Nudity of the Soul
Write like everyone you know is dead
In an age of content and commercialism where consumerism is celebrated and the commodification of art is, if not necessarily desired but certainly required, is it enough to just make pretty pictures devoid of soul?
Software makes it easier than ever for humans to make stylistically competent images and videos and AI is multiplying that 100-fold but is it enough to just make work that looks good and is ‘sellable’?
I argue no. And any artist worth their salt should take the same stand. Who cares if you can crank out fodder for the commercial machine? I mean, besides the commercial machine. Corporations are busy propping up ‘IPs’ by the hundreds as cash-generating machines so that fans will open their wallets without thinking as long as a thing has a brand they subscribe too. Long gone are the thoughtful and ponderous efforts by artists of all stripes to create meaningful work that have many layers of understanding and reference. Like a song that you hear and get on the first listen, but then get again when you study the lyrics and yet a third time when you learn about the production hell it went through to get made. That requires time, energy and effort.
Today, everyone just wants to get paid.
Getting naked to make art (metaphorically, you understand) simply isn’t valued. Yes, a great work with depth and breadth can find an audience. But if you have to pay the rent, and you can get 10 for just cranking out schlock, why hold out for 11 by pouring your soul into a canvas or tape-deck (yes, I know, no one uses tape anymore).
Is creative vulnerability
Something desired?
It seems it should be.
Songwriters in particular,
I think, cannot
reach in and
grasp our
hearts without
Putting their
Souls on the line.
Painters splash
loss and pain
into a canvas
like tears in the rain.
Gentle moments of
Love and affection mean little
Unless charged
with the energy of a life force.
Poets too, ascending
to ethereal heights
from caverns of
scorn and disappointment.
Bleeding the light of
their love and passion
From spires of enlightenment
Into the pool of
community consciousness.
A bakery chef, though,
Likely does not
Need an estranged lover,
Or tragic backstory
to make an amazing cake.
But, maybe it helps?
We all want to see,
NEED to see,
the naked artist.
So we can find
Some part of us
In the work.
Only when the creator
Taps into that universal energy
That the rest can
empathize and
Experience what
The maker did.
Gimmicks and contrivances
Are simply no substitute.
Art is not a production line
Which may be sped up through
Tools of industry and efficiency.
But all this raw
Nakedness may cause
Discomfort on the
Part of us all.
Like trees that
Scream when felled,
Being too close may
Terrify.
But, at least we are
Feeling something
And that's all
Any artist wants.
How easily we take for granted the years it takes to make a dancer’s legs
Time is an irrelevant commodity when you live forever
Wild birds understand that after the lawn is mowed, it is time to feast
One October night in upstate NY many years ago with people I love
‘Is it thy sighs that fill our sails?’ Is one of the best lines ever, from Tristan & Isolde.
These iron beasts tested the will of men and bent the land to their will.
Ray, Ellis, Barbara and Cheryl, a family long-loved, but not readily understood by this artist.
CL Jr. Lighthearted, devilish & kind man w/ a keyhole pupil; died too soon
The universe is vast & my love for you is boundless and endless (should be infinite)
Effulgence: Ability to shine brightly. For the rest; song lyrics & drifting thoughts
Broken souls never heal, they are just forgotten
Caribbean mushrooms – Long Island Bahamas 2022
The beach house kitchen during our stay; cozy and on an Atlantic beach
Madonna is a curious person
Toads with tails and goats with space dogs
The rain falls down on this humdrum town
Time waits for no man regardless of the cuteness or the seriousness of the clock
Post covid thought-recovery
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Covid drags on and on
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Doodles, dish and drinks with the love of my life
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I bought a cool hat. It came from Australia. It did not make me breakfast.
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