I dislike reading Shakespear about as much as I enjoy reading poetry.
Okay, okay, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for crushing the soul of every emo poet on the planet.
Okay, I'm not. Sorry that is.
Warning: this post is going nowhere.
Fast.
Art, for me, is a subject that sits on the event horizon, eventually to be sucked into a black hole which because of it's huge mass eventually implodes and goes supernova.
Sort of the origin of life as we know it. Well, that is unless you believe it all happened in seven days.
Which might have very well happened.
Did I cover all the bases?
Fellow blogger Mr. Dogimo brought up some interesting points in response to my post about poetry. Sorry Charlie, but you opened up a can of tuna, er, worms.
Pandora's Box has been opened and I take no credit or blame for whatever comes spewing out.
Okay, not really, for ultimately what you, the reader, reads is my responsibility. That is if you are still reading.
Let me digress. I've never felt comfortable in labeling myself an artist. It all sounds very bourgeois; hell, using the word bourgeois sounds bourgeois.
Now I've gone and done it.
I've gone and wrapped my head around something I have no business trying to explain, let alone write about.
I was going to talk about the difference between art and craft, but to put it into stellar terms, that would be like watching two galaxies collide: like watching a train wreck: like slowing down to see that accident on the highway: like watching DiCaprio and Danes in Romeo + Juliet: have I painted a picture yet?
When generally talking about fine art, painting for most is the first thing that comes to mind. Except writers usually think of writing, poets think of poetry and moi, I think of well, whatever it is I'm doing at the time.
For me, it's all fine and dandy, and most of it is art. Kinda sorta. A large percentage of the time it comes down to whatever floats yer boat, don't ya know.
Mr. Dogimo brings up an excellent point about motivation. His doctrine of "I do it because I can't not do it" is to be agreed with in general.
The emergence of this particular blog can be traced to a backlog of ideas that were beginning to boil over in my head. That and boredom.
So yes, I suppose it qualifies as expression, and since I kinda sorta had to do it, does it qualify as an artform or is it better to explain it by saying I just had some things to say or I had to get this out of my system or it seemed like a fun thing to do or hell, everyone's doing it or hey it's free or if I do it maybe someone will actually read it and listen to what the hell I'm saying.
Oh my.
I think I've just discovered that this blog is really a desperate cry for help.
I've put my work out there and I need, no demand someone comment on it!
This writing and being creative stuff is really hard work and I'm not doing this for your entertainment. I need redemption dammit and I need it now!
I've done it again; I feel I've exposed way too much of myself to people of whose opinions I'm not supposed to care about.
Whew! Okay, so where am I going with all this?
Told ya: nowhere.
Got there pretty damn quick too didn't it?
In my opinion, and I'm really beginning to loath that phrase, art is entertainment.
In whatever form it appears, whether it is written or visual, you can love it or you can hate it, you can say it sucks or you can appreciate it, you can question it's authenticity or marvel it it's originality or la, la, la, la, la.
Did I just make another alliteration? No, that'd be more like loving and languishing in its lucidity and lusciousness.
Oh my. That made me kinda hot and bothered.
When it all comes down to it, and I'm not all that sure I've hit bottom yet, what a person creates and what it is called is determined by the viewer.
I only have control over what I create, not the labels that are attached to it.
Does any of this make any sense? I hope it does to you, the reader, cause I'm having a hard time understanding it myself.
It's all very convoluted.
I like saying convoluted so I just thought I'd toss that in there.
An artist, by any other name is still kinda whacked and this post was much ado about nothing or it could be something, that depends on you.
And all you poets out there, just know that I appreciate and respect your work.
Kinda sorta.
I got a feeling I'm going to be sorry I wrote this.
Then again, what do I know?.
Disclaimer:
The above commentary does not express the views of The Flat Tire or it's editors, and was in fact written without our permission or knowledge. No copy or reproduction of this text can be used without the expressed permission of the artist/author.
Reader comments are welcome.
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