This year has been about distancing self from things I have always known to be true. I'm sure there is a correlation between being at a place for the last time and feeling detachment from that place, from self in that time. There is probably a need to break enough ties so leaving the place hurts a little less-be it a mental place. But I have felt a very prolonged sense of detachment from things I knew to be true.
I have barely picked up a pen to write anything. I have focused more on nonfiction books. I have let myself be lead by my reasoning. I only skipped class when I was sick, unlike my first year at university where I would skip a lecture to go sit by the fountains and read. If I were to put the eighteen years old Mina and the twenty-two years old Mina side by side, I'd see a transformation from an idealist to a realist. Not sure if that's a good thing.
I have learned to trust my body. If it says it needs sleep, I acquiesce. Some part of me wants to do this as a favor to the eighty years old me. I have started working out somewhat regularly-not as much as I would like to but definitely more than before. I am patient with myself. I give myself the time I need-be it intellectual, emotional, or taking ten minutes to do an exercise an average person can do in five minutes. And it is fucking hard as hell. These things are supposed to make you happy, or happier, or at least content. I'm sure that phase will come but right now I'm miserable. But I have the strength to acknowledge that. I am no longer shy to admit that something is intellectually difficult or emotionally difficult or physically difficult. I admit I have a long way to go. My only stubbornness is in getting there. I am learning what it means to disagree with someone on major things-sexuality, human rights, economy, morals, etc.- and be civil in a conversation. I am learning what it means to love someone and still disagree with them. I am learning what it means to question things, ideas, thoughts but never an emotion if it is sincere. I avoid confrontations. I loathe them. Specially when they put me in a position to teach. I am not a teacher at heart. My soul is of a student. I can learn. I can't teach. Perhaps I will learn to do the latter.
I have become everything I hated when I started university. My degree serves the purpose more of being a segue from education to employment than to lead me on an intellectual road of curiosity. I despise the night, I have become a creature of the daylight. Sun soothes my soul, however scorching it may be. I let myself feel anger and then I give it to the wind. I do hard things now so I don't have to do the impossible later. I treat myself as a person rather than a machine.
I am terrified of what the year will bring. I am not ready. But I have no choice. So I shall march on.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Saturday, September 12, 2015
Being Twenty-One and Other Concerns
For the past few months, I have begun to really feel the burden of being twenty-one. This is not in the typical Pakistani girl sense where I woe about not getting rishtay. I am thankful everyday that I was raised in a family that taught me to be independent. I am weighed down by the burden of being a person.
It is difficult to think of myself as anything other than twenty-one for instance but it is equally difficult to imagine myself as twenty-one. Legally, I can vote in an election, buy my own alcohol, buy cigarettes, enlist in the army, make my own decisions without a guardian signing off on them but I can not rent a car. Emotionally, I cant fathom how some of my friends are grown-ups enough to get married while others are too drunk or high to remember their last names. Physically, I feel as if I am finally being given a seat at the adults table but asked to still eat in the paper plates instead of the expensive china.
I know it's a weird time for everyone. You want to know the answers to everything and yet some part of you wants to cling to the child in you that would say screw it and stay up the whole night reading a good book before a 12-hour day. You find reasons-my body won't be able to handle this when I'm fifty, I will have other responsibilities and will regret these decisions, etc.
I keep thinking back to my freshman year self-so hopeful and filled with possibilities. I thought by the time I'd graduate I would have some sense of being. Perhaps know what I want in life or at least what to order at a bar. It's not that not knowing those things at twenty-one is particularly terrible, you can still get away with your naivete. It's just the idea of not having a time frame that bothers me. A part of me knows not to stick to convention like the Bible but another part of me balks at the idea of a journey I may not have the strength to bear. (I will always confuse bare and bear.)
