1. Has anyone who can read ever been successful at cleaning out the attic?
2. Has there ever been an artist who judged his work to be so good that he was not surprised that the market place fell head over heels for it?
Are you asking yourselves why these two questions appear together on the same page? I can't help but to do it because I think that they go together for one major reason. They describe the two ends of the human behavioral graph. The Attic cleaner is a person who makes a non-negotiable decision to clean the material that has been gathering for a long time because when it was new, or current it was too good to be thrown away. "Oh, I'm sure that I will need this someday." That happened when the reader was 30 years old. Now the readeer is 70 and knows that it is time to start reducing the material that is weighing down the possibility to be free and to move on to other things. So, to today's the day. Here we go.
The empty box is in place, the shredder is plugged in and an empty bag has been snuggly fit into place. Three hours later, the shredder bag is one quarter full, the box is now filled with well arranged books and notes that are just too good to throw out and there is still at least 3/4 of a ton of stuff left to "sort." Not throw out, notice. Sort. "I can't throw out the first draft of my thesis. How can I get rid of that syllabus for the first theology class I ever taught in Christology? That stuff is still good, you know." I don't have to go on, you get the point. Everything I've done and saved was good then, is good now and forever will be good and... serviceable -- period. So, what's for dinner?
The artist is also a saver. Go into the work space of an artist. Any artist, in any of the arts, from painting to writing. I dare you try to feel comfortable around such treasures. On the walls; on the tables; on the desk; on the floor; in open drawers; in short, everywhere. The smells are clashing with one another just as the colors are too. Paper; varnish; paint; ink; canvas and I don't know what ever else. The artist doesn't throw anything out because it came into being out of love. "I just love doing this." The reason why I have decided to put this out in front of the world is because, the artist also doesn't even want to try to sell the beauty that talent has created. "I can't foist this crap on anyone and take money for it." "So, why don't you just throw it out and start over again?" "Well, I kinda like it. But it's too shabby to sell for money." I press on, "why don't you let the market place decide what this stuff is worth." Oh, big boo-boo. "What does the market place know? What do you know? Have you even looked around to educate yourself about this stuff before telling me to sell it?" "No, I haven't, but without studying it, I happen to know what I like. Every boob in the marketplace also knows what he/she likes. Who are you to decide where, when and on what the buyer should spend money?" The conversation turned to other things, but the artist knows good and well that I will be back. Ha! I even spent about 45 minutes on Google checking out what he told me to check out. Frankly there's some frighteningly technical success in this line of work, but technical success does not beauty make. I repeat, technical success does not beauty make.
I also allow myself to say that the artist does not dictate the taste of the beholder.
I put these two considerations together because neither one of the two people depicted herein is connected to a driving reality outside of themselves. The attic cleaner adores the stuff that has been lying out of sight and out of mind for 40 years and has now claimed squatter's rights on the cleaner's life. The artist's pieces have claimed squatter's rights under the pretext that the artist constructs. He judges that it is not good and therefore not worth cold hard cash. This even if another human being judges it to be desirable and wants to satisfy the inner craving of letting the finished work bring aesthetic comfort to the environment. Yes, to the point of paying for it.
Do me a favor...and the artist. Click on the cartoon of me with the booze in one hand. You'll be looking at some of the artist's work. Go to "comments" and in 10 words or less, let us know if you would pay for something like what you see.
This is not a solicitation for business. When we want you to buy something, you'll know it, believe me. This is nothing but a friendly poll.
To the Blogger from Mila:
ReplyDeleteTo the readers, from the Blogger:
Yes, clearing the attick- notice my spelling! is a challenging task in many ways. We come across glimpses of memories as in a movie based on stream of conciousness. I just "amused, engaged myself, and accomplished' SUCH A FEAT UPON MOVING MY PRACTICE BACK HOME. THE GARAGE WAS FULL OF JUNK AND THERE WAS SIMPLY NO ROOM FOR MY "NEW FURNISHINGS FROM GRAND BLVD. The process, as it did you, may have resulted in a mind loaded with bitter as well as sweet, in that order, thoughts. I guess the key is to have written down a purpose before we started. That said, the process would then have a definite purpose as opposed to simply sorting things out and ending up with a couple extra piles with no heart for parting from stuff gathered over the years.
Willa Cather, the poet, said succintly: It is like a glimpse to cremated youth. Could not be more precise, right?
My garage stores copies of compositions produced by international students while diving into American English rhetorical patterns. Yes, I taught that at the CC level. My garage also stores bits and pieces of employment applications, old fashioned resumes, vitates, etc. It also stores rejection letters as well as invitationals to interview. I keep all in hopes that my children will someday find them and understand that life is tough for anyone when it comes to finding a job. They also contain encoded snippets of discrimination, elitism, and plain stupidy- rampant in any scenario you are also familiar with- I suppose.
All of this "cremated youth" amounts to a couple boxes which I cannot bring myself to dispose of. I do not blame you for the feelings your "cleanup" may have evoqued. Simply put, just go back and label the boxes with each person's name as you would want them to read the contents "someday". Makes for perfect wills- without words. It also impacts the designated family member in ways we could never imagine. Lastly, labels facilitate the carry out process. And that really is the ultimate cleanup stage-when we are gone.
Paul and Isabella, it is very nice to have met you and shared these views lately as I find that we each have "come a long way' and the Lord - in His wisdom- brings us closer electronically for these sharing moments. Take heart. You are two in a large group of souls out there- been there, done that- and now looking for souls out there who have been there, done that, and are willing to share the laughs, tears, and perspectives as they crop up in our minds everyday.
Both of you stay blessed. Keep up the great work of keeping us, your cababayan, alive and kicking!
Stay blessed. Take care.
To: The Blogger
ReplyDeleteFrom: Justa
Funny about not throwing things. My father was a Realistic Artist, a sculptor, a musician, and an architech. He was also a carver of wood. He sold most of his things to tourists during our growing up. Some of his paintings are in the Museum back in Palau. Some are in USA somewhere from different tourist.
Palau was still under the United Nation after War World II. He composed hymns for the the Sacred Heart Church in Koror, where we lived. They are still being sung today. He taught in the Mission school. He invented a machine grinding tapioca. He wired the wires himself. He knew notes. He was taught music by Spanish Jesuits, learned art in Japan and graduated from Art School there at the age of 19. Was fanatic for Mary, Mother of God, had a chord Rosary all his life.
Turned senile at age 70 died 7 years later. God prepared to use him throuhout life. He loved wine when he was a joung man. Our house was like a junk yard. He never threw anything away. His father was worse. He made earings. When I came to be and was of age to observe, my grandfather was wearing earings. Had big ear holes. At times he placed plumerias or hybiscus in the hole of his ears. People came to look for nails, brushes, you name it. No we did not throw anything away. Years afater he died and my daughter renovate, everything went. No. It is not the same place I left behind centuries ago.