The Two Way Street: Thoughts on Art

There's been a lot of talk recently about a new movie. Fireproof. Now, I haven't seen the movie, but that's okay, because this post is not about that movie. At least, not the content or the film-making or the message. Strike that, this post is about ALL of those things. Just not specifically that movie.

Some who read this may consider this an apologetic (not an apology -- it's two different things) for mediocre art. It's not. I encourage you to get that out of your head right now. The intent of this post is to put into words some new thoughts I've had about art and how it works.

Art is a two way street. There is the creator and there is the audience.

I've been seeing a lot of Christians (usually armchair quarterbacks -- in other words, consumers rather than creators, which doesn't invalidate their opinion, but it does cast a different light on it) complaining about how wretched ALL ART BY CHRISTIANS is.

Granted, there is some truth to that. Why is it that we must ALWAYS provide a Christian rip off of mainstream successes? Granted, some could say my work is just that: a Christian rip off of mainstream successes, because there truly is nothing new under the sun.

And that does give Christian artists a difficult time gaining legitimacy.

But . . . what's the audience?

That must always be taken into consideration.

For example: Fireproof.

What's the audience? Mostly, Christian married couples. And, then, married couples who aren't Christians.

Okay. Cool.

So, when you're making a movie for that audience, there are certain things you need to do, and certain things you do not need to do. Certain things you should do, and certain things you should not do. Might you show a married couple in bed? Perhaps. Might you show a married couple being active in bed? No. (Sorry, I'm trying to think of ways to say this so key words on this blog aren't going to hone in on the wrong phrasings.)

And when you are a part of the target audience, you tend to be forgiving of the artist . . . understanding the artist's intentions. The acting is a bit wooden? That's forgivable, because the message is speaking to me. The characters are preaching a bit? That's okay, I came into it wanting to be preached to a little bit.

Of course, hackles are raised when someone not part of that intended audience gets in there.

These are just some thoughts. And they are by no means to be taken as excuses for not producing the best art you can produce. Just because you're not the top of your field, doesn't mean you should give up and not produce art . . . but it also does not mean you should not put your everything into it.

This goes for everyone, by the way. Not just Christian artists and Christian audiences. The same could be applied to any niche or genre of artistic endeavor.

~ Ben

The Death of Pop Culture

Was talking about this with a friend of mine . . .

"Pop Culture" isn't dead yet. But it's starting to flatline.

Its replacement is "niche culture".

Because of the internet, thousands of channel choices through digital television, and

In today's environment, we can never have a Beatles or Bob Dillon or M*A*S*H or Seinfeld or anything like that.

It's a plus and a minus.

On one hand, you can ALWAYS get what you want.

On the other hand, you are NEVER exposed to new things.

So when I have webcomic, if I work hard enough, I'll be able to find the people who are interested in it. But, the chances of a broad audience coming across it are nil. And even if the broad audience happens across it, if it's "not their thing" they won't give it the chance to let it become their thing.

There will always be things like American Idol and Hollywood blockbustsers, because there will always be people with the pockets to put things in front of people and keep them there. But Seinfeld and M*A*S*H, like I said, just don't have a chance to happen again.

Is this a bad thing? I think not. I think this will force artists/creators to work harder at their craft, as they compete for audiences. I think the potential for BETTER works of art on the larger scale is possible.

But the people with more money will have to take less chances.

And the people with less money will have to do more with less.

It's an interesting conundrum.

~ Ben

"The Lie that Tells the Truth"

I was recently reminded of this article that I wrote last year for an art exhibit in Calgary.

A lot of it is me exploring my attitudes about art and why it is important.

Here it is:


“Art is the lie that tells the truth.”

-- Pablo Picasso

If you’ve ever spent any time studying art, you probably have come across the famous (infamous?) painting by René Magritte entitled “La trahison des images” (“The Treachery of Images”). It is a picture of a pipe and underneath the image are the words “Ceci n'est pas une pipe”. (“This is not a pipe”)

Of course it isn’t. Any three year old can understand that.

