Tag Archives: Art

10 Big Ideas for a Monday (minus nine)!

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Well it’s Monday so I suppose it’s time for more about Einstein’s travelling at the speed of light? It’s tempting because not a day goes by where I’m not thinking about related topics. In a recent post – Light Surfing and Chasing the Big Ideas – I mentioned a film called How Albert Einstein Discovered e=mc2. In it the notion of matter being fixed in the universe is brought up, though I can’t remember whether Einstein is the first to come up with that theory.

When you understand the thinking behind that it’s hard to dispute it . . . a fixed or finite amount of physical matter floating around the universe . . . the question remains as to the order of thing!

Often “Oops” Follows Leaps!

But then there seems to be this leap of logic as much as a leap of faith. One may extrapolate that if there is a fixed amount of matter then the universe must be finite. That’s a huge conclusion . . . it can lead to notions of a beginning and an end, an ever-expanding universe and so on.

The funny thing is, even if matter is fixed (finite) that still doesn’t mean that it can all be counted or measured.

I find that funny in a Zen kind of way because of a bit of a paradoxical nature about the finite and the infinite.

Einstein grappled with all of this when he tried to understand unity in the universe. It’s really all there in the irony of infinity . . . an infinite universe can neither expand nor contract . . . there is a total and complete oneness about that. For me it also brings a sense of peace and calmness . . . reassuring in some inexplicable way.

Also, like icing on a cake, the fixed nature of an infinite universe is perfectly congruent with the theory of a fixed amount of matter . . . double layers of icing for the truth that none of it can be fully measured, yet so nicely understood!

My Ever-Expanding Time Travelling

Other than that, I’d like to let all of you know that I’ve moved my art over to Fine Art America. I’m really glad to be making this move, should have done it long ago. They do an excellent job and this move will allow me to devote more time to creating, not to mention the ever-expanding requirement of my social media activities!

There is some new art on my new site as well. One of those pieces is shown below. Finally, here is a link to my Gallery page on Fine Art America. Please do me a favor and use those share buttons, either on this blog or on the gallery page. Since you’ve gotten this far, thanks for reading this post . . . and as always, it’s nice to hear your comments!

Sweet Dreams by Lawrence Grodecki

Sweet Dreams – Now available on Fine Art America

 

This Special Edition Has Some Special Additions!

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Abstract Art by Lawrence Grodecki

My Sweet Dreams

The oddest thing has happened. It began happening nine years ago and last night it became official.

Back in 2005 is when I began exploring digital painting. Even then this new, personal style was emerging – a combination of abstract drawing, then scanning various things from nature, then more drawing on-screen, and then fusing it all with light as my palette instead of paint.

When your art is done on a screen instead of paper or canvas, essentially that’s what your doing – working with light instead of paint. There’s actual quite a difference and it has to do with light and our perception of it. Art done on a screen is viewed with emitted light. In other words the light comes from behind the picture and towards your eyes. That’s very different than a canvas painting, where the light is reflected back from the picture to your eyes.

When Daydreams Come To Light

When I first started I knew that some day I would need to sell some of my art in order to keep to doing more of it. I wanted to make it as affordable as possible, so naturally I thought about electronic formats. I used to daydream about large, flat screens hanging on walls, where fans of my art could look at a wide selection of it, have it hanging there on their wall, switch it, or turn it off and on at their will.

In that way there is no need to print the digital creations – the pieces would look fantastic in the medium – and it would be very affordable original art! This is really very similar to what is happening to book publishing in the age of electronic books, though the price difference with the art is even more pronounced.

Last night that dream came true when I published a special illustrated edition of my novel, Dawn at Last. Instead of wall-mounted screens you can see the art on hand-held ones, on laptops, tablets and so on.

Eleven thousand words, all but one are titled!

There are eleven original pieces in this edition, each selected to go with various parts of the story. They are all set for full-page viewing and placed at the end of selected chapters. I didn’t just whip these up over the weekend. It’s been a nine-year work in progress. In fact there are a few pieces that have more hours behind them than the novel, and that was a four-month process for the first draft!

I’m not showing you any of the art here, but soon I’ll be announcing a surprise about these eleven pieces and other art that I’ve created. However, the picture at the top is somewhat representative of what’s in the special edition – it also links to the book on Amazon. The picture at the bottom links to the same book on Kobo.

