Re: [MD] Art and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
This is a good example of what the MOQ calls the Code of Art. If memory serves, I wrote this story after a day of fishing with my oldest son in a creek that ran past a town where we used to live. I don't use a hook on my line lest I accidentally catch a fish but I did enjoy our time together immensely. I remember seeing clouds of butterflies dancing past us as we sat on the bank in the sunshine talking and watching the water flowing past. I have no idea why the story was written from the point of view of a woman. It just evolved that way. The finished story is a bit more risque than the excerpt you offered but that's neither here nor there. I guess the point is, I had no intention of writing the story until it appeared on my monitor. I'm thinking that is what the Code of Art is all about... a mystery that once fathomed is no longer applicable to real and creative art. I'm not sure any artist can intentionally set out to be creative. Take Vincent van Gogh as an example... I remember seeing a little painting of his hanging upon a wall in a northern California art museum. It was an iris, nothing more... a single flower. We've all seen them. What he did with the canvas and paints defies rationality, however. I am sure he set out to intentionally paint the iris, just as when I sit down in front of my computer I intend to write. What happens next is the mystery. A million artists have probably painted flowers just as a million writers have written stories. What makes van Gogh's work unique is how he visualized the world from the point of view of a mad man. Now, when I say: mad man, I am not talking literally although we all know he was confined to an institution for a time before he committed suicide. In fact, it was said he painted that portrait while institutionalized. So technically he was mad, or perhaps I should say from the point of view of a society that expects its members to conform rather than stand out, he was out of place and lost for most of his short life... except while he painted. When I saw his work in person for the first time, I didn't understand what I felt. I'd seen photographs of his paintings, sure, and I'd even ordered prints to hang on my wall. What I remember most was walking into a seemingly empty museum where my sister insisted we go. I was visiting her for the first time in decades and I thought we had better things to do than drive to a shabby building that purported itself to be a museum of art. There was no one there. I wondered to myself why we came there. It seemed a waste of time. There were various paintings hung upon the walls of nondescript artists who'd I never heard of before or since. She led me to the back room. I expected it to be empty too as I heard no voices nor any sounds at all. Instead, there was a crowd of maybe fifty people gathered around a spot on the farthest wall. I couldn't see what they were all looking at. My sister crooked her finger at me to follow her so I did. By and by a few of the people in front moved off and then a few more so gradually after an hour or so we made our way to the front. I wasn't prepared for what I saw. I just know it made a sudden and everlasting impression upon me and when the nights are particularly dark and I am feeling sorry for myself and my lonesome plight on this whirling globe, I think back to that simple iris hanging in infinity. The Code of Art must mean something like getting it right, but how did van Gogh know? How do storytellers know? What about the musicians and the poets and the beauty they produce? Where does it come from? A Butterfly Picnic means much more to me than a story about a girl lying naked on a blanket in the sun and being ogled by a dirty old man. The creek water flowing past, the butterflies dancing in the breeze, the food and drink, even the blanket... they all combine to lend an air of majesty to the mundane. That is perhaps what van Gogh meant by painting a simple iris. He must have studied the iris, how it moved, how it grew, how it unfurled itself to the sun, and how it died. He must have become the iris in a real sense. In the same way, by writing the stories that I write, I study the characters. I watch and learn how they walk and talk, how they interact with the world. I might write ten thousand words just learning who they are and what they do. Finally, I become the characters. It is only then that I can attempt in my own small way to bring them to life the same way van Gogh brought that iris to life. He imbued it with a type of immortality... its beauty reaches across the years to enlighten others to the possibilities of madness and insanity. Now, I don't mean to imply I am anywhere close to the artist that van Gogh was. I am an imposter. The Code of Art whispers its secrets to me and though I try to represent those mysteries the best I can, I am but a poor substitute for a real artist. I am like a child coloring with his crayons and doing his best to stay within the prescribed lines yet
