Have you considered life as an expressway of dangerous conditions, even for artistic types?
Travelers joining the like-minded among the anarchistic artistic types may also include un-amenable individuals attracted to our group. Interstate off-ramps are not marked; disciplined skills Exit A, agitated emotives Exit B. Coming to our destination are creative emoters carrying bombs; big, small, fused, and some lit and sputtering. Some claim unique artistic, or at least expressive, character.
Most coming to the reunion of enfant terribles arrive from highways seeking the parking lot of the tent, as yet unfinished. Flustered and indignant unevolved caveman emotions have driven fast; trying to contain splintered nerves, tire hum, addled lane changers, irresolute truck passers, and an image-fog of turn and brake lights. Eventually they filter down to the farm-to-market roads. Slowed, expecting antiquated pastorale sounds and calendar images.
As it is, prairie agriculture has lost its’ pastoral overalls and barefoot charm. It is a visual enormity with industrial outlines. Rarely, but always slowly, the township roads are straddled by some industrial agricultural contraption of enormous dimensions, a world uncommon to most cosmopolitan artistic types. Considering the potential need of services, honking cosmopolitan speeders passing farm tractors moving to the shoulder is a bit of misapplied condescension. The fallow cornfield, where all are gathering looking for the tent of the incomprehensible, is being planted with artistics mingled with the curiously misfitted. The highways deliver most; others arrive by pedestrian means, and some will just materialize.
The infant terrible types are offered a new milieu, an untainted la monde. Do you wonder how this might work? Can we assemble a bunch of anachronistic thinkers, bombshell carrying anarchists under a big tent with the goal of simply enjoying the metaphorical prophecies, the deep insights, the rapturous understandings and calamitous breaks from past rigidity their art exposes?
We should be thankful that no major media has stooped to establish an outpost on this provincial prairie; freeing the absurdists and romantics from attracting various forms of realism from modern anarchy. But, to the media’s superior taste, not much happens here. In spite of our invitation.
If your taste will accept, this is an invitation to follow this blog…next Saturday.
2 thoughts on “#5…Where we consider dangerous conditions and condescension”
I have seen time passing on the prairie for decades. I’m an original artistic, type grown from the black dirt and nurtured by the relentless wind. My natural state of being. Waiting and watching, watching and waiting. Existing and surviving. Enough time has passed I tire of those types with the bombs, some merely sputtering, and have come to prefer the safety and the view from the furrows. Even now I take to the air , but still just watching and waiting from above.
Enjoyed your post, but was first so drawn to the painting. Keep on, Herb!
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