So there you have it. Almost a decade ago, in one of those serious family discussions about politics and other world problems, I made a promise that someday I was going to quit my job and doing a little writing. I did quit, then did a lot of art, and then a little writing . . . I’m glad I did so.

Abstract Art by Lawrence Grodecki - Anyone for Chess

Anyone For Chess

Light Surfing and Chasing the Big Ideas

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Picture called Wind Surfying

A picture I did many years ago called “Wind Surfying”.

There’s something that really grabbed me about the most recent review of Dawn at Last. Maybe it’s the part about writing from the heart? Maybe it’s the reflective quality? If you wish, you can read the entire review here on Ionia Martin’s Amazon review of Dawn at Last.

There are some big picture issues that I only lightly touch  in the book – this post is more about these issues than about Dawn at Last.  It’s about the kind of stuff Einstein and others liked to ponder. There is so much more to write about, but not necessarily in fiction.

Light, Camaraderie, Action!

The other night I watched a wonderful NOVA docudrama, How Albert Einstein Discovered e=mc2. It is not just about him. The story covers the lives of a handful of scientists and thinkers over the span of more than a century, so in a way it is one account of the history of the ideas behind the components of the equation: energy, matter and light.

The individual stories are portrayed in an overlapping way, almost blending into each other, though in many cases the characters are completely unknown to each other in the personal sense. Speaking of personal, The individual stories are alive with humanity, including their many sacrifices and their intimate relations . . . muses more than sounding boards?

I also learned of some remarkable women, at least two of whom I’d never heard of before – I’ll leave it for you to discover them by yourself. All in all it is a film full of pleasant surprises.

Tickled In the Light and Other Ideas!

My favorite part, the one that gives me an intellectual tickle of sorts, concerns a discussion between a young Albert Einstein and an unidentified lady friend, while on a stroll. He ponders what it would be like to travel alongside a wave of light . . . light surfing, so to speak! What happens at such a speed? In a way he wonders how one would think of time in such a travel. For example, in the film he asks the young lady whether one could see one’s mirror image in such a condition.

He states that light in our normal condition light reaches our face, then the mirror, and then back to our eyes so that we can see the reflection of the face in the mirror. However, while travelling at the speed of light he contends that the light from his face would never reach the mirror. He asks whether he is then invisible.

Mirror_Mirror

Zoom In and Zoomin’!

This is the place where I begin my own zooming, and for me this is a ton of fun!

First, Einstein liked to think in pictures, which ties in nicely with this mirror scenario. Because of the situation he would not be able to see his mirror image, yet the encased mirror would have its own image, travelling in different light a few feet ahead of him. However, even if he could see it, he would only see the casing and a blank mirror . . . in one sense he has become selfless?

Second, Einstein firmly believed that the speed of light is the fastest speed in the universe. That poses the following dilemma. In his mirror scenario he must have the mirror in his hand and then extend his arm to put the mirror a few feet in front of his face. However, in order to do that his arm must move ahead of him – in fact for this motion to occur the arm must move faster than the speed of light, which according to him is impossible!

Now here’s where things get really interesting. In such a circumstance it seems that he would not be able to see anything at all. I wonder too whether his other four physical senses would be functional. Still, assume that he would be able to think – to use his mind’s eye. Hans Selye did a number of studies concerning sensory deprivation and it seems the mind becomes quite hallucinatory in such a condition. As such, in a way the ego disappears, one loses control of one’s self – again, selfless in a way?

Before Sunny Side Up!

Where am I going with all this? Consider that a selfless man is actively light surfing, time seems non-existent, so he is kind of completely in the moment. Yet his mind is working, playing all kinds of tricks on him. Ideas come. They arrive.

In order for ideas to come – to arrive – they must travel much like that arm holding the mirror must travel. In other words, ideas can move faster than the light.

This relates to something I touched briefly on in Dawn at Last . . . what guides the light? It also relates to that age-old question of what comes first, the chicken or the egg? In either case, first there is the idea!

I will be writing further on this topic of ideas, tying it in more with some of my other writings, but in essay form as well as in story telling. I’ll also be writing more about love . . . if you’ve read Dawn at Last you know I believe in love in a certain way . . . something timeless, yet faster than the speed of light. It’s very real, selfless and enduring . . . somehow the butterflies know this in their own marvelously fearless way!

Light_Surfing

Who’s Musing Who?

