I’ve always liked this sentiment. Along with “The beautiful is always strange,…” or, “We are in love with what disappears,….”
The Beautiful is often an accident. Certainly, in people, it is an accident of genetics and destiny. Beautiful is contextual and transitory. What is beautiful today will vanish tomorrow, be ravaged by the elements –(although, the elements, time in particular, have a great leveling effect on the nature of appearance- all things are beautiful in time.) The physics of this nature are, therefore, reciprocal?
I am not trying to get anywhere- except to this next moment- perhaps with a sense of satisfaction and some small degree of worthiness. I often wake in the middle of the night and feel grateful for the gift of my life- even as unsubstantial in the face of destiny as it might be. This is beautiful.
I don’t know where I’m going, although madness may be an optional destination. Merle Haggard tells a story about Bob Wills, who said “I never sweat songs out,…” This is the creative tactic I want for myself. John Dewey said, “Rigid predetermination of the end product, whether by artist or beholder leads to the turning out of a mechanical or academic product… “ so, an addition to my personal manifesto might read something like:
Make it quickly
Don’t allow it to take up too much room
Forget about chasing beauty
Of course this will, no doubt, incur the scorn and wrath of the purists, the academics and the artista fascists who may point out, and probably correctly, that these sentiments are merely rationalizations and justifications for excusing the lack of intensity, industry and talent. To some degree, they are correct.
I realize the inherent fascism of this statement, as well.
The Beautiful is often an accident. Certainly, in people, it is an accident of genetics and destiny. Beautiful is contextual and transitory. What is beautiful today will vanish tomorrow, be ravaged by the elements –(although, the elements, time in particular, have a great leveling effect on the nature of appearance- all things are beautiful in time.) The physics of this nature are, therefore, reciprocal?
I am not trying to get anywhere- except to this next moment- perhaps with a sense of satisfaction and some small degree of worthiness. I often wake in the middle of the night and feel grateful for the gift of my life- even as unsubstantial in the face of destiny as it might be. This is beautiful.
I don’t know where I’m going, although madness may be an optional destination. Merle Haggard tells a story about Bob Wills, who said “I never sweat songs out,…” This is the creative tactic I want for myself. John Dewey said, “Rigid predetermination of the end product, whether by artist or beholder leads to the turning out of a mechanical or academic product… “ so, an addition to my personal manifesto might read something like:
Make it quickly
Don’t allow it to take up too much room
Forget about chasing beauty
Of course this will, no doubt, incur the scorn and wrath of the purists, the academics and the artista fascists who may point out, and probably correctly, that these sentiments are merely rationalizations and justifications for excusing the lack of intensity, industry and talent. To some degree, they are correct.
I realize the inherent fascism of this statement, as well.
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