Every few days I come up with a new plan for life. I have a flexible degree and there is coursera, I can learn things. I try to remind myself that I could be worse off. I could have gotten a degree in something I hated and had no career prospects. But there is this feeling of not doing enough that I can't seem to shake off. In my mind, after you hit thirty, life seems to end. Which isn't rational, I know, but it's always there. That I need to do XYZ by the time I'm thirty but I don't even know what career I want to pursue precisely. My dad, who is the most content and self-assured man I know, has changed his career at least three times in his entire life. Still he writes on the sidelines and has a few projects here and there to keep him busy.
It makes me sad that we as human beings have created so much simply to distract ourselves. This of course doesn't take away from the importance of the Art it inspires but at the bottom of it all is still a way to utilize time.
In the past few months, every time I have come across a friend of mine they have all said the same thing-that my major (Mathematics) has made me more calm and logical in the way I talk/think/react to life. It is certainly an humbling compliment but it makes me wonder how much of it is being rational and how much being passionless. I am perhaps a bit resentful towards my university for taking that passion away from me but it sounds petty, even to my ears.
I wonder, however, if I am indeed more logical and calm, then why do I constantly feel like that moment between the lightning strikes and you hear the thunder, where you're just holding your breath and waiting for the uproar of nature. Anxious, simply, because you do not know the extent of that sound. Will it be a quiet rumble, soft like being woken up from sleep by hushed voices in a distance? Or will it be loud as if your blood is responding to the storm outside and you can't tell where you stop being and the thunder starts?
It is difficult to think of myself as anything other than twenty-one for instance but it is equally difficult to imagine myself as twenty-one. Legally, I can vote in an election, buy my own alcohol, buy cigarettes, enlist in the army, make my own decisions without a guardian signing off on them but I can not rent a car. Emotionally, I cant fathom how some of my friends are grown-ups enough to get married while others are too drunk or high to remember their last names. Physically, I feel as if I am finally being given a seat at the adults table but asked to still eat in the paper plates instead of the expensive china.
I know it's a weird time for everyone. You want to know the answers to everything and yet some part of you wants to cling to the child in you that would say screw it and stay up the whole night reading a good book before a 12-hour day. You find reasons-my body won't be able to handle this when I'm fifty, I will have other responsibilities and will regret these decisions, etc.
I keep thinking back to my freshman year self-so hopeful and filled with possibilities. I thought by the time I'd graduate I would have some sense of being. Perhaps know what I want in life or at least what to order at a bar. It's not that not knowing those things at twenty-one is particularly terrible, you can still get away with your naivete. It's just the idea of not having a time frame that bothers me. A part of me knows not to stick to convention like the Bible but another part of me balks at the idea of a journey I may not have the strength to bear. (I will always confuse bare and bear.)
Every few days I come up with a new plan for life. I have a flexible degree and there is coursera, I can learn things. I try to remind myself that I could be worse off. I could have gotten a degree in something I hated and had no career prospects. But there is this feeling of not doing enough that I can't seem to shake off. In my mind, after you hit thirty, life seems to end. Which isn't rational, I know, but it's always there. That I need to do XYZ by the time I'm thirty but I don't even know what career I want to pursue precisely. My dad, who is the most content and self-assured man I know, has changed his career at least three times in his entire life. Still he writes on the sidelines and has a few projects here and there to keep him busy.
It makes me sad that we as human beings have created so much simply to distract ourselves. This of course doesn't take away from the importance of the Art it inspires but at the bottom of it all is still a way to utilize time.
In the past few months, every time I have come across a friend of mine they have all said the same thing-that my major (Mathematics) has made me more calm and logical in the way I talk/think/react to life. It is certainly an humbling compliment but it makes me wonder how much of it is being rational and how much being passionless. I am perhaps a bit resentful towards my university for taking that passion away from me but it sounds petty, even to my ears.
