I like the idea of the artist as someone with 'a loaded soul'. This probably makes him as dangerous to those in power as someone with a loaded gun because he is a threat to capitalism and their whole way of being in the world.
Erik: I find your beautiful work to be both a precautionary reflection of the modern world (think Orwell) and whimsically critical of its hypocrisies (think Bukowski), without the darkness and hopelessness that both writers had. Please don’t fall into their mire of despair and futility.
I like the depiction of the archetype of 'the starving artist', preferably one who commits suicide to give the story its ooomph. As more of a craftsman than an artist, I like my workshop full of high quality tools, my comfortable house, my health generally free of alcohol - and plenty of money to buy nice pieces of wood (stratospherically expensive nowadays). Despite these 'distractions' diluting the artistic grunt & process, one can still be 'a loaded soul' - a great phrase that captures so much.
Powerful description of what artists become and need to be. This woman artist, now an old woman, took a long time to affect this change -- she was long preoccupied being a mainstream matron.
I am still reeling from shock of this radically peaceful denunciation of conformity. There is so much in this that sends me reeling, but 'The priests and pundits and academics / are no longer served by his attention. / He’d rather meditate on the paintings / of Van Gogh, Hopper, and Andrew Wyeth / than to castrate his senses with the / senseless sermons of the day.' has caustic emotional purity...
Yes, being able to walk, live, work away from the trappings of the modern world is a freedom few of us grant ourselves. Commitments and attachments can be like chains.
I think creative people all need that detachment and a certain amount of solitude in which to function. My cabin in the woods is calling me. (If only I had one!)
"I find your beautiful work to be both a precautionary reflection of the modern world (think Orwell) and whimsically critical of its hypocrisies (think Bukowski), without the darkness and hopelessness that both writers had. Please don’t fall into their mire of despair and futility."
One reader has addressed his comment to Eric, I comment separately on this one, so as not to interfere directly.
As far as I am concerned, it is quite possible to observe, describe, and note the world and its problems without falling into despair, futility, etc.
Although, I do not know if Bukowski has criticized with fantasy the hypocrisy.
As a grouchy old man, I liked this. It's romantic, you know, about art, and I see in my own life, having been writing for fifty years, several bits that could be me (dare I say?), the abandonment of the normal, the quiet musings... (Long retired, divorced, I can do that.) My bliss, my default state, is reading, maybe smoking a little pot, enjoying a beer or a shot while listening to some cherished CDs (got some vinyl too), and thinking. At some point just listening to the quiet, trying to hear the voice of God in the hum.
I have been pondering for a while now on the question of whether it is possible to remain in polite society if one is to express fully, the artist within, or whether it is necessary to completely sequester oneself away - at the very least remaining on the outskirts.
I don't know if it's the algorithm or the collective consciousness expressing itself through SubStack (is there a difference between those two these days I wonder 🤔) but my feed is full of posts on this subject, including this excellent post of yours. What a gem!
On that note, I would happily become a paid subscriber but my writer's pockets are empty at present, so a coffee will have to suffice for now 🙂
I like the idea of the artist as someone with 'a loaded soul'. This probably makes him as dangerous to those in power as someone with a loaded gun because he is a threat to capitalism and their whole way of being in the world.
I really resonate with the part about communing more with spirits than people. That's the life of an artist to me for sure.
Erik: I find your beautiful work to be both a precautionary reflection of the modern world (think Orwell) and whimsically critical of its hypocrisies (think Bukowski), without the darkness and hopelessness that both writers had. Please don’t fall into their mire of despair and futility.
You got to the marrow here.
I like the depiction of the archetype of 'the starving artist', preferably one who commits suicide to give the story its ooomph. As more of a craftsman than an artist, I like my workshop full of high quality tools, my comfortable house, my health generally free of alcohol - and plenty of money to buy nice pieces of wood (stratospherically expensive nowadays). Despite these 'distractions' diluting the artistic grunt & process, one can still be 'a loaded soul' - a great phrase that captures so much.
Powerful description of what artists become and need to be. This woman artist, now an old woman, took a long time to affect this change -- she was long preoccupied being a mainstream matron.
Man this is so good.
This one really resonated with me. Great poem Erik!
I am still reeling from shock of this radically peaceful denunciation of conformity. There is so much in this that sends me reeling, but 'The priests and pundits and academics / are no longer served by his attention. / He’d rather meditate on the paintings / of Van Gogh, Hopper, and Andrew Wyeth / than to castrate his senses with the / senseless sermons of the day.' has caustic emotional purity...
We know there is a place for the woman artist in this musing. Thank you.
fiercely seconded.
and count me , third ed
I think she's off in some darkened room writing her own poems. We'll probably hear from her soon.
well as long she's not going for a walk to the kitchen and the oven or the river with pockets full of stones
Yes, being able to walk, live, work away from the trappings of the modern world is a freedom few of us grant ourselves. Commitments and attachments can be like chains.
I think creative people all need that detachment and a certain amount of solitude in which to function. My cabin in the woods is calling me. (If only I had one!)
"I find your beautiful work to be both a precautionary reflection of the modern world (think Orwell) and whimsically critical of its hypocrisies (think Bukowski), without the darkness and hopelessness that both writers had. Please don’t fall into their mire of despair and futility."
One reader has addressed his comment to Eric, I comment separately on this one, so as not to interfere directly.
As far as I am concerned, it is quite possible to observe, describe, and note the world and its problems without falling into despair, futility, etc.
Although, I do not know if Bukowski has criticized with fantasy the hypocrisy.
As a grouchy old man, I liked this. It's romantic, you know, about art, and I see in my own life, having been writing for fifty years, several bits that could be me (dare I say?), the abandonment of the normal, the quiet musings... (Long retired, divorced, I can do that.) My bliss, my default state, is reading, maybe smoking a little pot, enjoying a beer or a shot while listening to some cherished CDs (got some vinyl too), and thinking. At some point just listening to the quiet, trying to hear the voice of God in the hum.
Truly a creatively cautionary dictum for this day and age:
"He’d rather meditate on the paintings
of Van Gogh, Hopper, and Andrew Wyeth
than to castrate his senses with the
senseless sermons of the day."
I have been pondering for a while now on the question of whether it is possible to remain in polite society if one is to express fully, the artist within, or whether it is necessary to completely sequester oneself away - at the very least remaining on the outskirts.
I don't know if it's the algorithm or the collective consciousness expressing itself through SubStack (is there a difference between those two these days I wonder 🤔) but my feed is full of posts on this subject, including this excellent post of yours. What a gem!
On that note, I would happily become a paid subscriber but my writer's pockets are empty at present, so a coffee will have to suffice for now 🙂
The lyrical upchuck of the collective unconscious! Blow Rittenberry, blow!
If your name wasn't on that, Tommy, I'd still know it's you.