not just a man’s name: it’s something that i find gives my life meaning. i define art as the product of a creative process whose purpose is to communicate a non-trivial message in a non-literal way through the use of symbols and metaphor. this is to say: creating a stop sign is not art: it communicates a message all right, but it’s: neither a non-trivial message (traffic is, in the final analysis, trivial—relatively speaking i mean) nor is it anything but hopelessly literal. it also does not employ either symbols or metaphor.
it’s debatable whether poetry or painting is the earliest form of art practiced by humanity. after all, painting merely requires pigments and a cave wall, whereas poetry requires language. i believe that most scientists feel the former is more likely to have preceded the latter than vice versa. that said, as a writer, i’m happier and more comfortable talking about words and writing than i am about pigments, hues and shapes—after all, i’m partially color-blind.
one of my all-time favorite movies is dead poets society, a film in which, in case you aren’t familiar with it, a teacher at an exclusive prep school ignites a fire for poetry in the hearts of his class of adolescent boys. i love this film because not only is it among one of robin williams’s first dramatic roles (who knew?) but there’s so much poetry, cited of course in and out of the classrooms. there’s some great performances as well, not just by williams but by others, including a very young ethan hawke, and some damned fine writing.
in the film, williams’s character gets a line i love and it goes to the effect of this: engineering, law, science, these things are all necessary for sustaining life; but poetry is what makes life worth living. and he’s absolutely right.
obviously, one does need to address the matter of making a living: that goes without saying, esp if you have kids. no duh. most folks wind up having kids at some point, either biologically or otherwise, and they manage.
so what about when you do? once you can meet the simple, logistical needs that living in the world requires of you, what then?
words have power. and while it’s certainly only a power we choose to give them (there’s a reason why no matter how grievously someone insults you, taking a swing at him or her is still considered assault in penal code), we all grant words some power. if you don’t believe me, look at the word “fuck”. we all know the word, although our respective attitudes towards it may range from distant, strained relations who recoil from the very mention to something as familiar as an old family friend who has a spare key to your home.
working with words, crafting words, bending them to your will, shaping them to your need: as much fun as this may be, it is merely technique: simple wordsmithing pyrotechnics, while great to look at, aren’t enough to qualify as art. without a message, as i mentioned at the beginning, technique is merely a process. it may be a beautiful one, but that’s all it is.
no, to be art, it has to communicate something, there has to be a message. george orwell’s 1984 is a biting commentary on the former USSR and its unique brand of socialism. margaret atwood’s the handmaid’s tale is a dystopic cautionary tale about the dangers of totalitarianism and how democracy is lost. sinclair lewis’s the jungle is a scorching expose of the then-realities of the american meat-packing industry that led to the creation of a whole federal government agency.
if you’re engaged in the creative process as someone who creates something, i want you to ask yourself a question: are you a technician or an artist?
yes, it’s immodest to lay claim that title. of course it is! when we think of artists, we think of degas, monet, rembrandt—or if you prefer: shakespeare, milton, wordsworth. that’s heady company and it takes a certain degree of ego to say “my ambition has that company in its crosshairs. i have that company in my crosshairs.” but i think that we all owe it to ourselves to dream big. after all, if your dreams are small, where’s the challenge in accomplishing them? i’m not content with small dreams, with everyday dreams, with the normal. in some fundamental way, i simply don’t understand people who are.
maybe i’m the weirdo. maybe i’m arrogant. maybe i’m just a hopeless dreamer. to that, i say this: it does neither myself nor others any harm to advocate this thinking. indeed, i would argue that maybe society simply doesn’t encourage us to do this enough.
so am i being incredibly pretentious by trying to define art? does this make sense? comment and tell me.
ed



