I LOVE TECH, BUT I BELIEVE IN ART

I’ve been obsessively thinking about a comment Bob Lefsetz made in his blog recently http://bit.ly/1agmody (he is a music attorney who comments on the music business, but I find him really inspiring about pretty much everything. HIGHLY recommend). 

He wrote about how music is no longer driving the culture. Technology has won…for the moment. The smartest and brightest of today go into tech. There is some good music out there, but we don’t look to those people for guidance and inspiration like we used to. He goes so far as to say it’s generally the fault of musicians themselves. The tireless pursuit of celebrity status and money. 

Growing up, if one of my favorite bands got a corporate sponsor for something, we’d say they “sold out” and stop listening. Credibility was destroyed. It shattered the purity of the statement they were making in the music. Songs and artwork were my instruction manual for life. 

Today it’s tech. Facebook changed the world. Love it or hate it, it has connected the globe in a way unimaginable before. Twitter has helped organize revolutions. Incredible as they are, they are both just tools. And could be thrown away tomorrow for a better tool if someone comes up with one. 

Yet we still listen to the Beatles, and Andy Warhol exhibits are always packed. Art and music can strike an emotional truth beyond practicality. And that truth will always transcend its era. When I reach beyond the “practical,” that's when the good stuff always happens and my life gets generally yummy. I love tech, but I believe in art. 

THE BEAUTY IN MAKING CRAP

There’s a great quote I read once from a blues guitar legend, I think it was Buddy Guy. He said something along the lines of, “If I don’t play for one day, I can hear the difference in my performance. If I don’t play for two, everyone can hear it.” 

It really struck me. Here is one of the best guitarists in the world, who has influenced and inspired a slew of other legends including Eric Clapton, saying that after over 50 years of playing at that high of a level, a measly two day break can make him feel rusty.  

It may sound extreme, but the truth is, I get it. I went back into my studio to start painting again last week after the better part of a month away from it. I was a flurry of activity preparing for my last art show and wanted to take a break to work on some new music. But I got the opportunity to show again at the LA Brewery Artwalk in a couple weeks, so I needed to make some new visual work. 

I had a couple of small ideas roaming around in my head, but nothing great. No real direction. No grand statement I wanted to make. Dusty, lifeless paint containers sat on the shelf in my studio, staring at me. Even the fluorescent colors seemed dead. Everything I laid down looked terrible. I had no good ideas, and I couldn’t execute. 

I didn’t know what to do. I found myself beginning to avoid my studio just to save myself from feeling that quiet failure. I wanted to crawl into bed and wait for my skills to return. But I know better. 

Experience has taught me to keep going. If I’ve got nothing, then make crap. It’s ok. I don’t have to show it to anyone. I think it takes courage to knowingly make crap. It takes courage to create something brilliant too. Perhaps that is the most important element in creativity. To expose something I’m not sure how you’ll respond to. To create something personal, that isn’t specifically engineered from the ground up to evoke an adoring response from a faceless public. Lightning isn’t safe. But it’s beautiful, electric and very exciting. And that’s what good art is. 

I spend a lot of my time these days bouncing back and forth between painting, music, graphic design work (helps keep the lights on), and trying to have some semblance of a social life. So the ability to dive deep into and out of various projects is a skill I seriously need to hone. 

I haven’t completely found my groove yet. But I have discovered, that I can only do one thing at a time. Trying to simultaneously work on 7 different projects only makes for craziness, paralysis and mediocrity. Real creativity takes focused, applied pressure. Even if that applied pressure has to come in bursts. 

The good news is, no matter how much in the moment, I think “it” is dead and gone forever, it never really is. It may take a minute for me to get sharp again, but nothing is ever lost. No skill or experience. It all goes into the subconscious and only needs a little coercing to come back out to play. Two days ago I still felt rusty, staring at a piece of burlap and some plywood. Today it’s almost a piece of art. And by tomorrow, it will be a piece of art. 

As to whether it’s crap or not, time tends to be the best judge of such things so I’m not going to worry about it. My plan is to work until it feels good, label it “finished,” and move on. 

LIFE EPIPHANY #328,464

Work vs. Finish

If the goal is to work on something, then I can work on it forever.
If the goal is to finish something, I will get it done.  

They are very different pursuits. Both ending in fulfillment of my goal. 

It's better to finish, because then I can move on to do something else. 

Even better.

CLUELESS BUT SPICY

Sometimes what comes out of my mouth surprises me. And I realize I understand more about myself than I think. 

The other night I was talking to a fellow songwriter about a critique she received on one of her songs. She told me she’s not happy with what they said, so I tried to think of something comforting to say. And out of my mouth comes something along the lines of…

“Listening to critiques is the single worst thing that ever happened to my songwriting. I joined one of those services that critiques your songs and tries to place things for you. It killed me. I didn’t have enough confidence in my own point of view. And once the judge and jury entered the creative process, I lost my perspective. The single most important element to anything creative. Unique perspective. It took me a long time to bounce back from that. I had things to learn, but i’m in a place now where I can’t listen too much anymore. It has to be pure. ”

Trying to make things “good” took the fun out because i got so caught up in the craft, I lost the magic. That euphoric feeling of communicating through art something that is so true and real that no other form of communication is effective. Creativity is too pure a place for judgement. Truth can’t live there. And in the end, without truth, it doesn’t matter how crafted it is. It’s nothing. 

My doctor told me recently that our conscious minds have 2X,000 thoughts per minute. Our subconscious minds have 4XX,000 thoughts per minute. The subconscious records everything. My subconscious obviously understood this and has made corrections to my behavior, but my conscious mind wasn’t aware of it yet. 

How is it that I live with myself 24 hours a day for years now and understand so little about what i’m doing? I guess that’s what keeps life so spicy. 

