24 January 2013
That is a photo I took on a trip to Italy this past December. While I haven’t traveled widely there, it’s a place that recalls other cities trapped in amber historically and creatively. Like Paris, like Bruges as depicted in the film In Bruges. (Acknowledgement: this impression of Italy is mostly hearsay, inspired less from lived experience than from movies and television shows and people ranting about how good the pizza is in Naples. My recent trip touched down in Siena, Florence, Pisa and the Tuscan countryside — not Rome or Milan, cities which I suspect may provide a very different impression of the country.)
Anyhoo, that picture depicts the amber trap. Here’s another snap of a poster I found near the bathroom of a Sienese museum devoted to the city’s history.
While, at first glance, it might seem to disprove my thesis — how modern! marionettes & dildos! — I ask that you consider this picture more deeply: where else on earth could such a poster exist but in a country in denial about a modern consciousness rife as it is with irony, sarcasm, parody, self-parody, all the rest of it.
Moving on — don’t worry, I’ll loop back! — here’s another thing I don’t know all that much about: contemporary essayists. Of the ones I do know, internet entrepreneur, computer programmer and writer Paul Graham strikes me as one of the best, and certainly the one I read with the most unalloyed pleasure. (He inspires the kind of satisfaction one might experience if presented with an intractable lock, then provided a shoebox full of keys to sort through, and then, upon first attempt to match them, you heard that magic click.)
I can explain to you why I like Paul Graham via close reading, but maybe it’s better and easier to show you this diagram grabbed from Wikipedia which someone came up with to illustrate Graham’s essay How to Disagree.
Writing as as someone who has been accused of being, erm…HARSH…at times, it’s the kind of essay (and diagram) which I think anyone could learn something from. But so could all of us. Here is the lovely opening paragraph of Graham’s essay:
The web is turning writing into a conversation. Twenty years ago, writers wrote and readers read. The web lets readers respond, and increasingly they do—in comment threads, on forums, and in their own blog posts.
Essentially, the essay is a guide to navigating conflict and communication in the electronic age. It’s this simple dissembling of emergent manners & business which Graham excels at. He observes, acknowledges, and even offers an implicit titter of respect for the level of popular discourse in our culture — while also trying to elevate said culture. (By the way, if you were wondering, the term “asshat” does not appear in Graham’s original essay, but the phrase “u r a fag!!!!!!!!!!” most certainly does. He isn’t just pointing out the existence of name calling — he shows that he has a personal fluency in txtspk and comment section style.)
Good design happens in chunks. The inhabitants of fifteenth century Florence included Brunelleschi, Ghiberti, Donatello, Masaccio, Filippo Lippi, Fra Angelico, Verrocchio, Botticelli, Leonardo, and Michelangelo. Milan at the time was as big as Florence. How many fifteenth century Milanese artists can you name?
Something was happening in Florence in the fifteenth century. And it can’t have been genetic, because it isn’t happening now. You have to assume that whatever inborn ability Leonardo and Michelangelo had, there were people born in Milan with just as much. What happened to the Milanese Leonardo?
There are roughly a thousand times as many people alive in the US right now as lived in Florence during the fifteenth century. A thousand Leonardos and a thousand Michelangelos walk among us. If DNA ruled, we should be greeted daily by artistic marvels. We aren’t, and the reason is that to make Leonardo you need more than his innate ability. You also need Florence in 1450.
Nothing is more powerful than a community of talented people working on related problems. Genes count for little by comparison: being a genetic Leonardo was not enough to compensate for having been born near Milan instead of Florence. Today we move around more, but great work still comes disproportionally from a few hotspots: the Bauhaus, the Manhattan Project, The New Yorker, Lockheed’s Skunk Works, Xerox Parc.
At any given time there are a few hot topics and a few groups doing great work on them, and it’s nearly impossible to do good work yourself if you’re too far removed from one of these centers. You can push or pull these trends to some extent, but you can’t break away from them. (Maybe you can, but the Milanese Leonardo couldn’t.)
This also made me wonder about ambition vs. skill vs. luck as it plays out among the scene I find myself part of, the certainly more modest achievements of the Brooklyn, New York art scene — filled as it is with musicians, graphic designers and artisanal chocolate makers. However, self-consciousness befits an essayist more than it does a cultural producer, so for now I’ll hang up my flannel on that question, and relive a moment of staring out over the crete senesi.
Posted by Alec Hanley Bemis
14 October 2009
I. THE SURFACE
Last Wednesday I saw the last gig of the run, one of four sold out New York shows. Let’s take advantage of what the internet has to offer and kick off this discussion with one of the new tunes he debuted. I’ll start with my favorite, the relatively straightforward “Age of Adz”:
Now let me admit, I came away from the show feeling both intrigued and baffled. As one of my fellow concertgoers said to me that night, the music borrowed all the signifiers of rock but contained no actual rocking. Add to that a liberal dose of spacious textures from electronic music and jazz. Another friend left early, complaining that the music was a tepid mess.
And, well, I sort of agree with these sentiments. My befuddlement can best be expressed by a series of comparative thought experiments.
– Imagine if James Taylor aspired to sound like Miles Davis
– Imagine if Cat Stevens took a greater interest in Frank Zappa than the prophet Muhammad
– Imagine if there was a male equivalent to Joni Mitchell’s experience of getting lost in a jazz hole
– Imagine if Erik Satie decided to compose his take on jock jams, more or less missing the point of what jock jams are
In case you’re mistaking these comparisons for disses, here’s a last one:
– Imagine if there were more young(ish) musicians making music so strong & brave you felt comfortable namedropping them alongside such heavyweight peers
Let’s go deeper into this with a second song, “There’s Too Much Love,” which reminds me, alternatively, of Prince and…
Read more »
Posted by Alec Hanley Bemis
8 April 2009
The first in what may become a series…
“Art dealers, I found, ‘only care about how it looks,’ while the art professionals employed by our new institutions ‘really care about what it means.’ Easy enough to say. Yet even if this were true (and I think it is), I can’t imagine any but the most demented naif giddily abandoning an autocrat who monitors appearances for a bureaucrat who monitors your soul.”
by Dave Hickey from “Enter the Dragon” in The Invisible Dragon: Essays on Beauty
Posted by Alec Hanley Bemis