After a thoughts-churning virtual conversation with a friend, an artist, a poet of sorts....
Of Artists and writers. Are these the same? What makes one such and not the other. Is it because the artist paints, the writer writes? Because on a certain level, they are both in they own ways trying to create a new way of looking at the world, another experience of being human. Is it because the artist deals with visions, and the writer uese language as his/her tool? Does this make them different? Does being the artist means that visions in the abstract which escapes the language gets the ultimate priority? Because many would argue that language is the structure to the whole sense of our world, to everything we know even our senses, we need to put them within the framework of langugae or else they would not make sense. Blood, Happiness is only meaningful as experience encased within language. So in a sense does the artist attempt to escape the mental cage of language by confronting their viewers with an existence of an experience which cannot be captured in words. Splashes of red and black paint on a canvas cannot be properly worded. And to call it a "painting" only severely reveals the limtations of language. Perhaps that is where the discordant between the art work and the title arises. I always feel the title and the work pulls at each other, threatening to pull things apart. Because they are in fact two forces at work (very rarely in line with each other.)
Perhaps, this sets the artist a little apart from the writers; creating a new vision comes from a different stand-point for the two. I once read somewhere that the the great writers seek to be understood not admired. And this is true, writers eventual seek understanding, a new view of the world, perhaps also an intention, but primarily they seek to be understood. Writers celebrate language not as a barrier to understanding or expereince but as the ultimate bridege to connect human experiences. This is different from what the artist hopes for--to be misunderstood. Because understanding and agreement is not sought after in art. It is the disagreements, the confusions, the misunderstanding and the spaces in betweens which interest the artists. It is from this which that new vision of seeing the world is created. The writer wants to be understood and to understand the human condition. The writer says "hear this, listen to this, take time to see this from this point of view? See it from this light, doesn't the world look very different? Yet it is the same world we are inhabiting." The artist says"Look. Experience. Don't try too hard to understand. The world we are inhabiting has its mysteries and you can never understand them. So open yoru mind and heart to experiences. They are more important than understanding."
It is for this reason that writers are in and of this world. Artists position themselves a little apart from the rest of the world, because it from this gap where their inspirations arise and visions are given brith. Writers need to immerse themselves within the world and soak up the everyday and ordinary. Artists need to look past the ordinary and make people aware of the uncanny underneath. That is why writers tend to be humanists, this is because writers are always surprised by human nature, by the everyday life, by society. Artists are more often disappointed. Perhaps this is because artists are the more idealistic of the two. Writers are in this sense more pragmatic, they, in many ways accept the human condition--our foolishnesses, our petty existence and the fleeting nature of it all. They may poke fun at it, but at the heart of it, there is an acceptance and even an appreciation of it, becuase it is from this that human dramas arise. The artists are never quite happy with just the human condition as it is, even a self-portrait reveals the uncanny-ness of it all. It is more often a lament than a celebration, a lament that this reality is not quite as expansive as that of the imaginary landscape. Of an alternative imaginary plane where life is infinitely more rich. Art work always seem to point to the fact that we are not quite there yet, there always seem to be this subtle accusation that life lacks something, that it it does not quite attain certain "something" which once again escapes the plane of words. Even the most celebratory of art works of human condition speaks of a certain lack. I have yet to experience an art work which consoles the way writings do. There is always that layer of a "lack" surrounding art works. An unspoken absence. Even if the process of creation had been a happy one, when it comes to the interaction with the viewer, eventually there is that slippage. An alert that a gap exists between this created world and the one the viewer is in, and undenaibly cannot escape.
I find it strange when art critics talk about viewing art as a kind of conversation. I feel that art is a frustration of conversation. It is always an argument. Frustration of senses, logic, agreements. There is always a talk of art as healing division and bridging differences--that i have no doubt of, I believe in that healing power of arts, but on a very personal level, art throws a viewer into an internal turmoil. The greater the art, the stronger the internal conflict. Writings on the other hand, no matter what the subject matter or style does not achieve the same effect nor does it intend to. To understand the best of writers, you need to immerse in your present condition. You need to empathize and be whole. To understnd the best of writings, you need to understand your present self, your human condition. The better the writing, stronger the connection within yourself, across time, across histories, across differences.
Perhaps my present division of the artists and writers is superficial, and silly in a way. But something very different happens when I read a writer's work and experience an artist's work, and to lump them together in the same family might perhaps detract from both. But then again, I have given both art and writing my own definition and as always definitions are dangerous things. They are best left open-ended. Discussion relies on solid defintions, and if I am to take everything with a pinch fo salt, the world would be intolerably saline. Sometimes I would rather be wrong and live in a world that has a variety of flavour than to be a skeptic. Because as lovely as questions are. Sometimes we need the illusions of answers for life to be tolerable. To expereince life in its many splendor, sometimes the questions need to cease in that instant for beauty to be appreciated.
