Why I'm a Lousy Artist

I have appreciated some good art in my time. The Pieta, the Mona Lisa, the David, Hamlet, The Final Problem, Citizen Kane, the Ode to Joy*, the Coliseum, Faust...I have seen** all of these. I've even tried to make my own small contributions to the field.

I failed miserably.***

Being the analytical sort, I wondered why. I came up with a few reasons. First of all, I asked, what is needed to make art? Alternately, what IS art?

Art, for lack of a better definition, is communication of strong emotion. When you hear The Ride of the Valkyries, you're ready to go kick some ass. When you read anything by Ibsen, you're ready to commit suicide. And so on. Good art reaches past our rational minds, grabs our heartstrings, and yanks. The artist makes us feel what he feels, and sometimes we thank him for it.

It follows that, in order to make art, one must first experience strong emotion. I have spent most of my adult life trying to dull my emotions with alcohol, goal-directed activity, and bitter rage. I have been moderately successful. Thus, the lack of strong emotions to communicate.

Which leads me to my next point...one must be able to communicate. The artist must bare his soul and reveal what lies within. The artist must strive to reach out and touch his fellow human being.

Eww.

I'm a very private person. In fact, there's a fair chance I won't post this.**** I lie to everyone I know about something. So how the hell would I expose my strongest emotions to the world at large? I'm not a great communicator. Ask anybody.


*Beethoven's 9th to you Philistines

**or heard, or whatever

***No, you can't see it.

****If I do, it's probably because I'm drunk.