I once sat listening to a pastor who said that people shouldn't claim to "create" things; people can make things out of the vast material that God provides around us, but the word "creator" should only apply to Almighty God. Well, I don't really agree with that. I agree that He's the Supreme Creator, and I would never try to equate myself with His glory and majesty. But we're also created in His image and as an artist, I know what it's like to fashion something where there was nothing there before. You could say that God sometimes plants a seed of inspiration, but that doesn't really diminish it in my book.
Last time, I tried to describe to you (whoever YOU may be, my readers) what a perfect world would be like, if I ran it. Actually, it was more like the world that I do in fact run in my writing. But the words eluded me, and I was unable to capture the essence of this thing, you could call it Mattopia, where people always listen and treat you the way you want to be treated and people don't have to worry about arbitrary social rules and boundaries; they can be completely honest with each other, and in doing so, they come one step closer to fulfillment.
It's not a perfect vision; there are bits of hypocrisy hiding just below the surface. For instance, I would like to be honest with Joe Blo about my feelings for him, but if that grosses him out, then I would not want him to tell me that, at least not in those words. Maybe in my perfect world, he wouldn't have to like me back, but at least it wouldn't gross him out. People wouldn't be grossed out by stuff like that. On the flip side, if Flo Joe tells me she's into me but it grosses me out, under my "perfect world" standards, I would still want to be friends with her, but that's not really the way I feel. So you see, it's a perfect world when it suits me. And I feel like a really big man that I can admit that.
The things I write (and I mean, creative writing projects, not like this blog) do not represent a totally artificial world, like Leave It To Beaver. Rather, it shows the world like it is, but then presents some element of different-ness, a way that things aren't but ought to be, in my humble opinion. And I'm not the only writer who does this. I seem to recall Stephen King's emotional reaction to seeing Stand By Me, the film adaptation of his great novella, The Body. He was greatly moved, but had to admit that the kind of friendship shown in that story is more the way we'd like it to be than how it is in real life.
So as I reflect on finishing the first draft of my script, para physin, which I've worked on for 4 years (all tiny bits and pieces until the last week when the majority of it just fell in my lap, like a giant elephant from the sky), I realize that the real world is certainly represented, but so too is Mattopia, a place where some really sweet and wonderful things can happen, things that don't generally happen in real life. Does this make me a more honest or less honest storyteller? Less honest, perhaps, from the viewpoint of the cynic and the realist. But more honest in terms of what my true heart hopes and dreams for humanity. And I have to think there is an important place for that in the arts.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
a perfect world
I daydream. I probably don't do it as much as I used to. But I still do it a fair amount. I pretend I'm on some nation-wide news program, being interviewed about my feelings on everything from music to film to politics and spirituality. I go on and on, expressing my viewpoints and pretending that people are interested in what I have to say. I imagine media personalities saying in their own interviews that they heard what I said about this or that, and agreed whole-heartedly. I've never confessed this outright before, though I did write a play once in which the protagonist does the same thing.
Of course, with daydreams you get the instant gratification of that imagined recognition. You can play pretend, and if you have a good imagination, you can almost make yourself believe it's really happening. Just don't daydream any place where people can see you and your lips move as you play out a scene that is all in your head. They might check you into the mental hospital.
There are other ways to have a voice. I've always thought of myself as an artist (if you imagine the term "artist" covering a wide spectrum of visual art, music, literature, theatre, film, etc), and artists use their work to express what they think and feel about the world. Of course some people are just looking for entertainment, but I honestly think that art exists for the purpose of expressing a point of view. And I've always tried to push myself to produce content that will be noticed and could make some kind of difference in the world. But I can be lazy and I can have creative dry spells, and when I do, it's easier just to play one of these movies in my head. Like it's easier to go to bed and imagine someone cuddling up with me than to actually go out on a date and risk rejection. And so certain things can paralyze you, and make you feel like you're stuck in a place you can't get out of.