I wonder, however, if I am indeed more logical and calm, then why do I constantly feel like that moment between the lightning strikes and you hear the thunder, where you're just holding your breath and waiting for the uproar of nature. Anxious, simply, because you do not know the extent of that sound. Will it be a quiet rumble, soft like being woken up from sleep by hushed voices in a distance? Or will it be loud as if your blood is responding to the storm outside and you can't tell where you stop being and the thunder starts?
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
naivete
There is a lot to be said about loving flaws. Poetically, ideally, it sounds beautiful. Realistically, it sounds impractical. How do you love a family member knowing their disapproval of homosexuality, for instance. How do you create a love that accepts hatred-blind hatred. Sometimes the thought that you could love someone so immensely is awkward to me. Other times, it's more natural than breathing. To be human, and to accept your own humanity is the biggest mystery to me.
It baffles me that over the span of human existence-in this state of evolution-we have created so many religions, so many philosophies, simply to begin to understand ourselves.
I want to go back to being fifteen at times. My words didn't have the barrier of age. I could ask, what does death mean, without sounding like a child. Sometimes I want simplistic questions and even more simplistic answers. What is God? What is life? What does it mean to believe? Can one person change the world? How can I change the world? The simple curiosity of a fifteen year old vs. the greedy twenty-one year old who wants all the answers right now, it's an interesting comparative.
Thoughts are overwhelming and underwhelming but never truly whelming (Clueless reference anyone?). It is always either too much or too little. As an artist, you either create or you are created. As a human, you keep trying to distance yourself from your humanity. By butchering people or by creating supernaturals, you distance yourself from the human in you. Where does this self-loathing come from? Do we inherit it from our ancestors? Do we adopt it from the worst of our kind? You keep hurting and weeping and hurting and weeping.
Telling yourself to breathe, reminding yourself to take it easy. C'est la vie. But why is life such? Why not better? We are certainly capable of it. Why don't we expect better from ourselves? Why are we so lazy?
It baffles me that over the span of human existence-in this state of evolution-we have created so many religions, so many philosophies, simply to begin to understand ourselves.
I want to go back to being fifteen at times. My words didn't have the barrier of age. I could ask, what does death mean, without sounding like a child. Sometimes I want simplistic questions and even more simplistic answers. What is God? What is life? What does it mean to believe? Can one person change the world? How can I change the world? The simple curiosity of a fifteen year old vs. the greedy twenty-one year old who wants all the answers right now, it's an interesting comparative.
Thoughts are overwhelming and underwhelming but never truly whelming (Clueless reference anyone?). It is always either too much or too little. As an artist, you either create or you are created. As a human, you keep trying to distance yourself from your humanity. By butchering people or by creating supernaturals, you distance yourself from the human in you. Where does this self-loathing come from? Do we inherit it from our ancestors? Do we adopt it from the worst of our kind? You keep hurting and weeping and hurting and weeping.
Telling yourself to breathe, reminding yourself to take it easy. C'est la vie. But why is life such? Why not better? We are certainly capable of it. Why don't we expect better from ourselves? Why are we so lazy?
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Women on Women Crime
[Note: I wrote this as an article for a magazine.]
Is red lipstick too bold for some women? Can a woman
be career oriented and a mother? Is a woman hysterical? If not, is she cold?
Should a working woman be ‘bossy?’ And the list of such questions, of what a
woman should and shouldn’t be, goes on and on. From numerous articles online to
morning shows, from cover pages of magazines to YouTube channels, the entire
world seems to be concerned with how women ‘should’ act. There is a huge
emphasis on trying to be everything all at once. Ironically, women play a huge
role in setting standards for what being a ‘woman’ really means when in reality
womanhood is a personal and subjective journey.
The oppression of women is not a black-or-white issue.
