Five Song Friday: Bless Your Art
This Week: Achy Throbbing, Wacky Tobacky and Bionic Brawls
I went to art school but don’t hold that against me.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Making stuff! Expressing myself! Avoiding math!
Back then, creativity felt like a viable career path.
Sure, the life of an artist wasn’t going to be easy.
But at least I could rock a funny haircut and paint smudged pants while all those other poor suckers were suffocating in suits and khakis!
I might not be destined for financial security and a solid portfolio of marketable skills, but I could create objects of “beauty” using pink fur, patent leather and scrap metal.
I majored in sculpture and spent my art school years building monsters. I collected scraps to make Frankenstein garbage that was only meant to live for a day.
It was equal parts silly and serious.
My degree is basically a laminated “license to be quirky” that is valid forever.
It has no practical applications, but it provides context for my odd behavior.
“Oh my GOD. Do you really need TWO closets full of weird thrift store toys and porcelain figurines for art projects? Why are you like this?” (Opens wallet, shows art school card)
“Sir, were you aware that you were driving backwards on the sidewalk and your car is wearing a giant cowboy hat and handlebar mustache?” (Opens wallet, shows art school card)
“Yes, I understand that you were too full to finish the second half of your sandwich. But here at Subway, we don’t reimburse you for uneaten portions of your footlong.” (Opens wallet, shows art school card)
It’s a funny thing, the arts.
We revere the work and love building mythology around popular artists as tortured geniuses and divine talents. But on many other levels, it’s not taken seriously.
Art can be seen as frivolous. Devoid of practical function.
Success is measured in money. Art for art’s sake? What’s the point?
Any time I told people I was a sculpture major, their faces reacted with a initial flash of envy and admiration that morphed into a Pity Pout.
It sounded like this…
“Sculpture? WOW…. good for you.”
As in, “Good for you… you poor bastard.”
As in, “Good for you… you misguided idiot.”
But then I would stare back.
I would stare back into their soul and activate my fake art school powers of cynicism, criticism and anti-establishment, poseur cool.
And I would run my paint-smudged hand through my ridiculous haircut and say, “Yeah… good for ME.”
As in, “Good for me… but YOU will never understand because you’re some kind of accountant or bank loan person or whatever and you have to do whatever the MAN tells you to do.”
As in, “Good for me… but YOU have a creative inner soul that is forever trapped inside a cubicle box built by a society that hates personal expression.”
These exchanges would happen in microseconds but feel like slow motion.
And the saddest thing about those blink-and-you’ll-miss-them stare downs? Me and the other person were never that far apart ideologically.
We were jealous of each other in equal measure and probably just needed to hug it out.
Part of me always wanted to work in a bank.
And it’s likely that there are plenty of financial executives out there who long for an afternoon arguing about about whether sealing a white mouse in a plexiglass box was art or just plain animal cruelty.
Today, the entire definition of art and artists is going through a transformation.
People are using technology and artificial intelligence to generate work with the touch of a button. Images can be remixed in seconds and whole imaginary worlds can be constructed without driving a single nail.
I’m in the midst of a full-on love affair with the image remixing AI powers of Midjourney, while my pens and brushes and modeling clay sit neglected and abandoned.
It feels like cheating, but I’m also having a ton of fun. All new toys get old after a while, so maybe this will pass.
Or maybe this is just the way we’ll make art from now on.
As we inch closer and closer into the strange days ahead, I find myself uniquely qualified to do battle in the “But Is It Art?” arena.
I’ve realized that the one legitimate superpower I acquired during my school days was the ability to argue about art.
After all, I spent years fighting for and against the artistic merits of raw steaks nailed to the wall, naked classmates with dollhouses on their heads and whether serious artists should ever work with aluminum foil (they should not).
I’m here for the debate. Bring it on.
I’ll join you right after I ask AI to blend these pictures of RoboCop and Betty White.
Sincerely,
DJ CrankyPete
Five Song Friday 063
“Pelos” - CHC
If you speak Spanish, you know exactly where this guy is coming from… which is probably one of the Spanish-speaking countries.
“Can’t Imagine Feeling Better” - Scoobert Doobert
Now that’s a phrase I don’t say ever. Lately, it’s more like, “Where is that achy throbbing coming from?” and “Why does my skeleton hate me so much?” Almost every day, I can say that I can absolutely imagine feeling better.
“Living in Jungles” - Bedouin Soundclash
I know what you’re thinking. This song sounds a little bit hacky-sacky-wacky-tobacky-dorm-room. It sounds like end of semester, springtime lazy days and the smell of honeysuckle and hormones. It sounds like the rasta-wannabe-jimmy-jammers that I used to snicker at for dancing in public, but secretly admired and longed to be accepted by. And you are 100% correct.
“King Prawn The 1st” - Spang Sisters
Heads up, these guys are NOT really sisters.
“Shut ‘Em Up” - The Prodigy, Public Enemy, Manfred Mann
This song makes me think about the guy who invented the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Or the woman who prepared the very first Everything Bagel. Or the goddamn genius who suggested that the Six-Million Dollar Man should go up against Bigfoot. These are people who believed that if you take things that are individually awesome and mash them together, sometimes you can make a thing that is even more awesome.
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That’s all for now. Thanks for reading!
“To me you are a work of art, and I would give you my heart - that's if I had one.”
― Morrissey