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Art, writing, and other musings . . . that’s my bi-line.

When this blog began there was the art, though the writing was always there, hidden from public view. Then came the novel, my biggest and most cherished writing project so far . . . in many ways as satisfying as the art, a pleasure that at one time thought not possible.

For months now, this blog has been skewed towards the promotion on the novel, interspersed with a little about art, and woefully lacking in the musing.

Fascinating and Elusive . . .

What is musing? What is a muse, and is what the right term, given that the muse may be something completely non-physical? It’s a fascinating subject, though it’s one that I’m only now more formally investigating, but not in the sense of a yearning for new knowledge. You see I’ve been close to my muse for a long time, so my knowing is already there, in very personal way. It’s such an intimate experience – a presence at times – and one that is cherished beyond words, but still one tries.

Beyond words . . . perhaps this is why for so long it seemed impossible to use words to find that same satisfaction as in creating art. This I now understand. Someone wrote a really nice blog today about the writer finding that inner voice, and what happens when one writes without it . . . when it becomes superficial. Quite simply, without that muse my inner voice seems weaker, with a sense of loss, and to the point where creating not from the heart becomes a risk.

Searching The Invisible For Common Grounds

It didn’t take long at all – only a few days of research on how history views the muse – to discover how so many others have had similar musing experiences in their creativity. That’s somehow reassuring . . . so many legendary artists and writers, their influences, their loves and relationships, their passions, eccentricities, lusts, questions, controversies, triumphs and heart breaks, and through it all, this mystery of the musing.

Much of the material is about one individual impacting the other – the inspiring returned by the affection – the dynamics between the two. Sometimes the issue goes well beyond the individual, into the realm of the spiritual, perhaps the divine? Questions arise as to where do original ideas come from? Are they really from the muse, or the writer or the artist, or from somewhere unknown? Perhaps unknown, yet truly felt . . . the fuel of genius . . . the gift received, and then the gift created, followed by the need for more. It seems this is the way of musing, always mysterious.

Same Journey, New Curves Along the Path

In the next part of my journey I’m about to write in a different way. I have begun a relationship with a large web site devoted to the issue of what it means to be a good man in today’s world. It features an incredible amount of amazing contributors, and so I am honored, humbled and excited. This kind of writing presents an entirely different challenge than writing a novel or writing here on my blog. Both of those are more personal, kind of like writing for an audience of one, which helps immensely in trying to write from the heart.

In this next project that kind of writing must continue, but differently. If you haven’t noticed, my blog is often kind of like thinking out loud, which helps me to focus on one thing or another. Every now and then it seems to resonate with others, which is really nice. Lately I haven’t done enough of that, not enough writing that will somehow help others . . . you.

That kind of helping seems imperative in writing for this men’s project, and I’ll start by gleaming through this musing material. I’m sure this can help cut through some of the confusion and anguish that seems to be there for so many men. Of course, it’s not just there for the men, but for everyone . . . the same but different. Contributors are encouraged to write in the first person, to tell personal accounts of this and that. I will do so, gently though, and as much as possible with a touch of humour, the non-offensive kind. I don’t always succeed at the ‘non’ part,  so I’m asking this of you, “Wish me luck – the good kind!”

I’ve actually written a first draft of an article. I wrote it awhile ago, but have decided to sit on it. It’s actually pretty funny – yes and no – it has to do with the use of certain toys in long distance relationships. It’s a good article, but not the one I want to lead in with, so perhaps closer to Valentine’s? It certainly doesn’t fit in well with the subject of muses . . . no pun intended. Also, I’d like to write articles that are in a way congruent with Dawn at Last, which is oozing with secrets and mystery and well, you know . . . muses!

The Challenge

So much that is written on this topic is related to gifted artists and creative people. I believe that is unfairly so, that anyone can have a kind of muse-gift in any close relationship. I need to believe this as much as I need to believe that love is the most important aspect of the universe. Illustrating this through my new writing project will be a challenge, which is perhaps just the motivation I need. You will see what I mean when these articles are published, and I’ll be sure to mention them here, on my blog, as soon as that happens.

