A Strange Love
Wherever wisdoms are being proffered, people on the proscenium and also in the platea are well dressed and full of pride. The air is insidiously perfumed with selected brands of eau de toilette. In contemporary life opinions go hand in hand with image, a particularly clean cut one, defining the egos and the modern ethos with dress and manners - like people always have. In such a scenario, much is mooted in the fashion of 'academic rigour'. People everywhere, to obtain doctorates, produce collections of long paragraphs with even longer footnotes. It's an oppressive cultural climate. If there is a lot of intellectual rigour, I'm not sure how much practical rigour is out there. There is a lot of provocation around but where effort is really required is in producing a heightened artistic ambience, not for an élite nor the 'informed', but for the general public; works that are simple in their metaphysics and yet challenging in their execution. Ludwig Wittgenstein famously declassified the importance of philosophy below that of language by pointing out that philosophical confusions are merely confusions in the use of language. What has afflicted the modern artist is more elementary. He suffers an incomprehension about art itself and so by extension about his role. For example; what could be meant by such terms as 'creative freedom' and 'freedom to create'? The vagueness about his own esteem finds its worst expression in certain attempts that fall under the definition, "conceptual". The problem of modernism is not so much that a poet like ee cummings would forego capital letters and punctuation marks but the loss of joy in the unending hunger for novelty: zeitgeist. There prevails a strange love for naked angles that avows no lintels for dust, garlands for flowers nor details of egg and dart. "I can't imagine my own view of the world without 'The Great Gatsby'." - Clive James |
Rome, 23 6 2011