11,035. RUDIMENTS, pt. 395

RUDIMENTS, pt. 395

(the art of avenel)

The seminary had a tiny art

department  (that's funny. I

don't mean to say they made

miniatures) - oddly enough

mostly manned by Mike

Bartholomew, once again. 

(influential) front and center.
Art, I'd have to admit, at 11 was 
a new idea to me, brought to me
by Mike. The compact work area
and art section was little used,
except by him. There were a few
cans with brushes in them, that 
wonderful smell of turpentine
and linseed oil (same smell which
later permeated every life-breath
at the Studio School. It's one of
those floating aromas that soak
to the spirit and soul of the artist
within those who have that set
of antennae to pick it up). I can't
remember what he painted, nor
a 'style' he perhaps was messing
with, but it was 'Art' to me, and
the idea had introduced itself,
never to leave. All new too. I
never did thank him for all this
stuff  -  the jazz, the theater, the
black coffee hipsterism, and the
paint, but God-damned if I
hadn't finally found a new key
to unlock my way out of Hell.
-
All of this, fortunately, became 
the background scrim of the 
play of my life, a bit of leitmotif
at the rear wall of reference. It's
pretty much what I stayed with,
long after the seminary was
gone down the drain for me. 
The idea of the background of

a painting having resonance
always rang within. By the

artworld of those later 60's

it was, of course, difficult to

make present - most art had

given up on any semblance of

'picture' or of being something

even recognizable, so a scene

in the background didn't exist

anyway. But, in my mind, I'd

take that idea out to the street

with me and realize it was at

the same time the very story

of life itself. We are always,

as our own portrait, seen as in

our own foregrounds : total

psychological basket cases

of ego, egocentricity,

dominance, self-awareness,

etc. That's where our identity

- culturally and societally -

comes from. But it's really

the scenes behind us that

make up our activities

and beings. And they

are seen, as it were, only

behind us - we never

really face them off out

front of us, because

it's 'out front' where

they are being made.

To really underscore

the word 'hindsight,'

I suppose.

-

You can't get all cracked

up over stuff like that,

because then you begin

'altering' it - and it's no

longer real, or authentic,

or even vibrant. As in

Quantum Physics just the

viewing of a situation, or

the experiment, changes

the result being sought :

Things change when under

observation, and somehow

'become' no longer their own

or 'themselves'. How very odd,

I always thought. Erroneously,

in Physics, and by laymen,

this is usually called the

'Heisenberg Uncertainty

Principle', and that name,

yes, has stuck, but really

it's the 'Observer Principle.'

The Heisenberg Principle

is actually something a

little different, but I'm

not going into it now,

you can look it up

yourselves, if sought.

-

My point was in how, as

individuals, that big,

churning scene behind

us is often unseen

as we forge straight

ahead, forming our

selves and beings.

Leonardo and those

guys, with all their

little background scenes

always in the rear of

these quite meticulously

detailed paintings and

portraits, (yes, again, like

the Mona Lisa) were - and

without even knowing it - in

both their very-pre-Freudian

and pre-psychological awareness

days and times - presaging

all of that, quite symbolically.

We only now know how to

read that language. (By the

way, this is my theory, my

own 'art' thought, and I had

not or have not actually

read that yet anywhere,

though it perhaps may so

be. I do though sincerely

and authentically, and

maybe naively too, hereby

claim it). I also realize that
what's 'before' and what's
'behind' depends on where
you're standing. And then,

only a little later, if you push

the envelope, you get to

both Hieronymus Bosch

and Pieter Brueghel, where

the background has become

all - an intense screen of

total activity. All that 'Fall of

Icarus' stuff, and those weird

ground-beings and the

pastoral happenings

on every front. It was

all pretty amazing,

and quite soon. It's a

bit - but only a bit - akin

to the ephemera of today's

suck-ass 'virtual' world in

which kids get all sidetracked

chasing down imaginary

scenes and planted stuff.

As an artist, hell, that's kind

of what you're always doing

anyway - mostly with no one

listening. Kids now, they're all

communally geeked-out trading

orgasms over some Mickey

Mouse in a doughnut roll

somewhere, and listening,

very unfortunately, only to

themselves. Once more the

background has become the

foreground, but for no good

reason at all except for the

nice scrim of ephemeral junk

it provides. Just because they

fall for it, doesn't mean it's any

good - and just because I can

look up your address on any

web-search, and find out

where you live, doesn't mean

I want to go there and visit.

Crazy world.

-

Speaking of which (crazy world),

just about that same time a few

weird things were happening -

sorts of real, defining things.

As viewed then anyway. One

was a song that was eventually

'banned' or at least pulled

from the playlists of WMCA

and WABC, I think, entitled

something like 'They're

Coming To Take Me Away,

Ha Ha....' to the funny farm, etc.

It was sort of spoken over some

repeated drum motif, and with

also some distorted voice play

too, I think, about some guys's

mental state after a breakup,

and then it sort of ends up

with him talking to his dog.

Jerry Samuels that was. And

the crazy world of Arthur

Brown. 'Fire' or 'You're

Gonna' Burn', something

like that. Both of them were

pretty useless, 'industry' 

songs, put out in spite of 

all the counter-cultural 

ferment going on. Absolutely

no content or gravitas, just

a dumb slap-in-the-face to

the real street issues underway.

Like bad art, like Happenings

and all that high-society fake 

art cocktail party stuff that 

was just beginning - all 

an affront. To top it off, 

when the 'industry' really 

got hip - in its own mind - 

and really felt ready to hit

back, what did they give us?

You guessed it : Strawberry

Alarm Clock, with something 

crappy called 'Incense and

Peppermint, Curse of Mankind.'

If I could have ripped their 

scalps off, I would have.