Arthur, Artiface, Asshole
Q&A with Arthur Miller
Question: Your play, The Crucible, is about McCarthyism. Would you say we live in age of sexual McCarthyism?
AM: Some days it has that aspect, doesn't it?
It seems that people get totally irrational about sexual matters... is one of the definitions of McCarthyism -- a total blindness and deafness to anything but ones own opinion... and there are days I feel we're getting close to it in the sexual field.
Moving on
I once heard a heroin addicted artist describe his relationship with his art friends like this; they thought they were being artists because they had sold some work but he saw them as artifice because his whole life was an expression of pain and beauty that he saw as art, they made art but he was art. I don't make nearly enough images worth publishing but its such an expression of pain and masquerade that I feel like I am living my images into existence in one broad toxic smear of developer mirror slap and inkjet paper. I clothe myself with the images I push to the forefront of my consciousness. So many of these things come from places I go alone in my mind, places I don't let anyone. Sort of Ironic that the refuse of my deepest secrets comprise my camouflage.
Moving on
I'm horrified by my own excess this week. Two cars and a motorcycle, for one person. and I barely use them. Total wastefulness. I was wrong Matt, I have done nothing to earn my spot on this planet. I sure wish I could find the peace Heinroth talked about, seems missing for too long to maintain the appearance of hope.
thanks for reading
Question: Your play, The Crucible, is about McCarthyism. Would you say we live in age of sexual McCarthyism?
AM: Some days it has that aspect, doesn't it?
It seems that people get totally irrational about sexual matters... is one of the definitions of McCarthyism -- a total blindness and deafness to anything but ones own opinion... and there are days I feel we're getting close to it in the sexual field.
Moving on
I once heard a heroin addicted artist describe his relationship with his art friends like this; they thought they were being artists because they had sold some work but he saw them as artifice because his whole life was an expression of pain and beauty that he saw as art, they made art but he was art. I don't make nearly enough images worth publishing but its such an expression of pain and masquerade that I feel like I am living my images into existence in one broad toxic smear of developer mirror slap and inkjet paper. I clothe myself with the images I push to the forefront of my consciousness. So many of these things come from places I go alone in my mind, places I don't let anyone. Sort of Ironic that the refuse of my deepest secrets comprise my camouflage.
Moving on
I'm horrified by my own excess this week. Two cars and a motorcycle, for one person. and I barely use them. Total wastefulness. I was wrong Matt, I have done nothing to earn my spot on this planet. I sure wish I could find the peace Heinroth talked about, seems missing for too long to maintain the appearance of hope.
thanks for reading