VIGILANTSY

Some days just look better than others. The specifics are irrelevant. Sunshine, clouds, doesn’t really matter. I’ve felt like a million bucks on a crappy gray day only to wake up the next morning to sunshine and want to crawl into a hole. 

It’s all in my mind. I’ve got that part. The problem is, how to manage the void in between the 2 perspectives. 

Some people say, “find something to be grateful for, like just being alive.” Sounds nice, but that doesn’t always work for me. On a bad day, I don’t necessarily consider being human such an honor. Just because I might have it a little better than someone else, doesn’t mean the human condition is all that great. What about their dinner? We live in a place where the atrocious is not only possible, but a daily occurence. Our little sick bodies decaying, needing food and shelter, posturing for a better view for the ride down. 

But then there are those moments. You know…those transcendental moments when she laughs just right. Or when the sun hits the flowers on the bookcase from just the perfect angle. Moments that are sometimes experienced and sometimes just a memory hidden behind a veil of AAARRRRGGHHHH!!!!! But even then I still know they exist. I’ve had too many of them to forget.

Today is not my best day. I’ve annoyed myself twice this week and haven’t recovered yet. Once totally self-inflicted, the second time, partially self-inflicted. I’m usually am at least part of the problem when I feel like this. Today is no exception. 

It’s not that someone used my idea for something, it’s that they did it better. Then I said “no” when I should’ve said “yes” because I didn’t feel I had the money. I instantly regretted it, because I SWORE I wouldn’t do that again. 

Self deception is cunning and hides everywhere. And it thinks fast. 

Conclusion? I need to step up my game. Be more vigilant.

FLO AND WIMPY'S...SIT AT THE COUNTER!!!

I love old diners. Whenever I’m traveling, have some time alone, a couple of hunger pangs, and the opportunity, I’ll try to find the closest one and drop in for a bite. Maybe it’s the TV show “Alice” I grew up watching, with Flo, the trash talking waitress and her tarnished heart of gold, I don’t know. But there’s something about them. 

The best ones aren’t the big chains. A good diner shouldn’t be decorated by a district manager 1000 miles away. It should be smaller. More personal. That’s why the locals go there. And that’s who I want to see. 

The best way to experience them? Alone. Sitting at the counter. A table or booth is nice, and eating with a friend is a great way to spend an hour, but it’s not like being alone at the counter. If you really want a taste of what’s going on there, that’s the place to sit.  

Today’s choice? Wimpy’s Diner. I walked by a couple times deciding whether or not to go in. Little strip mall restaurants can backfire on you if you’re not careful. It’s got to have the right vibe and the blinding sun reflecting on the window made it hard to see in. But on my second pass, while looking for something else, I happened to catch the name on a sign partially hidden by the door. I couldn’t resist. Wimpy’s Diner. My mind was immediately launched back to memories of all the Popeye cartoons I watched growing up…”I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today,” Wimpy would say. 

I thought, “how can I not try this place?” 

I open the door to walk in, and it’s everything I hoped for. Red plastic booths line the wall, and there is an elderly wait staff that looks like they’ve been there for decades. Coat racks. Funky signs….and a small counter. 

“Counter ok?” I ask one of the waitresses? 

“Of course.”

I sit down and she hands me a menu. There’s one other guy waiting for a To Go order sitting next to me. He’s buried in his iPhone. 

There is something about going almost anywhere alone. Whether it’s just running to the local market down the street, or renting a flat in Madrid for the summer. It’s an opportunity. A simple smile or lightweight comment about how cold it is outside can lead to a deep conversation about childhoods, work issues, creativity or rocky marriages. That’s the thing about most of us. We want to connect. We’re looking for it. All we need is an open door. 

“When are you outta here?” One says to another. 

“I’m almost done. Who’s coming in?”

“I don’t know.”

“This salad is mine.” 

“Who’s garlic toast is this?” 

Suddenly I’m in the club. My proximity makes me inescapable. Sitting at the counter at Wimpy’s, I find myself included in conversations I would never get a glimpse of sitting anywhere else. It’s like hanging out with the staff while they’re working. They know I can hear everything, so they might as well include me. It’s beautiful. 

A group of elderly men who are obviously regulars get ready to leave behind me, and Tony, our waitress, gives one a hug.  

“I’m old” he says. “450 horsepower in my car was too much, so I traded it in. You get old and things slow down.” He’s talking to Tony, but he looks at me and shrugs. 

Tony responds, “We’re not older. We’re better” with a sarcastic grin. 

I decide to chime in. “Smarter.” 

They all smile, apparently unaware or unconcerned that I’m a stranger butting into their conversation. 

I hear one of the other men behind me say “I’m going to get a manicure. Then home for a nap.”

“WWWWhhhhhaaaaattttttt?” his friend can’t believe it. 

A few more flirty comments with Tony, and the guys leave. 

I eat as slowly as possible. This is to be savored. All of it. My burger is actually good, which is really just a bonus. I already got what I came for. The experience. I finish up, thank Tony and tell her how good my lunch was. We walk up front together so I can pay and be on my way. Finally I put on my coat, and walk out the door, leaving my new friends behind. 

Part of me wants to go back there tomorrow, but I know better. Maybe someday, but the glimpse I’ve been given into their world is as good as it will ever get. If I did go back tomorrow, I’m sure I would enjoy myself, but I’d be looking for an experience I already had. And in chasing the past, I would no longer able to see how beautiful it truly is there. It’s better to leave perfect alone. 

the LAAA

I applied and was accepted to the Los Angeles Art Association this week. I'm still finding out more about it, but the short of it is that I will have the opportunity to take part in more art shows in new places and meet some new people. It's the next step in a good direction. And any time I can say that, well, that's a good thing.