an open letter to James Obrien
Indeed.
I once wrote in a song, "Any artist worth his salt just paints self-portraits anyway".
Despite its surface similarities, I don't pretend that you and I are doing the same thing. Monday I sent the first draft of my thesis off for critique from my thesis committee; I am in the end game of a Master Degree in Folk. Although I don’t know what it means in the long run, it has taught me that I don’t need to provide the answer: It’s okay just to ask the question.
I am writing a monograph of an artisan. It differs from a biography: A biography seeks to draw the art from the life, a monograph sucks the life out of the art.
It's not about folk music, not even close. In fact, I have no interest in the topic outside of this woman. Writing this thing has been a mystery, speculating, deducing, solving as I write, trying to learn what makes her tick. In doing so, what I am learning is that what interests me about her, is what I see of myself in her.
In the end, isn’t that all we ever do?
I have been wrestling with understanding the cult of the singer/songwriter. Not so much because of their ubiquity but rather their pull. So many successful artists that I regard as iconoclasts, and who are successful as such, have ultimately succumbed to the cult. I see people who were perfectly good at doing something new, now deciding to do something similar and sadly mundane.
I see this and I think, “Is this all you want to be? A solipsist?”
Then I think, “Well why? A 1,000,000 Elvis fans can’t be wrong, right?” and the question continues to turn. Days are lost. Weeks pass.
But “I have a vague notion it looks like some of the best parts of me.” Answers more than a few questions. We are both social creatures and solipsists. We need and seek out others, if merely to see ourselves in them. Picasso WAS the Minotaur. Dylan only asked questions, we love him because we think we know the answers. He’s a lot like Jeopardy in that sense.
Folklore essentially boils down to this: Boundaries and identity. I am myself, because I am not you. “Cogito ergo sum” is better said as “Ego sum non vos”.
Perhaps singer/songwriters then are the equivalent of reading a bunch of biographies and only liking the ones that sound like your life. Seems pointless, petty even, but it is the best we can do, It is how we as a society move forward. We’re kind of like Transformers in that sense, the five are more powerful than the one, or as they say in Latin: “E Pluribus Unum”
In the end, isn’t this is all we’ve ever done?
James, all you’ve ever done is ask the question. I see this book as more of that. But it’s also why I think, in the long shadows of your autumn, you’ll be able to say, “I did the best that I could.”
I look forward to reading it.
I once wrote in a song, "Any artist worth his salt just paints self-portraits anyway".
Despite its surface similarities, I don't pretend that you and I are doing the same thing. Monday I sent the first draft of my thesis off for critique from my thesis committee; I am in the end game of a Master Degree in Folk. Although I don’t know what it means in the long run, it has taught me that I don’t need to provide the answer: It’s okay just to ask the question.
I am writing a monograph of an artisan. It differs from a biography: A biography seeks to draw the art from the life, a monograph sucks the life out of the art.
It's not about folk music, not even close. In fact, I have no interest in the topic outside of this woman. Writing this thing has been a mystery, speculating, deducing, solving as I write, trying to learn what makes her tick. In doing so, what I am learning is that what interests me about her, is what I see of myself in her.
In the end, isn’t that all we ever do?
I have been wrestling with understanding the cult of the singer/songwriter. Not so much because of their ubiquity but rather their pull. So many successful artists that I regard as iconoclasts, and who are successful as such, have ultimately succumbed to the cult. I see people who were perfectly good at doing something new, now deciding to do something similar and sadly mundane.
I see this and I think, “Is this all you want to be? A solipsist?”
Then I think, “Well why? A 1,000,000 Elvis fans can’t be wrong, right?” and the question continues to turn. Days are lost. Weeks pass.
But “I have a vague notion it looks like some of the best parts of me.” Answers more than a few questions. We are both social creatures and solipsists. We need and seek out others, if merely to see ourselves in them. Picasso WAS the Minotaur. Dylan only asked questions, we love him because we think we know the answers. He’s a lot like Jeopardy in that sense.
Folklore essentially boils down to this: Boundaries and identity. I am myself, because I am not you. “Cogito ergo sum” is better said as “Ego sum non vos”.
Perhaps singer/songwriters then are the equivalent of reading a bunch of biographies and only liking the ones that sound like your life. Seems pointless, petty even, but it is the best we can do, It is how we as a society move forward. We’re kind of like Transformers in that sense, the five are more powerful than the one, or as they say in Latin: “E Pluribus Unum”
In the end, isn’t this is all we’ve ever done?
James, all you’ve ever done is ask the question. I see this book as more of that. But it’s also why I think, in the long shadows of your autumn, you’ll be able to say, “I did the best that I could.”
I look forward to reading it.
posted by Butch Ross at 11:58 AM
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