The New Art Movement

     We are overdue for an artist’s movement that will change the world. It may sound absurd to you but it is only because you have been sleepwalking through life of late, we have all been sleepwalking. It is we the artists who shape perception. We see the path and leave signs in our art for others to follow. But we have lost sight of this fact. We have allowed others to tell the stories, to paint the picture. We have allowed corporations and profiteers to take over. The world of late has been shaped by corporate artists for corporate interests. Hell, we’ve even become corporate artists ourselves, allowing ourselves to believe we do what we must to earn a paycheck.

     Even worse, we have become irrelevant. We have become domesticated, toothless, and fangless. We have forgotten the power we possess and quietly whisper half-truths and assertions we ourselves do not understand nor believe. We no longer even dare call ourselves artists because we fear what the name implies. We fear to take on such a bold undertaking and so call ourselves songwriters, novelists, painters, or filmmakers. But we are artists, all of us, all who seek to express beauty and truth. If we are not artists then we are propagandists. Even if we do not out and out lie, if we do not profess what we believe, if we do not reflect what we see, we are in the camp of the enemy by lulling the population into somnolence when we should be awakening them to their true condition.

     It is time once again for human art that expresses human values. Not money’s values, not machine values, not corporate values. When humans take back art they take back control of their path, their direction, their destiny.

     It must be done boldly, not with one eye behind us, fearing that it will not provide a living. The time has come for choice, the road has diverged and we must choose which path to take. In truth, the paths diverged long ago, and we have been stumbling halfheartedly through the tall grass. It is time to find the path those who have inspired us have laid clear for us.

     To crawl on the way we have been, meekly obeying our baser motives, denying all that is best of our humanity, or to embrace with both arms the visions we see at our best moments. Perhaps we have waited so long because we've allowed ourselves the belief that the other path, the path of doubt and timidity, offered at least a degree of security. Now we have walked it too far, can no longer deny the destruction and hopelessness that lies at the end of it.

     We must embrace our childish dreams with adult determination. It is not maturity to do otherwise, it is a refusal to develop ourselves into the most complete humans we can become, a refusal to grow into what we are capable of being.

     Crawl from your cribs and your playroom you call your man cave and stretch out into a larger existence than you have dared imagine. It can be frightening, yes, but it is worth the risk. The alternative is a life not lived. Put aside fear, and dare.

     Art is not a diversion, it is the summit of human understanding. Literature is not the construction of a beautiful though frail glittering glass ornament. It is the creation of a prism through which we are able to see the world we live in in a way we never have before. It is not the plaything of ivory tower intellectuals nor an escapist drug for bored housewives, but the raw, pulsing stuff of life, the essence, the soul.

     Art is a prism, not a microscope or telescope, which has us looking too finely or too far, but a prism to see what is before us, what is nearest and most relevant.

     You the artist shape how your audience perceives the world. You influence their behavior. It’s a big responsibility but you cannot avoid it. That is why you must try your utmost to give what you perceive to be the truth. To do otherwise, to produce work that is devoid of the deepest parts of you, is to tell others that the deepest part of you—and them—doesn’t matter. Is that the message you wish to convey?

     Charles Barkley once said that he was not a role model, but he was wrong. Once you have someone’s attention, you are a role model whether you like it or not. If you ask to be listened to, if you go out of your way to seek the attention of others, then you incur the responsibility that comes with that. You cannot merely entertain, it doesn’t work that way. You cannot offer only entertainment without message because that in itself sends a message, that life is a trivial game we play with no real purpose or moral aspects.

     The world is adrift on a rudderless ship, but you the artist are the rudder, you know it to be true. You ask for them to see through your eyes, to follow you as you weave your story. You are the navigator who sees the directions written in the stars. Do not tell the rest what they wish to hear but tell them what you have seen. Do not tell them for another instant what they want to hear when you know it’s not true, no matter how much approval or money you stand to lose.

     You are the artist. It is given to you to see what others do not or will not. It is given to you to speak of beauty and of truth. That should be enough. Indeed, there is no other reward that equals it.

Perchance To Dream (A Brief Sample With Explanation)

I had to drag out an already published book of mine tonight to make sure the measurements of my newest book were the same. And having it out, I read a little bit of it, which I now share with you. Looking back I see how much magic is a metaphor for writing to me. Seeing someone escape from a straight jacket on stage is not the most compelling thing for most people, but it is usually the most authentic. If a magician is just looking to impress, he will have compatriots strap him in so that the trick can go quickly. But an honest magician will pick strangers out of the audience in order to test his skill, even if most of the audience won't appreciate it. I think an artist, be it an escape artist or an author, feels compelled to include those parts that are truly authentic, even if they won't draw in the largest audiences. I think an artist wants to give his audience not only an experience but a genuine experience. 

