Something Different

In Pimp That Muse you'll find a venue for advocacy for the arts and for artists. A place of recognition, honor, and celebrating the joy of accomplishment, a job well done, and the frisson of the pay day. (Yay!)

But I would like to present something different now, for your consideration. Those unsung heroes who leave their mark -- literally -- for reasons ranging from carrying on a tradition, the joy of leaving color and line, and/or political or personal expression. 

I present to you, gentle reader, the muralist and the political poster.

Plastered

                                        
                                     Viva!

Outta the Mouths of Babes

So, I'm sitting on a park bench (but enough about that--) and this MILF and her kid sit down next to me. The kid's super cute -- and so is the mom. They're going to a megga art store, and I know this because I'm eavesdropping (yeah, like you never do that!). So... they stand up after their brief rest, and the six-year old points to some graffiti on the fence. "Why did someone do that?"

The mom says that sometimes people want to make art, and sometimes they need to leave a mark to show that they were there. The kid assays the piece and nods his head. "I bet they got a big commission for that."

MILF and I lock eyes and grin at each other over the kid's earnest head (the innate dignity of kid's is so cool).  "Yes."

Against the Wall

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And

The individual who contributes the information, the words, ideas, photographs, videos, songs, lectures, dance, drawings, paintings, comedy, monologue, impressions -- is known as the "content provider"?

FRIGGIN' CONTENT PROVIDER? When did artists --the role of bard, master, artist, artisan, creator, genius, entertainer, royal court jester, musician, comedian, lecturer, videographer, choreographer, and all around Play Thing of the Muse...devolve into content provider? Do you fully understand how low-rent that sounds? Now normally I'm all about the low-rent, the low road, the easy ride. But damn it, this is art!

And while this may sound like a rhetorical question, it is anything but -- Arise, oh great...whatever the heck you are, and name and claim your glory!

Completing this "blog" post (and don't get me started on "blog" -- I know that it stands for bulletin/log, but it sounds like something the cat coughed up), I must refresh myself. I have habits, I have needs!

I shall conclude by bastardizing the film The Elephant Man, where the hero is a hideous-looking creature whose blighted countenance hides a noble soul, I, too, take the stand that I -- and those of my ilk -- are so very much more than I/we appear. I am a not a content provider, I am creator (damn it!).

I Am. So. Not Jealous...Not.

All right. To head of allegations of jealousy let me own up to it at the start. I AM jealous of those creative, important, wonderful folks who can make computers ring and zing. The programmers, analysts, web designers, IT people, and their nerd royalty ilk who enable modern communication to perform the miracles that it does. They are brilliant, creative, indispensable -- and well remunerated. And not undeservedly so.

My question is...Have you noticed how the individual who takes responsibility for the upkeep of a website is known by the moniker WEB MASTER?

Coming to Terms

A rose is a rose is a... So, let us come to terms. We're talking nomenclature. Definition. Meaning. Syntax. Semantics. A Hierarchy of Order.

Dial up the Diaz

Recently had the pleasure of hearing Junot Diaz (www.junotdiaz.com/) speak before an audience on topics of interest to the author. The whole world -- the friggin' universe -- is of fascination to this dynamic intellectual, so the talk was, well, wondrous. Some are born to write; some to speak. Diaz does it all.

He spoke of coming of age as a Dominican American on the East Coast of the USA. Of the immigrant experience. Of his mother (oh, just wind him up, get him started on the topic of family, and watch him go-go-go!). His friends think he's a political activist who writes on the side.

He told of trees, tales, and the forests that they may comprise. What it was like for him to inculcate the love of language, art while teaching at MIT (hint: no slacking for Mr. Diaz's minions). It was pretty much a love-fest between artist and audience. Then -- one audience member respectfully inquired about the story behind this year's Pulitzer Prize for Literature. In short, it hadn't been awarded. Which sucks! I mean, if nobody had it squared away, surely someone (hey, I have a corner of a closet I'm not utilizing...) should give this prestigious award a home.

Diaz explained that there are rules about what the Pulitzer Prize committee could disclose -- but he could say that they (the committee) had their reasons -- he just couldn't elaborate. He also said that winning the prize was a big deal, and he could understand and commiserate with the confusion that not giving out the award had caused, especially since the novel as we know it, and since its inception, has been a delicate thing, worthy of nurturing and protection.

He claimed that yes, in some ways, winning the Pulitzer Prize in 2008 for The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao had changed his own life. Deadpan, he continued, but not as much, as, say, writing a novel about werewolves. (Hint: I think sparkly, polyamourous werewolves are the best!)

And so, all in the auditorium looked up at Junot Diaz, smitten, driven, in love with the word -- and the individual before us who captured the essence of story so sublimely.