Measure for Measure

This one is for the artist, the person who hates art, and the people in between (not to be confused with everyone)

What it means to say you know what it means to be art.

I guess art is a fun word to say. We use it all the time. Some people say “the art of” something. Even if the something has nothing to do with art. Saying there is an art behind ANYTHING means that the (insert anything here) has a bit more meaning. “The art of using public restrooms” is just a nice way of saying, “how to shit without touching the seat.” The problem with using the word “art” is that as soon as you do, it is automatically qualified for criticism. People absolutely love criticizing art. But this is not a bad thing. If people are inheritably able of criticism, they are inheritably able of acceptance. Art is in our blood. In our brain. In our balls. This instinctual criticism is at the level in which, when somebody doesn’t like a painting, it as though they believe the painter consciously was trying insult them. When I see a 50 foot paper clip in Center City I reflexively think the artist was actually trying to piss me off.

But Chuck, art is an expression of self:

If art did not matter to people, people wouldn’t feel anything when they viewed it. Music, film, paintings, and photographs all have meaning to everyone. However, if it has no meaning to the person doing it, does it have meaning at all? Is it even art? Say, if the film, Air Bud: Seventh Inning Fetch meant nothing to a single person, including to the most naïve of children or dogs—if it literally was not enjoyed by a single breathing creature—but if the filmmaker put his true soul into, expressing his complete self, how can you not call it art? Or if George Lucas put nothing into nor could care less about Star Wars—if he worked on it just as if it were a job at a salt mill—can it still be considered an art? Or would Star Wars just a hobby for nerds? Now, of course I think Lucas put his heart into Star Wars and Air Bud: Seventh Inning Fetch was made solely for monetary gains (not artistic value), but the point is that art starts and ends with the artist. The process of analyzing the art is somewhere in the middle.

I consider filmmaking, for the most part, to be an art form. And though the final cut is a collection of expressions from many artist; the director, the writer, the actors, the set designer, the DP, costume designer, ect, the ultimate achievement is the art. A painter expresses you the world through what he feels. And on a smaller (and sometimes more intimate) scale, this process is similar to the way the filmmaker express’s himself. In either art form, generally speaking, the artist first experiences life then reflects upon it. This reflection may not be completely true to the experience, art can be a balance between cogitation and creativity. Johnny Cash may have only stayed in jail for a few days at the most, but he can certainly sing about a lifetime in Folsom Prison.

When I go to the cinema (I say cinema because it’s classier than saying movies) with people or I watch a film in a crowded living room, I often hear someone point out the fallacy of a particularly scene. They’ll say, “There’s no way that could happen,” or “people don’t talk like that in real life.” And for a few moments, I think to myself, “Well, duh, it’s a movie…I wonder if they’ll mind if I put hot sauce on the popcorn. I love hot sauce on popcorn. I just don’t want to ask them straight up, because maybe they will think I’m weird. Ah, I’m sure they would like it if they tried it… kind of like watching hockey. There you go, putting hot sauce on popcorn is the hockey of food. It may seem like a mess at first, but once you start, you’ll never turn your head… I’ll write that in my blog. Marks, you are a genius.” Anyway, when I get the “people don’t talk like that in real life,” what I would like to point out to them that the film is not real life. These are ALL fictional characters. These are ALL fictional lines. This whole world is fictional. And though the people are humans and not robots and the places are usually real, like New York (where a lot of films take place), it is still all fake. Whether a narrative filmmaker bends the truth of the world to the extreme or not at all, it is and will always be fiction. If you want to watch a film completely accurate to real life, watch CSPAN or security video’s from elevators. Even so called Reality TV is so controlled and cut so delicately that it creates false moments in subjects lives—highlighting certain conversations or certain situations that would otherwise (in real life) be totally unmemorable. Just add some dramatic music and cut to a commercial and any life moment can be a cliff hanger. Is that reality?

Chapter Two:

Recently, an old friend and cultural philosopher told me sports take our instinctual thirst for war and destruction and places it in a controlled setting, which is significant sign of a civilized society. Though there can be violence which stems from sports (I was almost in a fight twice during a kickball game a few weeks ago), for the most part sports is an outlet or a medium to express competitiveness than can otherwise go to (perhaps) war, battling, dueling, and other channels of aggression. I know that people like Rand Paul would like dueling to be around again, but I’ll stick with watching The Flyers.

There are many things that go into having a civilized society. I believe that we are critical of art because we know we need it to survive as a society. It helps us understand society. And when we see art that doesn’t help us understand our world, we can sometimes shun it as though it has failed us. I even feel like a failure as I view it. If I make it through an entire, one hour long episode of Jersey Shore, with commercials, I actually feel like a failed—as if by seeing that the show was on, life gave me a pop quiz.

