The first track is kinda cool, but it’s kind of a lame LP. Although if you can handle some cheese, there are a few interesting moments. But damn, if that isn’t a sweet jacket.
Posts Tagged ‘art’
The latest installment of the Primo Vino Art series, celebrating cool labels on wine bottles: Cycles Gladiator.
The art is merely a ripoff of a classic piece, created in 1895 by French painter Georges Massias, but hey, I didn’t know that until I read the label. There you go, putting the snooty “oh” in Pinot.
There’s some new streaming content available on the trumpet page now. Click the cassette next to the Electro-Acoustic Workshop (or just click here) and listen in without the need to download anything. This was an awesome evening that goes down as one of the coolest jam sessions I ever played while in Chicago. Lots of heavy hitters sitting in, and just an overall happening vibe. I recommend having a listen to the “70’s style jam”. Word.
So there’s going to be a new series of posts on here called “Finding the Meaning”. This whole idea originally got started when I was talking with my wonderful girlfriend about a poem on here. In my spare time I’ve been reading a small chapbook of poems by the author Heather Sellers, and although it does have some nice little gems in it, I am constantly frustrated by the inaccessible nature of her writing. Sure, maybe I’m just too dense, too much of a dolt to “get it” but then, I write poetry myself, and I’d like to think I’m at least somewhat “hip” and/or “with it” enough to grasp the meanings of some cryptic poetry–at a certain point, unless you want to explain the art (at least a little bit), it’s just meaningless to the majority of your audience. And that sorta sucks!
My girl and I were chatting about the poem “Fine Paisley Like Mandelbrot” and I sort of realized that I had fallen into the same trap–too much ambiguity.
Also, another thing that had been on my mind was the recollection of an awesome article on the video games blog Kotaku, where people were discussing their favorite memories and “experiences” playing Grand Theft Auto. I really got into that discussion, to the point where I read through hundreds of comments. And it got me thinking: I enjoy listening to people discuss the reasons why they like things.
So in that spirit I smash the proverbial champagne bottle over the hull of this new ship, christened, “Finding the Meaning”
In several posts on here I’ve discussed how much I enjoy the series Cosmos. As much wild enthusiasm as I feel for it right now, in a sense it’s also kind of daunting to watch Cosmos. The same way it’s daunting to listen to the Beatles: after you’ve basked in the splendor of it, and you return to your own pursuits, there is a sudden sense that no matter how hard you concentrate, or how long you remain focused, the sum of your lifetime’s accomplishments shall never amount to a total half as impressive as the works these iconic masters have authored.
I have to remind myself that Cosmos itself IS the sum total of many, many years of writing and refining from Carl, one of the brightest minds of his time. Like an aspiring painter, standing in the Museum of Van Gogh, or Dali, it can feel humbling down to the point of utter futility in even trying. It is here that you’ve got to remind yourself of the words of Van Gogh:
Even the masters themselves felt moments of crushing impossibility in the pursuit of doing something relevant. I saw that quote written on the wall in gigantic letters at the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. I remember climbing up a staircase to see it revealed at the top. At the time I had not read Vincent’s biography or known about his long battle with chronic depression, and the words deeply shocked me. I stood there for a moment, stunned. How could someone who now seems like an untouchable pillar, far ahead of everyone, have such profound self-doubt?
I suppose that says something about the nature of creating things. It is really only in retrospect that we can analyze the value of a contribution. This idea gives me ambition to continue writing, taking pictures, making music, and all else that I do, in the hope that the sum total, someday, will amount to more than the pieces.
I wish I had taken a photo of that quote, emblazoned across a long, empty wall inside his own museum. If nothing else, to serve as a reminder to myself that in the heat of the moment, even a masterpiece can seem like a mere drop in the bucket.