To give you a feel for what I mean – the gift of the muse in everyday life – here is an excerpt from Dawn at Last. Based on comments from the book’s fans, it is certainly one of the favorite segments of the novel. This is about Pierre, the owner of a French restaurant called Papillons, telling Sunni (a waitress) about the inspiration and origin of the name:

“Okay Sunni . . . the house of butterflies. It’s my home, you see. How can I tell you this? When I was a youngster I had my chores to do, and they varied depending on the time of year. This one summer day it was getting close to supper time and I had to prepare a bunch of vegetables for stew. I had to go to the kitchen sink to get some water and our kitchen window overlooked the yard between the house and the crops. There were little flower beds around the yard. While I was running the water I looked outside and there they were.”

He pauses, and looks as if he’s lost in a dream, though she’s sure it’s a memory, and once again in her impatience she asks, “What did you see, papillons?”

Her words breaks his trance, and he smiles as he looks at her and says, “Yes, that and more. My mother was out there on the right side of yard, tending to some flowers. She was bent over. She was wearing those favourite blue jean shorts of hers and a colourful blouse, an old one she wore mostly for chores. Then I saw my father on the left side, about fifty meters away. He was repairing some kind of tool or something. It was a hot day, so he paused to wipe off his sweat. As he stood up he looked at my mother. At that point she hadn’t noticed him looking. He started to walk quietly toward her, as if to sneak up on her. About half way there she must have heard him, or perhaps it was les papillons floating around her, five of them. I think it was five − they were hard to count.

When my father noticed that my mother had spotted him sneaking up, he started walking a little faster. Then she stood right up and turned to face him, at the same time looking around the yard. She started walking away, slowly at first, not toward him, but toward the house, and smiling. He began to run a little and so did she, giggling now, and it was bit like a touch football game as she zigged and zagged a bit, and then my father slipped on the grass and fell down to the ground. I was startled. It really looked like he was hurt, but he it turned out he was faking an injury to get her to come and help him, and when she did, he pulled her down and they kissed, and for a long time. Then they got up and walked away, hand in hand, somewhere towards the side of the house, where there are lots of trees.”

Then he pauses, and looks closer at Sunni. “And then then these butterflies – when my mother was running they seemed to follow her – like they were playing their own game. They even seemed to follow them to the trees, until I lost sight of them as well. It was really something. In those moments it was all about love, don’t you think? Only playful love and affection. And it seems that’s all the butterflies know − and that’s what I try to do with my restaurant. It’s a safe place for people like you and Andrea and the other young ladies, at least I want it to be, and maybe sometimes love comes out of it, somehow. Is that so wrong?”

The Perfect Gift, If Only For Awhile

One of my favourite aspects about this excerpt is how the couple interact so playfully and with no need for words – in a way they inspire each other – and so this is too is the play of the muse? I hope this gives you a bit of a flavour for the direction I’ll be taking in the project. If I succeed then I will make some people happier, if only for awhile, and hopefully a long while. Maybe some in their busy lives need a reminder, need to stop and look at the love that is still there, but possibly dormant in all the stress and confusion? I plan to provide many reminders – a series on this issue of the muse and musing – of awareness, the selfless kind.

It would be nice to help like that, in some small way . . . it does feel good when it happens, and shouldn’t it? There are those who says that such kindness is somehow self-indulgent and that giving gifts like this is really a selfish act because one gets pleasure in the process. I disagree. If you want to see it as being selfish, go ahead. All I know is that it is perfectly acceptable . . . perhaps the only true definition of perfection. How do I know? Why do I believe this so strongly? The simple is answer – I can sense that the muse approves and I need no more than that.

Thank you for getting to the bottom of such a long post . . . you must be well-grounded by now! As such you deserve a treat, so what could be more fitting than a little music? Enjoy . . .

Who’s Musing Who?

Dawn at Last – Book Description

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Digital art

Some call it sinful, others say divine . . . they all call it refreshing.

A smart and sexy romance, perhaps the kind your mother doesn’t want you to know? Chances are she will love it too, even though this is definitely not old school shenanigans!

Secrets deeper than the Seven Seas . . .

Modern day Victoria, BC sets the stage for Donna Belauche, a professional intimacy counselor who keeps her client list short and her list of friends shorter.  Life is far from fun and games for Donna. In her quiet time, it is not her work that brings her to the brink of madness. It’s the weight of her past – so many deep secrets – almost crushing her. Holding love at arm’s length, she pushes men away, even one who especially adores her.

That’s when she wrote in her journal, “genuinely kind and charming,” but next to that she added “perhaps a little dangerous…be very careful.”

