In the afterglow of our last gathering, the recurring thematic elements of art, “quality”, and what “should be created” have been simmering in the back of my head. In the midst of this, it has occurred to me that I am grateful for a number of “low-quality” products. I’m not talking about Velveeta here. I’m talking about stuff that dares enter in to the domain of “artistic endeavor”.
Sometimes it’s simply an indulgent streak.
For instance, I love country music. Many would be loathe to consider this an art form, but that does not change the fact that it shares some attributes (motif, evocative nature, melody, rhythm) with other more “respected” forms of musical endeavor.
Other times, my taste for things at which the literary or musical learned may scoff is a matter of exploration. Perhaps a memoir of a particularly interesting person in a particularly interesting time or place would never qualify as artful by traditional definitions, but perhaps the person or subject they are discussing are a virtual “voice in the vacuum” of the topic/time/place.
Still other times, the reading/listening/viewing of a thing is not so much about the content read/listened to/viewed, but rather about the reaction/imprint/resonance it creates. Hearing what a speaker doesn’t say, how a child perceives history in an oral report, the choices an “angry” musician does or doesn’t make, or the opinions of a fringe opinion maker (however poorly communicated) all come to mind as examples.
We’ve spent time discussing what is “good” or “art” on a number of occasions (and even whether such terms have meaning). Is it possible something can achieve the mark of merit by indirect means?