Something to Say

I hung my art upon the wall, a series of lines in graphite.
I stood back slowly comparing myself, to others here in the lime light.
Yes it was good, just as it should, showcasing myself so nicely.
But what of these scowls these grimacing cows, this contest, it seems so pricey.

I sat in my seat struck by the beat, so fast paced and yet shockingly dull.
at my shoulder he sat, adjusted his hat, and cleared throat within the lul.
"Have you something to say?" he asked me. "What do you mean?" I responded quite kirt.
"Why have you come here? Why do you draw?" he clarified for what is was worth.

"I just don't know how to say it." "That's not what I asked" he replied.
"I have something to say and I'll say it someday, but fingers seem tied at the moment."
"Then say it you must, and you'll say it I trust" he said with hope in his voice.
I pulled out each pin and started to grin, for I now had a staggering choice.

After a critique in my drawing class today my teacher turned to me and asked if I had something to say.  I hesitated wondering if he wanted me to defend my work.  I told him that I didn't know what he meant.  He clarified that he wanted to know if I had something to tell the world through my art, he wanted to know if there was any of me in these pieces or if they were completely devoid of communication.  I told him that I am unsure of how to say it.  He said that is not what he asked.  He repeated the question and I told him that yes I do have something to say.  He said good, and that he has seen it, but he wants to see it more.  I sat there for a moment wondering upon the things that he had said.   Curious, I thought. Curious.

Went King

WHAT MAKES IT ART?

When I a lonely peasant boy, who cannot speak of greatness,

sits and draws a castle scene on the dirty floor and faces,

when I can paint a mural great and take the awe of many

but what of all the art I do, when I recognize not any.

But princes in the palace walls, with careless hands of thumbs,

paint pictures of the most grotesque, and smeared with royal plumbs,

when princesses throw a tantrum flinging art across the page,

and all who see it marvel, oh such insight, oh such grace.

What is art my comrades? Is it skill that is defined?

Is art about the politics, or the artist's frame of mind?

I do not know, nor shall I ever, put art into a word,

for art is whispered in our ears, to define would be absurd.

While we were coloring scales in my drawing class the question was posed to us "what criteria exists for good art?" We sat for a moment in silence considering the question before one kid raised his hand and said that he thought it had to do with how much time and effort went into it.  I mentioned that I disagreed.  I said that I thought that art had to do a lot more with the statement that it made or the way it made you feel or change regardless of how much time it took.  We then proceeded to argue about whether or not that was one criteria that made art what it is.  I argued for the idea of art being a mechanism to change your paradigm while my professor played devils advocate and brought up what examples would not fit into that category.  In conjunction with this, my professor told us an interesting story.

His son had been on a flight and an older couple came and sat down next to him and his wife.  The older man, having only been seated a minute, lifted one cheek and passed gas in the direction of this younger couple.  The wife of my professor's son said in a hushed voice "honey, that man just passed gas on me!" to which the son replied "he is old" as if that were excuse enough.  

My professor went on to say that by doing that his son had completely ostracized this old man from society.  By allowing this to happen he had placed this old man in a position where he could never be a part of society again.  We do the same thing by putting old people in retirement homes.  We do this to them because they are not socially acceptable, because they are no longer capable of conforming to the common ideas.  So what does this have to do with art?  Art tends to be nothing more than what the masses say it is.  Art depends on the social status of the time.  Art becomes what society says it is.  There have been visionaries that have changed society through their art, but on average art isn't what it does to society, but rather art is what society has done to us.  When are we able to step back and ask if we are creating what society wants us to, or if we are seeking to change their paradigm?  What we decide to do has a lasting influence on the person we are.  Some will make the argument that we are not fit to be in society because we no longer know how to contribute but rather we are writing off our rambunctious behavior on the fact that we are "artists".  It is a fine line, and we all must make the choice between social acceptance or being ostracized.  We do it to ourselves.