Can't Sleep #3: Trying
A band I like has released a single called Andromeda, in which the lead singer repeats, in his beautiful tone, the name of the Grecian mythic character. I wonder if he knows who this character is.
I wonder that a lot. I wonder if artists mean half the things they say in their work. I mean this in the least accusatory way possible, but instead in a questioning, observational sense. How is it that I could sit down and write a poem, have someone read it and dissect it for me in a way which I learn more about the meaning of the poem than I ever even intended? How do some artists sit and ponder on pieces, and others just jot a few things down and create something of even more quality than the other? How does that work?
It’s not like art is some kind of flytrap, or spider web in which you've got to wait around until something flies into it and there you have the art. It's more of a process. Maybe one was inspired, and in the momentary bliss, he created something beautiful. Maybe, one needed to say something, so they did it angrily, with a guitar in hand. Maybe it was a crazed, drug enforced drive that led them to explode in emotion, or lack thereof, onto a blank page. It's all possible. I just wonder, how is it possible for one 'process' to produce the same level of complexity or quality as another 'process'? How does a man who slaves over a beat up notebook for months, writing out a single poem, stand at par with a man sat on the bus who pulled out his iPhone and jotted down virtually the same thing into his notes app in less than 5 minutes? How does that work?
You might say, "oh, the one on the bus is the one that's talented, the one who works on it day and night isn't necessarily", but that doesn't really pacify me. See, I fluctuate between both states of being, and I've created great works through both processes. What I'm trying to say is that maybe there is something else to be considering... besides mood and psychology and inspiration and whatnot. The artist has to know how to casually compile piece of what he is emitting at the moment(s) he has a pen in hand. It's as simple as that, I think.
Before writing this essay thing, I was reading Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. By the time I got halfway through the novel, I couldn't contain my curiosity for the subject I am trying to write about now, and here I am, on a wild tangent. It's explosive, really, the power of influence. It rewires one involuntarily. A sort of brainwash. It's hard to escape all influence, and no one ever will. No matter where you put a mirror, it will always reflect something, even when it's nothing. If you close yourself in an empty room, you will be influenced by the seclusion, the isolation will make you think in ways you haven't before, and that will be your influence. When I started writing this, I had on my tongue a plethora of fancy English words which I wished to utilize in explaining convoluted and complex concepts, but alas, I got caught up in my thoughts again and produced the same garbage I usually do when I write at this time of day (4:55 AM. A personal record I think).
I wish I was more knowledgeable in this topic. I wish I knew what took Damon Albarn so goddamn long to write this new album (7 fuckin years), and I wish I knew how Noel Gallagher managed to "become a millionaire four times in one week" off of Wonderwall alone, which took him all of (like) a week to produce. Also, I'm not a bloody scientist and I'm not trying to be one. I'm just trying to figure out whether there's a point in trying to be good or just doing whatever without any thought. I mean, I post poetry all the time on my instagram, (@heathrow.jenkins) that's taken me less than an acceptable period of time to write, and people love it, but when I actually am proud of something I've written and I show it off, it doesn't get any love. It's like the universe needs a constant equilibrium between everything, so it gives love to the ones that don't have it, and leaves the ones I choose to adore with hostility. It's funny, but not really. More irritating and unfair. But I guess you don't get to choose what makes or breaks you, what people will like and won't. You can't force things onto people. Sometimes, it's a miracle enough that they have the slightest chance of liking what you make.
I guess I'll have to let that tide me over for now.