It is complex and sadly has been going on for far too long. The most obvious
blame is patriarchy and while that may be true, a lot of discussion needs to be
had over the role women play in their own oppression. Kamla Bhasin, a renowned
South Asian feminist activist and gender trainer, argued on the Indian TV show Satyamev Jayate that a middle class woman
is more likely to brush off domestic abuse and remain quiet about it as opposed
to a working woman from the lower-income class of the society. She believes the
latter would fight back but the former would consider self a ‘burden,’ as
propagated by the norm, and thus wouldn’t want to bring any more light to self.
Much discussion has been done on how men collectively need to change their
opinion of the role a woman plays in the society, but what about women? If a
woman refuses to speak up about the domestic abuse she’s facing, what does that
imply? It either means that the society we have created hasn’t made it safe
enough for her to speak about it in public or that she feels it would more so
be a reflection on herself than the abuser. Bhasin argues that a woman from the
working class will probably fight back or scream bloody murder in such a
situation. Data collected by Violence Against Women center (VAWnet.org) shows
that women from more affluent families have more resources (access to
physicians, money to stay at hotels instead of women shelters, etc.) to hide
the domestic abuse they face. This implies that either we have associated women
who speak up as either something belonging to a lower class or perhaps we have created
an environment, as a society, that coerces women from the middle-class to be
silent of the abuse they face. This is where we need to, as a society but more
so as women, create an environment where speaking up is respected and condoned.
If a woman wishes to get a divorce to escape an
abusive relationship, she is blamed for her ‘broken marriage.’ If a woman
labels self a ‘feminist,’ countless others make sure the men around them know
that even though they do indeed believe in gender equality, they aren’t
‘feminists.’ A Tumblr account titled Women Against Feminism was created that
calls all women to share with hand-written signs why women don’t need feminism
in this day and age. In 2014, TIME magazine created a poll asking ‘Which word
should be banned in 2015?’ and feminism was on the list of words along with
words like ‘yaaaass,’ ‘bae,’ ‘kale,’ etc. They did later on apologize for
including the word feminism but it did the damage it was supposed to do.
Furthermore, women consistently blame others (as apparent in countless ‘morning
shows’) over how much make-up is ‘too’ much make-up, over what is considered
‘fashionable’ vs. ‘slutty,’ over how much a woman ‘must’ smile and when she
draws the line and becomes promiscuous, and so on. This kind of criticism and
rhetoric isn’t something men are doing but what women are doing to other women.
And while these may be brushed off as comments from a bored housewife or as
women being their ‘typical catty selves,’ we need to analyze the damage they
are doing to the perception of women in a grander scheme of things.
It is interesting how women from upper class, who
usually appear on such morning shows, are the ones doing so much damage. The
women who actually have the power to bring in a change are the ones who are
marginalizing women from lower income classes to maintain the little power they
have. Ayesha Jalal, a Pakistani historian, calls this the ‘convenience of
subservience’ of women in Pakistan in the book Women, Islam, and the State (Women In The Political Economy) edited
by Deniz Kandiyoti. She argues that women, who stem from upper-middle class and
upper class, tend to be the ones who show least resistance to cultural norms
and the perception of women in public arena. Hailing from perhaps a liberal
family, they tend to be the ones who aren’t directly affected by extreme
chauvinism and patriarchy as a woman coming from a lower-income family would
and thus they choose to be subservient to the system to enjoy the few
privileges they get over women from the lower income and rural class.
With that all being said, it is important to not
ignore the damage certain women rights movements are doing to women either. For
example, FEMEN, a women rights movement that originated in Ukraine and now
based in France, aims to fight the patriarchy by baring their breasts and
protesting topless. Although their intentions are well-founded in trying to win
women back the rights to their bodies, their mission automatically claims that
a woman who chooses to bare her breasts is courageous and a feminist. That she
is liberated from patriarchy and the stigma that comes with showing skin but it
ignores the side of feminism that says it is also okay for women to use the
very same choice to cover up. By claiming that going around topless equates to
women liberation, FEMEN strips the countless women hailing from Muslim
countries and other cultures that do cover up by choice off the feminist title.
