Invocation to Bertolt Brecht
The work never just speaks for itself because it is made by a person, and this person is never alone. The work is never just white text on a black background, flying through space, because that illusion has been entirely constructed by the weeblies of the world. The work is never permanent nor monumental, (although it would like to be), because it has been made by someone of questionable historical significance.
Maybe when I was in high school I believed I could hide in my room, create a world, explore my unconscious, gnash my teeth, and dream floaty-fuzzy escape routes. Maybe when I was in college I was convinced I could move to Some Important Place, play the game, press the flesh, pound the pavement, and raise the banner of artistic success: a limitless, pearlescent, multicolored, silver-embroidered, gold-tasseled satin flag flowing out, up, and all over the Place.
Now I know better. Or do I? I think I still yearn for emancipation through art making; sometimes I dare to imagine a practice that will result in economic security; sometimes I hope to become a shiny, enlightened being, reaching out to others so that they, too, can join in the swirling, joyful vortex of creativity; sometimes I even let myself believe that this can happen everywhere, all at once—a global, interplanetary, aesthetic love fest where we all are free, safe, and happy, just doin' our thang: yes, I have been influenced by utopian ideals.
But let’s get real. The proof of the pudding is in the eating.
As Brecht says in Ten Poems from a Reader for Those Who Live in Cities:
Give up your dream that they will make
An exception in your case.
What your mothers told you
Binds no one.
Keep your contracts in your pockets
They will not be honored here.
Give up your hopes that you are all destined
To finish up Chairman.
Get on with your work.
You will need to pull yourselves together
If you are to be tolerated in the kitchen.
You still have to learn the ABC.
The ABC says:
They will get you down.
Do not think about what you have to say:
You will not be asked.
There are plenty of mouths for the meal
What’s needed here is mincemeat.
(Not that anyone should be discouraged by that.)
Embracing the Sturm und Drang of creative success and failure, frustration and satisfaction, I have a continuing passionate engagement with my art practice—a path that has always been intellectually and emotionally rich. I am inspired by artists, art movements, and philosophers such as the conceptual artists of the 1960s, the DIY punk aesthetic of the 1970s, and the philosophical writings that have been categorized as critical theory because they challenge the contemporary cultural paradigm to market, brand, and commodify all aspects of one's life, all the time. I need some wiggle room.
© 2013 The Author, Janet Silk.
Image credit: Silk, Walter Benjamin's Auras, pen and ink, 8 1/2" x 11"
Bertolt Brecht was a German playwright, poet, and theater director.
Maybe when I was in high school I believed I could hide in my room, create a world, explore my unconscious, gnash my teeth, and dream floaty-fuzzy escape routes. Maybe when I was in college I was convinced I could move to Some Important Place, play the game, press the flesh, pound the pavement, and raise the banner of artistic success: a limitless, pearlescent, multicolored, silver-embroidered, gold-tasseled satin flag flowing out, up, and all over the Place.
Now I know better. Or do I? I think I still yearn for emancipation through art making; sometimes I dare to imagine a practice that will result in economic security; sometimes I hope to become a shiny, enlightened being, reaching out to others so that they, too, can join in the swirling, joyful vortex of creativity; sometimes I even let myself believe that this can happen everywhere, all at once—a global, interplanetary, aesthetic love fest where we all are free, safe, and happy, just doin' our thang: yes, I have been influenced by utopian ideals.
But let’s get real. The proof of the pudding is in the eating.
As Brecht says in Ten Poems from a Reader for Those Who Live in Cities:
Give up your dream that they will make
An exception in your case.
What your mothers told you
Binds no one.
Keep your contracts in your pockets
They will not be honored here.
Give up your hopes that you are all destined
To finish up Chairman.
Get on with your work.
You will need to pull yourselves together
If you are to be tolerated in the kitchen.
You still have to learn the ABC.
The ABC says:
They will get you down.
Do not think about what you have to say:
You will not be asked.
There are plenty of mouths for the meal
What’s needed here is mincemeat.
(Not that anyone should be discouraged by that.)
Embracing the Sturm und Drang of creative success and failure, frustration and satisfaction, I have a continuing passionate engagement with my art practice—a path that has always been intellectually and emotionally rich. I am inspired by artists, art movements, and philosophers such as the conceptual artists of the 1960s, the DIY punk aesthetic of the 1970s, and the philosophical writings that have been categorized as critical theory because they challenge the contemporary cultural paradigm to market, brand, and commodify all aspects of one's life, all the time. I need some wiggle room.
© 2013 The Author, Janet Silk.
Image credit: Silk, Walter Benjamin's Auras, pen and ink, 8 1/2" x 11"
Bertolt Brecht was a German playwright, poet, and theater director.
