Film is Art

Film is Art

 

I’ve held discussions regarding art over the years where someone has a very finite idea of that which is art.  Often times film and books aren’t included in a person’s ideals of what is art. I find that sad.  My personal point of view has me understanding more things as art than most people might.

I was reading a text which claims that art is man-made. It claims that art exists for its own sake and claims that an artist tends to influence their audience. However, it also makes a distinction between a strip shopping mall and something that was beautiful in its architectural design, calling only the latter art.
The text also quotes Göethe saying art should serve three functions: to entertain, to educate and to exalt — or transport us mentally, emotionally or spiritually to a place beyond ourselves.
How can I say this in a way that doesn’t sound offensive? I believe the text, in a sense, short-changes and judges what is art more stringently than we should.
There are two photos in the text which show a distinct difference between a strip shopping mall and Spanish artistically designed homes situated above storefronts. Let’s look at the strip shopping center by itself, without contrasting it with something that is by many standards, more aesthetically pleasing. Ask yourself the questions about defining art. Art is man-made – so is that strip shopping center. Does it exist for its own sake? No, but neither do the homes situated above the storefront. In this instance the textbook says that architecture serves a utilitarian function which goes against art existing for its own sake, and relies on the difference of intention to earn the title of art. The assertion here is that the architect of the strip shopping center had no intention of influencing his audience. Yet how does anyone suggest to know the intent of another? Perhaps within the budget, the client restraint, the intended function of the space, etc the architect’s intent and influence over the strip shopping mall (although perhaps not apparent to us) were still an important part of the architectural design? Perhaps the architect strove to do the most thoughtful and artistic version of his vision within the confines of his job assignment. So wouldn’t it then be art? To assume to know the heart of a creator is to assume your perceptions are more important and more legitimate than the motives behind said creation and that your opinion is more important than what an artist feels.
Remembering art is subjective and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it would be plausible in the most legalistic definition of art, to call a strip center art.
So how does this pertain to film?
Film is man-made. Film exists for its own sake, and in most instances you can feel the artists’ combined collective influence for the audience — Actors’ interpretations, cinematographers’ shot preferences, even down to the musical score. To say any of these things that were created are not art, defies the definition given in this text. So why argue the point? Yet, so many do.
If someone should consider film to be something that isn’t art, as the sum of the whole, can it’s many parts still be art in their singular existence? Can the whole of something made of small bits of art, not be art? Or does classifying a film as something other than art immediately diminish the artistic contributions of the many individuals tasked with building a film? Does each bit then become something that isn’t art as well? Hopefully this helps people understand the slippery slope of diminishing creation by mere lack of understanding or personal opinion. (I instantly think of two tracking shots I love and consider art — the Copa shot in Scorsese’s Goodfellas and the corner store scene in Wright’s Shaun of the Dead  – two distinctly different movies with similar artistic use of technique)
So I would suggest that art is a more ethereal concept than mere humans can define. Just as morals, values, social constraints and personal experience temper all of our insights, those too temper our interpretation of art. And a muddled misunderstood thing such as art, especially as it applies to writing or to film, is actually strengthened in its claim to art by the struggle it undergoes for the title.
Yet, our acceptance of what is and what isn’t art is merely a construct of our place in time. Film may not be art to you, or perhaps you would even distinguish between different films asserting some are worthy of being called art while others are not. I, however, call all film art. You don’t have to like the film. I don’t have to like it. We don’t have to appreciate it. But how we perceive it doesn’t change that it is indeed evocative, and an expression of one or a collective which influences others in some way. Even to dislike a thing is to feel.
For example, think of Maplethorp’s Self Portrait with Whip (1978) versus Monét’s London’s Green Park (1871) Both were considered shocking and were not considered art within the time they were initially created. Yet they’ve both been prize exhibits in some of the world’s finer art galleries. Times change.  Perceptions change.  We change.
Film is art. And art is to feel —good or bad— as creator or bystander.
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The War of Art – by Steve Pressfield

The War of Art – by Steve Pressfield

“Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance.” – Steven Pressfield

It is rather appropriate that the first book I’m choosing to review for this blog is a book that I am driven to live every day.

I have wrestled with the artist part of my being for as long as I can remember.  I pushed it down and tried to find more acceptable pursuits. (Acceptable in the eyes of friends, family and society where success is measured in dollar signs.)   If not art, then in law as a paralegal, or in teaching.

I suffocated in self-inflicted professions as anything but author.

The most fun I’ve had outside of writing is teaching.  Perhaps because teaching can be an art — when done with passion. And a part of me gained satisfaction knowing I could be something important to a few. As gratifying as it often was, I still was very aware of it not being the best of me.

There have been many voices keeping my artistry pushed deep within me and keeping me hiding it from the world.  Oddly, the ones I listened to so completely had never read a word of my writing.

