Film is Art

Film is Art

 

I’ve held discussions regarding art over the years where someone has a very finite idea of that which is art.  Often times film and books aren’t included in a person’s ideals of what is art. I find that sad.  My personal point of view has me understanding more things as art than most people might.

I was reading a text which claims that art is man-made. It claims that art exists for its own sake and claims that an artist tends to influence their audience. However, it also makes a distinction between a strip shopping mall and something that was beautiful in its architectural design, calling only the latter art.
The text also quotes Göethe saying art should serve three functions: to entertain, to educate and to exalt — or transport us mentally, emotionally or spiritually to a place beyond ourselves.
How can I say this in a way that doesn’t sound offensive? I believe the text, in a sense, short-changes and judges what is art more stringently than we should.
There are two photos in the text which show a distinct difference between a strip shopping mall and Spanish artistically designed homes situated above storefronts. Let’s look at the strip shopping center by itself, without contrasting it with something that is by many standards, more aesthetically pleasing. Ask yourself the questions about defining art. Art is man-made – so is that strip shopping center. Does it exist for its own sake? No, but neither do the homes situated above the storefront. In this instance the textbook says that architecture serves a utilitarian function which goes against art existing for its own sake, and relies on the difference of intention to earn the title of art. The assertion here is that the architect of the strip shopping center had no intention of influencing his audience. Yet how does anyone suggest to know the intent of another? Perhaps within the budget, the client restraint, the intended function of the space, etc the architect’s intent and influence over the strip shopping mall (although perhaps not apparent to us) were still an important part of the architectural design? Perhaps the architect strove to do the most thoughtful and artistic version of his vision within the confines of his job assignment. So wouldn’t it then be art? To assume to know the heart of a creator is to assume your perceptions are more important and more legitimate than the motives behind said creation and that your opinion is more important than what an artist feels.
Remembering art is subjective and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it would be plausible in the most legalistic definition of art, to call a strip center art.
So how does this pertain to film?
Film is man-made. Film exists for its own sake, and in most instances you can feel the artists’ combined collective influence for the audience — Actors’ interpretations, cinematographers’ shot preferences, even down to the musical score. To say any of these things that were created are not art, defies the definition given in this text. So why argue the point? Yet, so many do.
If someone should consider film to be something that isn’t art, as the sum of the whole, can it’s many parts still be art in their singular existence? Can the whole of something made of small bits of art, not be art? Or does classifying a film as something other than art immediately diminish the artistic contributions of the many individuals tasked with building a film? Does each bit then become something that isn’t art as well? Hopefully this helps people understand the slippery slope of diminishing creation by mere lack of understanding or personal opinion. (I instantly think of two tracking shots I love and consider art — the Copa shot in Scorsese’s Goodfellas and the corner store scene in Wright’s Shaun of the Dead  – two distinctly different movies with similar artistic use of technique)
So I would suggest that art is a more ethereal concept than mere humans can define. Just as morals, values, social constraints and personal experience temper all of our insights, those too temper our interpretation of art. And a muddled misunderstood thing such as art, especially as it applies to writing or to film, is actually strengthened in its claim to art by the struggle it undergoes for the title.
Yet, our acceptance of what is and what isn’t art is merely a construct of our place in time. Film may not be art to you, or perhaps you would even distinguish between different films asserting some are worthy of being called art while others are not. I, however, call all film art. You don’t have to like the film. I don’t have to like it. We don’t have to appreciate it. But how we perceive it doesn’t change that it is indeed evocative, and an expression of one or a collective which influences others in some way. Even to dislike a thing is to feel.
For example, think of Maplethorp’s Self Portrait with Whip (1978) versus Monét’s London’s Green Park (1871) Both were considered shocking and were not considered art within the time they were initially created. Yet they’ve both been prize exhibits in some of the world’s finer art galleries. Times change.  Perceptions change.  We change.
Film is art. And art is to feel —good or bad— as creator or bystander.
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High Lonesome Sound by Jaye Wells – A quick review

High Lonesome Sound by Jaye Wells – A quick review

High Lonesome SoundHigh Lonesome Sound by Jaye Wells
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A great friend gifted me with a copy of the newest book from author Jaye Wells. I read the first chapter and immediately wanted more. But then life intervened and I had to put the book down for a bit. Well, I started it again and read it in a day. I put everything else aside. I even cooked dinner for my family with the book in hand and lost out on some much-needed sleep.

Jaye Wells tells a good story. She builds suspense and keeps you turning pages, but more importantly, she crafts sentences that are beautifully put together and a blessing to read.

“Something deep in her chest, some burning knowledge that was not of the brain but of the heart, told her that if she didn’t find her song, Moon Hollow would become a tomb and she’d be buried alive.”

This is exactly the kind of horror novel I like to curl up with. There is horror, but not for horror’s sake. Every bloody drop is pertinent to the story and makes it all the more complete.

