Defining Art

I apologize in advance for the length.  I was going to tease out a short-attention-span version from the full I-like-the-sound-of-my-voice version, but I don’t have that time.  Most blog-advice columns tell you to keep it short and sweet.  Alas, I like to read my own words, so I think it’s all pretty interesting.  I hope I’m not the only one.  I don’t think I’m soap-boxing, but I do have a genetic propensity for it.  If you have a short attention span, I included section breaks in case you want to skip ahead.

What Is Art? – Part I, The Setup

There is a famous line from a Supreme Court ruling regarding obscenity.  It goes something like this (I’ll paraphrase):

“I won’t try to define it and maybe I never could, but I know it when I see it.”

Is art any different from obscenity in this regard?  Like many of the untrained masses, I appreciate traditional art as art but there are some ridiculous examples of squiggles and paint splotches that look more like the “artist” had a drug-induced tantrum and, by random happenstance, splattered a piece of canvas a few times as he hurled objects around the studio.  Stand beside an aficionado, however, and you are like to hear an enraptured treatise on the bold statement the artist made in his unwillingness to conform to the establishment.  The same could be said for the family dog dry-humping a seat cushion, but who am I to judge?

In some of these cases, the artiste, or maybe the entire snooty art establishment, is having a laugh at our expense.  Either maybe they’ve simply cloistered themselves within their own rarefied circles for so long, exchanging the same stale air, that they now exist in some Michael Jacksonian bubble-world completely cut off from the reality the rest of us occupy.

I submit into evidence Kazimir Malevich’s Black Square, which is currently taking up wall space in Russia’s State Tretyakov Gallery, a prominent art house in Moscow. 

This is widely regarded as one of the most famous pieces of Russian artwork.  I kid you not.  It has been exhibited at The Hermitage, one of the greatest repositories of artwork on the planet.  Tell me, what statement does Black Square make?  What innovative new movement does it represent?  I can buy fifty sheets of black construction paper at the local office supply store for a couple bucks and I’d be hard-pressed to find any significant differences.  But, again, who am I to judge?

So why did I choose this subject for today?  My oldest son has been introduced to blogging this year in 5th grade language arts.  There is a current movement in education that has swept the United States the last few years to replace the ill-conceived No Child Left Behind program.  It is referred to as the Common Core and affects curricula from primary school through undergraduate degree programs. 

Common Core Education

One aspect of the Common Core is a heavy emphasis on depth of understanding in reading/language arts.  When most of us were in school, we were expected to simply recall and retell events in a book to show “mastery” in book reports or on tests.  More recently, students have been encouraged to connect experiences on the page to their own life.  

Questions that call for facts do little to stimulate independent consideration or deep thought.  Not so with the Core.  Paranoics who believe all that needs to be known is already known may view this as another effort by the illusory liberal conspiracy to spread relativistic thought throughout America rather than forcing us all to adhere to a single accepted, absolutist truth, but whatever.  There are plenty of other blogs where those folks can receive their daily dose of dogma. 

I have my concerns about a possible reduced emphasis on fiction as curricula include more works of non-fiction, but that’s another blog post in itself.  I welcome the shift in focus.  How could America not be made better if it is people with citizens who consider what they believe before they decide to believe it?

The Common Core expectations involve much deeper exploration and analysis.  Students are now encouraged to ask themselves questions about what they are reading, synthesize that with other facts they know, and in so doing come to a richer understanding of the world they live in.  

Teachers Teach, Learners Learn

Teachers will tell you that they can teach until they’re blue in the face but they cannot make a student learn.  I see the Common Core approach as directly addressing that reality.  It shifts the emphasis toward teaching students how to question, explore, integrate, and extrapolate rather than transmitting simple facts.  It is the difference between teaching a child how to fish rather than simply giving him a fish.  But I digress.

My 5th-grader has been doing a couple reading responses each week and entering them into a blog format that is restricted to just their class.  I really enjoy writing myself and hope to develop a consistent routine with my own blogging, so this sounded like a shovel-ready project for the two of us to share in common.