However, The War of Art  points out something I never wanted to believe.  It points out that this Resistance with a capital R — the influence that keeps us from our higher selves — is something we’ve each created within ourselves.  There becomes an addiction to not living up to our potential. And not living to our potential is easy.  An even easier with the multitude of excuses so readily available to the angst riddled artist.

Do we have to stare death in the face to make us stand up and confront Resistance? – Steven Pressfield

This book helped me realize I was the only thing keeping me back.  I need to make changes and I need to change now. And the power to push through is within me.

If you have even the slightest inkling to pursue something that puts you on a higher plane — painting, writing, singing, entrepreneurship to name but a few — then by all means read this book.

See what you can achieve. But don’t only try once.  Work every day at being the higher, better you. It is a war of sorts, made of many battles, none of which are cheap.

The warrior and the artist live by the same code of necessity, which dictates that the battle must be fought anew every day. – Steven Pressfield

I know that “following my dream” is just another way of saying “living to my potential.”  Living to the capabilities given me by my Creator.  And I know the greater my pursuit is of IT, the greater the pull of Resistance.

The more important a call or action is to our soul’s evolution, the more Resistance we feel toward pursuing it. – Steven Pressfield

Buy the book here:

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Pick A Lane

Pick A Lane

As a writer, I spend a lot of my time in coffee shops. I know it sounds cliché, but coffee shops are pretty great places to be. The coffee is never-ending. There’s usually bites that are not good for the hips but perfectly great for the soul. And if you put your earbuds in, you can pretend all the other people there, aren’t there at all.

This morning I wanted to get a few hours of writing in before I headed to my day job. It was supposed to be my day off, so I pushed it to the very last second, as I’m known to do. (inner rebel) Perhaps even a few minutes longer than I should have, while waiting for my go-cup of coffee.

I made my way to the parking lot. I found my car with ease. I got in, put it in reverse and zipped down the lane to the exit of the strip shopping center.

Brake lights.

I found myself behind a woman in a white SUV. Midsize. Rather new. I could see her reflection in her side view mirror. She looked coiffed. Put together.

But she didn’t seem to have a clue where she was going.

She looked to her left. She looked to her right. She looked forward.

She kept the car stopped and in one position, straddling both her lane and the lane of oncoming traffic. There was no room to maneuver around her.

At first I was frustrated.  I said to myself, “Not everyone is confused lady, some of us know where we’re going. Some of us even know how we want to get there.”

That’s when the similarities to the situation and writing came to mind. I am blessed to know many writers. And I know many people who want to be writers. But they’re just sitting still, straddling the lanes and looking around.

They don’t seem to know what to do.  They don’t seem to know where to go.

I consider myself one of the fortunate ones.  I have a prize in mind. And it’s not what you might think.

I want my stories read, my voice heard.

I want my voice out in the cosmos — as weak and feeble as my voice might sometimes be. I’m in my writing driver’s seat and I’ve chosen a lane.

I have a plan. I have a mind map. I have a calendar filled with goals and dates by which I want to achieve said goals. But I wasn’t always like this.

I was that woman, sitting in the car, not knowing where to go, for nearly all of my life.

I had a good professional life, which I set aside to be a mom and a caretaker for various family members who were gravely ill, some of whom have shuffled off this mortal coil.

But besides that, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I was forty-something, still wondering what I was going to do when I grow up.

I love to write. (and yes, I smiled when I wrote that)

I always have. Since I first set crayon to construction paper. But being a writer didn’t translate in my world. I didn’t know how to make writing a  career. I was caught up in the monetizing, legitimizing, confidence eroding elements of “being” a writer. My mind equated career with financial success. And it was ruining me.

Sometimes, I don’t know if I’ll ever make much more than a dime from this. I definitely recognize that the hours I put in versus the money I receive don’t really add up. No one would call me a success, well most people, anyway. And that’s ok, because I believe my riches are greater still than anything you can figure with a calculator.

I’m happy. I’m delighted. I’m overjoyed. And I’m humbled to be an artist.

I’m excited to finally lay claim to that which has pretty much been a part of my soul since the moment I could speak.

I AM A STORYTELLER by birth and a writer by trade.

As long as I keep telling my stories, creating new worlds and new people, something of me will exist when my physical self no longer wanders this plane. I will exist.

In the mist. In the ether. In the eternal.

Physically, in the now. And in the later.

We’re all either neck-deep in the muck, searching for our souls’ desires, or we are straddling the lanes, knowing not which way to go. But each of us hopes we might figure out what our soul’s desire might be.

Soon.

Long before we draw our last breath.

Art is a dynasty. Even when the art is only for yourself.

Steven Pressfield wrote in Turning Pro, “What you and I are really seeking is our own voice, our own truth, our own authenticity.”

Whatever soul-searching venture the well coiffed, SUV driving lost soul, might be struggling with, I hope she finds what she needs. I hope she finds her way.

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