Re: [MD] Art and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Hi , Dan, long time no see. Irises was created during confinement in the asylum, in the yard,..but it was never a single flower, the work is full of irises and their leaves the confusion is created by Vincent himself because he highlights one single iris in ...white!, only one among the dark blue ones. the blue ones are probably japanese irises,and hide themselveves in their natural abstract blue, probably they where more bright blue when painted, but the paint aged beautifully. http://www.vggallery.com/painting/p_0608.htm#analysis below the page is a list of places the work was displayed,probably you did see it in La? possible? it is in the possesion of the Getty museum.Vincent made more than one painting about the subject btw. https://www.google.be/search?q=iris+laevigatasafe=offespv=210es_sm=93source=lnmstbm=ischsa=Xei=EZS0UpOPEInkswbci4CICwsqi=2ved=0CAcQ_AUoAQbiw=1366bih=634 or, iris leavigata and set google for pictures nb, Also Claude Monet made some mighty impressions concerning irises https://www.google.be/search?q=iris+laevigatasafe=offespv=210es_sm=93source=lnmstbm=ischsa=Xei=EZS0UpOPEInkswbci4CICwsqi=2ved=0CAcQ_AUoAQbiw=1366bih=634#es_sm=93espv=210q=iris+claude+monetsafe=offtbm=ischfacrc=_imgdii=_imgrc=ZYDEfwKDuCwaUM%3A%3BXoSYY-NtOpseEM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fwww.passagenproject.com%252Fvincent_van-gogh_irissen_1889.jpg%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fpassagenproject.com%252Fblog%252F2011%252F01%252F25%252Fde-iris-bloem-in-de-kunst%252F%3B490%3B367 About your work, yes i like to have an e-copy of some of your latest writings, i would be gratefull. Adrie 2013/12/20 Dan Glover daneglo...@gmail.com This is a good example of what the MOQ calls the Code of Art. If memory serves, I wrote this story after a day of fishing with my oldest son in a creek that ran past a town where we used to live. I don't use a hook on my line lest I accidentally catch a fish but I did enjoy our time together immensely. I remember seeing clouds of butterflies dancing past us as we sat on the bank in the sunshine talking and watching the water flowing past. I have no idea why the story was written from the point of view of a woman. It just evolved that way. The finished story is a bit more risque than the excerpt you offered but that's neither here nor there. I guess the point is, I had no intention of writing the story until it appeared on my monitor. I'm thinking that is what the Code of Art is all about... a mystery that once fathomed is no longer applicable to real and creative art. I'm not sure any artist can intentionally set out to be creative. Take Vincent van Gogh as an example... I remember seeing a little painting of his hanging upon a wall in a northern California art museum. It was an iris, nothing more... a single flower. We've all seen them. What he did with the canvas and paints defies rationality, however. I am sure he set out to intentionally paint the iris, just as when I sit down in front of my computer I intend to write. What happens next is the mystery. A million artists have probably painted flowers just as a million writers have written stories. What makes van Gogh's work unique is how he visualized the world from the point of view of a mad man. Now, when I say: mad man, I am not talking literally although we all know he was confined to an institution for a time before he committed suicide. In fact, it was said he painted that portrait while institutionalized. So technically he was mad, or perhaps I should say from the point of view of a society that expects its members to conform rather than stand out, he was out of place and lost for most of his short life... except while he painted. When I saw his work in person for the first time, I didn't understand what I felt. I'd seen photographs of his paintings, sure, and I'd even ordered prints to hang on my wall. What I remember most was walking into a seemingly empty museum where my sister insisted we go. I was visiting her for the first time in decades and I thought we had better things to do than drive to a shabby building that purported itself to be a museum of art. There was no one there. I wondered to myself why we came there. It seemed a waste of time. There were various paintings hung upon the walls of nondescript artists who'd I never heard of before or since. She led me to the back room. I expected it to be empty too as I heard no voices nor any sounds at all. Instead, there was a crowd of maybe fifty people gathered around a spot on the farthest wall. I couldn't see what they were all looking at. My sister crooked her finger at me to follow her so I did. By and by a few of the people in front moved off and then a few more so gradually after an hour or so we made our way to the front. I wasn't prepared for what I saw. I just know it made a sudden and everlasting impression upon me and when the nights are particularly dark and I am feeling sorry for myself and my lonesome plight on this
