Thanks, George

I’m going to miss George Carlin. Not as though I knew the man; I never even saw him live. A good friend introduced me to him fairly late in his career, which for me opened up an archive of commentary that had permeated my adult life, most of which I’d consider to be his best and most poignant material–pretty much from “What Am I Doing in New Jersey?” onward.

I was more disappointed in the media’s reporting of his passing and career, particularly as it came on the heels of Tim Russert’s death a week prior. Everything I read or saw on Tim Russert was a flower piece, highlighting his dedication and achievements as a journalist and his prominent role in past elections, as though being a wizard with a dry erase board in the 21st century is some sort of unrivaled, technical feat.

Meanwhile, every news piece on Carlin highlighted his controversial career in comedy, particularly the topics of censorship, religion, and politics, while giving a paragraph’s nod to his past drug and heart problems (the latter being the cause of death for both men). That’d be relevant, except that Carlin lived to age 71, Russert to 58, and I didn’t catch a single sentence on Russert’s diet or excercise regimen.

Russert was very adept at shaping every dialogue into the fashionable pro/con, black & white dichotomy that’s become standard today, which is vastly easier and more audience captivating than actually investigating why only one in one-hundred scientists deny global climate change or its probable cause in human activity/industrialism, for example. But he was proficient in counting to 270, which would rank him near the top of any 5th-grade classroom in America, and he was apparently loved by everyone who knew him. Of course, great journalists aren’t loved by many people; they’ve pissed off too many of them by doing their job: telling the story that the people involved don’t want you to tell, to people who might not be ready to hear the truth. A beloved journalist is a lousy journalist. Period.

Carlin asked the questions that highlighted inconsistency, especially ones relating to religion, language, and logic. The sort of queries that beg for, but don’t recieve, a good or reasonable explanation, like why most Christians who are pro-life also support capital punishment, as though “Thou shalt not kill” has negotiable properties of meaning. But in his comedic commentary, nothing was taboo (as his role in the Supreme Court’s 1978 decision in F.C.C. vs. Pacifica Foundation will attest), and oftentimes, only in crossing that perceived line of decency could a meaningful understanding begin: “There’s nothing wrong with the word, ‘nigger,’ in and of itself; it’s the racist asshole who’s using it that you ought to be concerned about!”

I’ll miss George Carlin, the comedian, but what I’ll miss most is George Carlin, the most prominent, vocal, and reasoned critic and voice of dissent America may have ever had.

“I don’t like words that hide the truth.”

~George Carlin ( May 12, 1937 – June 22, 2008 )

“Kill all your little darlings”

When William Faulkner said this, he wasn’t so much speaking of infanticide so much as striking out that one line or sentence that’s so well crafted that it stands out from the rest of the paragraph, which in turn destroys the paragraph. It can be extremely difficult to do, even being aware of it, because after all, it’s usually that one line that reassures a tormented writer that all the time and/or schooling in writing hasn’t been in vain, and perhaps one should be looking at a career in the custodial arts instead.

There are parallels of the rule in poetry and painting too. Yesterday I discovered this really nice little area in a painting I’ve been working on, and instead of killing it instantly, I changed the rest of the picture to accommodate this one area, effectively turning the overall picture into another image that I’m not at all pleased with.

Painting is not confined to acts of creation, but equally aligned with acts of destruction–whether on the canvas or en route to the waste bin.

Journey, Not Destination

I’m from the school of thought where one’s art is better informed and developed by sources outside of art, even as I attempt to tune out most news stories that while interesting, don’t really add to my knowledge of the world–at least in a practical sense. Consequently, I find myself constantly searching for new things: music, movies, and especially reading material. I try to read as much as I can, when I can, while still maintaining some semblance of balance in art making, and life in general.

A respectable portion of the time, one thing leads me to another thing, which might lead me to something else not quite as good, but that directs me to another, even better thing, and so on.

For example, watching Jim Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog lead me on to read Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s Rashomon and Other Stories (which I’d rank right with J.D. Salinger’s Nine Stories) and Hagakure, The Book of the Samurai. Hagakure, being focused on the ways and mentality of being a good warrior, understandably often slights and dismisses the arts as a folly or distraction from what’s important–being a good retainer, developing quick and sound judgement, etc. Yet there is a scattering of passages that relate to the nature of making art, sometimes quite directly:

Master Ittei said, “In calligraphy it is progress when the paper, brush, and ink are in harmony.” Yet they are so wont to be disjointed!

This is as profound and succinct an understanding as I’ve read anywhere else, by anyone else, in or out of the brain trust of art, and reminds me to always look beyond the walls of my studio, a museum, or a gallery; precious truths abound everywhere.