Making Dali Blush

As she pushes love away, Donna devotes her free time to the pursuit of a different kind of passion – a hobby involving tulips, a creative exploration of women – an exploration of what some call sinful, and yet others divine. She is not alone in this project. She and her partners do it all in the name of art . . . but have they taken it all too far?

As wonderful as it seemed, still is it even okay, or was it all just decadence? Yet such a sweet decadence, as fresh as the first drop of honey.

It’s funny how it works when love’s at play.

Some say this book is controversial because of its characters – interracial relationships, unconventional pasts, and affairs between lady friends who are oblivious to the label, “lesbian romance”. They see nothing unusual in any of it. For them it is just how they live. There is Ben, the house painter who will paint most anything, and a server named Sunni, with a thing for buns. Along with three others, they manage to help Donna find her way, almost in spite of themselves.  They don’t realize how important each is to the other, especially to Donna, as she scratches away at the ties that bind her.

Untwisting the Night Away

The lives of these misfits twist together like vines – never knowing exactly where they will wind up. Through all the intertwining, love offers up one amusing surprise after another.  Then, on one final night – three men and three ladies – everything finally comes together. Lives are changed forever . . . but for the better? How does one ever really know? At last, is it ever just about love?

Read these comments from fans of Dawn at Last . . .

Exciting and Adventurous – The intersecting plot lines led me on an adventure, an intriguing blend of humour and mystery.

Fresh and Amusing – The humor and wit throughout is really enjoyable. The interracial relationships feel very contemporary, and say a lot about love in today’s world.

Breath-taking and Sexy – The intimate scenes are seductive, making me want to be involved – a wonderful adult romance.

Complex and Mysterious -The emotional journey is challenging. It took me through many stages before emerging at the other end with my own thoughts and revelations.

Dangerous and Raw – There are times in the book where I sensed an element of risk and it heightened the experience.

Entertaining and Evocative – Overall the book is fun. It’s a wonderful adult romance. The story, themes and characters stayed in my mind long after I finished the book – waiting for the sequel now!

A Little Magic

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One thing I love about my kind of painting is how unpredictable it can be.

Last night I had a wonderful time polishing up colom, putting the finishing touches on it . . . for a comparison, see My Saturday Column – Pardon the Typoh! I lost track of time and almost packed it in when I was done at 2:30 in the morning . . . but I didn’t.

digital painting

colom – finally finished!

As often happens when I’m finally finished a picture, such as colom above, I’ll spend a little more time just playing with it – this where life becomes unpredictable – at 3:00 in the morning, after playing with a few effects, a little magic happened. The picture below is what I’m talking about . . . it’s still untitled, but I really couldn’t wait to put it up here, and soon it will also be on my site.

Finally, the funny thing is that I went to bed last night thinking about how much this new picture ties in to my novel, Dawn at Last, at least in the emotion of it all. For a minute I thought perhaps it would make a great cover, but I’m not really sure about that.

If I ever do a hard cover version though, I’m sure it will include some of this art as an appendix, or perhaps I will call it a heart – a book should have a heart, right?  🙂

tbd20f_square3b

Not in the Mood

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tbd177b_fur5b_small_J

I really haven’t felt like writing much lately, though the art is most enjoyable, such as creating this picture. Oddly enough, it starts with the same image from where “Speechless” came from (Speechless is on my web site).

I think I’ll keep the original image as a secret for now . . . besides, it looks nothing like either of the two pictures mentioned here!

But Sir, Are You Real?

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Youthful Passions

As a child my first real passion was baseball. I loved to be outside and in the summer we played ball every morning, then we would hang out at the community center for hours after practice. For a break from the heat, we would go inside the youth building, where an endless tournament of ping pong happened . . . the winner keeps playing, so it all worked out more or less equal.

There was a drink machine, either coke or 7-up, and at the age of 11 or 12, we tended to lean toward the 7-up . . . after all, that’s what was on our team uniforms, so it made sense. For lunch we had two choices, but this was before the revolution began. We had a choice between plain potato chips and barbecue, and both came in only one size. The revolution came with the introduction of salt & vinegar, but by memory it seems we were unscathed by this – the youth center seemed to be sheltered from the onslaught.

In looking back, everything seemed so innocent then, and perhaps that’s something I’m most thankful for – everything was for fun, with no intent beyond that. That innocence carried through in more intellectual pursuits. At that early age, it was a pleasure to drift off to the library, which was half town away from the ball park, perhaps a mile away. It was a place to go to find some shade, pick up a book or two and sit in the grass, under a tree, and read awhile.

