Thursday, August 26, 2010


Spoke on the role of a critic today, being my own worse at times; yet in that it was more pertaining to art, folks might have noticed a twitch or two, but being young artists, know that such idiosyncrasies are sometimes a driving force that ends them in the seats from which they gazed and listened.

I opened with the telling of a bar fight over stylistic differences. My buddy, Kurt, can tell the story better than I, and certainly more factually, memory still a more reliable facility when it involves witnessing an event. I missed that particular night, cannot recall why, and guesses would be just as unverifiable as me trying to figure out if he who threw the first punch was more a culprit than, say, the cause for a no-fault divorce. Just who is calling out who?

I prefer the vernacular. Add a little excitability, though, and there can be a problem. I lose adjectives, as my DM would say. Luckily, no such today, catching myself. What is that little game called? Trust something?  It’s not like I walk around prepared all of the time. The trick, perhaps, is don’t try to see it coming. Not that the opposite is necessarily the answer, but to describe the periphery can be a bit daunting..

Funny, a week to do less than fifteen minutes on the topic. Makes sense though, as another fifteen minutes of just looking at art takes at least three days to process. Think a nice kielbasa with a side of applesauce, all homemade.

I thought about citing my credentials. No, they were noted on little cards in my pocket. It is more that the paper remained close to my heart. After all, the transition from, to, and back again, might have seemed awkward, or at least more like hanging a tin star with some pomp in a town not known for trouble. Better to just sit out front and wait for someone with the time to play some checkers.

Ah, that’s a seminar.

What do you suppose… suppose a five minute riff on an opening line, a lot of pauses to check for cross traffic or even a side road of one’s own? Everyone is somebody’s t-bone, eh? So is there any sense in going slow? Only if everyone does. I know I’d fall asleep at the wheel, and sometimes it’s the road contour, not the traffic. Or, in the case of incorporated areas, pedestrians.

The potential for trouble everywhere.

And if not, I’ll make it up, especially in the comfort of my chair back home.

I’ve checked, and nothing otherwise seems to be broken. Nevertheless, I’ve never needed much of an excuse to convalesce.

I’ll see you in a few days.


Wolynski said...

A bar fight over stylistic differences?

NT said...

I've gotta admit, this time I have absolutely know idea what you're writing about. I see there's some oblique reference to something that I ought perhaps to be able to catch, but nope: not getting it.

john sousa said...

“If you hear a voice within you saying, 'You are not a painter,' then by all means paint ... and that voice will be silenced, but only by working.” -- Vincent van Gogh, in a letter to Theo van Gogh, 28 October 1883.