8 November 2013
Angela Hayes. Remember the name. She's what I would consider a special kind of singer. I met her a few years ago totally by coincidence. It was a summer evening here in Virginia and our local Park Service in town provides a full summer of concerts on the lawn. Angela is a jazz-singer and she's darned good. She may be trained in other styles of voice (I would suspect so,) but I don't really know much about her previous training. To me, what she is, is a natural. What mattered to me that evening was, she was very entertaining and Connie and I were provided with a reminiscent romantic evening that transported us back to a more innocent time in our lives. This is an important factor in this story. Any way, I referenced a piece of art-work on Facebook today and Angela wrote me that she liked "Real Art." I laughed to myself. What is Real Art? Angela, talent that she is, musician that she is, entertainer that she is, probably has a pretty good handle on what is good or bad art. And by the way then, what is Bad Art?
I've led a privileged life of punching a lot of tickets. Including the privilege of talking to many artists, musicians, writers, and people involved in curating the works of the same or people who promote the same. I began my academic career going down that road. It was no whim. The seeds were probably planted within my family framework and the dreadfully boring place I grew up in. Coming home from the war in Vietnam, I was not a happy camper. By providence and pure happenstance I met other Vietnam veterans in college and graduate school who seemed to be in the same boat. There was a major difference between us and the rest of the student body. We could talk about life experiences that the rest of the students weren't having or were trying to escape from. Those were chaotic years. The struggling to make ends meet was dreadful. The lessons learned from Vietnam would get us through what seemed to us older and wiser veterans as just a piece-of-cake mental game, while the kids around us were fending off the mental game of staying out of the Draft and staying alive. It took me a long time to get over the bitterness of that scenario and there are times when I haven't convinced myself that I'll ever get over it. In the final analysis none of it may not really matter. The challenge of producing Real Art out of life's experiences is what matters - or maybe producing anything worthwhile let alone a great piece of artistic work out of a human being's life experience, is what matters. My Catholic background teaches me that to lead a life of loving is more than enough to punch all the tickets - to fulfill God's role for all of us on this ship called Earth.
I'm smart enough to know that, that isn't enough. I've talked to too many artists. What fascinates me is the look in their eyes to want more than that. The painter who's never satisfied. The writer who thinks he or she is never good enough to complete a sentence or a paragraph. The one or two dancers I've known who want to explain the whole mystery of Life through the minimalism of body-movements. The singers who'll work hours on getting just the right phrasing and intonation with just the right amount of breath. The real privilege for me in my privileged status is discovering that circumstances of birth, education, or economic background is meaningless in this discussion. There are no boundaries for talent or genius in any educational or human-expressive endeavor, those areas we would refer to as the plastic arts. Talent can't be manufactured. You either have it or you don't. But it can be manipulated, honed, trained to perform. Talent is the seed. Real art is the ripened fruit ready for harvest. I prefer to be around people who can honestly and truthfully acknowledge its existence. The Nazis were experts at shutting it down and eventually killing it; destroying the life-force that separates us from the animals.
Angela admired what I had admired in a simple charcoal drawing on paper (The Dance II by Jeaneen Barnhart) a thing of beauty that captured the flow of two lovers in a dance embrace. Maybe they aren't lovers. Who knows? Maybe they're supposed to be professional dancers who can't stand each other, except that they know something special is going to happen with the dance? What matters is that a human moment is captured beautifully. Just right. And you have to stop and look at it. The possibility resides that someday this thing of beauty will be in a gallery or museum where other people will see it and get the same enjoyment in viewing it. Ask the same questions. Go "ooh" and "ahh" in collective exclamations. Is it great art? Good or bad art? Real art? Who cares. The producer of it came into this world with a very unique talent. She has a unique gift that others need to experience and enjoy. Privileges enter my life each day. Little ones, big ones, and privileges that surprise me.
The Dance I I by Jeaneen Barnhart. (Charcoal on paper.) You can view Jeaneen's artwork at www.artsocool.com.
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Nicely done. Angela is my daughter-in-law. She is, indeed, as talented & motivated as you describe. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI read a few of your posts & totally agree that passion is the key to both happiness & success. Unfortunately, the ability to take any risks & step out of conformity, even of ideas, is an extremely rare commodity.