Fog Paw's Feet
I am awake FAR past my bedtime for silly reasons.
I am looking at my living-room window, covered with a venetian blind, and wishing I could paint portraits.
I see the hated sunlight streaming couchward in bands and speckles, highlighted by dust and hair. I see warmyellow lifelight given a veneer of order by the slats and ties of the window dressing, contrasted with the starkblack silhouette of my cat, Sprocket, who is busy making sure that the neighborhood birds do not go unobserved. I see... life reduced to number and equations contrasted with organic curve and twitching tailpredation outlined in negative.
Black and white -- light and shadow -- a chiaroscuro of intent and its opposite -- much seems revealed in the shadowplay of my innocently murderous feline. I wish I had the talent and skill to adequately inspire similar reflections in others. Of course, such a work of art would be labled as 'literary' and thus denigratable. Since, of COURSE, art has no business trying to actually, y'know, _communicate_ anything! Oh NO! Art is about creating a mirror for your _audience_ to bring meaning to, NOT an attempt to illustrate a viewpoint or idea or to take any, y'know, responsibility for how one's expression of an idea is received (assuming, of course, you HAVE an idea to communicate).
But the juxtaposition of the inorganic, defined by its unyielding implacability to meaning, and the organic, shown only by its effect upon that inorganic gridwork, seems profound to me. And I wish I could share it with others.
I am looking at my living-room window, covered with a venetian blind, and wishing I could paint portraits.
I see the hated sunlight streaming couchward in bands and speckles, highlighted by dust and hair. I see warmyellow lifelight given a veneer of order by the slats and ties of the window dressing, contrasted with the starkblack silhouette of my cat, Sprocket, who is busy making sure that the neighborhood birds do not go unobserved. I see... life reduced to number and equations contrasted with organic curve and twitching tailpredation outlined in negative.
Black and white -- light and shadow -- a chiaroscuro of intent and its opposite -- much seems revealed in the shadowplay of my innocently murderous feline. I wish I had the talent and skill to adequately inspire similar reflections in others. Of course, such a work of art would be labled as 'literary' and thus denigratable. Since, of COURSE, art has no business trying to actually, y'know, _communicate_ anything! Oh NO! Art is about creating a mirror for your _audience_ to bring meaning to, NOT an attempt to illustrate a viewpoint or idea or to take any, y'know, responsibility for how one's expression of an idea is received (assuming, of course, you HAVE an idea to communicate).
But the juxtaposition of the inorganic, defined by its unyielding implacability to meaning, and the organic, shown only by its effect upon that inorganic gridwork, seems profound to me. And I wish I could share it with others.