This blog is plain as hell.
I don’t know what I think about that.
I guess deep (okay, shallow) in my psyche, I’d like someone, somewhere, sometime to read this and think it’s really good and profound and something new and on a level that no one has ever set out to reach before. A pinnacle of sorts.
And if you want people to think something is good, you have to frame it pretty.
I learned this in my brief foray into the world of the professional artist. I don’t mean any sort of artist, I mean the visual kind. The kind with sketchbooks and canvases and paint. I did a lot of abstract shit during this foray and I remember people looking at it unframed like it was complete trash. People wouldn’t even think of paying upwards of five bucks for it unframed. Then I’d get a decent mat and a nice frame and the price could go up to $200 and people wouldn’t think twice about paying it. Suddenly it was this great work of art because it had a ten dollar frame around it from Walmart. Suddenly it was legitimate.
I wonder what we’d think about the Mona Lisa if it wasn’t framed with spectacularly thought out lighting thrown on it by strategic design teams. Maybe it would be “just another painting” from the Renaissance.
There was a thing on YouTube not too long ago about Joshua Bell playing in the subway and people walking past and not noticing him – thinking he was just another street musician begging for money. Framing. So much in this world is about the frame. It makes me kind of nauseous when I think about humanity and how we are so focused on the “dressing up” of things.
In school when we talked about job interviews we were always told about what to wear and not wear. We were told it was more important to look good than to actually be good at your job. I find this disgusting, but it’s true.
What does that mean about us? About me? About our fucked up culture?
A few days ago when I was out for a run I saw two doe running through a field. I realized the were about to run in front of a pick up truck and I signaled for the man driving to stop. He did, confused. One doe ran behind the truck. The other, in perhaps the most beautiful moment of my life, lofted skyward, leaping with grace and precision and humble and serene terror, and jumped over the hood of the truck, landing flawlessly on the field beyond, and continuing to run. The man in the pick-up truck was annoyed with me for stopping his progress. Apparently he would rather hit the deer than stop and wait for five seconds. I stood and stared as they ran through the tent area of the campground and directly into the chain-link fence surrounding the grounds. The two ran, faster, faster, seeking a break in the fence… but there was none.
I felt enormous sadness then. Beautiful animals – trapped in this man-made cage – for our enjoyment…
Two days ago I saw one of the doe dead on the highway… she finally found the opening in the fence.