 

View all my reviews

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The Muse LELA

The Muse LELA

This is my first week back to work/writing since my return from Mount Hermon.

I feel inspired and excited and beyond enthusiastic. I also feel sick to my stomach, as if I’ve taken on too much and am overwhelmed.

Enter, LELA.

In my mind’s eye, Lela is a vermillion-haired beauty with twinkling green eyes, dimples and a smattering of freckles across sun-kissed cheeks. An enchantress you would find on the moors with mist about her feet and the laugh of a devious sprite. She is part muse, part conscience.

Besides all of those things in my mind’s eye, LELA is a command center writing collaboration built with two other artists. LELA is a brain trust, a conservation of effort, a duplication of exposure, a wellspring of encouragement and enthusiasm and sometimes even the shackles that keep my feet planted firmly on terra firma. It is my pride and my modesty, it is my will and my conscience. It is my lofty dreams and my fear. It is reckless abandon and common sense all rolled into one. It is exactly the kind of grouping an artist needs, the kind of grouping I need. These artists are my “Go Pro” team and our collaboration is named LELA.

If you’ve read Steven Pressfield’s War of Art, you will instantly know what “Going Pro” is. (If you haven’t read it, check out my review here.)

As for the team element of Going Pro, it is a concoction of a mastermind group, a support group and a group of new, but trustworthy friends. When I decided to become a professional writer, it required a mental commitment. Since writing isn’t always the surest of incomes, it is sometimes hard to remember you are a professional writer when you are in between paychecks. When you are “in the trenches” so to speak. Especially in a society where success is measured in dollar signs.

A GoPro Team helps you stay focused and reminds you that you are in it for the art of it all, not just for the money. Money is lagniappe. You are in it because your soul tells you to be in it. You are driven there. It is easy for an artist to be solely driven and lonely and to hold an audience of zero in the pursuit of their art, but it isn’t necessary. As a matter of fact, I highly suggest you don’t go it alone. Having some steadfast, intelligent, similarly structured beings with whom to share your ideas can sometimes keep you from making a boneheaded mistake in the name of art. It can save you from wasting valuable hours.

However, not just any group will do. I’ve been a part of different, wide-ranging groups and I’ve met countless people in the writing world and it took me ages to find LELA and it happened rather organically.

I pursued two-thirds of my group (for you math wise folks, yes, it means I pursued everyone but myself). These were artists I met, admired, and wanted to be when I grow up — even though I’m the oldest of the bunch. I pursued them as friends. I pursued them as people to look up to, mentors. However, I did not pursue them as a GoPro Team. Yet that is what they became. And I’m grateful for that organic metamorphosis. Truly. And I pray I give as good as I get.

I will introduce you to my beautiful, exquisite GoPro team in weeks to come. No need keeping all of their greatness to myself, as tempting as that is.

I urge all of you artists out there to recognize that this doesn’t have to be a solo venture. God brings people in and out of your life for a purpose. You may already be in the presence of those who will help you reach greater depth in your art. Look around. Pursue if you have to.

By all means, Go Pro.

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Great Grab and Go Keyboard

Great Grab and Go Keyboard

I had some Amazon gift cards burning holes in my pocket. The trouble was choosing what to buy with them.

Seriously, my Amazon Wishlist is a ridiculous exercise in total greed and my want button is turned up to 11. However, I AM quite capable of exercising restraint, so I scanned my wants for a useful item that won’t quickly get set aside and clicked Buy It Now.

I love getting boxes from Amazon. Especially when my busy life has me forgetting I even ordered anything. Seeing the box on my front porch quickly reminded me of my purchase and I was EXCITED to open the box. This was not an Amazon delivery of toilet paper or dog food. This box held potential.

I chose the little keyboard pictured above.  It is the Logitech iPad Keyboard and Stand Combo.  It works with iPad, iPad 2, iPad (3rd/4th generation), iPad mini and the iPhone. (Don’t fret, there is an android version too.)

It is Bluetooth enabled so I can use it with my phone and can comfortably work anywhere. For power, it uses triple A batteries so I don’t have to worry about charging cables etc. So far, it is really cool and I can’t say enough about it. It fits in my purse and the keyboard is full sized so I don’t end up with cramped hands. I’m actually writing this blog with it as we speak.

Its connection is not jagged or delayed. It is as smooth as if I am typing directly into my device. With every word, I grow more and more fond of this tech-savvy do-dad.

I’m totally digging it. So, how am I going to use it? First, I’m going to download the Scrivener App to my iPad mini and see how I like working on that, so I don’t always destroy the charge on my phone running Bluetooth-enabled peripheral gadgets. And since the connection is flawless, I can see myself typing blogs from the carpool lane and working on my manuscript anywhere inspiration strikes. I don’t have to preplan and have my laptop with me.

