Art

Recently, a friend pointed me towards an edition of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick in which the preface contained a number of critical reviews contemporary to the book’s writing. Not surprisingly the critical response was overwhelmingly negative. Naturally, my first inclination was to pooh-pooh the critics and lament their failure to recognize something great in its time. But another, more important idea struck me.

Bart:

"You make some interesting observations and points, some I agree with, some I don't. I don't want to know what Trane studied 10 hours a day. I don't think the creative process must be laid bare for all to see. I think he who wants to know should work for the information, like students centuries ago going to monasteries to seek wisdom. Another thing is that I don't want to know everything about how things are made. It's a bit like the extras on a dvd. Knowing to much about how a movie is made can distract you (me) from what that movie is about. The problem is you don't know what information is helpful, and what info isn't."

The internet is the new media. This may seem obvious, but for most it has yet to sink in. Surely, for encyclopedic content, the internet's primacy is unchallenged by even the most philistine. But for art, particularly music, the internet and its culture of information sharing have been met with stiff resistance. Among more serious artists, at best the internet has been used to moderate effect as a marketing tool. Only among kitschier musicians is the internet seriously contemplated, engaged.

Keeping this public record of my thoughts and experiences has forced me to consider the issue of anonymity. Originally, instinctively, I posted anonymously. The more prudent route. Eventually, two things inclined me to reconsider this choice. First of all, several discussions with friends lead me to wonder whether anonymity or exposure presents a greater obstacle to honesty. Also, as my ability to play the saxophone and compose music resurfaces, I have thought about the role that these writings, thoughts, experiences have in my art.

Today I was walking near my hotel, pondering my goal in writing. Naturally, I thought along the lines of “what overarching idea am I trying to capture?” I thought about what criticisms one might rightly raise about the consistency of my entries and their relationship to one another. Alighting on the topic of contradiction, I asked myself three questions.

Think of the smartest dog you know. Let’s call him/her Einstein. Now the dumbest. This one we’ll name George. Perhaps Einstein knows how to do more than a hundred tricks. He can smell the difference between a treat and a something he ought not to eat. Perhaps he can figure out the difference between ’sit, then roll over’ and ‘roll over, then sit.’ But that’s probably pushing it. George, on the other hand, isn’t so gifted. He’ll drink water laced with pine sol and will only respond to one command before forgetting that he should be paying attention, at which point he goes running after his tail.