Last night I watched the final installment of the Scorcese-directed Dylan documentary, No Direction Home, on PBS. It was a compelling narrative about the perplexing Dylan persona as it evolved from the early days in Hibbing, Minnesota to 1966 and the motorcycle accident. But, the best moment in the film was a comment by artist Bobby Neuwirth.
In those days, artistic success was not dollar-driven. It was, you know, those were simpler times. If you had something to say, which was basically the way people were rated, you know, they'd say, "Have you seen Ornette Coleman? Does he have anything to say?" And it was the same with Bob or anybody else, you know, do they have anything to say or not?Forty years later, there is no shortage of talking. But are we saying anything?
It's so easy for us to commodify our experiences as lovers, preachers, poets, and bloggers. Does size matter? What's your attendance? Have you been published? How many hits do you get? When we let salaries and test scores define us, when contracts and media attention signify the quality of our existence, we become less human and more widget-like. The result is just clutter.
When we grant a hearing to whatever whirling dervish catches our attention, we just perpetuate the problem. We're like kittens responding to the loudest TRUTH claims dressed up like tempting balls of string. We give them a swat, then claw the couch and look for the next distraction. Every time it happens, we just increase orders at the yarn factory.
That's all I have to say about that. You?
12 comments:
money is the source of all evils! whatever happen to creating art for the sake of evolving man. i even sometimes question the reason for blogging...
Reacher,
I hear you loud and clear, and I wonder how we stop making noise and start saying something.
I'm not an artist, really, but I'm passionate, expressive, and informed. Still, at the end of many noisy days, I'm left staring blankly at a blank journal page wondering what's worth writing down. It's suposed to be the hash-zone, free of "worthiness," but even there I'm not sure I have anything to say.
I'm young, I know, but these days I notice such a difference in how much conversation I am willing to give and take. Often I find myself thinking, "Just GET TO THE POINT." and "Is this all I have to say?"
Where do we find genuineness? What's a message worth sharing?
I should be saying, "It's Christ. His gospel is the message that's worth it." But I'm not screaming it out. I guess I've got to ask, "Why not?"
I hear ya, Jiggy. Sometimes I question the value of blogging more grist for the mill. I balance between despair and hope. I guess it's the hope that wins. I still believe we can stumble upon SOMETHING (right Ms. Tool?). Authenticity is out there. When you encounter it, it blows you away. Makes you weep. Makes your hair hurt. Sometimes it's Christ, Snow White, but sometimes the Christ-talkers are the white noise that become the seat of my despair. Yes, they talk of Grace, but are they really saying anything? Sometimes. Sometimes.
One reason saying stuff isn't at such a premium anymore? Fewer people able to listen. Three straight block paragraphs of prose looks like a mountain. Twenty lines of blank verse poetry? Might as well ask me to climb K2. The intensity with which you have to listen to what Ornette Coleman is laying down is an assurance that there will be no new Ornette Colemen for the foreseeable future.
Before I make my comment, allow me to correct jiggy boy.
Money is not the source of all evils. If you're trying to quote the Bible (and it sounds like you are) then maybe you're looking for I Timothy 6:10, which says, "The LOVE of money is A root of ALL SORTS of evil." This is three steps removed from the oft-heard "jiggy version." Think about it.
Here's my comment: People like us want to be poignant and eloquent all the time. But if everything I say is special, nothing I say is special. If every person on earth were "beautiful" we would still pick out those who are only moderately beautiful and call them ugly. In fact, I believe that is exactly what we've done.
In other words, in order for us to experience beauty, or poignancy, we must live through the commonplace. We must hike through the valleys to get to the peaks. Try to imagine an all-peaks landscape.
I don't want to be afraid to do and say that which is commonplace, because it's out of day-to-day living that the epiphanies jump up and surprise us.
Let's just not force our banalities on the public by publishing our diaries and recording every little song we write in the shower :)
The gift of language and communication leaves us with a great responsibility.
Maybe a lot of the talk ends up in the void. But there is something lovely in the process of individual human beings working out their lives on paper, on an instrument, in a conversation - attempting to connect.
It is easy to become overly self-conscious, focused on the assurance of others that our thoughts are valuable. We long to feel wanted. We want to say something powerful and bright.
I like the kinship of it all, even as I find myself kicking around in it.
On the other hand, if we're all disenchanted with so much talk, so little content, why are we talking about talking?
Try this: We're a generation who, having grown up with the two great conversation-killers our whole lives, television and air-conditioning, have basically lost, and are now rediscovering because we need it so badly, the art of public conversation.
I think the blogosphere, among other technologies, has front porch potential.
If this clicks so far, Lauren, then maybe it's not surprising that we'd have to rediscover the etiquette of discourse, and have a few meta-conversations occasionally, or even more than a few.
Coreman, I hope I'd settle for "real" as opposed to "poignant" and "eloquent," the impulse toward which I think you're right to disparage. That distinction, for me, is the signal difference between Dylan and Coleman, for instance, and their little artsy-fartsy wannabes. That is, Dylan wanted to be real; Freddy Fattyfoot just wants to be Dylan.
What's important, then, is not distinction, but a certain kind of commitment or investment, both on the saying side (in terms of vulnerability) and on the listening side (in terms of patience and openness).
I agree with what you say about the nature of specialness, but I think maybe the subject of artistic distinction needs to be disentangled from what I see as the core idea: that there seem to have been times when substance was more important than image, and wouldn't that be nice for a change?
So I guess Dylan had something in common with Freddy Fattyfoot... they both wanted to be Bob Dylan.
What you say is true, Pervious. But to attain a society full of "real people" takes one part of being real, and ten parts of not rolling our eyes, looking at our watch, and thinking about ourselves whilst others are being real. Don't you think?
Dylan actually makes a good test case for authentic art-for-art's-sake. It defined most of his career, but then in his twilight years came Victoria's Secret ads and the commercial licensing of his music (he's not alone in this -- it's a temptation that only Tom Waits seems to be actively resisting).
Does this damage the message? At the very least, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Oh, Pervious, there will always be a new Ornette or a new Dylan or a new Dali or a new Burroughs. And perception? You only need one...
Coreman, Absolutely. That recipe sounds delicious. I reckon I lean ten to one towards openness rather than expression as a solution. Thus the handle, maybe, which is more a wish than a claim.
Mark, My assertion, poorly put, was meant to be that there'll never be an audience to appreciate the next Ornette. I agree that there's a steady supply of visionaries, but maybe not the open times that help make visionaries "great."
You familiar with the "long tail" thing? I wasn't, until three or four days ago. It Googles well. At any rate, is the new Ornette's audience way down there at the end of the tail? Was the old Ornette's audience any bigger, or just better documented and more fondly remembered? That's something I'd have to think over a while. I'd need help.
As far as commercial influence entangled with artistic viability goes, the long tail changes everything.
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