their reactions in light of the fact that it had been loaned to them on such high recommendation by both Karen and myself.

They weren’t impressed.

Now, I would need to go back and re-watch the film to see their criticism in context, but they had really good feedback on the writing, acting, directing, and even lighting. They didn’t just not like the movie, they had very good reasons for not liking the movie. I really appreciated that, because, while there is a lot of art out there of all mediums that’s just inherently bad by any standard of quality, a lot of it comes down to one’s preferences and personality, just as the creation of the art did in the first place.

Our conversation turned to the conventions of certain genres. The big difference in my viewing of Beastly was that it had already been framed for me as a YA fairy tale adaptation. The family who watched it last night came from a completely different starting point: they hadn’t had it framed it at all, they were just watching it as they would any other film. Mind you, that doesn’t detract from or negate any of their excellent criticism, but I think that conventions are an important thing.

For example, when I watched I Am Number Four, I was far from impressed for the first quarter of the movie. Then, I recognized that it was essentially a YA novel on film, and this changed my response to it much for the better. When art is intentionally produced within a certain genre, there are conventions that it tends to follow as a result. We can argue that those conventions, or even the genre itself, can limit that art, but I think that’s a bit of a self-defeating conversation. Whatever the case, though, when a work intentionally belongs to a certain genre, we shouldn’t expect more of it than it is. Once I appreciated I Am Number Four for what it was, I was impressed with the movie, because the things that make a good YA story don’t make a good mystery, for example…and vice versa.

I think that, for that reason, I overlooked many of the things that were critiqued about Beastly last night when I watched the movie. Had I expected the movie to be a fine art film, or the equivalent of a literary novel, then I would have been disappointed. I knew, though, that fairy tales tend to follow certain conventions, and I see those elements as a strength instead of a detractor.

I’m just as likely to read Tolstoy or Salinger as I am a good science fiction novel, and I appreciate them both for what they are. Were I to expect one to be the other, I would be disappointed. Yet, there are still certain markers of quality writing that should belong to both, and the same is true of film: if something is badly acted or directed or lit, then genre doesn’t matter. The craft needed to be improved.

I think I’ll go back and re-watch Beastly soon with their recent comments in mind, because I don’t want to be blind to poor craft in the name of genre.

Do you like genre stories? Are you willing to accept certain conventions within the genre that would otherwise turn you away in a book or a film?

The Right Tool for the Right Job

I had design professor in college for several different theatre courses. I have no idea what happened to him, as attempts to re-establish contact in recent years has been unsuccessful for me. What I will always remember him for, though, is a phrase that he used to toss around the scene shop: “You have to have the right tool for the right job!”

It’s a phrase that I’ve found myself repeating many times since then.

I think that we’ve always been fascinated with our tools. My father’s “man cave” was a wood shop that he kept in a separate, detached building from our home. He would retreat there to work on his various projects. I actually never understood why he didn’t sell them on a larger scale, because he could certainly have made some income with his talent. His shop, though, was loaded: saws, drills, hammers…all of the fun tools that you would expect in a shop, and not at all dissimilar from when I would be constructing sets in the scene shop. It goes without saying, I think, that when my dad had disposable income laying around for his hobby, it went to tools.

While I’m not in any way gifted at sculpting things out of wood as my father did, I need various tools with which to craft words, or write code. Whenever Karen and I have a disagreement over disposable income (including whether or not such a category exists for us on a given month), it frequently arises over my desire for a new tool: a new iPad, the most recent operating system, a new piece of software, etc. These tools consistently make my work easier and more productive, but my tastes frequently are bigger than our bank account.

The issue with tools is that, if I’m to generalize any sort of example from myself, we can often become caught up in the shiny news toys to the point of distracting ourselves from the project that we might be using them to accomplish.

Don’t tell her I said this, but I think that Karen’s reluctance to try new tools because the learning curve for them actually distracts from her productivity more than staying with an older system that she already knows, may be wise.

When I remember my dad’s wood shop, I can remember at least two or three items knocking around out there that received minimal use. I’m sure my bag of technological toys has a couple of those as well. Certainly, I’ve even loaded up our kitchen in the past with gifts for Karen’s culinary genius that have gone largely un-used.

Perhaps there’s a lot to be said for creatively finding ways to accomplish the task at hand, rather than over-equipping our arsenal of tricks with which to accomplish them. Perhaps we can accelerate our productivity to the point of being unproductive.

What do you think?