The reading responses only need to be one paragraph, but are supposed to go beyond a simple retelling of plot details - no summary, no recap, no synopsis.  The teacher wants personal reactions, predictions, and evaluations regarding what the student just read - connecting specific passages or development on the page to their own personal experiences or thoughts in some way.

Squeezing Blood From A Turnip

Aidan is both creative and a solid reader, but this has posed an unexpected challenge for us.  He has needed a lot of support from to go beyond a basic recount and find some meaningful, higher level reflection on the work. 

His first draft of one response came off pretty much like this - "[The Protagonist] and I are alike in some ways, but not in every way.  [Protagonist] likes X and I like X, too.  [Protagonist] likes Y and I like Y, too."  And so on.  His response technically met the basic, literal requirement of the assignment, but I thought it was overly simplistic and, frankly, beneath him. 

I try to work with his initial idea rather than making him begin again from scratch.  And his initial approach here was fine, I just thought it could use more personalization.  So, I tried to get more out of him with questions rather than by giving him direct suggestions.

"So, tell me what you like about doing X."  Truth is, I didn't think he particularly liked this activity he mentioned but merely saw the I-like-he-likes format as a quick way to put the job behind him.

"I don't know, I just like it," is all he came up with.

"Okay, then how does it make you feel?” … “How is that similar or different to how the protagonist feels about it?” … “What did it mean to the protagonist in the story?” … 

“Describe a time you felt that way in your own life?"

We went around like this for awhile - me trying to elicit anything more from him and him stubbornly refusing.  It was frustrating for the both of us.  Definitely not the bonding experience I hoped it would be.

I took a breath and changed direction.  Rather than asking him to describe feeling for something I think he hastily jotted down just to get the job done, I decided to focus on something I knew for certain has been a recent passion.  I still wanted to work with his approach - to value his original ideas - and simply help him beef up the execution.

So I asked, "You like drawing, right?  You like graphic novels?"

"Oh, yeah.  Graphic novels are cool."

"They are cool.  What do you think is cool about them?"

"I don't know, I like the pictures."

"Me, too.  Can you tell me some things you like about the pictures?"

"I don't know, they're just cool.  What do you want me to say, Dad?" 

Sheesh.  Blood from a turnip, I thought.  You may notice that many of my questions have concrete or yes/no answers.  I don’t have a teaching degree.

"Okay, how about this,” I said.  “Would you like to be a comic artist?"

"Oh, yeah.  I really wish I could draw better."

"Great.  Why would you like draw better?  And don't tell me just because it would be cool."

"Ugh," he sighed.  "I just... I just..."  Another sigh and a pause.  "I don't know.  I just like that an artist can sit down with a pencil and a blank piece of paper and create something beautiful that wasn't there before.  And I don’t care what you say, I think that’s cool!"

Ho-lee crow!  You could've knocked me over with a feather.  

What Is Art? – Part II, The Punchline

“An artist can sit down with a pencil and a blank piece of paper

and create something beautiful that wasn’t there before.”

I struggled to evoke something, anything, just a wee bit deeper about why my son likes what he likes and - boom - like a bolt from the blue, he sums up the marvel of human creativity in one simple sentence.  There's blood in that turnip after all. 

Age and fatherhood has made me somewhat more emotional than I was in the past.  Laugh if you like.  But I was so completely moved in that moment that all I could manage to respond was, "Wow!  That IS cool, Kiddo" before my voice cracked.

I feel like I know art when I see it, though I cannot define it and see little point in trying.  My 10-year-old can’t define art either, but he made a good start of it.  As a writer and a proud father, it bears repeating:

Art is sitting down with a blank piece of paper 

and making something beautiful 

that wasn’t there before.

Short Story Published - Nature's Way at FatCityReview.com

It's a strong start to 2013 for me.  My first published short story, Nature's Way, makes its debut in FatCityReview today.  Alongside Dostoevski, no less.

I've had essays published in the past.  I even wrote a monthly column for a few years.  But this marks my first piece of published fiction.  I recently decided to emerge from my writing cloister and begin to share my work with more than a small circle of fellow writers and, in so doing, see how far I can take this.