Eventually, Dave needed to drop to the ground in order to proceed further in his deliverance. To his knees, and then flat on the ground, like a Shaker in religious rhapsody. And for Dave, there was some element of the religious to it. He was fighting with his personal demon, fighting the very thing that had held him back. It was not merely a physical struggle, but an existential one. While his body was in a battle with canvas and leather, his mind was confronting the very limitations of his existence. It was a battle that, should he choose not to confront it, would limit his soul as well as his potentiality. He was acting out before an audience a personal struggle that defined him as a human being. All else was deception and deceit, but not this. Everything else was show business, no matter how much of himself he invested into it. Here was something raw and pure, and he would present this before an audience, even if they would prefer to see spectacle. Freed from his restraints, he could then feel justified in performing tricks, sleight of hand and misdirection. This, this made everything else real.

He had no time for fear, no worries about failure. He was fully involved in the escape, purely doing the task at hand. Even the audience was forgotten as he fought for liberation as if it were an affirmation of life. Each inch of movement was for him a marathon, each step closer was a foreshadowing of triumph.

Each success became easier the more it became obvious. The first quarter inch was easier than the sixteenth inch that had come before, which led to a half inch that was easier still. Struggle again peaked as he was required to get his hands, still bound behind him, to squeeze below his feet and so release the loop that constrained his movements. From there it was simple. A few more movements, and he was holding the straightjacket out before him like an ancient gladiator might have held out the severed head of his slain opponent for the spectacle of the crowd. This was the triumph of his existence, an affirmation of life that he played out again and again. With this feat accomplished, he felt worthy of playing before his audience. He felt like a man unconquered by the outside world, like a tree that would not permit the pruning of its branches to the shapes designed by others. And he dearly hoped that some of this might somehow be transferred onto the audience.

If You Are An Artist, The World Is In Your Hands

WARNING: In over 130 blog posts, I don’t believe I have ever resorted to vulgarity of any kind. However, I find it hard to avoid using a few vulgarisms on this occasion. Please forgive me if their use offends you and I will try to keep their use to a bare minimum in the future.

     I’ve been around the writing game long enough now to identify a certain attitude. It is one that is shared with critics of all art today, one that feels the need to heap scorn upon anyone who attempts a loftier style or desires to accomplish something more than amuse and distract their audience. To anyone who does not sufficiently amuse them, to anyone who makes them uncomfortable and makes them think a little, they use words such as pompous, pretentious, or arrogant.

     I have an answer to such criticism, one which I hope you won’t find too elitist or arty. Fuck you. You call me pretentious? I call you intellectual and moral cowards. You are too afraid to attempt what can and should be done and so you attack others for making the attempt. You masturbate because you are afraid to procreate. You play at life when you should be living it.

     To artists and audience alike I say to you: demand more! Be more! We ARE more than what some would make us. We have souls, we have purpose. Life has meaning!

     Artists today, especially when in pursuit of fame and cash, are unafraid to transgress any moral sensibility but they flee from any critical thought that might separate them from the safety of the herd or the cash of their potential customers. They are willing to dream up any sexual perversion, any sick violence in order to titillate their fans. Money has somehow wormed its way between artists and their audience when there should be no barriers between us. This is not a fucking business transaction, this is human communication at its most basic and honest level.

     Be men. Not men as we now describe them, crude, violent and stupid. Be men in daring to seek the truth and defend truth even when it is unpopular Be women. Do not indulge incessantly in adolescent fantasies but instead become the strong intelligent women the world needs. Be human beings and not pawns in a marketing game. Dare. Get out of the kiddy pool and think thoughts that make you uncomfortable. Brave putting down in you art your deepest darkest fears and hopes. Expose your most hidden selves to the light. Dream a dream that is worth sharing.

     The world needs changing but you are too timid to admit you have the power to make it better. It is up to you, no one else can do your job, share the perspective that only you have. You are important—nay, vital to this world, and it’s time you shook off your doubts and realized it.

It is up to you to show the world that ideas can accomplish what bullets cannot.

     Be bold, my friends, be bold. Not bold in expressing prejudice or hatred, but in expressing new ideas and optimism. Not bold to shock or offend but bold in order to enlighten and inspire.

     A culture whose artists are afraid to push further is a culture in decline. That is the power you possess as artists, to keep your culture afloat and moving ahead, to reach new shores and new heights previously unimagined.

     Do not be afraid to fail. Nor should you feel the need to accept society’s judgment of what success or failure is. Do not try to fit yourself into the cattle chutes called genres, but instead blaze your own trail, create what you see and feel, let what is inside of you be what it is meant to be.

     You owe it to yourself. You owe it to everyone who has influenced you, those who gave you a sense of wonder when in your childhood you picked up a book, gazed at a picture, or were enraptured by a song. And you owe it to a future that deserves the same as you received, art that speaks to the heart and the mind without further considerations of any baser motives. This is life. Art is life. Art is the communication that speaks to those whom you have never met nor will meet. It is the passing on of beauty and vitality. And it is in your hands.