It could be argued that every artist has his/her own universe that's distinctly theirs. Tolkien had Middle Earth. C.S. Lewis had Narnia. But in a more general sense, an artist fashions an environment that is either a reflection of what he/she sees in the world (and sometimes it's presented in the form of symbolism) or a picture of what that artist would like the world to be. I have done both of these. But usually, I deal with the world I desire to live in. And I thought, I wonder if I could write a blog entry in which I describe what that is. I don't know if I can. I can paint a picture of it in script form, but can I just state it outright? I'm about to find out.
Well, I'm an extreme romantic, which no one would know because it's mostly bottled up inside. It comes out whenever I try too hard to be friends with a guy I like. I'm not trying to get them into bed, but I think they sense my romantic nature, and it's threatening to them because they don't know I can respect their boundaries. That's why you see deeper relationships among men in my stories than you find in real life, even men who are heterosexual, because in my world, people are not scared of being liked, or even loved.
People listen to each other, and they actually understand what the other person is saying. There are not the barriers to communication that exist in real life. In real life, a person can be talking to you, but because you're only listening with 25% of your mind and using the rest to think about yourself, you often miss the point of whatever your friend is trying to tell you.
A lot of the cultural norms that exist in the real world do not exist in mine. People in their 20's are not freaked out by the idea of spending time with people in their 30's or 40's. Everyone can learn from one another, and consider other people's lives to have value to contribute to their own, no matter what age, race, sex, orientation, etc. Prejudice and fear disappear, as does favoritism.
Okay, I've written 3 paragraphs trying to describe my perfect world, and I don't really like what I've written. I mean, I don't feel like it captures my heart. I feel like I'm preaching or writing some lunatic manifesto, and that's not my intention. I'm also not trying to make it so personal, but it obviously is. I look at the things in my life that I've been hurt by, and basically try to fix them. I try to show people another way of looking at things. But this isn't coming out quite right. I'm better at pretending to articulate thoughts than actually articulating them.
But, um...let me try to say one more thing. U2 did a song called "Where the Streets Have No Name", which I love, but I don't think that idea is what I'm striving for. Because individuality is important. I think what my heart pines for is a world without walls...or at least a world with much fewer walls. The walls that people put around themselves to prevent real connection with people. In my life, I feel I'm surrounded by endless walls, tall and impenetrable in every direction, caving in, crashing down upon me, and I rarely see into the light of a person's soul because it's just walls, walls, and more walls.
And I lie on the ground, beneath dozens of caved-in walls, and I'm looking up through a small keyhole.The stars in the sky are so far away, as far as your eyes, through which I would be able to see into your heart.
Of course, with daydreams you get the instant gratification of that imagined recognition. You can play pretend, and if you have a good imagination, you can almost make yourself believe it's really happening. Just don't daydream any place where people can see you and your lips move as you play out a scene that is all in your head. They might check you into the mental hospital.
There are other ways to have a voice. I've always thought of myself as an artist (if you imagine the term "artist" covering a wide spectrum of visual art, music, literature, theatre, film, etc), and artists use their work to express what they think and feel about the world. Of course some people are just looking for entertainment, but I honestly think that art exists for the purpose of expressing a point of view. And I've always tried to push myself to produce content that will be noticed and could make some kind of difference in the world. But I can be lazy and I can have creative dry spells, and when I do, it's easier just to play one of these movies in my head. Like it's easier to go to bed and imagine someone cuddling up with me than to actually go out on a date and risk rejection. And so certain things can paralyze you, and make you feel like you're stuck in a place you can't get out of.
It could be argued that every artist has his/her own universe that's distinctly theirs. Tolkien had Middle Earth. C.S. Lewis had Narnia. But in a more general sense, an artist fashions an environment that is either a reflection of what he/she sees in the world (and sometimes it's presented in the form of symbolism) or a picture of what that artist would like the world to be. I have done both of these. But usually, I deal with the world I desire to live in. And I thought, I wonder if I could write a blog entry in which I describe what that is. I don't know if I can. I can paint a picture of it in script form, but can I just state it outright? I'm about to find out.
