Declaration of Self

In a response to a reporter asking him if he was a Bolshevik, Charlie Chaplin answered, "I am an artist. I am intereseted in life. Bolshevism is a new phase in life. I must be interested in it." To a similar inquiry he answered, " I am an artist, not a politician." His second statement seemed to be the utterance of an artist all to aware of the political game; for, he subtly stepped back from any allegiance to radicalism. But, I digress....

What has been on my mind recently is the statement, "I am an artist not a politician," which has been paraphrased to some degree by many, both famous and not. A painter and photographer friend I had in Winston-Salem used to tell me that he often feels passionatley about current events, but that he does not want to talk about politics, politics were a construct, he (as an artist) was interested in those things more visceral. It seemed to me a nice thought. Perhaps, it slowly oozes pretentiousness, but it also rings true, in my mind. When, I (a self-proclaimed political junky) watch political debates I become so frustrated at the shadow play and the formulae that I find it very hard to glean any sort or awareness or provocation of thought. That's not what politics were meant to be, I am sure.

Tonight, I was watching C-Span Book TV and Anita Thompson was talking about Hunter S. Thompson who she was married to before he died, and began their relationship as his assistant. She talked about Thompson's ranting, and his pessimism, and the anger that pervaded his later work. She said that it was wrong to view the tone as pessimism, the anger was more of an excitement. She explained that he would get so charged up at the potential of the masses, their potential to affect change, and their potential to expand thought. Essentialy, he was using his art as a political vehicle. His motifs of crudity and obscenity and downright hostility were his art; and, that art was his political voice. But, I am still not sure that he was political, maybe his art had political implications, but the current arena of politics there is no room for breaking rules. There is no room for tarnishing public image; there is no room for corroding tradition. The result is a purgatory for public thought.

Maybe the conclusion I am coming to is that it is not necessarily a universal truth that the artist can not be a politician, or vice versa, but now, in the current state of affairs, it can not be. Politic no longer exists as it did in the mind of Aristotle when he said that man is, by nature, a political animal.

The Power of Stories

As much as I herald the atypical and the aformulaic in the world of cinema there are certain films that must be appreciated for their classical form, executed to perfection. Ken Burns represents a filmmaker who makes films of this nature. Every series that Burns has produced I have seen some (if not the majority) of and enjoyed. When I heard his next topic was World War II I can't say that I was overwhelmed with excitement. I mean since the War itself the popular media stage has been inundated with films and TV and books and news and articles about "The Great War." (not a sarcastic use of quotation)

But, my devotion to Burns overcame. And, I must say, he has not disappointed.

The primary reason it is a success, I feel, is his focus on the personal stories that are told by the people who lived through the war. All his films do this to a degree: Instead of the authoritative, omniscient narrartor giving the history of the war and the history of the politics and the history of the culture, he lets the simple, but powerful, first-hand stories paint a mural of life during WWII. He has siblings read the letters of their borhter who died in Italy during Patton's surge. He has readings from diaries and other written correspondence between people. And, in these moments of his films it hits me. The relation of peoples stories does so much to heal, it does so much to illeviate the struggle, if only people hear their story a person can find the motivation to keep fighting.

My mind wandered to a relationship I recently created with a couple whose son is on death row. Their life, since 1996 when their son was sentenced to death, has been about making people aware of the story of their son's conviction and the folly that it was. I haven't talked to them in nearly four months and the thought crossed my mind that maybe Eric, their son, had been given a date for execution and nobody knows about it, and how alone you must feel to experience such sorrow and have no one to share it with. I expected that they would never want to talk to a stranger about the situation, the going has been tough and why would they have someone they do not know into their home and into their life? Yet, they did. Perhaps, because they need people to hear their story. For, they believe (as do I) if only more people could hear their son's story more people would come to the conclusion that they did and that I did that he was wrongly convicted. And, maybe something could be done to stop his impending death. Moreover, and more fundamentally, them telling his story helps to take the weight of their grief and spread it over the shoulders of all the willing listeners.

Anticipating some backlash (from all 3 of my readers) I want to say that my aim is not to disrespect war heroes in comparing them to a convicted felon. My comparison is not between Eric and veterans of World War II, my comparison is between the people affected by the war and the parents affected by having their son wrongly sentenced to death, and how both these parties find solace, however minor, in the mere telling of their story.

Things I Love That Maybe You Shouldn't

~~Cheap Coffee

~~Big Trouble In Little China

~~The Smell of Shoe Polish

~~The Crumbs of Ice in the Ice Tray (perfect for chewing on)

~~Cheap Coffee Reheated in the Microwave

~~Throwing Rotten Tomatoes Off the Back Deck

~~The Smell of Cigarette Smoke In Your Hair and Clothes

~~...that's all for now