For a few years, friends and family have occasionally asked to see some of my work and, in most cases, I've been reluctant.  I write about many things in many ways.  While I always try to explore the truths of the human condition, some of my work is warm & touching but much of it is dark & violent. 

It's also hard to ever feel a piece is good enough.  It's hard to know when it's finished.  This story, Nature's Way, was revised a fair bit after submission in multiple rounds of collaboration with the FatCityReview fiction editor.  Even then, the very day they informed me it was accepted for the January issue, I thought of three scenes I wanted to revise for greater impact.  Then there is choosing a title that is fitting without giving anything away.  And settling on an appropriate piece of artwork to accompany the piece (the picture below of wild grass emerging through snow was one of seven I suggested to FatCityReview and not the one they ultimately selected).

Alas, life in the end is about choice and sometimes you have to choose to be done even if you're not sure the work is finished.

The Fat City Review - Nature's Way by Matthew Swope

Nature's Way is a short story about a man who has, for various reasons, retreated from civilization into the wilderness.  There, he confronts the stark contrast between modern man's constructed order and the savage indifference of the wilderness:

Nature was an unforgiving mother who sorted all her children into two categories, the cautious and the dead.  You observe and you learn.  Or you die and others learn from your failure.

And, while man always struggles with the external world for survival, mankind's ultimate struggle is always with himself:

It wasn’t what lurked beyond the firelight that threatened to annihilate him, but what lurked within.

Fair warning - If you've read any of my poignant family stories, this is definitely not one of those.  It's also worth making passing mention that this is fiction.  I am the author of the story, but I am not my characters any more than Jack London was a Canadian sled dog or Tolkien was a hairy-footed Hobbit.

Enough with the caveats.  Enjoy the story.  If you like, please don't hesitate to comment and share this with a wider audience.  If you don't like it, maybe next time.  Link below.

Now, it's back to the keyboard with me.


The Fat City Review - Nature's Way by Matthew Swope

Prose Poetry #1

I recently submitted a poem for publication.  I am more reluctant to share my poetry than my prose and essays for some reason.  I don't know exactly what that's about - maybe it's an issue of confidence.

In any case, I learned a rookie writer's lesson.  I failed to read the poetry already posted on the site before submitting my own.  It turned out that what I submitted really was not a good fit for that venue if for no other reason than the overwhelming majority of poems they accepted for publication were of the Prose Poetry variety - that is, they didn't rhyme.  The piece I submitted was of the traditional bent - rhythmic, lyrical, and rhyming.  I fear that, by comparison, mine may have come off as a bit Seussian.

Not surprisingly, the poem was rejected.  Alas, what's done is done.  Lesson learned.  I (probably) won't do that again.

It stung a bit, but for the time being my view is that acceptance and rejection doesn't matter so much as actually getting the submission out there.  For now, I choose to focus on my efforts rather than my outcomes.  By committing myself to the acts of writing & submitting rather than being attached to the result, my aim is to develop a routine; a daily practice.  And, like an athletic endeavor, I am confident that success on the field will come in time, as long as I put in the practice regularly and hard. This blog will be part of that practice and, as you can see from my incredibly inconsistent entries, developing a daily routine is an ongoing work in progress for me.

So, to the point of today.  My 2nd-grader is working on poetry in school.  He did an acrostic, which is akin to an acronym in reverse.  Choose a word - my son's word was Basketball - and then start each line of the "poem" with each letter of the word - B... A... S... K... - then try to relate those lines to the theme word in some fashion - B is for Bouncey... etc.

My son still had a second poem to write this morning, but didn't have much time and didn't want to do another acrostic.  He tapped his pencil on the blank paper as he watched some birds on our feeder outside the window and declared he wanted to write what he called a metaphor poem.  But he couldn't think of any metaphors to write about, so he tapped and watched and tapped and watched some more.  And, thus, my opening to redeem my earlier poetic rejection.

While I cleaned up the boys' breakfast and made their lunches, I shared with him my proven poetic prowess.  This is the result of our collaboration.  I think it's a poem, but it definitely doesn't rhyme.  Enjoy and ponder how such rare talent could have possibly been rejected by anyone. 

