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averygoodun42I forgot to post this last night (I was tipsy and relaxed, and that's my only excuse).
If there are one or more people on your friends list who make your world a better place just because they exist, and who you would not have met (in real life or not) without the Internet, then post this same sentence in your journal.
Last night I dreamt, among other things, that I was in an unknown city. I came across a group of people all standing around and playing their instruments on the cold, damp day. At first I thought it was a concert, but there was no crowd listening. Then I recognized one of the performers. It was a very famous (if only in my dream) performer. I looked around and all of the performers were well known, highly-respected musicians.
But this was all irrelevant. The relevant part came when I came across a different group of people standing around. One of the people had giant orange rings (like the children's toy, only inner tube sized) around him that he was taking off and juggling and stacking and arranging artistically. At that moment, however, he was just standing by a miniaturized mock up of the city, along with everyone else. I went to see what they were looking at.
The sculpture was of the city block we wedre on, only tropical style. There were palm trees and streamers and all sorts of lively details in the mock-up, but I was not impressed as it was done in a very crude and slapdash manner that made it look as if it was done by a ten-year-old rather than a twenty-year-old artist.
The artist came up to me, and I was brusk. He was not deterred. He started following me, courting me, and I only barely stood his presence. Not only was he much younger than me, but I didn't like his art. His manner was also slightly off-putting, as when I finally agreed to go somewhere with him, he led me in as sloppy a manner as his city mock-up was made, taking me to unclear intersections where no one obeyed the traffic lights (and if you were a ped and did, you were likely to be run over), and ran across, leaving me to fend for myself. Foolishly, I tried following him (he was familiar with the area and so should know the best places to cross, right? Even if it looked much safer over yonder). Miraculously, I made it across, only getting stuck once on a median.
That adventure made me annoyed with him beyond my scoffing his lack of artistry.
But then he led me to a gallery owner. This gallery owner was thrilled to meet me, as the artist had been so enthusiastic about introducing me.
The gallery owner started talking the artist up, telling me what an accomplished sculptor the artist was, how his works were internationally reknowned, and although it was polite, I still scoffed. The gallery owner then showed me pictures of his works.
They were gorgeous. They were carefully crafted. They were skilled.
I looked at the artist again with new eyes, and suddenly stopped scoffing. He was still young, but he was accomplished, and the youth just added eagerness.
I woke up feeling ashamed that my opinion of him as a person changed because of my perception of him as an artist. Ashamed because I think I do that in life, although not nearly to that degree.
But the thing is, how much of who we are as people is judged by our accomplishments? How much of who we are as people is defined by our accomplishments? And how many faults are we willing to overlook in others if those accomplishments are worthy enough?
If there are one or more people on your friends list who make your world a better place just because they exist, and who you would not have met (in real life or not) without the Internet, then post this same sentence in your journal.
Last night I dreamt, among other things, that I was in an unknown city. I came across a group of people all standing around and playing their instruments on the cold, damp day. At first I thought it was a concert, but there was no crowd listening. Then I recognized one of the performers. It was a very famous (if only in my dream) performer. I looked around and all of the performers were well known, highly-respected musicians.
But this was all irrelevant. The relevant part came when I came across a different group of people standing around. One of the people had giant orange rings (like the children's toy, only inner tube sized) around him that he was taking off and juggling and stacking and arranging artistically. At that moment, however, he was just standing by a miniaturized mock up of the city, along with everyone else. I went to see what they were looking at.
The sculpture was of the city block we wedre on, only tropical style. There were palm trees and streamers and all sorts of lively details in the mock-up, but I was not impressed as it was done in a very crude and slapdash manner that made it look as if it was done by a ten-year-old rather than a twenty-year-old artist.