Re: [MD] Art and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Hi Dan, While inspiring a collage of different experiences, I find 'Butterfly Picnic' to be a little a gem. I really like it. *That the woman was watching, but not seeing*. Such a familiar mystery! Your explanation is also interesting from several different angles. - Drawing outside the lines is an interesting metaphor. There is the dependence on the lines to be able to experience the freedom of moving away from them. And didn't your sister draw outside the line by taking you to the museum? Yesterday was an interesting day. It was very busy. My last stop was at the grocery store to shop for food for the weekend. I live two miles from the store and was driving home when I witnessed a very bad accident. The oncoming driver was not killed, but it was very dramatic. I saw the car lose control, hit many guard tails, take flight and twist through the air over an embankment to land right-side up in a gulch. It was surreal. Of course I stopped to help, but more experienced men arrived almost immediately. There was only the driver who was conscious and talking, but trapped in the car. Since I was one of two witnesses, I stayed to offer my name and explanation to the police. What had I watched? What did I see? The whole tenor of the day changed in a few moments, certainly for the driver, but also for this witness. I am still shocked how quickly and dramatically things seem to change. Marsha On Dec 20, 2013, at 2:15 AM, Dan Glover daneglo...@gmail.com wrote: This is a good example of what the MOQ calls the Code of Art. If memory serves, I wrote this story after a day of fishing with my oldest son in a creek that ran past a town where we used to live. I don't use a hook on my line lest I accidentally catch a fish but I did enjoy our time together immensely. I remember seeing clouds of butterflies dancing past us as we sat on the bank in the sunshine talking and watching the water flowing past. I have no idea why the story was written from the point of view of a woman. It just evolved that way. The finished story is a bit more risque than the excerpt you offered but that's neither here nor there. I guess the point is, I had no intention of writing the story until it appeared on my monitor. I'm thinking that is what the Code of Art is all about... a mystery that once fathomed is no longer applicable to real and creative art. I'm not sure any artist can intentionally set out to be creative. Take Vincent van Gogh as an example... I remember seeing a little painting of his hanging upon a wall in a northern California art museum. It was an iris, nothing more... a single flower. We've all seen them. What he did with the canvas and paints defies rationality, however. I am sure he set out to intentionally paint the iris, just as when I sit down in front of my computer I intend to write. What happens next is the mystery. A million artists have probably painted flowers just as a million writers have written stories. What makes van Gogh's work unique is how he visualized the world from the point of view of a mad man. Now, when I say: mad man, I am not talking literally although we all know he was confined to an institution for a time before he committed suicide. In fact, it was said he painted that portrait while institutionalized. So technically he was mad, or perhaps I should say from the point of view of a society that expects its members to conform rather than stand out, he was out of place and lost for most of his short life... except while he painted. When I saw his work in person for the first time, I didn't understand what I felt. I'd seen photographs of his paintings, sure, and I'd even ordered prints to hang on my wall. What I remember most was walking into a seemingly empty museum where my sister insisted we go. I was visiting her for the first time in decades and I thought we had better things to do than drive to a shabby building that purported itself to be a museum of art. There was no one there. I wondered to myself why we came there. It seemed a waste of time. There were various paintings hung upon the walls of nondescript artists who'd I never heard of before or since. She led me to the back room. I expected it to be empty too as I heard no voices nor any sounds at all. Instead, there was a crowd of maybe fifty people gathered around a spot on the farthest wall. I couldn't see what they were all looking at. My sister crooked her finger at me to follow her so I did. By and by a few of the people in front moved off and then a few more so gradually after an hour or so we made our way to the front. I wasn't prepared for what I saw. I just know it made a sudden and everlasting impression upon me and when the nights are particularly dark and I am feeling sorry for myself and my lonesome plight on this whirling globe, I think back to that simple iris hanging in infinity. The Code of Art must mean something like getting
