Wednesday, April 4, 2012
april 4th, 2012
The older I get the more I think about the impending divide between those actively involved in my life. At a certain point we’re all forced to choose a side and no longer is anyone else responsible for your decision. The beast knocks with polished, unbiased knuckles. How will you respond?
Your first option is a reality in which Art dominates thought because creation is an idea as eternal as God. This is a reality in which the infinite coincides with human potential. The expected, tested, tried and true notion of three is tossed aside, for no barrier is breached without understanding and justified change. How can I take what inspires me to new levels? How can I pay homage to the deserved souls while simultaneously chiseling my own immortality? This is a reality in which truth and beauty guide the mind through murky swamps in search of the orchid-- knowing damn well the quest may end in defeat thick enough to see; a thin veil in perspective, but one capable of temporarily blinding the hungry doubter. The illusionary reality of Art contains only those who openly accept fear because no man is without it, it’s simply a matter of how tall you choose to stand before it.
Your second option is a reality in which art is no longer capitalized because it is no longer necessary. Like beaten hand-me-downs too small for the unplanned younger child, art has been tossed on the freeway shoulder to rot like flavorless gum below the circling, salivating vultures. This is a reality void of deeper meaning, leaning upon the splintered crutches of brainwashed business delusion. Ambition has been replaced with subservience and with enough hours punched on the clock, by golly, you could apply for the job upstairs-- you know the one I’m talking about, the one that comes with the mahogany desk and the power-trip and the vacant assistant begging to grant your every wish! It’s a much sought after position so I recommend you keep on plugging away with that same sense of mindless devotion. You musn’t worry about art anymore child, for it proved to be an expendable commodity. Like an unsightly, pesky wart we had it removed.
When the ground begins to split underneath your feet, which side will you feel compelled to join?