My pencil is like a bird.

Sometimes it flies across the page.

Sometimes it just pecks a bit.

And this poem is its song.

 

Picture from PaperInside.com

Bubbly Water

I just sat down to begin yet another clever blog entry only to let it languish in my draft box, un-posted, along with so many others.  Yesterday, over a plate of "second Thanksgiving" (the Friday of leftovers after official Thanksgiving) with friends, I rolled through several paragraphs of a tongue-in-cheek proposal for a new American holiday.  The words flowed quickly and fully-formed through my mind and I thought, as I have many times before, that when I finally made time to jot them all down that the lines would come just as easily.  And, as so many times before, I was rudely reminded that inspiration strikes when and where it chooses and rarely lingers.

So, instead, I'll write a little ditty about inspiration and effort because I have got to carry some post all the way through to publication here otherwise this new blog will be never be more than another good intention.  I apologize in advance for the length. 

Years ago, a good friend recommended me to Natalie Goldberg's classic writing guide, Writing Down the Bones, and I am finally getting around to reading it through.  Goldberg is an avid practitioner of Zen meditation and that practice permeates her understanding of the art of writing and creative expression in general.  The book includes an afterword in which the author answers several questions.  She advocates that the act of writing, like all meaningful endeavors, is one of personal application and hard work.  So the interviewer asks her what she thinks of talent, as many would-be writers lament their lack of innate talent as a reason they don't write.  Goldberg added that, on the other side of things, naturally talented writers often remain content with their inherent talent but never progress because they don't need to apply themselves.

Goldberg went on.  She compared talent to the water table that runs beneath the earth that you can tap through hard work and channel it through you.  I'm not one to question her wisdom, but it seems that a more fitting analogy is that the water table is creative vitality and talent is merely one of two ways to tap it.  I'll explain.

 

Photo from: Steve Beger Photography via Flickr

As humans, especially as American humans, we have a great appreciation for raw talent.  Our culture elevates our greatest athletes to celebrities, rewards our inventors & entrepreneurs with windfall wealth, and celebrates our geniuses with awards & prestige.  And the very reason we admire them is they are so rare among us.  They are the rightmost tip of the bell curve.  They are humanity's fraction of 1%.  Their inherent talent is unrivaled and, in some regard, completely unattainable for the rest of us.

Their natural talent is like a natural spring.  Earth's life-giving water bubbles through a spring to the surface without effort.  Even today, people flock to natural springs for their remarkable qualities.

So what are those of us without innate talent to do?  Lie down and let the 1% shepherd us like sheep?  Not likely.  At least not all of us.  We achieve what we can achieve and the only way to know what that is is to attempt it.  In those instances, some of us will discover our efforts can elevate us beyond some of those with talent.  Even the greatest of the greats, especially the greatest of the greats, magnify their rare talent through intense training and continuous effort.

If talent is the spring, then effort is the well.

Natural springs are as wonderful as they are rare.  When pioneers explore new land, they initially seek out natural sources of water to sustain them - rivers, lakes, springs.  But if mankind contained ourselves only to natural bodies of water, we would have missed out on most of the magnificence available to us.  

This world is covered in spring-less land.  The overwhelming majority of it.  Just as humanity is populated with the untalented.  When the brave venture into the blank parts of the map, expanding to settle new land, we don't maintain a bucket-line back to our original source of water.  No.  We put our backs to the picks and the shovels and the drills and we dig ourselves new wells.  

Is the new water any less vital for the effort it took to release it?  Not one bit.  In fact, what the well lacks in the natural spring's beauty it more than makes up for in the satisfaction that it is we who have tapped it ourselves.  

I will leave to you reflections on the marvel of mankind's ability to call forth the essence of life from beneath the dry, cracked earth.  For me, I can only say it is humbling.  Some few of us possess remarkable talent and that is truly remarkable.  But some few of those who don't strive to attain what they were not born with and that is what makes mankind transcendent.

The water from the well is just as wet as from the spring.