Art: Reality vs. Inspiration
When you view art, you are usually either attracted to the way it accurately portrays realism or the way it inspires you to unbelievable heights. Depending on the kind of person you are, you will be attracted to either one or the other. I was going to do a piece which touches on the whole point of art: should it reflect reality, with all its missed connections, disappointments, lost chances, lack of happiness, or should it inspire us to go for the brass ring one more time? Should it, in fact, convince us that a brass ring really exists, when we might not have found any evidence of it in real life?
I was going to ask: should our art show things as we sometimes find them, now well into our adult lives, sharp-edged and gray-brown, not the rosy way we thought they would be when we were younger, or should it nudge us to continue to believe, to try again, to just walk a little bit farther, go on one more day and maybe, maybe...today is the day that It Happens...? Should it help us accept that we don’t always get the guy/girl, don’t ride off into the damn sunset, lose people, don’t always have the courage or luck to follow our dreams, or even if we do, it doesn’t automatically make us happy? Or should it show us an idea of how things could be, that we can put color and sound and movement in our daily routines, have something fantastic to live for, and inspire others to do the same? Should it be one vast circle of inspiration, moving us to make things better, reminding us of what we believed as kids, that we can still do it—maybe on not such a sweeping scale, but in smaller ways, yes?
Maybe the “either-or” argument is not that applicable here. Maybe it’s a matter of the eye of the beholder. The artist (the painter, sculptor, filmmaker, author, playwright) is one eye, the audience are others. A person will be drawn to what fits into his/her worldview. One person’s appropriate reality is another person’s jaded cynicism. People want to see themselves reflected in the art they witness. And we do witness it, as deeply as any religious conviction, which is why art can get so under our skins and inflame us unbearably, still. The ones who can’t bear to be inspired because life has turned out to be such a heavy disappointment reject works that endeavor to lift us up, calling them ‘sentimental’ or ‘cheesy’. Those who are already up can’t stomach a piece that is dirty with the grit of ‘life-as-it-is’—they feel it is ‘depressing’, ‘morbid’. The eye of the beholder.
Maybe there is no such thing as Should. There’s no dogma attached to art. Art is ever-changing and undefinable and is whatever we want it to be at any given moment. Even within the same artist, in the same lifetime. Art reflects moments in time, constantly moving. Emotions attached to those moments are ever-changing, as well. Sometimes we need to see what we are going through now. We NEED the empathy of seeing another character falling and sliding on their ass through the very same hell that we are, to realize “it’s not just me!”. And sometimes we need to be slapped across the face with inspiration. We NEED to be told to get over it, get a move on, get to the fucking healing part already and make something goddamned beautiful with what you’ve got! We need it all, at different times. It all resonates with us—louder at times, softer at others—but it all does resonate.
And maybe that’s the only thing that’s as it should be.
I was going to ask: should our art show things as we sometimes find them, now well into our adult lives, sharp-edged and gray-brown, not the rosy way we thought they would be when we were younger, or should it nudge us to continue to believe, to try again, to just walk a little bit farther, go on one more day and maybe, maybe...today is the day that It Happens...? Should it help us accept that we don’t always get the guy/girl, don’t ride off into the damn sunset, lose people, don’t always have the courage or luck to follow our dreams, or even if we do, it doesn’t automatically make us happy? Or should it show us an idea of how things could be, that we can put color and sound and movement in our daily routines, have something fantastic to live for, and inspire others to do the same? Should it be one vast circle of inspiration, moving us to make things better, reminding us of what we believed as kids, that we can still do it—maybe on not such a sweeping scale, but in smaller ways, yes?
Maybe the “either-or” argument is not that applicable here. Maybe it’s a matter of the eye of the beholder. The artist (the painter, sculptor, filmmaker, author, playwright) is one eye, the audience are others. A person will be drawn to what fits into his/her worldview. One person’s appropriate reality is another person’s jaded cynicism. People want to see themselves reflected in the art they witness. And we do witness it, as deeply as any religious conviction, which is why art can get so under our skins and inflame us unbearably, still. The ones who can’t bear to be inspired because life has turned out to be such a heavy disappointment reject works that endeavor to lift us up, calling them ‘sentimental’ or ‘cheesy’. Those who are already up can’t stomach a piece that is dirty with the grit of ‘life-as-it-is’—they feel it is ‘depressing’, ‘morbid’. The eye of the beholder.
Maybe there is no such thing as Should. There’s no dogma attached to art. Art is ever-changing and undefinable and is whatever we want it to be at any given moment. Even within the same artist, in the same lifetime. Art reflects moments in time, constantly moving. Emotions attached to those moments are ever-changing, as well. Sometimes we need to see what we are going through now. We NEED the empathy of seeing another character falling and sliding on their ass through the very same hell that we are, to realize “it’s not just me!”. And sometimes we need to be slapped across the face with inspiration. We NEED to be told to get over it, get a move on, get to the fucking healing part already and make something goddamned beautiful with what you’ve got! We need it all, at different times. It all resonates with us—louder at times, softer at others—but it all does resonate.
And maybe that’s the only thing that’s as it should be.
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