Eclectic, just because

This was all independent learning. My parents didn’t tell me what to read, nor my teachers . . . it was summer and I was free. So for the fun of it I would pick out a big book about some ancient guy named Leonardo da Vinci. The only part that wasn’t fun was lugging this monster home – bike or no bike! It was a mixed bag, a little Leonardo, some Archie comics, detective books, logic puzzles, The Iliad, and those pin-up magazines stashed in a friend’s garage, the ones that belonged to his father. That garage was a library unto itself, and every boy in town knew about it, much more so than the place where I discovered the ancient guy that liked to invent as much as to draw.

This “pattern” of seemingly random interests continued most of my life, though there were periods of interruption, such as 7 years of college and university, and then something called becoming an adult. Eventually I grew out of all that. One piece of randomness really hit home. I can’t remember when I first came across Salvador Dali – it’s so long ago – it seems I found the big books most intriguing, probably because of the pictures. Yes, I’m guilty of not reading about him, of only studying the pictures, or rather of losing myself in them, and again, just for the fun of it.

Along the way I’d do a little writing, often adding some sketches and doodle to the scribbles, though I can no longer remember the details, only the innocent pleasure of the doing of it. The process never became wearisome, and there are limits to all the running around, the sports and stuff, such as the raiding of gardens and orchards.

A Return or an awakening?

About eight years ago, I left behind a lifestyle that is beyond description now. I took a leap of faith of sorts by returning to my innocence . . . my creativity. I didn’t do it haphazardly, though at the time many may have saw my decision that way. It’s a different kind of heartbreak to be ridiculed for such a decision, something I’ll never really understand, and something I really wasn’t prepared for, and I’m thankful for that as well – the lack of preparation. After all, if I had been able to foresee that kind of criticism, I’m not 100% sure that I would have been brave enough to change direction.

At first I thought I’d do some writing, but then the art took hold of me, and that has been a great surprise. In the past number of years I’ve actually done plenty of both, though the only “official” writing is in the form of a book, the novel I’ve been blogging about lately.

It bothers me somewhat, this moving between the art and the writing, even though I know than many creative people have done both, but then I see no valid reason to specialize. Perhaps it is only in this deep jungle of self-promotion where the only trouble lies . . . my self-induced brand confusion?

It does get frustrating at times – frustrating as hell, to be honest – staying positive is more of a challenge than I’d ever want to share with anyone. By that I mean much more than becoming successful, which for me is no more than paying the bills, attaining enough “security” to do what I do, and helping my children financially as much as I can. Yes, these necessities are trouble enough, but it is the bigger set of questions and observations that trouble me so much more – the stuff that is much bigger than me – the kind of stuff that gnaws at our very existence.

My favored combat for these bigger troubles is humor, though I can lose days on end in a personal despair, and hiding that has become kind of skill on its own. I say all this because this morning I came across a wonderful video about a man who seems so little understood – one of my childhood heroes – and the warmth and charm, and perhaps a touch of innocence, is all encapsulated in this clip – and yes, there is plenty of humor!

A leading man . . . undoubtedly, but not necessarily followed

One verb or two?

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This is a work in progress, using some candle wax and pieces of a wick in lieu of charcoal.

This is a work in progress, using some candle wax and pieces of a wick in lieu of charcoal.

For many months now my art process has taken a back-burner to the writing process. Why do I use the word process? It’s because the most precious aspect of it for the artist, this artist, is in the joy of creating . . . when something is finished there is a kind of sadness, I suppose mainly because the process is finished.

Many times I’ve found myself moving on to another picture, and right away, simply as a reaction to this sadness. It’s not a deep depression or anything like that, but merely a recognition of a need to move on – it’s a very natural feeling.

Why do I even raise the issue?

While the process is very much a pleasant imaginary journey, often times the discussions about the finished work becomes a bit of nightmare. For lack of a better term, it often gets bogged down in dogma, such as, “What kind of art is that? What is the intent? Is it fine art?” For me the biggest issue surrounds the use of technology . . . as if the use of software negates the “validity” of the final piece, and for that matter, the process. Sadly, there are many who think the machine does everything, while the truth is that it does very little, at least in my experience.