Well, I'm an extreme romantic, which no one would know because it's mostly bottled up inside. It comes out whenever I try too hard to be friends with a guy I like. I'm not trying to get them into bed, but I think they sense my romantic nature, and it's threatening to them because they don't know I can respect their boundaries. That's why you see deeper relationships among men in my stories than you find in real life, even men who are heterosexual, because in my world, people are not scared of being liked, or even loved.
People listen to each other, and they actually understand what the other person is saying. There are not the barriers to communication that exist in real life. In real life, a person can be talking to you, but because you're only listening with 25% of your mind and using the rest to think about yourself, you often miss the point of whatever your friend is trying to tell you.
A lot of the cultural norms that exist in the real world do not exist in mine. People in their 20's are not freaked out by the idea of spending time with people in their 30's or 40's. Everyone can learn from one another, and consider other people's lives to have value to contribute to their own, no matter what age, race, sex, orientation, etc. Prejudice and fear disappear, as does favoritism.
Okay, I've written 3 paragraphs trying to describe my perfect world, and I don't really like what I've written. I mean, I don't feel like it captures my heart. I feel like I'm preaching or writing some lunatic manifesto, and that's not my intention. I'm also not trying to make it so personal, but it obviously is. I look at the things in my life that I've been hurt by, and basically try to fix them. I try to show people another way of looking at things. But this isn't coming out quite right. I'm better at pretending to articulate thoughts than actually articulating them.
But, um...let me try to say one more thing. U2 did a song called "Where the Streets Have No Name", which I love, but I don't think that idea is what I'm striving for. Because individuality is important. I think what my heart pines for is a world without walls...or at least a world with much fewer walls. The walls that people put around themselves to prevent real connection with people. In my life, I feel I'm surrounded by endless walls, tall and impenetrable in every direction, caving in, crashing down upon me, and I rarely see into the light of a person's soul because it's just walls, walls, and more walls.
And I lie on the ground, beneath dozens of caved-in walls, and I'm looking up through a small keyhole.The stars in the sky are so far away, as far as your eyes, through which I would be able to see into your heart.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
It's my party
"Sing along with me, this is 40..." says Bono at the end of U2's 1983 Red Rocks concert, Under a Blood Red Sky. They always used to close with this spiritual hymn of sorts, taken partly from Psalm 40 which is about God putting a new song in people's mouth, and then Bono sort of adds a "but" line to it: "How long to sing their song?"
I have no reason to begin this blog with that, except that as I'm about to turn 40 in a couple days, I find myself longing to have people to "sing along with me". It's lonely to grow older, especially when you feel a strong affinity towards people younger than you, something I've wrestled with all my adult life. I always just enjoy the company of younger people, and yet culturally, I idolize people my parents' age.
It's an interesting time for Richard Linklater's third part in his Before Sunrise/Sunset series to be coming out. Some of my favorite movies of all time, and the most romantic, bar none. It's all about making a connection with someone through talking and listening. (And there may be a bit of sex thrown in for good measure.) And how that connection changes--or does not change--over the course of many years, how aging changing us, but we're still fundamentally the same. People who like car chases and explosions don't appreciate films like this. It's all talk, talk, talk. But one of the best nights of my life (June 1, 1995) consisted of a talk much like the ones in these films, the likes of which I've almost never had again. That this person and I became bitter enemies just a short time later makes it all the more fascinating to wonder what would happen if we saw each other again, after all these years.
Many my age are balding. Many have gained weight, as have I. I look at people I had a crush on in high school and it makes me sad to think how they've declined. And they have families, many of them, kids, and boring jobs, and typical lives that can't be anything close to what they once dreamed of when they were young, lives of distinction, lives that seemed to matter, to make a difference in the world. I'm not trying to put them down; to them, this is what life is about. I hope it's pure joy. But for me, I always wanted something different.
