Monday, April 28, 2014

The Personal


I’m too busy to blog.  I usually am but really, this week I am too damn busy to blog.  Hence this is getting posted at 9~pm and I still haven’t had a bite to eat.  Waaaah, blah blah life is hard.  Get over it.   Anyways.  Today, I started thinking about the idea of the personal and tonight I am still on that thread.

The personal is the new form.  It’s not so much about sincerity but it is something akin to that.  Perhaps.  People, art, all this that is happening, is reflecting more on the inner then it has in some time.  It’s not emo.  It’s not a form that is pinnable in some word or aesthetic or some defining way but it is happening and it is happening a lot. 

It is how people’s art, way of living, is grounded in, based out of, coming from background.  Background is earned because it is accumulative.  Specific.  This is where the personal comes in.  It is a source of authority that is only granted by that person who has lived it so it is always and forever valid. 

Artists use this as a source to work out of, from, refer to.  It can be coded.  It can be explicit.  Most visual artists use coded methods.  Writers and musicians tend to be more direct.  But even in the directness there is an abstraction to it. 

I went to a reading the other night and it had some literary people and some vaguely to not at all acting as readers.  In almost all of them this form of the personal was the primary form.  Things like ‘I am a man, I am a woman, I am a duck in a basket held by a dog,’ were quite possibly things that were passable to be considered writing because the personal is a type of ‘fuck it’ form.  As I said everything is valid because who am I/we to say that that women or man is not a man or woman or duck? 

There is an easiness to this form but it is liberating.  It is dangerously naive and forgiving.  But maybe that’s the beauty of it.  Maybe.  I tend to think easy is good but sometimes easy is actually very bad.  I guess at then end of the day it all comes back to the person, the artist, whomever it is that is using the personal as tool.

We live in a time where everything is so visible in its capacity for exposure.  We think that to expose is to reveal.  But it isn’t.  Most of the time the revelations are performances.  Minor attempts to captivate.  This works though.  Sometimes surprisingly so.  It is what is happening though, regardless of success or failure rates.

I participate in this too.  I behave in this way too.  We all are.  We all need to because it is the form of now.  At least it has been for a little while/will continue to for a little while.

I’m not actually saying much here or remarking on much here.  More, I am just saying what has been on my mind for the past few hours.  And that darlings, is of course personal.

Below is a song by Sinéad O'Connor.  It is the song I like to sing when I am a good and drunk and near karaoke.

It is to me an epitome of this personal even when it is fully realized in its cliché.

"Nothing Compares 2 U"

It's been seven hours and fifteen days
Since u took your love away
I go out every night and sleep all day
Since u took your love away

Since u been gone I can do whatever I want
I can see whomever I choose
I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant
But nothing
I said nothing can take away these blues

`Cause nothing compares
Nothing compares 2 u

It's been so lonely without u here
Like a bird without a song
Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling
Tell me baby where did I go wrong

I could put my arms around every boy I see
But they'd only remind me of you
I went to the doctor and guess what he told me
Guess what he told me
He said, "Girl, you better try to have fun no matter what you do."
But he's a fool

`Cause nothing compares
Nothing compares 2 u

All the flowers that u planted, mama
In the back yard
All died when u went away
I know that living with u baby was sometimes hard
But I'm willing to give it another try

Nothing compares
Nothing compares 2 u
Nothing compares
Nothing compares 2 u
Nothing compares
Nothing compares 2 u