It’s strange how the focus on the piece can get so negative, so divisive, but thankfully nothing can take away from the experience of the process. I’m very tempted to respond to that technical issue here, but I won’t, because no matter how I put it, any comment will only add to the controversy.

The Bigger Picture

I’ve noticed that this kind of controversy seems to be in so many fields. For example, I can experience the same kind of exasperation in a discussion with physicists, especially about issues such as the big bang theory, the nature of the universe, and the center of the universe.

Many people get upset because of my views come from a different way of knowing, such as by simple observation and perhaps a little logic? I don’t why it’s important, or if important is the right word, but it seems it’s easy to learn things this way, more so when there is simply no intent. This issue of intent, or lack of it, is what I refer to as important.

A Very Kind Way of Learning

One of my favorite learning experiences comes from spending time with a candle now and then, gazing into the flame and watching pieces of the wick kind of swimming in the melted wax around the flame. I mention this because I’ve learned so much this way. After watching the dance within the flame, a wonderful dance, one night it hit me . . . there is no center. It is completely impossible to find the center of any given flame on any given candle.

As this is true, then it follows that if you cannot find the center of a flame, how can you ever hope to find the center of the universe? For me there is great beauty in this truth, as in my experience in the process of art. Unfortunately, the discussions that follow aren’t so wonderful, especially with those consumed with quantifiable measurement . . . sometimes logic and a little imagination should be enough . . . some say art is an expression of life without numbers.

That’s also how I see nature – an expression of life without numbers.

Truth moves around . . . thankfully!

Two Strings Attached

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Of all the arts, music is regarded as the most universal in its appeal and acceptance. This universality,however, does not mean that music is without individual character. Each country has its own kind of music that embodies the total experience, the collective consciousness of its people. Music, therefore, is the collective expression of the musical genius of a particular people.

Such is the case of Philippine music which today is regarded as a unique blending of two great musical traditions – the East and the West. Being innately musical, the Filipinos, from the earliest to contemporary times, have imbibed these traditions and have woven their musical creations along these mainstreams of musical thought. Through time, Philippine society has witnessed the evolution of music expressed in different forms and stylistic nuances.

A people gifted with a strong sense of musicality, the Filipinos turn to music to express their innermost feelings. Hence, every song they sing, every instrument they play, every music they make is a direct, almost spontaneous reflection of their hopes and longings, frustrations and fulfillment, failures and triumphs.

The above quote come from Antonio C. Hila, found in a wonderful article on the musical instruments of the Filipinos.

My little musical journey continues, and it is starting to feel like the missing element of a troika . . . the art, some writing, and now the music . . . there will certainly be some dancing along the way.

I’d have to agree with Hilda’s first sentence (above), and It does seem like less there’s less arguing and such when it comes to music. I’m tired of getting involved in so many trite ones – yeah, one happened today in an online discussion – in the end though, it seems that I did help the art student with one of my observations. It was his discussion. He took my comment back to his teacher, who was caught off-guard by it.

There’s a strange mentality in some of the art world revolving around the issue of integrity when an artist sells their art, and how that is somehow “less than noble”. In the context of this discussion, the issue was about fine art ‘versus’ commercial art (advertising). One or more artists/ participants seemed to be offended when I said, “If you do a painting and have it hung in a gallery for sale, it is also a form of advertising.”

It got pretty quiet when I asked whether the picture of a can of soup is fine art. When you think about it, the can is actually covered. The picture is mostly a picture of the label of a can of soup, and believe me, packaging is all about advertising. Funny how no one knows who did the graphic arts on the original label . . . I wonder if Andy had the talent to do that?

As you can see, these kinds of discussions are pretty non-nonsensical – though I’m glad the student and his teacher saw the humor in the truth of it. I really don’t like any discussions on the issue of “what is art” . . . it gets wearisome and only leads to frustration, and this can literally throw me off for hours, if not the whole day or evening.

I don’t care to rank them either, but still there is the music . . . perhaps the common thread in all of it is the heart? That certainly helps makes a good book – the words –  special, it draws one in to a painting, makes the music charming and exciting, and when you add some dancing in there it can be down right exhilarating. There’s no need to judge it, much more need to enjoy and celebrate it. Hopefully as time goes on that message will come through in this blog – hopefully another way of sharing pleasant surprises.

Some words, a little music, lots of light and some dancing – get the picture? 🙂