The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

What are the odds of a modern day renaissance?

Art is dead.

Or so M. said the other day when I went on and on about how sad I am that people don't seem to value it anymore. As an artist, M. was usually commissioned to do portrait work, which means that people wanted to see themselves in oil rather than on grainy photo paper. The only person in the last five years who actually commissioned him to actually paint something other than themself or someone they knew was my sister, who asked for a floral painting. It was mostly reds and yellows, inspired by a garden in Le Vesinet, France. I love it, she appeared to love it, but I just know she was wishing she would have asked for a portrait instead.

It makes me sad that people don't appear to value creativity, anymore. At least, not in our world of superstores and instant soup. Everyone wants to be entertained without having to think. They want practicality and functionality, but they don't seem to be into contemplation. I was just saying to M's friend C. the other day that when I was a child, my parents quite regularly had friends over to sit around the guitar and sing until all hours of the night. They sang with all their heart, deep-throated Everly Brothers, The Beatles, Elvis or whichever song they could remember the words to. My dad would thump away on his piano or pluck his guitar, and others might bring along a flute or a mandolin. I would fall asleep smiling as I listened to my aunt's voice curling through the air, my father's coming along to harmonize with it, twisting together like a perfect, velvet bow. I don't know anyone my age who does this kind of thing. It seems like everyone I know counts the minutes until they can watch 'Lost', or whatever.

On this site, even, there are 'the messers'. I refer to them as such because clearly they are here only to 'belong' to something, to rack up gift points and ribbons, but they couldn't tell you the last piece of literature they read, or name an author that Oprah hasn't endorsed. While I'm intimidated a little by the 'true intellectuals', 'the messers' just irritate me. I don't understand why anyone would belong to a writing site if they don't really want to improve or learn about the craft they claim to love. I'm a far better writer now than I was before, and I can't say I'm even good, yet. I know it's going to be a constant process, that I'm going to have to keep reading and trying if I want to feel any kind of confidence while all the messers are setting up polls, groups and guestbooks. They have a need to see their words in print, to purge out every crazy or bland thought they've got in their heads and receive emails from other messers telling them how interesting it was, how profound. Then, they break out the badges and the trophies, usually causing the recipient messer to reciprocate by awarding the messer who gave to them their very own ribbon or badge. What you get, then, is a whole lot of hardware for work that no one would ever read outside of this site. Pop tart writing. Greeting card crap.

The other side of this is that I'm impressed that they're involved in some way. That they're even members here shows they have something in them which is akin to artistic inspiration, right? What right have I to judge them when all they're doing is trying to socialize and get their two cents worth in? It's not like I'm important. I think my cantankerous ramblings above reflect my overall dissatisfaction with the way the world is now trivializing artistic talent. Quite often, the wrong people are recognized for little or no effort, when the people with real talent, however you quantify it, are basically left to make a hobby out of it, working at something they hate while their genius stagnates under the heavy disillusionment of life. It's like only those with money or connections can call themselves 'artists' these days. Don't believe me? You think someone who is an excellent writer or beautiful painter just sends their work in somewhere and instantly they get a public reading or a gallery showing? It doesn't work that way. All the artists I know of who are successful, in a public sense, know the 'right' people or have the resources to fund their own publicity.

I suppose I wish I had more access to really great discussion about books with everyday folk. I have been aching to join a book club in my area and there are very few to choose from. I am also slightly threatened by the idea of engaging in a 'real' discussion with people who really know what they're talking about. I could just see me blurting out, like Rachel in that 'Friends' episode, Oh, symbolism, symbolism!, and having them all decide I'm an idiot. I try talking about art with M., but when he asks me why I like a certain painting, I always say something in the vein of, I dunno, I just like it. Obviously, I've much to learn.

I wish appreciating art was still a cultural thing, rather than a sign of prestige or rampant commercialism. I wish everyone knew how to play an instrument, use a camera properly, interpret poetry, or use a paint brush. I think it would calm a lot of people down, and I think it would establish a sense of community as well.

M. also said that poetry is dead, but I have to say I don't agree. Until about ten years ago, I didn't care about it much. Now, it's one of my very favourite things. If it were dead, I don't think I'd be so bent on writing it or understanding it. I think good poetry is harder to find than bad poetry, but I'm enjoying the hunt quite a bit.

I wonder if the lack of economic stability will force people to read again, to create their own art instead of buying it. I wonder if people will begin to make their own music rather than be force-fed some watered down, corporate version of it. Might we see personal art on walls? Photographs with perspective and paintings that charm by virtue of their originality and exclusive meaning to the one who conceived it?

We need a rebirth.