Monday, November 19, 2007

Then Beowulf spoke, Son of Ecgtheow

OK, so being a big fan of historical epics, war/adventure films, and Dark Age legends in general, I went to see the new chest-beating testosterone fest, Beowulf, this weekend...and in 3D no less.

Not my first 3D experience recently - we had just seen Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas in 3D on Halloween night, and it was pretty cool. But as far as this film, I went into it thinking I'd check my brain at the door, and just enjoy the ride. I have to admit though, once I got used to the hybrid animation, poor accents, and seemingly cheesy hero-talk, I found myself completely engrossed. It was an entertaining telling of a familiar story, and I had a great time.

So good, in fact, that I immediately re-read the original epic poem the next morning - over dark coffee and an almond croissant (a most heroic breakfast, if I've ever heard of one). Needless to say, I enjoyed Beowulf a whole lot more the 2nd time around, which was not surprising considering I hadn't cracked the cover since I read it in Mr. Hodermarsky's high school English class. Not only was I awed by the stunning beauty of the text, but also by the complex layering, allusions, repetition, and many textural themes of the story, interlaced with other heroic and tragic legends (that would have been familiar to the original audience). It made me want to be there at the moment of its first telling, when such verses may have been composed on the spot, and recited aloud by the skilled bards of the day. In fact, this oral composition tradition reinforces for me just how much we underestimate our ancestors, and their vast creative powers. It is easy to imagine the extreme emotions a performance like Beowulf must have stirred within the hearts of its listeners, literally a thousand (or more) years ago. And those over-the-top, heroic speeches that Hollywood writers like to pepper the movies with - the ones we proud pseudo-intelligentsia like to snicker at - actually have their roots in a rather ancient art form, which remains quite effective today (whether we want to admit it to ourselves or not). Everyone enjoys a little inspiration in their life. Alas, Beowulf has enough inspiration to fill any movie.

Yet, before I immerse my head too deeply into the mists of time here, the point I want to make is that, whether or not you can stand an extra helping of fromage in your films, even the silliest of epics translated to the Big Screen can still inspire you to go back to the original art forms...and that's worth the price of admission.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

How much is a statement worth?

Up to 23 million, apparently: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071115/ap_on_en_ot/art_auction

I normally leave this issue alone. Having my own artistic sensitivity, limited artmaking skill, and having made small profits from some of my past work, I am naturally hesitant to debate whether "art" should be bought and sold as commodity. I mean, who wouldn't want their big steel heart to sell for $23M? Your Clever Vision, Larger Than Life. Sounds fabulous.

But could you live with yourself (that is, once the laughter dies out)?

When I see things like this - especially because it's this particular artist -a part of me dies inside. He's made a career out of kitch, and it's not even all that creative. It was novel once, and he's the first one to be truly recognized for it, and whatever the statement was worth. But now that he's famous, his work must be "culturally significant" - worth every penny, right? Riiiight. That cold hollow heart really resonates inside my soul...how about you?

Despite whether you consider this work art, or merely the aftermath of an untrustworthy fart, there are other ripples in this puddle. For instance, maybe it's the sinister socialist in me - or just humanitarian leaning - but when I think about the fact that some fool decided to spend $23M for a hideously overdone "expression," rather than using that enormous wealth to, say, fund a disease research lab, or raise the standard of living in poor communities, or rebuild a crumbling city school, you can't help but want to scream. Well, I guess if you're me.

So why is this particular object worth so much? Some might be tempted to beat me over the head with the oft-repeated "because it's what the market will bear." Indeed, Adam Smith, you're obviously able to supress your shame. But if for a brief moment you can take a step outside market forces, I think you might also consider what that behavior tells you about the market. I know it's a slippery slope to try to moralize Capitalism, but should we not pause to consider our collective madness, from time to time?

That said, I have to end abruptly here, my publicity agent is calling. A 50-foot pumpkin pie sculpture made of 3 tons of felted wool - part of my "Home Cooked" series - has to be installed before Thanksgiving. I expect that's the auction announcement now...

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Finding my "blogging voice."

So I sat down to start this blog, and I happened to be listening to a Johnny Cash shuffle in the background. My wife - the founder of Type B&B - was lounging beside me. Suddenly, she felt the need to alert me to the fact that she thinks the current song "is a turd." I quickly glanced at her, and flashed her a now-familar eye roll, before returning to the blank screen and the silent keyboard. Between JC crooning "I focus on the pain" and "that old familiar sting" I began wondering what I'm supposed to be saying here - you know, now that I'm up on this electronic-soapbox-stage. As I stared into space, darling wife followed up her incisive music critique with, "Don't worry, it'll take you awhile to find your blogging voice." Immediately, she spoke truth to my internal struggle.

She was absolutely right. I do "technical writing" all the time for a living...but this personal, put-myself-out-there style is something entirely foreign. Besides an occasional (but often verbose) email to a friend, or a rare yahoo group post, I don't really do much opinion publishing, for myself, or a broader audience. It's funny, but there's almost a palpable pressure to say something clever, or witty, or ironic...or cynical. Through a jumble of impulses, I kept thinking how do I stay true to myself? Will I sound crazy? Dull? Profound? And then I realized I had already started typing, and the words were flowing fairly naturally. So I guess I'm just going to have wait and see how this works out. The only way to get in the saddle is to start posting, and not worry too much whether any of the aforementioned adjectives will apply.

In fact, I rather hope you'll discover the chameleon in me. If there's one "interesting" thing I might offer in this world, it's the alternatingy sublime and smelly seepage of the fickle, easily distracted organ in my skull. Ideally, I wanted to focus this blog on my interests in Western history - hence the selection of the Greek "oikoumene" (the inhabited world). But in the end, I'll also want to share other "distractions" with you - some photos I've taken, the books I'm reading, and the activities I'm participating in...the everyday passions I waste time, energy, and resources on. Enjoy it...or don't. But feel free to chime in! I love a good discussion...

To be ignorant of what happened before you were born is to be ever a child. For what is man's lifetime unless the memory of past events is woven with those of earlier times? - Cicero