In the end, it does more to aid the sexualized view the society has of women
and takes away from the fight of women rights globally.
The fight for women equality will continue for a long
time. It is comforting to believe we don’t have much to fight for but the
reality is very contradictory. And while much of the blame does lie on
patriarchy, on the perception men have of women, it is time we call out women
who aid the oppression by their silence or by actively participating in
misogynist acts and ideologies.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
I Am Allowed to Hate My University And Be In Love With Education
I am allowed to hate my university and be in love with education.
More often than not, people confuse a hatred for an educational institute with the hatred for gaining knowledge/desire to learn. You are called ungrateful for showing so much apathy towards a privilege very few are bestowed with. "You should be thankful you are getting a chance to get an education...so many people don't have these privileges." They are not wrong in saying that, although that statement comes from a place where education is a privilege and not a right and well that's a discussion for another day. Still, let me try and explain to you 'why,' as a person, you are allowed to hate an institute that provides degrees and still be in love with learning/education.
Coming from a family of teachers and professors, I value education profoundly. I think it's the greatest weapon a person could have. In my opinion, education is the cure for most problems in this world. The way people view a mosque or a temple is how I view a library/university. I value intelligence to be the greatest quality a human being can have. I think that places of education are sacred. To me, they are more sacred than a mosque or a temple would be to believers. So then, it would seem absurd that I have such an immense hatred for many universities across the nation. But if you think about it, it makes a lot of sense.
Universities, specially across the United States, have become rather than an institution of knowledge, a place of business. Administration isn't interested in producing bright minds that would help make the world a better place one day but are driven by the simple idea of squeezing capital. A program isn't beneficial because it will help the students expand their minds, it is beneficial because it has numerous investors interested which would eventually benefit the university monetarily. Now, I have no problem with running a business. I think business are awesome. I also don't have a problem with having a 'profit' mindset. It is a necessary evil. What I do have a problem with is a business not being marketed as a business. If a University desires to be a place of business, it should market itself as one too. The people associated with it should have the guts to call it for what it is. What I also have a problem with is taking something as sacred as an institution of knowledge and turning it into a money-generating factory. What I am offended by is institutions claiming to be a temple of knowledge when all they do is merely sell information on a piece of paper.
As one would be offended if their church was selling a ticket to heaven, I am offended by this business of education. It shows how far off as a society we have strayed when we see no problem with churning profits out of places of knowledge. This is the consumer mindset United States has created. The one where if something isn't monetarily profitable, it isn't worth doing. And I, as a person and as a citizen of this country, am allowed to despise this circus. If you are allowed to take something sacred to me and sell it for money, I am allowed to despise this institution and all it stands for. It doesn't mean I hate knowledge, it doesn't mean I think learning is pointless, it simply means you have insulted my beliefs. This isn't a university. It isn't producing talented minds that will make this world a better place-by their prose, by their medicine, by their scientific discoveries, by their art, etc. It is a business trading money for a piece of paper and I am allowed to hate it. That's all.
More often than not, people confuse a hatred for an educational institute with the hatred for gaining knowledge/desire to learn. You are called ungrateful for showing so much apathy towards a privilege very few are bestowed with. "You should be thankful you are getting a chance to get an education...so many people don't have these privileges." They are not wrong in saying that, although that statement comes from a place where education is a privilege and not a right and well that's a discussion for another day. Still, let me try and explain to you 'why,' as a person, you are allowed to hate an institute that provides degrees and still be in love with learning/education.
Coming from a family of teachers and professors, I value education profoundly. I think it's the greatest weapon a person could have. In my opinion, education is the cure for most problems in this world. The way people view a mosque or a temple is how I view a library/university. I value intelligence to be the greatest quality a human being can have. I think that places of education are sacred. To me, they are more sacred than a mosque or a temple would be to believers. So then, it would seem absurd that I have such an immense hatred for many universities across the nation. But if you think about it, it makes a lot of sense.