And yet, what we are supposed to think on in that highbrow manner is that the picture is a representation of a pipe. (Although, I’m more curious about why he chose a pipe. I mean, did he paint that pipe first and then decide, “You know, this is NOT a pipe.” Or did he say, “I think I’ll make an artistic statement about art that will echo down the halls of art analysis for decades -- and the best way to do that is a pipe.” But that’s just me.)

The artist himself commented about how his painting of a pipe could not be stuffed with tobacco and such. As realistic as the painting may be, it will NEVER be a pipe, barring some sort of Twilight Zone-esque miracle.

Again, this is obvious, but bear with me.

Instead, in looking at the painting, one is looking at a statement the artist makes about the world. This is where the truth comes in.

In Magritte’s case, he made a statement that said, “This is not a pipe.” And that’s the truth. And the Truth.

Yes. I added a capital “T”. Again, bear with me.

You see, I believe that all art is a lie. Because art cannot represent reality. It can only reflect the artist’s perception of reality.

The artist’s truth.

And in that, the Truth.

I believe in an absolute Truth. How can conflicting statements BOTH be true? How can there be two truths that are in diametric opposition? I do not believe that we all have “our own truth”, rather I believe we all have our own perspective of Truth. I also believe that as long as I am looking through my mortal eyes and processing information with my mortal brain, I cannot hope to fully comprehend the Truth of the universe.

But I can get some glimpses. Where?

Art.

Art. The lie that tells the truth.

In art, we find an artist’s perspective of the world. The artist, when putting pen to paper or brush to canvass or fingertip to keyboard, is about to create a window into their view of the universe. And the artist cannot lie. The artist is completely incapable of lying. Because even in their lie there is a reflection of the truth.

If Magritte had titled his pipe painting “This Really Is a Pipe”, he would have been lying. But he would have been lying with the knowledge that it was not a pipe, and those who understood the lie would get a glimpse of truth.

The artist, in trying to lie, gives a view of the truth.

And a view of the Truth.

The artist cannot help it. That’s just the way of things. Even artists who are actively trying to make statements against Truth, in their own rebellion against Truth, are acknowledging Truth. Revealing Truth.

The Truth is revealed in the lie.

As a writer who believes in absolute Truth, I find myself drawn to other writers who believe in absolute Truth, C.S. Lewis is one.

C.S. Lewis loved the myths of the North. As an avowed atheist Lewis believed that God did not exist. (Then again, his first book -- a book of poetry called Spirits in Bondage -- comes off as a possible example of “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” He spends much time exploring how God does no exist, but just in case he spends some more time exploring how ugly and evil God is. Oh, and Nature is beautiful and good.) Meanwhile, his good buddy J.R.R. Tolkien, a devout Catholic had been trying to “evangelize” Lewis. (Much to the chagrin of many of Tokien’s fans, the writer of The Lord of the Rings was a VERY religious man who believed in God. And Jesus. And good and evil. And sin.)

One evening, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were discussing myth. Lewis said, “. . . if I met the idea of a god sacrificing himself. . . I liked it very much and was mysteriously moved by it,” as in the tales of Balder, Adonis, and Bacchus, but of course they were not true. Tolkien, surprisingly, disagreed, saying he believed “myths, like everything else, originated from God, and they preserved, sometimes in a disguised or distorted form, something of God’s truth.”

The Norse myths, like all art, are lies. Obviously. And yet, they tell the truth.

In my own life I sang in a band called The Whispering Loons. The songs I wrote were about the evils and pain of love. They were angry and funny and sarcastic and, generally speaking, untrue. But that was the joke. And in the “lie” of “Buzzards of Love” and “Gold Digger” and “Manipulator” was a truth: that boy had never experienced real love.

The lie revealed the truth.