Now this says more about me than the makers of the show. I certainly do not blame the creators of Jersey Shore for people watching Jersey Shore. Their intentions and goals were to, with the help of hint fabrication, document a particular kind of character from a particular kind of culture that was previously only seen on youTube or the boardwalk. The intellectual problem with the show is not caused by the colorful characters nor is it the flamboyant theme; it’s that we never learn anything about the souls or thoughts of the characters. It is as though the characters (Pauly D, Snooki, and company) are used like animals in a zoo. We know very well how they act, but we no nothing of how they feel. And for this same exact reason, the show succeeds.

Which brings us to another, yet more confusing issue; we as a society still love crap.

But how is this true? If a film is trying to be intelligent, yet comes up short, we for some reason dislike it more than a product which has no goal of intelligence. I know a lot of very smart people who absolutely despise Juno, yet find Jersey Shore totally acceptable. I suppose it is easier or perhaps more fun to point out the dumb parts in a smart product than to point out the smart parts of a dumb product. It is though we want to prove that the smart product is certainly not smarter than us, and that we are smart enough to enjoy things seemingly stupid. It’s like smart, college kids who ironically watch Sponge Bob or Friday the 13th. “I’m smart enough to see pass the stupidity.”

This is a prime example of how we as humans are instinctively competitive. (See how I go full circle?)

Pointing out the flaws in films is a way for people to win a battle with a defenseless entity. It’s like arguing with a barking puppy. People should just look pass the barking part and admire how Dodger wags her little fluffy tail. If we go through life pointing out what is wrong with it, we will never see how cute it is when it chases its tail.

Chapter 3: Pearl Jam

I love the flaws. Perfect art is not perfect to life simply because life is not perfect. With the exception of Back to the Future, is there such a thing as perfect art?

I think a lot of people could agree that most of Beethoven’s symphonies are the most perfect pieces of music ever assembled. As much as musical brilliance as anyone could ever achieve or comprehend. Take everyone who would agree with that statement and ask them if they prefer to listen to Beethoven 9th over their favorite rock album. What would they say?

When I listen to bands like The Beatles, Radiohead, or Wilco, I think to myself that their music is perfect rock and roll. I have also been to 42 out of 50 states in America, and feel that New York is the greatest city in the country. However, Philadelphia* is my favorite city and Pearl Jam is my favorite band.

It’s hard to say there is more stuff to do in Philly than New York or that Yield is musically better than Kid A. I’m not trying to make that argument. But I love Philly and Pearl Jam for very similar reasons; the imperfections. Pearl Jam reminds me of myself; energetic at times, emotional at others, straightforward, sometimes profound, and sometimes full of crap. I like Eddie Vedder because he rambles nonsensically for many minutes, yet is sincere with what he says. Vedder doesn’t succeed all the time, but he tries. Life is a batty mixture between candor and bullshit; I feel Pearl Jam is the same way.

I could never write a song as good as any Pearl Jam song, yet I feel like I can. This, for whatever reason, makes me feel good when I listen to them. I feel like the imperfections in their music, both live and on disk, is similar to my own failures and success.

I am Pearl Jam.

*this can be explained in my blog titled, The Philadelphia Story. Go ahead, read it some time. Not now of course, you have another chapter to go.

Chapter Four:

I was watching the Eagles game with a friend of mine and a commercial came on asking for money for a youth centered organization. It was like the YMCA, yet I feel it was some other organization…so let’s just call it the YMCA. During this commercial for the “YMCA,” the ad in some way or another mentioned that the group was, “allowing kids to go on field trips,” then, “allowing kids to learn about space (or some shit)” and then finally, “allowing our kids to explore the world of the arts.” Now it wasn’t until this last part when my friend said, “I’ll support the other stuff, but I’m not going to give to the arts.” This bothered me a bit. Those little minority children reminded me of myself when I was that age. I was that kid in High School who prayed for funding for artistic activities.

I, of course, understand the need to promote the sciences and mathematics and field trips—these things are obvious. It’s less obvious to point out the importance of the arts because what society gains from the arts is not seen physically. Rockets and iPods don’t come from Shakespeare. But the arts are just as important because its creates the gift of free thought. Sure, we can concentrate exclusively on construction of property and advancement of comfort through technology, but to have life with this narrow isolation—to live under the notion that all we need is food, shelter, and water, metaphysically speaking we will be nothing more than any other mammal on earth. If we received God’s gift of reason and critical thought, wouldn’t it be a waste not to use it? Would you really want a world just black and white and robotic with existence?

The arts undermine the establishment, but yet the establishment is completely fine with it. Music is, was, and will always be the simplest, and yet, at the same time the most complicated form of communication. A picture is worth a thousand words, yet a million thoughts. Films and theater show examples of life, love, and loss—they are used for reflection and advice. We need these things like we need water. The iPod has been around for 10 years. Automobiles have been around for over a hundred years. But art has been around forever. And it will always be.

Here’s the moral of the story; you need the arts…dick.