Universities, specially across the United States, have become rather than an institution of knowledge, a place of business. Administration isn't interested in producing bright minds that would help make the world a better place one day but are driven by the simple idea of squeezing capital. A program isn't beneficial because it will help the students expand their minds, it is beneficial because it has numerous investors interested which would eventually benefit the university monetarily. Now, I have no problem with running a business. I think business are awesome. I also don't have a problem with having a 'profit' mindset. It is a necessary evil. What I do have a problem with is a business not being marketed as a business. If a University desires to be a place of business, it should market itself as one too. The people associated with it should have the guts to call it for what it is. What I also have a problem with is taking something as sacred as an institution of knowledge and turning it into a money-generating factory. What I am offended by is institutions claiming to be a temple of knowledge when all they do is merely sell information on a piece of paper.
As one would be offended if their church was selling a ticket to heaven, I am offended by this business of education. It shows how far off as a society we have strayed when we see no problem with churning profits out of places of knowledge. This is the consumer mindset United States has created. The one where if something isn't monetarily profitable, it isn't worth doing. And I, as a person and as a citizen of this country, am allowed to despise this circus. If you are allowed to take something sacred to me and sell it for money, I am allowed to despise this institution and all it stands for. It doesn't mean I hate knowledge, it doesn't mean I think learning is pointless, it simply means you have insulted my beliefs. This isn't a university. It isn't producing talented minds that will make this world a better place-by their prose, by their medicine, by their scientific discoveries, by their art, etc. It is a business trading money for a piece of paper and I am allowed to hate it. That's all.
Monday, March 30, 2015
On Separating the Art from its Artist
I have often wondered how important it is to separate the art from its artist. Hemingway was known to be abusive and a misogynist. Woolf and Plath were known to have suffered clinical depression. Sexton admitted to physically abusing her children due to her mental illness. Sartre was known to be a Nazi. John Lennon was known to be abusive. Bukowski was an alcoholic. Bob Marley was a drug addict. How necessary is it to separate the artist from who they were?
It is naive to think that an artist is independent from his art. To think that it is possible to create without bleeding, if you have an inclination towards poetry. But the idea that there are artists out there who have produced work that was solely under the influence of drugs and alcohol is a little troubling to me. As it is in professional sports where steroids aren't allowed, a part of me wishes that in creating art you weren't allowed to be under influence (of drugs, of alcohol, of caffeine, of nicotine). But it made me wonder how limited human thought actually is. The thought that many of the greatest works may have not been so great is more troubling to me than an author who writes while high. It bothers me more that a said piece of art hadn't existed at all than the fact that an artist used a drug as a clutch to produce it. So then it becomes much more important, to me, to separate the work from its artist.
To forget the conditions under which the art was produced, to forget the mindset with which it was produced, and to let it stand as an independent creature that had no origin is how I believe art should be looked at. Imagine a dark room with the light only coming from a spotlight aimed at a piece of art. That, in my opinion, is how art should be looked at.
What I want to discuss now is the social context of art. The first thing that comes to mind when I wish to talk about social context is Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. It is a fair question to ask, how can you fully appreciate that piece of art if you aren't aware of the social, political, economic, etc. background of that work? Well, when I say a work should stand alone, I do not mean you should chop off its limbs that are connecting it to what makes it necessary. I firmly believe that the greatest works of art are deemed so because they were simply a necessity. A poem about a revolution in a tyrannical government, a satire in an absurd system, an absurd painting in a society hell-bent on perfection, et al. are all, in my opinion, necessary for the conditions they are created in. The root of this necessity tends to lie in the artists mind. Therefore it is very naive, as I mentioned earlier, to think art can be created without an artist leaving a part of himself in it. (Think of the tortured artist cliche.) This obsession in the mind of the said artist is very often shaped by the world they live in. One only has to think of the esteemed Harry Potter novels that remind one that even Hogwarts wasn't free from basic social issues of Racism, Classicism, Animal Cruelty, etc. But it is important to note that these works are enriched when one decides to look at its social context, made better from what they previously were. These works aren't great because of their social context, they become greater when seen in the light they were produced in. These works are wonderful to begin with is the thing to remember.