Incidentally, one of the partners in that band was an artist named David Zimmerman. Dave and I collaborated with each other by proxy. We fed each other creative energy: I, as a writer, drew on his creative energy to fuel my writing, and he, as an artist, drew on my creative energy to fuel his artwork. While we worked, many times on different projects, it was still collaboration as we pushed each other to grow and get better with each new artistic endeavor.

Together, as college students, and then as adult professionals, Dave and I learned about expressing the truth of the world as we saw it and explored finding Truth in our own work and other people’s. Dave’s work began getting less and less realistic and more and more symbolic. And yet, as he strayed away from photo realistic “truth”, his presentation of “Truth” became more potent.

As his artwork became more like a “lie”, it revealed more of the Truth.

“Art is the lie that tells the truth.”

If we truly want to understand the world around us, we must look in many places. In science, we find the mechanics of the universe. In art, we find the Truth behind understanding those mechanics:

Where the mechanics came from . . .

Who set it in motion . . .

And most importantly, what is our place in this celestial machine . . .

And now, if you will bear with me for just a moment longer, I’ve borrowed liberally from masters of art and writing, but I choose to end with something decidedly more lowbrow: “The truth is out there.”

~ Ben

The Artistic Paradox

I wrote this as the introduction to an anthology for a local group. It gets into some hows and whys about artists and readers and the relationship between them.

I'm curious what you might think about it. For me, the core is the paragraph that starts, "Artists are an interesting bunch . . ."

"A story unread is a zen conundrum, a shout in an empty universe. Unread, unheard, a writer is a dying thing." Tad Williams, The Writer's Child

I love anthologies.

I know, "traditional wisdom" says that they aren't marketable. They aren't popular. They're too haphazard. Too hit or miss.

But I completely disagree. I love anthologies because of what they represent -- a diverse group of stories by a diverse group of artists. Now, I can understand that if you have no intention of trying to read something other than a select style of story or a select genre, an anthology may not appeal to you. But I enjoy reading all types of stories and hearing different voices.

And that's what makes this collection so cool. This anthology has allowed a number of voices to be heard, some for the first time. The stories are "various and sundry" and this provide a perfect example for why I happen to love anthologies and other people happen to hate them. For in this book, there are examples of historical fiction, fantasy, superheroes, and "indy" comics. With two exceptions, they were created by a team, which added to the challenge, since no team had worked together before this project . . . although a few teams may continue working together. (And a few teams may never speak to each other again.) It was an interesting dynamic, and every person involved learned something new about their art or about the "industry" or about both.

To be honest, if I had been smart I would have brought my camera to some of the meetings and filmed some sort of reality show documentary about the making of the project. There was a lot of human drama -- which was amplified by the fact that you had a bunch of artists getting together and working together.

Artists are an interesting bunch. Many artists are self-effacing, meek, and humble -- unwilling to share their work with the world out of a fear of rejection, coming from the introspective nature that cultivates their artistic tendancies. Other artists are arrogant and egotistical, growing from the recognition of their own talent and the knowledge that, simply put, it's good. But the majority of artists are a strange combination of the two -- living paradoxes -- humble and unassuming, yet confident and assertive. Their introspection is tempered by an arrogance that their story is worth reading, that people will enjoy it and laugh or cry or have some sort of reaction. When you get these strong artistic personalities in a room, sparks fly. There's really no way around it. (Honestly, though, it makes life more fun . . . albeit a little more stressful sometimes.)

And yet, it happened. By some miracle, the stories were completed. The files were finalized. And a fantastic anthology was birthed. The truth is, not every story may be your cup of tea. But in reading this anthology, you will get to hear a new voice you may not have heard before and experience some strong artwork that, while you may not LIKE the style, you will definitely appreciate.

Enjoy.

The anthology this introduction appeared in is called Syndication and can be found here, if you're interested in getting it and checking out what I was referring to. There's some fun stuff in it from a diverse group of artists.

~ Ben