A Look Into The Past (The Mauretania)

I had the idea of writing a novel that takes place a century ago and spans pretty much the whole globe. A fun idea, sure, but I had no idea how much research it was going to involve. I guess I should have known. There are so many questions relating to New York City alone. Did some sections still have gas lights? What styles were in fashion for men and women of various stations in life? Were trolleys prominent, and what was the ratio of cars/buses/horses? And while people dressed and spoke and lived a certain way in New York, how would they be living in a small town in Louisiana? All these things to be researched and we haven’t even left The U.S.A yet.

It’s an enjoyable process, or at least it would be if I could afford a year off work to do it. Still, it’s fun to immerse oneself in a different era. I’m running into a lot of fascinating information. I was having a real hard time trying to come up with information on the ship Mauretania. We tend to take for granted that everything we want is a Google search away, but it is not. But take a look at this website I found: http://heritage-3d.com/M/1.html

Based on a few old black and white pictures of the 1^st Class Smoking room of the Mauretania:

This person painstakingly came up with a color recreation of what it must have looked like:

Truly impressive work by whoever runs the website, not to mention the craftsmanship that went into the actual ship.

Below is a short sample of writing I did based upon the color recreation. It needs a second or third coat of paint on it (i.e. a few rewrites), but hopefully it shows some of the inspiration I had from seeing a re-rendering of what must have been a tremendous work of art.

The next room was the first-class smoking lounge. Above them was a glass arch that ran the length of the room, giving it the best of both the indoors and outdoors. Cunningly placed mirrors amongst the wood-paneled walls gave the room a feeling of vastness as though the room had no real defined limits. Teal chairs and oak tables were placed in geometric patterns that were a mixture of lines and intersecting circles. Blue sky intruded through the ceiling and, combined with the greenery of the chairs and carpet and the various wood pillars, he suddenly felt as if he were entering into a forest of trees. The marvel of man’s abilities hit him, the heights that humans were able to reach. Here was floating architecture as astounding as any cathedral or palace. The Twentieth Century, barely a decade old, was already making its mark on history.

Oh, and the book will most likely be called Seven Stones. I'm about 30,000 words into the first draft. It involves magic, the supernatural, and a possible re-emergence of Pangea. It might even tie in to some of those books that are on the upper right of this blog page :)

Artistic Expression And Charlie Hebdo

Here’s a contrary post because contrary seems to be my middle name. And I’m not even old yet.

Every major news item inevitably carries along in its wake the knee jerk reactions of those who will never follow up on their espoused convictions. Sure, they may go to a candlelight vigil or more likely share something on Facebook, but whatever event triggers their reaction will be quickly forgotten when the next trigger-inducing event occurs.

I’m of course referring to the tragedy of the shooting in Paris yesterday. And I’m of course writing without fully understanding the situation since, while not yet old, I’m beginning to feel that if I wait to know everything I’ll never write anything at all.

But I know people died because of a cartoon that insulted Mohamed. I’ve seen it, it was horrible. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, nowhere near as horrible as killing people because of a cartoon.

It’s not really the events in Paris I wish to talk about, but the reactions that people have had to it. The general consensus is to rally around the artists who are brave enough to go out on a limb and say things at a risk to themselves. I guess that’s a good thing, I guess as an artist I’d like to know I can speak my mind without worrying if I’m putting my life on the line (I have three novels published, so I’m going to go and call myself an artist).

In the end, though, I believe that what an artist wants much more than support is understanding. When I make a statement, when I reach down into the deepest parts of me, I want to believe that what I have to say is universal. Not because I think so much of my abilities or myself, I just want to know that my perception of the world, stripped of as many biases as I can rid myself of, is a fairly accurate one. I want to believe that if I squint really hard I can get a pretty good sense of what it is I’m seeing. And if I can use art to convey accurately what it is I see, and if people respond by saying “yes, I see it too”, then I have performed a useful service.

But the last thing in the world I want is anyone’s support that wasn’t duly earned. I don’t want you to stick up for what I have to say because I am an “artist”. I don’t believe I have some God-given right to say or do whatever the hell I want, rather I have an obligation to say what I believe is true regardless of the price I will pay.

When I saw a Facebook friend share a cartoon of the artist in question, a very horrible picture of the prophet Mohamed, I initially had the urge to share it as a sign that my voice, that the voices of others, would not be silenced by the violent acts of extremists. But then I thought of the many millions of people I would insult, peaceful human beings who have nothing to do with ISIS or acts of terrorism. I can scarcely imagine what many of my Christian friends would say if such a picture of Jesus were shown to them. I can’t say I would ever create something like that, but if I thought it was my best way of expressing truth, I guess I would feel obligated.

So my point is perhaps this: if you wish to support the artists who have died for the expression of their art, then get to know and understand the art they have created. Artists are really no different from soldiers, in that they are willing to spill their blood for their cause. But the ultimate merit of the artist, like the soldier, is what they sacrifice for.