You should try this. Definitely worth finding the money in your budget, or the next time someone asks what you want for your birthday, suggest an Amazon Gift Card.

And I’ve gotta say, I might get these for my children. It is so much cheaper than buying them laptops and they can type right into the Google Docs App for their papers for school. Win/win.

You can buy this keyboard for your Apple products here:

You can get the Android version here:

 

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Jigsaw Puzzle Manuscript

Jigsaw Puzzle Manuscript

Every once in a while I do something crazy.  Like yesterday.  I shaved nearly 10,000 words off of Act one of the Proving Ring and started rearranging things.

The characters have fleshed themselves out and know better where they need to be in the timeline than they did when I typed the first sentence of this manuscript.

So today I am putting all of the pieces together again.  At first I was nervous with an “OMG, WTF did I do?” moment.  But with the initial panic over, I see a tighter, leaner, meaner story.

 

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Blue – Writers’ Guild Texas 2016 Flash Fiction Contest

Blue – Writers’ Guild Texas 2016 Flash Fiction Contest

Last fall, I decided to enter my first ever writing competition.  To make it more challenging, I decided to write a story for a Flash Fiction Contest.  Flash Fiction is a complete story – start to finish – in a thousand words or less.

Some of you might think that I played it safe  because I chose a contest requiring a small amount of writing.  But you can’t understand Flash Fiction until you’ve tried writing Flash Fiction.  You aren’t allowed pages upon pages to establish a character.  You have to do that in a mere sentence or two.

Flash fiction is definitely an exercise in brevity and understanding what your story is truly about.  There are no bunny trails to wander down.

I won second place in that contest for my submission entitled “Blue.” This February it was published in the online monthly newsletter/journal of the Writers’ Guild Texas.

You can read it here.

 

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Dying in the Carpool Lane

Dying in the Carpool Lane

I’m a true foodie to my core, but I must admit, I really enjoy Chick-FIL-A breakfast biscuits with a crispy side of tots.

This morning, on the way to school I hit the drive through to get that yummy chick-fil-a breakfast before speeding off to the next school in my dreaded carpool lineup.

Finally, breakfast half eaten, I arrive at the last school of the morning. Eldest daughter is dropped off with goodbyes and I love you kisses and best wishes with confirmation of the time I’m expected back this afternoon. Now I can finish my breakfast while I navigate back to the house.

With my biscuit fully consumed, I have only a few tots left as I start to plow my way through the impatient sea of minivans and SUVs. Traffic slowing to a near standstill, I dip my tot into my tiny vat of chickfila sauce.

Then something happens. My years (like nearly 45 of them) of eating experience failed me. Rather than swallow that little chunk of sauce soaked potato, I inhale. Not in the eat fast way but in the “oh-my-God-I’ve-got-potato-in-my-lungs” way.

A fit of coughing, the likes of which I’ve not experienced before, overwhelms me. People behind me honk to speed up the line, which mind you was transitioning from stationary to snails’ pace. I try to scoot up, not letting my fellow carpoolers down, fully understanding my carpool exit strategy responsibilities. But, HELLO, I’m dying in here.

I continue to cough, wheeze, and gasp. Tears are streaming down my purple face. This is it.

With a phlegm filled hack I pound my chest and see stars, thinking I’m going to pass out. I cough so hard I’m sure I scared birds out of the trees and somehow misaligned newly forming planets. After all I was dying. I can be mildly irritating. The universe would give me a pass on that right?

Thoughts run through my head like “Who will pick up my kids?“and “Man, are the people behind me going to be pissed when I die and block their way out of here.”

Then the unthinkable happens.

With that last ginormous, raging hack I pee just a little. My thoughts are interrupted. “Did I just pee?”

My lungs still aching from lack of air, I convulsively cough again.

Did I just pee again?

By now I’m turning onto the main road. Mighty fine carpooler here. Now no one will be blocked in the driveway by my dead, urine soaked body.

I continue down the main road. Coughing. Peeing. Coughing. Peeing. All for another mile or so.

Wiping tears off my cheeks, it dawns on me. I don’t want to die in carpool covered in spit, phlegm, and pee with potato chunks and chickfila sauce stuck to my purple face.

I want to live! Yes, Virginia there is a Santa Claus! And you’re right Dorothy, there is no place like home. Damnit.

With a new lease on life and a serious debt owed to my guardian angel I’m off for a shower and an upholstery shampoo. Having used up a fair amount of today’s luck I really hope I don’t trip on the soap.

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Happy New Year

So after several tumultuous years away from my blog, I’m coming back. 2017 is the year of personal growth for me.

I’m not making resolutions. I’m just moving forward on those items I’m wanting to do/change/grow.

For me personally, 2016 sucked. On many levels. So change is good. And needed.

But before I can look too far ahead, I want to say a quick goodbye to many we lost in 2016.

https://youtu.be/DD1mxPBHqc4

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