Toni Morrison in an interview with Stephen Colbert, upon being asked if she thought she deserved the Nobel and Pulitzer prizes, answered that her art did. That to me is a very important distinction because here is an esteemed author separating herself from her work. The point I am trying to make is that regardless of the mental condition the person was in while creating that work of art, the piece itself matters. And the piece of art should only be judged by its content and not what the artist themselves did or were like. Because that art isn't the artist and the artist isn't the art. It is a part of the artist. And the artist is a part of the art.
With this being said, when you appreciating an artist leads to that artist financially benefiting from it (for example, the case of Chris Brown-although I wouldn't even consider that Art), separating the art from its artist becomes very futile. In your appreciating, you indirectly are condoning who they are as a person. Problematic behavior must be pointed out and addressed.
It is naive to think that an artist is independent from his art. To think that it is possible to create without bleeding, if you have an inclination towards poetry. But the idea that there are artists out there who have produced work that was solely under the influence of drugs and alcohol is a little troubling to me. As it is in professional sports where steroids aren't allowed, a part of me wishes that in creating art you weren't allowed to be under influence (of drugs, of alcohol, of caffeine, of nicotine). But it made me wonder how limited human thought actually is. The thought that many of the greatest works may have not been so great is more troubling to me than an author who writes while high. It bothers me more that a said piece of art hadn't existed at all than the fact that an artist used a drug as a clutch to produce it. So then it becomes much more important, to me, to separate the work from its artist.
To forget the conditions under which the art was produced, to forget the mindset with which it was produced, and to let it stand as an independent creature that had no origin is how I believe art should be looked at. Imagine a dark room with the light only coming from a spotlight aimed at a piece of art. That, in my opinion, is how art should be looked at.
What I want to discuss now is the social context of art. The first thing that comes to mind when I wish to talk about social context is Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. It is a fair question to ask, how can you fully appreciate that piece of art if you aren't aware of the social, political, economic, etc. background of that work? Well, when I say a work should stand alone, I do not mean you should chop off its limbs that are connecting it to what makes it necessary. I firmly believe that the greatest works of art are deemed so because they were simply a necessity. A poem about a revolution in a tyrannical government, a satire in an absurd system, an absurd painting in a society hell-bent on perfection, et al. are all, in my opinion, necessary for the conditions they are created in. The root of this necessity tends to lie in the artists mind. Therefore it is very naive, as I mentioned earlier, to think art can be created without an artist leaving a part of himself in it. (Think of the tortured artist cliche.) This obsession in the mind of the said artist is very often shaped by the world they live in. One only has to think of the esteemed Harry Potter novels that remind one that even Hogwarts wasn't free from basic social issues of Racism, Classicism, Animal Cruelty, etc. But it is important to note that these works are enriched when one decides to look at its social context, made better from what they previously were. These works aren't great because of their social context, they become greater when seen in the light they were produced in. These works are wonderful to begin with is the thing to remember.
Toni Morrison in an interview with Stephen Colbert, upon being asked if she thought she deserved the Nobel and Pulitzer prizes, answered that her art did. That to me is a very important distinction because here is an esteemed author separating herself from her work. The point I am trying to make is that regardless of the mental condition the person was in while creating that work of art, the piece itself matters. And the piece of art should only be judged by its content and not what the artist themselves did or were like. Because that art isn't the artist and the artist isn't the art. It is a part of the artist. And the artist is a part of the art.
With this being said, when you appreciating an artist leads to that artist financially benefiting from it (for example, the case of Chris Brown-although I wouldn't even consider that Art), separating the art from its artist becomes very futile. In your appreciating, you indirectly are condoning who they are as a person. Problematic behavior must be pointed out and addressed.
