Art

It seems to me that art is the expression of the sacred myth. It is understandable that it became a cult in and of itself in the late 19th century among people who had otherwise rejected all faith and creed. The best art simultaneously ennobles us and binds us, one to another.

Regrettably, it also expresses who we are, and who we are becoming. On that score, modern art–as a rejection of form, meaning and beauty–represents the increasing formlessness and incoherence of our culture.

Yet, we remain a system in motion. We are still free. Our task, I think, is to evolve from the eternal verities which the ancients and medieval painters sought to convey, to a constant effort to reconcile stability with motion, through balance.

Thinking about art. I want it to be constructive without being didactic. The fractal pictures are a good example, showing beauty in disorder. Didacticism is a sort of linear, imposed order, that I oppose. The best art, it seems to me, induces in the viewer (listener) latent sympathies with what is good in life. It helps us find pleasure and companionship in difficulty, and helps us manage our tendencies to lapse into self pity, and move towards a creative, fulfilling engagement with life. I can’t say what exact forms this might take.

I do like the idea of layered pictures, with very rich information in them, more than we can process. Currently, I think much art ALSO has more information than we can process, but what is being signalled on the channels which elude our conscious awareness is gloom, pessimism, and latent sympathy for evil. Is the proverbial blank canvas not a rejection of all values, and of creative engagement, regardless of what excuse may be offered for it? Is it not a rejection of society, and effort?

I have thought often about architecture. Broad stroke, I think it would be useful to have interactive homes, which react to changing conditions. We tend to stagnate, and moving homes would work to counteract that. That is the implicit myth in the Harry Potter novels, at Hogwarts. The stairs move, and the pictures are alive. In their world, nothing remains static, and life is never understood as being even potentially without risk. We need that, and Rowlings very insightful use of these principles–which she may or may not have even expressed consciously to herself–is why so many people have taken such pleasure in her creation. Actually, she offers a good example of the sort of art I like.

Anyway, I thought it would be interesting to develop homes that react to the weather. You could, for example, have very complex glass pathways in a wall that carried water when it was raining. You could invent patterns; you could add flywheels; you could make the tubes move as the volume of water changes.

In the ceiling you could have an area filled with smoke that moved with the wind, or flywheels inside that turned the speed of the wind. The smoke could change color as the temperature changed.

You could have rotating homes, or homes that tilted a bit this way and that.

You could put in optical pathways for the sun, so that you could direct light wherever you wanted, or run it through filters that changed depending on the time of day. You could pipe in moonlight, and have a moving mirror that followed it all night long.

A paint could be developed that changed color regularly. You could have roofs that altered their shape.

All of these, of course, would be expensive, and many would recoil in horror at movement in the one place they can rest. Yet, can any of us REALLY rest, finally, on this Earth? Is the task not much more to be up and exploring every day, and would it really be so traumatic to have a dwelling that supported our efforts not to get stuck somewhere?

The best meal I ever had was at the Oak Room, in Louisville. At the end of a fine dinner, they brought us out 6 fine chocolates, each one not only delicious, but prepared as a unique work of art. All of them were visually appealing, in different ways.

I have dreamed of a world where we all live in little houses, in the middle of large expanses of grass and trees. What matters most about the houses is not their size, but their quality, how interesting and innovate they are.

If we are to contain our relentless thirst for more, more, more, the way to do it is in Quality. We must remember beauty, and in my view copying the ordered chaos of nature is the best way to do it.

The Taoist speak of the Uncarved Block. As I understand the issue, what this term in Chinese actually means is an uncut forest. If you look at a forest, it is not ordered, but it is harmonious. That is the metaphor I like.

Socialism is lines of trees in neat rows, labeled and confined. That, of course, I don’t like. A blank canvas serves this cause well, since it agitates for individual creative nullity, and passive submersion in a vast heap of undifferentiated things, to be moved and ordered like so much clay, by those who control us.