Of Artists and writers. Are these the same? What makes one such and not the other. Is it because the artist paints, the writer writes? Because on a certain level, they are both in they own ways trying to create a new way of looking at the world, another experience of being human. Is it because the artist deals with visions, and the writer uese language as his/her tool? Does this make them different? Does being the artist means that visions in the abstract which escapes the language gets the ultimate priority? Because many would argue that language is the structure to the whole sense of our world, to everything we know even our senses, we need to put them within the framework of langugae or else they would not make sense. Blood, Happiness is only meaningful as experience encased within language. So in a sense does the artist attempt to escape the mental cage of language by confronting their viewers with an existence of an experience which cannot be captured in words. Splashes of red and black paint on a canvas cannot be properly worded. And to call it a "painting" only severely reveals the limtations of language. Perhaps that is where the discordant between the art work and the title arises. I always feel the title and the work pulls at each other, threatening to pull things apart. Because they are in fact two forces at work (very rarely in line with each other.)
Perhaps, this sets the artist a little apart from the writers; creating a new vision comes from a different stand-point for the two. I once read somewhere that the the great writers seek to be understood not admired. And this is true, writers eventual seek understanding, a new view of the world, perhaps also an intention, but primarily they seek to be understood. Writers celebrate language not as a barrier to understanding or expereince but as the ultimate bridege to connect human experiences. This is different from what the artist hopes for--to be misunderstood. Because understanding and agreement is not sought after in art. It is the disagreements, the confusions, the misunderstanding and the spaces in betweens which interest the artists. It is from this which that new vision of seeing the world is created. The writer wants to be understood and to understand the human condition. The writer says "hear this, listen to this, take time to see this from this point of view? See it from this light, doesn't the world look very different? Yet it is the same world we are inhabiting." The artist says"Look. Experience. Don't try too hard to understand. The world we are inhabiting has its mysteries and you can never understand them. So open yoru mind and heart to experiences. They are more important than understanding."
It is for this reason that writers are in and of this world. Artists position themselves a little apart from the rest of the world, because it from this gap where their inspirations arise and visions are given brith. Writers need to immerse themselves within the world and soak up the everyday and ordinary. Artists need to look past the ordinary and make people aware of the uncanny underneath. That is why writers tend to be humanists, this is because writers are always surprised by human nature, by the everyday life, by society. Artists are more often disappointed. Perhaps this is because artists are the more idealistic of the two. Writers are in this sense more pragmatic, they, in many ways accept the human condition--our foolishnesses, our petty existence and the fleeting nature of it all. They may poke fun at it, but at the heart of it, there is an acceptance and even an appreciation of it, becuase it is from this that human dramas arise. The artists are never quite happy with just the human condition as it is, even a self-portrait reveals the uncanny-ness of it all. It is more often a lament than a celebration, a lament that this reality is not quite as expansive as that of the imaginary landscape. Of an alternative imaginary plane where life is infinitely more rich. Art work always seem to point to the fact that we are not quite there yet, there always seem to be this subtle accusation that life lacks something, that it it does not quite attain certain "something" which once again escapes the plane of words. Even the most celebratory of art works of human condition speaks of a certain lack. I have yet to experience an art work which consoles the way writings do. There is always that layer of a "lack" surrounding art works. An unspoken absence. Even if the process of creation had been a happy one, when it comes to the interaction with the viewer, eventually there is that slippage. An alert that a gap exists between this created world and the one the viewer is in, and undenaibly cannot escape.
I find it strange when art critics talk about viewing art as a kind of conversation. I feel that art is a frustration of conversation. It is always an argument. Frustration of senses, logic, agreements. There is always a talk of art as healing division and bridging differences--that i have no doubt of, I believe in that healing power of arts, but on a very personal level, art throws a viewer into an internal turmoil. The greater the art, the stronger the internal conflict. Writings on the other hand, no matter what the subject matter or style does not achieve the same effect nor does it intend to. To understand the best of writers, you need to immerse in your present condition. You need to empathize and be whole. To understnd the best of writings, you need to understand your present self, your human condition. The better the writing, stronger the connection within yourself, across time, across histories, across differences.
Perhaps my present division of the artists and writers is superficial, and silly in a way. But something very different happens when I read a writer's work and experience an artist's work, and to lump them together in the same family might perhaps detract from both. But then again, I have given both art and writing my own definition and as always definitions are dangerous things. They are best left open-ended. Discussion relies on solid defintions, and if I am to take everything with a pinch fo salt, the world would be intolerably saline. Sometimes I would rather be wrong and live in a world that has a variety of flavour than to be a skeptic. Because as lovely as questions are. Sometimes we need the illusions of answers for life to be tolerable. To expereince life in its many splendor, sometimes the questions need to cease in that instant for beauty to be appreciated.
posted by Nippy at 9:11 PM
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