David Abram, in the preface of his book The Spell of the Sensuous, says, "The eyes, the skin, the
tongue, ears and nostrils—all are gates where our body receives the nourishment
of otherness." I do not mean to misuse Abram's brilliant book, but I often
turn his phrase to fit an aesthetic purpose. I believe art—the best
art—nourishes our bodies with otherness. Something strange lives in beauty,
makes it shimmer. Something frightening, too, which is why beauty is
exhilarating.
Typically we think of beauty as making a grand entrance. A
radiant face and toned body moving along a red carpet. Sudden fanfare of
sunlight breaking through the clouds. A flourish of music on the radio,
dissolving the drone of traffic.
But beauty may also wish to be vague and invite close scrutiny. I remember, something like twenty years ago, seeing a handmade sign in a small town restaurant:
"Be still and no
that I am God."
Home cooking cmbo platter $4.29
Home cooking cmbo platter $4.29
I'm sure you notice right off the incorrect substitution of
"no" for "know." And that the reduced word
"combo" has been reduced further, such that it's almost unknowable. And
perhaps the Bible verse matched with a commercial message makes you a bit suspicious
about the motivations of the painter and/or restaurant proprietor.
But what you can't see (because I wasn't carrying a camera with me everywhere in those days) is the spontaneous flourish the painter put on each letterform. The spins and dives on each character, and lack of space in the sign field that forced these experiments to be crammed together, made for a difficult read but a remarkable sight. Rather than creating a commercial message, the painter, intentionally or not, made a strange and fascinating piece of art that matches affordable home cooking with a feast in the beyond.
But what you can't see (because I wasn't carrying a camera with me everywhere in those days) is the spontaneous flourish the painter put on each letterform. The spins and dives on each character, and lack of space in the sign field that forced these experiments to be crammed together, made for a difficult read but a remarkable sight. Rather than creating a commercial message, the painter, intentionally or not, made a strange and fascinating piece of art that matches affordable home cooking with a feast in the beyond.
I think I've stated my appreciation for folk art in each of
these posts. Strange letterforms and heartfelt but almost inscrutable messages
fling my heart wide open. My short movie "When the World Was Green" celebrates murals in Los Angeles for their
otherness. The narratives in that movie are based on meditations inspired by
looking at those murals. (You can see images from WtWWG on the web site
www.TropicPictures.com.)
A new short movie "Other Wounds" is packed with
rural images from East Texas. Lonesome farm house ruins, old church steeples,
creations up on monster tires by shade tree mechanics, all these fit into three
different little narratives. Like folk art pieces, the narratives almost make
sense. But the message in them all, I hope, is one that gives a bit of
nourishment of otherness.
"Other Wounds" is presently in post production. I
hope to have images on the web site very soon.
