Thursday, November 22, 2018

Thanksgiving 2018

     Well, there's still plenty of turmoil in the world, but it's embracing the things we value that helps us get through it.  Hopefully, you have a few big things to be thankful for (for me, it's always about the people in my life).  As in years past, here's a list of some small things that I'm enjoying and that are helping me explore some of my favorite art forms more deeply.

The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton - The world's first conspiracy thriller?  Published in 1908, it's about a poet recruited by Scotland Yard to infiltrate a group of anarchists (the terrorists of the time) and finds himself on their Council of Days, where he comes up against the terrifying man who is Sunday.  It's sinister and hilarious by turns, but flat out nutso from beginning to end.  Centered on dueling philosophies (sometimes literally dueling) and obsessed with disguises (the kind that hide, but also the kind that reveal), the esteemed British author Kingsley Amis called it "the most thrilling book I have ever read."

Mazeworld by Alan Grant and Arthur Ranson - The story of convicted murderer Adam Cadman who is hanged for his crime, only to awaken in the fantasy realm of Mazeworld, where he's forced into battle with dark forces, including the ones he harbors inside himself.  Back on Earth, though, his not-quite-dead body is being carefully studied by dark forces of yet another kind.  The story is epic yet moves at breakneck speed, but it's Ranson's jaw-dropping visuals - gritty, grainy photorealism deepened with tactile surfaces and atmospheric lighting -- that elevates this work.

Room 207 Press - Howard David Ingham's website is a deep analytical dive into many of cinema's greatest cult movies (among other things).  Some of his pieces are trenchant and humorous, like the one on An American Werewolf in London; others are deeply personal and meaningful like the one on Possession.  All of them touch on what lies beneath the stories we see and know, and make an old favorite seem like a new experience

     And, of course, don't leave without your free turkey joke.

Thursday, October 25, 2018

The Nature of Argument

     In their book, Metaphors We Live By, George Lakoff and Mark Johnson discuss the ways a few basic human experiences formed our language and the way our language forms our understanding of the world.  Their first example they use is about the way we think of arguments.  The fact that argument is steeped in metaphorical terms like winning and losing, defending your position, attacking your opponent's case, shooting down your opponent's points and going in with the right strategy deeply ingrains in us the idea that argument is warfare.
     What if, I've been wondering, instead of looking at argument as warfare, we understood it as a way to cooperatively solve a problem?  What if, instead of battle, it was a way we helped each other fix things?
     Particularly in light of recent events, just an idea I thought might be apropos to our imminent elections.

Thursday, September 6, 2018

Real/Interesting

     Stanley Kubrick, director of many classic and pivotal movies, was once approached by an actor after a take, who commented that he was pleased with how real the scene felt.  Mr. Kubrick responded, "Real is good.  Interesting is better."
     Feels like, as long as your emotional core is accessible and honest, the more unusual, the more bizarre, the more imaginative -- the more interesting -- every piece of your story is, the better.

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

The 4th of July

     At dinner last night, I asked my family what the Fourth of July meant to them.  Unfortunately but not surprisingly, like much of our demographic, my daughters reported that it didn't mean terribly much to them.  My twelve-year-old commented that it was difficult to celebrate the country right now, which is perfectly understandable considering how harshly her belief system is being assailed (by both ends of the political spectrum -- her belief system puts a premium on cooperation).  It does raise the question, what do we honor when we celebrate "the country"?  Is it the country's history?  It's philosophy?  It's reigning political party or president?  It's future?  Even within any of these categories, we must then determine what any of those things actually means to us.
     My fourteen-year-old said that, apart from the country's birthday, the Fourth of July was the day she must powerfully remembered her grandfather.  It would have made her grandfather very happy to know that he was associated with that day.  A World War II veteran and life-long democrat, he never lost faith in his country though he lived through some particularly faith-threatening times (Richard Nixon comes most directly to mind).  One of the few times I ever saw him shed tears was the day the United States elected its first president of color.  He once noted that he was proud of his children (one a social worker, one a teacher and one an art dealer like he was) because they were "good for the country."
     Maybe my older daughter's idea was the right one, that we can honor the country by honoring people who exemplify characteristics of great Americans.  My father's patriotic idealism was quiet but undaunted, and in retrospect that unflagging ability to believe in the best possibilities is perhaps the things I most admire about him.  It is without a doubt one of the many things I wish I could ask him for some advice on today. 

Thursday, May 24, 2018

Hope

     A writer hopes to contribute something relevant to the world, by way of social, political or basic human insight.  However, recently I've observed that my insights might not be completely welcome, based on my being a white male.  I write (and live) under the assumption that all humans draw from the same reservoir of emotions.  Some humans, most unfortunately, have had occasion to experience certain emotions much more deeply and more often.  Should I not attempt a projection of that experience in an effort to offer insight?  If not, then I'm trapped into either offending or rendering my efforts irrelevant.
     It's not lost on me that perhaps being silenced when I feel I need to speak is an experience I'm long overdue in having (along with the other white males).  I'm just terrified at the idea that art is no longer something we can all, at some level, share.