There's so much crap out there today because every artist thinks "how can I make money out of this?" If that doesn't destroy the endeavour straight up the long game of selling out surely will.
Sad but true, Dollyboy. How can I make money out of this has a long history. Everyone needs money. In 1965 Bob Dylan was accused of selling out when he strapped on an electric guitar. Money had a pull even on Mr. Tambourine man. But Bob ended up with a Nobel Prize, and it’s hard to argue that Dylan lost his artistic integrity. So it can be done--or it could be done past tense. The future is up for grabs
I never understood that. I would have thought trying a new instrument the opposite of selling out? As far as art prizes go ... competitions are for horses. I don’t really care. I guess acknowledgement and money go hand in hand. Why publish your writings, why make an album, why have an exhibition? If you are truly content making art you will do it for yourself foremostly. To share art is a good thing though. I get that.
Strapping on an electric guitar meant selling out and making money like the Beatles, the Stones, The Beach Boys. My point re the Nobel is not to say Dylan proved them all wrong by winning a prestigious award. He was as surprised as anyone. But he did produce authentic poetry for the ages and still earned millions of pesos. It’s layered and nuanced but I think worthy of analysis as a case in point in the complexities of arriving at a verdict “a sellout who besmirches his art.” Check out his autobiography published in 2004.
Yeah I don’t mean to say that “he who makes money is a crap artist” or vice versa. I guess I’m not trying to say much at all other than that there is a lack of general desire to make art nowadays for any other reason than money. I don’t know anyone who makes art? Often people say to me “why don’t you do something with your music?” And I think what? Why? Sure I’d like to make money out of music but it seems like a long shot and I’d need to have a social media presence and merch etc ... urgh! Sounds awful. It would be nice if more people just made art because it gives them pleasure. I’m sure some do. It’s a wildly inconsistent world where crap like 50 Shades makes the author and publisher millions and much better works rake in a few measly pesos. Meh ... Art for art sake has always been my motto. Dylan is good - pre and post electric guitar.
I applied to play at the Placer County Fair coming right up in June. They wanted to know how many followers I have on Facebook. Clicks and likes may just be the poison that hollows out the human drive to swing among the stars just for the intrinsic satisfaction--plus a little help paying for gas, the PA, new strings, a cup of coffee. That digital thumbs up may perversely have inverted the original meaning of the Roman thumbs down.
Oh man, see I find that horrid. Can’t they just hear your stuff and make a call based on that? I hope you got/get the gig. Good on you for getting out there and being an artist for the sheer joy of art... one must at least be remunerated for the material requirements of such an endeavour, of course.
This one is a lot to take in, but it is breathtaking. I thought it was strange when I dreamt about having a chat with Walt Whitman. A hundred Ginsbergs howling in Macy’s window in a dream in the Sixties, whoa. Kerouac squared. Thoughts?
Bukowski hated writers and poets even though he was one. He thought them pretentious and dull and full of shit mostly. But he did like one poet, a street poet by the name of Jack Micheline. In a letter to a good friend, Bukowski writes of Micheline:
“Micheline is all right—he’s one-third bull shit, but he’s got a special divinity and a special strength. He’s got perhaps a little too much of a POET sign pasted to his forehead, but more often than not he says the good things–in speech and poem–power- flame, laughing things. I like the way his poems roll and flow. His poems are total feelings beating their heads on barroom floors.
I can’t think of anyone who has more and who has been neglected more. Jack is the last of the holy preachers sailing down Broadway singing the song. Going over all the people I’ve ever known, he comes closer to the utmost divinity, the soothsayer, the gambler, the burning of stinking buckskin than any man I’ve ever known.”
John Fante. Bukowski liked Fante’s writing. I’m not sure I’d say Buk hated poets. He disliked a phony of any kind, an imposter. I don’t really associate him with hate, though I admit Henry Chinaski to me is Bukowski in spirit if not deed. He’s gentle, wise, disappointed with the world. He doesn’t hate poets.
This letter rings a bell. I can’t remember whether I read it in a novel or in his biography. But I clearly recall his ringing endorsement of Micheline. There is another writer whom I can’t recall but it will come to me. Bill Wantling I do recall as blessed by Sir Charles. Amazon wants $130 for this book.
