Tyred, cloudy and missing my gloves and pacifier

There are those who say that art is meaningless, that it simply represents what it is.

A picture of deer in a meadow maybe. A canvas full of color splashes. A funny sculpture that doesn’t even look realistic. A prudent long-term investment.

I, on the otherhand–and I know I am not totally alone in this, even nowadays–I say art always has a deaper meaning.

I find the political in a love song. The deaper meaning in even the kitsch old housewives hang on their walls.

It can be a problem. But I don’t care.

I say art has a deaper meaning, , even if (sometimes–especially if) the artist didn’t intend one.

What the F does the artist know? The artist has nothing more to do with their art, than the baker has to do with what I do with her cakes after she bakes them. It’s out of the creators hands now, with a life of its own and destined to be given whatever meaning other people give it.

The artist is only a vessle, anyway. A can and filter through which the coffee of Kunst pours. It’s nice to know you have a fancy coffee can…but we’re really interested in what kind of coffee it makes…and how high and how far that coffee can get our souls. It is purely utilitarian. The coffee mug doesn’t tell me how to understand and interpret my coffee…it may inform that…but I take it from there, spilling half of it usually.

And besides spilling coffee, here’s another problem I’ve been having lately:

I happen to be pretty strong advocate for the Nurture Theory covering human developement, as opposed to the Nature. Human nature is everything. Our nature is to become what we need to be to survive. While we clearly share traits and tendencies as a species, sometimes simply a few genes with a limited but related few, as far as who becomes Hitler or who Gandhi, my take on the subject is the person’s life of experience is put into the filter of his or her brain and out comes what they do and say. Your environment nurtures you into being an asshole. Your parents, friends, school and job mould you into who you are…and you have free will in that, but you were not born to succeed or born to fail.

This is at least the shit I believe. And it makes it depressing to see so many idiots around me every day. It means our society is stupid.

Hitler makes us all guilty.

But this idea is the fabric of what makes humanity function. That we are equal that is.

If we fail to understand that Hitler is a worse case scenario for humans, that we can all potentially become little Hitlers if we stray from the lobby the Hotel Sanity for too long, and fail to return home…it can be really really dangerous. 6 million dead in camps dangerous.

Of course this debate has been heated since first people dreamed up thinking about where we come from…and the answer has all sorts of heavy implications. Equality, for one….we are all the son or daughter of God, for another example…Neither I, nor my generation, are special snowflakes unless we lived as Caspar Hauser, is another implication…the world is responsible for its dictators, as another…but for our purpose today we aren’t going so deap into the bowl of that philosophical soup.

For the moment, let just restrict the implications to art. I say noone is born to be Beathoven or falls from heaven with a special gift in the form of a talent and has an exclusive monopoly on a certain skill. Being good at something, seems easier for some, but what makes one good at it, and another not so good, is practice. Practice makes perfect.

I proved this once to myself in that despite my obviously recessive math genes, even I was able to learn the basics of statistics.

Of course, don’t let me imply my skills at math are at all above shit. But I learned some, at all, is the point.

Anyway, we are talking about more aesthetic arts that math here for right now.

The implications of the idea for us here are that each and every one of us can be Picasso, if we are so twisted as to take on becoming Picasso.

Anyone can do art. It sounds nice, right? But it is complicated.

When I was younger, I thought to myself, I wanted to write like Henry Miller, or say, William Burroughs. Then I realized what that meant. To write like Miller I would have to live like Miller. Gross.

I’d be dead from complications of AIDs, or even worse–a communist sympathizer, in a a fortnight , I thought. This was the late 80s we are talking here. They had us freaked.

names of people murdered by Neo Nazi groups in German

But anyway…by delima is that considering as I understand it, everyone is able to do art, and considering the gray lines as to what is considered art, it kind of struck me lately that I was losing the ability to distinguish what  was art, and what just a glove left in a windowcill.

If Art is human creation, then the glove is art. Somebody put it there. They were a vessel, if for even a second.

But if if we allow everything to be art, that would mean horrible, inartistic things like banking and advertisement would be considered moral and ok. We’ve got to draw a line somewhere. Think of the children.

My gut feeling is very George Bushy on this. I’m thinking it comes down to good and evil.

If you do good, do happy, do funny, loving, educational or absurd, then it’s art. If you do evil…do trickery, do malice, do hate, torture, discouragement or  disrespect, it’s not.

The trick now is deciding what is good and evil. George Bush, of course, being an example of evil.

Destruction is caused, not created.

But I digress.

Let’s stick to art here.

Is throwing tires over lampposts art? I’m sure some think it’s evil.

I think it must take a pretty good throw to get a bike tyre over a lamp. Lot’s of practice. I think it’s a skill. Kind of like shoes over a wire. Maybe trickier.

What I haven’t figured out yet is the meaning behind throwing your tyre over a streetlamp. A meaning would seal the form’s standing as art, in my mind. I don’t know though: throwing tyres.

Ha! I’ve got it.

A innertube over a light mast means the object is ‘tired,’ perhaps? Yes, yes, of course. Society is tired. I throw a tyre over the institutionally constructed lighting fixture to demonstrate my alienation from the oppressive and violent regime’s hardly effictive and grossly waistful attempt at illuminating the sidewalk for the citizen.

Must be it.

Now what does window-gloving mean?

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About Andrew Flohr-Spence

Something about the sound and the word. Was a singer/bassist for five years, a German major for five, an English teacher in Germany for another five, then a journalism major in Denver for 5 more, and now I'm back in Berlin (for a while, I intend).
This entry was posted in Lost in Berlin and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Tyred, cloudy and missing my gloves and pacifier

  1. beautiful beautiful photos, makes me want to walk around Berlin a little tipsy.

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