Silly Compromises
Hemingway, in his critique of Tender is the Night, once told Fitzgerald that he musn't make any silly compromises in his writing. That he must write and write truly no matter who or what it hurts. It is very comforting to me that all truly great writers struggled with words. That the brilliance that penned The Great Gatsby and For Whom the Bell Tolls was the same brilliance that was superfluous with words and needed reassurance.
I, personally, don't care for writing that doesn't seem human. I have no interest in authors who pretend everything's fine. Who write like they're merely drinking a cup of tea on a cold winter morning. They simply bore me. I don't care for poignant metaphors. Those who merely use big words make me want to roll my eyes so far back I can see the membrane of my brain. Point is, I like rawness. I respect honesty. As simple as that sounds, the only work worth doing is the honest work. Everything else keeps you restless.
I, personally, don't care for writing that doesn't seem human. I have no interest in authors who pretend everything's fine. Who write like they're merely drinking a cup of tea on a cold winter morning. They simply bore me. I don't care for poignant metaphors. Those who merely use big words make me want to roll my eyes so far back I can see the membrane of my brain. Point is, I like rawness. I respect honesty. As simple as that sounds, the only work worth doing is the honest work. Everything else keeps you restless.
the minor fall and the major lift
I keep having trouble with coming to terms with the fact that I am a human. That I am a person entitled to being a person. The ugly and the pretty, it's all me. Too willing to dissect and forego experiencing. Too tired of my mediocre thoughts and too hell-bent on bringing my soul to life.
Listen, I'm not writing a monologue. I'm being a person. Unscripted and unplanned. I want to spend Sunday nights reading Nietzche and I want to be sleep-deprived on Monday mornings.
My thoughts have always disgusted me for how mediocre they are and today is nothing special. We hate the things we understand too deeply, there is no hatred without understanding. I think that's where the cliche of 'thin line between love and hate' comes from.
I have experimented with satire, I have experimented with poetry, I have experimented with perspective writing, and I have experimented with articles. I hate writing. I hate the pressure that I put myself under in that moment because it is so beyond me to be a writer. But perhaps that's why someday I will be a writer because I am beginning to understand the burden you get to carry. It's an absolute honor to carry that burden. You get to claim that there is poetry in you worthy of being written.
I am so interested in reading about human beings. I want to know how you are accepting the art of being. There's something so beautiful about a person bowing his head and accepting the laws that govern the universe (note: universe is not the same as the world, think of sets and subsets where the universe is the set and the world is the subset. the subset must adhere to all the qualities of the universe but the universe is free to be more).
Reflecting on this for the next few hours: "Maybe there's a God above..." (x)
Listen, I'm not writing a monologue. I'm being a person. Unscripted and unplanned. I want to spend Sunday nights reading Nietzche and I want to be sleep-deprived on Monday mornings.
My thoughts have always disgusted me for how mediocre they are and today is nothing special. We hate the things we understand too deeply, there is no hatred without understanding. I think that's where the cliche of 'thin line between love and hate' comes from.
I have experimented with satire, I have experimented with poetry, I have experimented with perspective writing, and I have experimented with articles. I hate writing. I hate the pressure that I put myself under in that moment because it is so beyond me to be a writer. But perhaps that's why someday I will be a writer because I am beginning to understand the burden you get to carry. It's an absolute honor to carry that burden. You get to claim that there is poetry in you worthy of being written.
I am so interested in reading about human beings. I want to know how you are accepting the art of being. There's something so beautiful about a person bowing his head and accepting the laws that govern the universe (note: universe is not the same as the world, think of sets and subsets where the universe is the set and the world is the subset. the subset must adhere to all the qualities of the universe but the universe is free to be more).
Reflecting on this for the next few hours: "Maybe there's a God above..." (x)
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