There's so much crap out there today because every artist thinks "how can I make money out of this?" If that doesn't destroy the endeavour straight up the long game of selling out surely will.
Sad but true, Dollyboy. How can I make money out of this has a long history. Everyone needs money. In 1965 Bob Dylan was accused of selling out when he strapped on an electric guitar. Money had a pull even on Mr. Tambourine man. But Bob ended up with a Nobel Prize, and it’s hard to argue that Dylan lost his artistic integrity. So it can be done--or it could be done past tense. The future is up for grabs
I never understood that. I would have thought trying a new instrument the opposite of selling out? As far as art prizes go ... competitions are for horses. I don’t really care. I guess acknowledgement and money go hand in hand. Why publish your writings, why make an album, why have an exhibition? If you are truly content making art you will do it for yourself foremostly. To share art is a good thing though. I get that.
Strapping on an electric guitar meant selling out and making money like the Beatles, the Stones, The Beach Boys. My point re the Nobel is not to say Dylan proved them all wrong by winning a prestigious award. He was as surprised as anyone. But he did produce authentic poetry for the ages and still earned millions of pesos. It’s layered and nuanced but I think worthy of analysis as a case in point in the complexities of arriving at a verdict “a sellout who besmirches his art.” Check out his autobiography published in 2004.
Yeah I don’t mean to say that “he who makes money is a crap artist” or vice versa. I guess I’m not trying to say much at all other than that there is a lack of general desire to make art nowadays for any other reason than money. I don’t know anyone who makes art? Often people say to me “why don’t you do something with your music?” And I think what? Why? Sure I’d like to make money out of music but it seems like a long shot and I’d need to have a social media presence and merch etc ... urgh! Sounds awful. It would be nice if more people just made art because it gives them pleasure. I’m sure some do. It’s a wildly inconsistent world where crap like 50 Shades makes the author and publisher millions and much better works rake in a few measly pesos. Meh ... Art for art sake has always been my motto. Dylan is good - pre and post electric guitar.
I applied to play at the Placer County Fair coming right up in June. They wanted to know how many followers I have on Facebook. Clicks and likes may just be the poison that hollows out the human drive to swing among the stars just for the intrinsic satisfaction--plus a little help paying for gas, the PA, new strings, a cup of coffee. That digital thumbs up may perversely have inverted the original meaning of the Roman thumbs down.
Oh man, see I find that horrid. Can’t they just hear your stuff and make a call based on that? I hope you got/get the gig. Good on you for getting out there and being an artist for the sheer joy of art... one must at least be remunerated for the material requirements of such an endeavour, of course.
This one is a lot to take in, but it is breathtaking. I thought it was strange when I dreamt about having a chat with Walt Whitman. A hundred Ginsbergs howling in Macy’s window in a dream in the Sixties, whoa. Kerouac squared. Thoughts?
Bukowski hated writers and poets even though he was one. He thought them pretentious and dull and full of shit mostly. But he did like one poet, a street poet by the name of Jack Micheline. In a letter to a good friend, Bukowski writes of Micheline:
“Micheline is all right—he’s one-third bull shit, but he’s got a special divinity and a special strength. He’s got perhaps a little too much of a POET sign pasted to his forehead, but more often than not he says the good things–in speech and poem–power- flame, laughing things. I like the way his poems roll and flow. His poems are total feelings beating their heads on barroom floors.
I can’t think of anyone who has more and who has been neglected more. Jack is the last of the holy preachers sailing down Broadway singing the song. Going over all the people I’ve ever known, he comes closer to the utmost divinity, the soothsayer, the gambler, the burning of stinking buckskin than any man I’ve ever known.”
John Fante. Bukowski liked Fante’s writing. I’m not sure I’d say Buk hated poets. He disliked a phony of any kind, an imposter. I don’t really associate him with hate, though I admit Henry Chinaski to me is Bukowski in spirit if not deed. He’s gentle, wise, disappointed with the world. He doesn’t hate poets.
This letter rings a bell. I can’t remember whether I read it in a novel or in his biography. But I clearly recall his ringing endorsement of Micheline. There is another writer whom I can’t recall but it will come to me. Bill Wantling I do recall as blessed by Sir Charles. Amazon wants $130 for this book.