I haven't achieved such a young person's dream life either, but the difference is, I'm still trying. I still consider myself an artist above most all other things. And someday maybe I will be recognized as someone with something important to say and contribute. But will I end up more happy for it than all my classmates who just settled into a life of normalcy? At least they fit in somewhere, at least they feel like they belong to something. They've been in romantic relationships (I have not), they have experienced their own version of the American dream with their house, their car, their career. My life has the appearance of something much more lowly than that, especially for someone my age.
But what matters to me has never really been the same as what mattered to many of those around me. I once joined a church and tried to get to know some of the young men there by emailing them and inviting them to coffee. The pastor, upon hearing of this, acted like I had committed one of the biggest social gaffes ever in the history of man. People don't get acquainted that way. Well, I do. I've never cared much for social rules and pretense, but as a result I've been generally ignored by 95% of the people I ever wanted to get to know. And most people realize we don't choose our friends, but our friends choose us. That doesn't mean I don't love my friends or would not actively choose them now, as opposed to someone else. In fact, I have a feeling if I had the ones I once thought I wanted, they would disappoint me. But life is so much about expectations, and growing older is about the ability to reconcile those expectations with reality. But it's not easy.
So I may cry, if I want to. Because it's my party, and I can.
I have no reason to begin this blog with that, except that as I'm about to turn 40 in a couple days, I find myself longing to have people to "sing along with me". It's lonely to grow older, especially when you feel a strong affinity towards people younger than you, something I've wrestled with all my adult life. I always just enjoy the company of younger people, and yet culturally, I idolize people my parents' age.
It's an interesting time for Richard Linklater's third part in his Before Sunrise/Sunset series to be coming out. Some of my favorite movies of all time, and the most romantic, bar none. It's all about making a connection with someone through talking and listening. (And there may be a bit of sex thrown in for good measure.) And how that connection changes--or does not change--over the course of many years, how aging changing us, but we're still fundamentally the same. People who like car chases and explosions don't appreciate films like this. It's all talk, talk, talk. But one of the best nights of my life (June 1, 1995) consisted of a talk much like the ones in these films, the likes of which I've almost never had again. That this person and I became bitter enemies just a short time later makes it all the more fascinating to wonder what would happen if we saw each other again, after all these years.
Many my age are balding. Many have gained weight, as have I. I look at people I had a crush on in high school and it makes me sad to think how they've declined. And they have families, many of them, kids, and boring jobs, and typical lives that can't be anything close to what they once dreamed of when they were young, lives of distinction, lives that seemed to matter, to make a difference in the world. I'm not trying to put them down; to them, this is what life is about. I hope it's pure joy. But for me, I always wanted something different.
I haven't achieved such a young person's dream life either, but the difference is, I'm still trying. I still consider myself an artist above most all other things. And someday maybe I will be recognized as someone with something important to say and contribute. But will I end up more happy for it than all my classmates who just settled into a life of normalcy? At least they fit in somewhere, at least they feel like they belong to something. They've been in romantic relationships (I have not), they have experienced their own version of the American dream with their house, their car, their career. My life has the appearance of something much more lowly than that, especially for someone my age.
But what matters to me has never really been the same as what mattered to many of those around me. I once joined a church and tried to get to know some of the young men there by emailing them and inviting them to coffee. The pastor, upon hearing of this, acted like I had committed one of the biggest social gaffes ever in the history of man. People don't get acquainted that way. Well, I do. I've never cared much for social rules and pretense, but as a result I've been generally ignored by 95% of the people I ever wanted to get to know. And most people realize we don't choose our friends, but our friends choose us. That doesn't mean I don't love my friends or would not actively choose them now, as opposed to someone else. In fact, I have a feeling if I had the ones I once thought I wanted, they would disappoint me. But life is so much about expectations, and growing older is about the ability to reconcile those expectations with reality. But it's not easy.
So I may cry, if I want to. Because it's my party, and I can.
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