Or the Fine Art of Picking Up by Putting Down…
Not so long ago, I bumped into an art school colleague, or so I thought…
Little did I suspect it was the devil – or at least one of his many advocates – in disguise.
Here’s the conversation:
“So what are you up to these days?”
“Same old stuff,” I replied, “pushing pencils morning noon and night.”
“Still doing illustration?”
“You know me: no imagination. Once I find something I can do, I’m just another Canadian striving for mediocrity. No guts, no glory.”
“Weren’t you working for a magazine once? Fired you, huh?”
“Absolutely! Had to let me go. You know, make way for young people and all that. As you can recall, I only chose this parochial profession of uncertain tomorrows out of sheer lack of ambition. How about you? Still in advertising?”
“No, I gave that up, I do a lot more painting now, you know, real art, not that commercial stuff.”
“Thanks for reminding me, I’d near forgotten the difference. Not commercial, you mean like you don’t sell any?”
“Ha ha, that’s the gallery’s job. You might try it yourself sometime.
“What are you, the umpire of my life? High ball, inside, strike, out? Aren’t you being a bit free with free advice?”
“Y’know, question your certitudes a little.”
“Question myself and my work? Man you have to be kidding, I even forget spring will eventually come when it’s mid-winter. You want me to go all existential and get goosebumps? Suffer me at least my perpetual palimpsests, my paltry quills and my puny cell. You know I copped a life sentence.”
(I should mention here that the absolute favorite phrase amongst French intellectuals, pop singers and actors is to pretend they constantly put themselves in question and “in danger”. It’s very trendy to pretend you’re continually living on the edge during comfy talk shows. It is incredibly exasperating. In “danger”? Come on. What’s that mean? Not looking both ways before crossing the street? Purposely forgetting where you put the keys to the car? Eating at McDonald’s?) (Oh yes, we do actually talk like that.)
This is where I start glancing sidelong and skyward, hoping for a passing acquaintance, an approaching bus, a wailing siren or an avalanche – anything to get me off the hook.
“Well,” I said, “It’s been. Nice seeing you again. Must run.”
“What’s your hurry? Got time for a coffee?”
Thus I find myself disconsolately peering into the opaque depths of my cappucino like Frodo into Galadriel’s mirror, but my immediate future only reveals more conversation I don’t desire and no avenue of escape.
And the conversation goes onwards into realms of Serious Art versus “the other stuff” and I find myself wondering what the devil has gotten into me. Why am I so passive and tongue-tied? Where’s the usual dose of verve and the sprinkling of cynicism with which I usually season what I serve. Why am I letting myself in for such a philosophical beating on issues which are so close to my left ventricle?
Then it struck me. But of course! You have to sympathise with Serious Painters, this poor guy has to reinvent the world each day at dawn, and that is one big job for sure. So, if casually browbeating a former classmate helps you get through the day and define yourself, art and the universe, that seems sensible enough. If picking up your own spirits is a process that relies on putting down someone else’s, then I’m all resilence in the name of solidarity, a supple blade of grass in the ego-tempest, an eager punching ball to be battered. Anything for art thought I, as I paid for both coffees.
CHÂLONS-EN-CHAMPAGNE
The exhibition will be opening at 6 p.m. on February 7th at the Municipal Library.
STUFF YOU NEED
Hopefully we will soon have the new section on the site where you can buy things. No, not from me, I have no desire to get bogged down in mailing tubes and credit card accounts, but we hope to have a constantly updated chapter where you can find direct links to whatever is available. As soon as I sort myself out a little…
COMMON COLDS…
With all the viruses floating about, in cyberspace and elsewhere, many messages addressed to me have been culled by the vigilance of the servers. So, if you’ve written something important and I don’t reply, please send again in a few weeks. After that, if I don’t reply, at least you know who to blame…
CHANGE OF ADDRESS
Couldn’t resist posting this letter, which turned up in my mailbox this morning. No stamps; obviously Elves deliver their own mail or use a courier service. Very sweet; inside was a letter from, well… an elf obviously, along with some lovely pencil sketches. (The rest of the mail? mostly bills. I threw them out.)
