Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Some photos in a cafe.

In art class, you learn how to draw, you learn about perspective, composition, shading, the color wheel etc etc. They are things you need but its not actually what really matters because what matters and speaks the word art is that which is new and not mere skill or technical capability but something else entirely. Not something which is only admired but something which also makes you question why you admire it.

It's like sitting in a cafe (where I was when I wrote this) and wondering who the people in the photographs are but not wondering who the people sitting around you are (exactly what I was doing). As if the people in the photos are somehow more important because they will be there after you leave. As if for some unjustifiable reason, permanence dictates more gravitas. As if what matters does not have the capacity to die, as if beauty does not move or change but sits atop a pedestal simply waiting to be admired. Pedestals do nothing for beauty, art and culture should grant accessibility and speak to us not above us. Culture should be a dialogue not a set of instructions.

Maybe that which is truly important is that which has the potential to surprise us and maybe ultimately to change rather than remain a permanent feature, to drink coffee and leave and let new people (aka; ideas) sit down. This shouldn't be confined to the idea of art, why is the same freedom not bestowed upon thought?

Why do not learn to think and reason first and treat it like a craft? The basis of any craft is a firm foundation in the basic principles. If you are going to start to learn any craft, you learn *how* first, then you ask *what* as in what you will create. Except few ask *what* because no one knows *how* to ask *what* in the first place. Instead we are taught *what* first and only, what happened, what is happening, what will happen... So when someone decides to ask what *should* happen, no one knows *how* to answer it. It's like deciding to paint without knowing what a brush is for. If we don't have the freedom of thought to ask what should happen, if we treat knowledge like something that is only to be known instead of to be used, if we keep seeing it as something to be only read, to be only listened to, then who will do the writing, who will do the *doing*?

We need more freedom of thought, we need to see that, that what matters not only does change but should change. Culture should be recycled, be re-newed, and ultimately burst forth with the new, not be re-used and re-used and re-used until it is worn and dies. Knowledge should be recognized with the same capacity of creation and birth that we give to art and culture. Creativity lies not only in our ability to make beauty but to make change. To think *is* an art and it needs to be admired in the same way as a type of beauty and an ideal. 

Friday, March 22, 2013

Internal Landscape




I want a great perhaps
but instead I feel in this time lapse
In my internal landscape I lost the maps

Everything is perfect before existence,
No flaws without execution
I imagine songs never sung
Stories never spun
A spark never lit
I’ll create the most beautiful dream in the world and then never fulfil it

I see it sometimes
See it in things that matter
See it in paint splatter
See it in music, it moves
I can’t see it in this air,
Can’t see it in the eyes of leaders who can not lead and people who do not care

You think I’m slow, there’s a whole universe in here you know,
Planets and stars and places nothing like earth
Black holes that sap self-worth
Mountains that are mood, forests that are feeling
The sights you would see, would have you reeling


Out there in space the words they spin, my words
But when I speak, if I speak
If I muster that courage, it’s a mere leak
No cascading waterfall, more like a drip through a stonewall
I want to construct palaces to the miracle that is languages
Instead there are only shadows of monuments built inside.
And they say it’s easy, well they lied.
Each word a brick carefully laid,
Plaster carefully made
Conversation is a bridge I can’t cross,
Small talk a world where I get lost.

Words must first struggle through fog
Fearless travelers wading through bog
Intrepid adventurers struggling through the elements
No welcome return but a reception of nonsense.

Inching closer and closer till they reach me
Even then like a blinkered carthorse I can’t see properly
Hear the words, hear the sounds
But it’s a mere collection of consonants and vowels.
I want to scream and shout, I want someone to know about
Know about what? Know about what?
That I listen but sometimes it doesn’t make sense
This existence, this present tense.
I just don’t know

And yet I don’t give much credit to the known,
It is a path walked when it could have been flown

More for the could be, the should be.
I don’t care about the real I care about the beautiful
What can be touched can be broken,
What can be thought can’t always be spoken.