The artist came up to me, and I was brusk. He was not deterred. He started following me, courting me, and I only barely stood his presence. Not only was he much younger than me, but I didn't like his art. His manner was also slightly off-putting, as when I finally agreed to go somewhere with him, he led me in as sloppy a manner as his city mock-up was made, taking me to unclear intersections where no one obeyed the traffic lights (and if you were a ped and did, you were likely to be run over), and ran across, leaving me to fend for myself. Foolishly, I tried following him (he was familiar with the area and so should know the best places to cross, right? Even if it looked much safer over yonder). Miraculously, I made it across, only getting stuck once on a median.
That adventure made me annoyed with him beyond my scoffing his lack of artistry.
But then he led me to a gallery owner. This gallery owner was thrilled to meet me, as the artist had been so enthusiastic about introducing me.
The gallery owner started talking the artist up, telling me what an accomplished sculptor the artist was, how his works were internationally reknowned, and although it was polite, I still scoffed. The gallery owner then showed me pictures of his works.
They were gorgeous. They were carefully crafted. They were skilled.
I looked at the artist again with new eyes, and suddenly stopped scoffing. He was still young, but he was accomplished, and the youth just added eagerness.
I woke up feeling ashamed that my opinion of him as a person changed because of my perception of him as an artist. Ashamed because I think I do that in life, although not nearly to that degree.
But the thing is, how much of who we are as people is judged by our accomplishments? How much of who we are as people is defined by our accomplishments? And how many faults are we willing to overlook in others if those accomplishments are worthy enough?
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Date: 2007-06-18 02:14 pm (UTC):)
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Date: 2007-06-18 02:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-18 03:56 pm (UTC)Or more to the point, I feel like I will be perceived as such, primarily because my current life situation. I've been back in CO three years now. I'm still living in the trailer and driving the Time Machine. And I am unemployed, again, for what is the fourth time in as many years.
For the past two months I've been feeling pretty good about my situation, and incredibly lucky. But going to that reading a few weeks ago, and seeing all my former co-workers, made me feel like I had my confidence cut out from under me. I've been in this gloomy, Eeyorish mood where I can't imagine anyone liking me or wanting me ever since. (Marla's defection didn't help! Neither has the situation with Jason, which I'm not writing about here.)
One of the horrible things about that reading was how BAD my former co-worker's contribution was. The fact that she could even get the collection of stories published was particularly disheartening. Who would publish that crap? All these people whose lives and work I considered impoverished compared to my own looking down on me made me feel horrible, and worse, dellusional.
Your dream is interesting (and beautiful, you should save it to look back on later) because it addresses several functions of the artist. First, I think it's noteworthy that the irritating artist is young. One of the things I always remind myself about is that being an artist of any type is a lifework regardless of one's natural talent. Hopefully this person's talent will improve with experience and discipline. (And so will yours!)
His enthusiasm is also notable, because I think that's one of the things we often lose with maturity. I think about how irritating I find G at times, particularly when he wants to share his projects with me. So much of that enthusiasm is a function of his age. He still believes that the world will recognize his beauty & talent without much effort on his part. I try to avoid qualitative judgements when I'm around him and tell him to keep writing, to be aware that sometimes these thing take time, and that I am very impressed with how much he writes.
Another piece of the puzzle is the problem of engaging in a creative community with its inevitable conflicts of both ego and preference. We all know how horrible it is to be in a situation where we have to be nice about a persons work because it is appropriate politically.
Could the dream be about you? Not only how you perceive the works of others, but fear of your own work being judged? (Or how you critique your own work.) Creative expression of any kind is very risky and very personal. This is the number one thing I think of when I encounter anyone's work, that it was a risk for them to reveal this and that I have a need to respect the spark within.
Finally, there is an artist in your area I think you should be aware of:
Patricia Lebon-Herb
I know you usually don't like the work of other painters, and have no idea if you'd like hers, but we put some of her work on one of our book covers (the author bought the painting) and I found I kind of liked it.
There is also a woman who does abstract quilts of Hubble telescope pictures out here, whose work I would love for you to see.