2016 has been the year of pointlessness. Political, fiscal, environmental, social, interstellar pointlessness. Coincidentally, it has been my most artistically productive year. I have taken some amazingly serendipitous photographs; i have drawn, knitted, skated, cooked, performed, and recorded, all for no grand purpose, no monetary reward. I have reconnected with old friends, made new friends, insulted people with kindness, given pleasure through public displays of misery, suffered reflexive criticism, been given false credit, made money, lost money, made noise, remained silent, cried, laughed, smiled, frowned, used semicolons in an inappropriate manner; none of which matters.
I believe that everything we do is inherantly selfish, for good or for bad. I, personally, strive to take as little as possible, to be indebted to noone, so that i may have as much time as possible to revel in the joy of pointless action. My life burdens noone, and therefore i am happy...
Friday, November 25, 2016
Thursday, October 6, 2016
art and our interraction with it
Not to get bogged down in the philosophical questions of the nature or origins of art, but to think about our interraction with it. That is, of course, an intentionally incomplete sentence (and no i shan't explain it).
Too often, when we think of art we think of the product of art: the painting, the song, the series of photographs, the dance. But, as art is in essence the creative process itself, we may forget the act of creation, the individuality of both the artist and ourselves, the path we travel to reach a conclusion or interpretation.
We look at a painting by Van Gogh or Kandinsky or Rembrandt as an irreplacable remnant of a time passed, a monument of another world that can never be reclaimed. A product, the replication of which is relegated to mere technical facility, an achievement that can or must never be rivaled, but against which we determine the merits of contemporary art. Yet, to what purpose does anyone draw a mountain, a figure, a cafe at night (a rhetorical, but vital question)? To what purpose does anyone interract with a noise making machine? The answer, i feel, is to actively engage life, to ponder the nature of experience and imagine alternative possibilities; to share the experience of life and encounter new ideas. That is, invariably, the path of the artist.
So why not the spectator? To look at, say, the expressionism of Pollock or listen to integral serialist composers without questioning the why of their creation is absurd. What is it about figurative painting that restricted or failed to reflect the creative desires of so many artists? What is it about common practice tonality that repelled so many composers? What inner predjudice causes me laud one artist while disparaging another?
Conversely, cannot a new form of expression cast a dubious loathing of the past? Are we not in turn equally nostalgic for and embarassed by stylistic tropes of past artists? Does our flippant perception of art bear any relation to the art itself, or are we engaged in the process of self evaluation by proxy?
Again, i think we focus too much upon the art product rather than the art. It is not the product, but the process of the artist that speaks of grief, or loss, or beauty, or catharsis, and the act of expression that interacts with medium and style.
My language is dense, formal, my sentence structure complex, my conclusions indefinite. It must be so. I am writing to the concievable universe. My thoughts are fragmented by nature, but in the act of writing them i must also consider the reader. I must try to predict someone elses interpretation of my writing, must communicate my intentions as well as my ideas, leave space for contemplation and rebuttal. It matters very little that i expect few people to actually read this essay; i am engaged in the act of writing, the act of expression, the art of language.
You, the reader (real or imagined) will see only the product. Will you judge me a bad writer for my opening sentence fragment? Will you note the irony of my parenthetical untruth? Will you contruct this prose as a flippant rant, a carefully constructed illustration of my idea, or something else entirely?
For what purpose would anyone write an essay on art and our interraction with it?
Too often, when we think of art we think of the product of art: the painting, the song, the series of photographs, the dance. But, as art is in essence the creative process itself, we may forget the act of creation, the individuality of both the artist and ourselves, the path we travel to reach a conclusion or interpretation.
We look at a painting by Van Gogh or Kandinsky or Rembrandt as an irreplacable remnant of a time passed, a monument of another world that can never be reclaimed. A product, the replication of which is relegated to mere technical facility, an achievement that can or must never be rivaled, but against which we determine the merits of contemporary art. Yet, to what purpose does anyone draw a mountain, a figure, a cafe at night (a rhetorical, but vital question)? To what purpose does anyone interract with a noise making machine? The answer, i feel, is to actively engage life, to ponder the nature of experience and imagine alternative possibilities; to share the experience of life and encounter new ideas. That is, invariably, the path of the artist.
So why not the spectator? To look at, say, the expressionism of Pollock or listen to integral serialist composers without questioning the why of their creation is absurd. What is it about figurative painting that restricted or failed to reflect the creative desires of so many artists? What is it about common practice tonality that repelled so many composers? What inner predjudice causes me laud one artist while disparaging another?
Conversely, cannot a new form of expression cast a dubious loathing of the past? Are we not in turn equally nostalgic for and embarassed by stylistic tropes of past artists? Does our flippant perception of art bear any relation to the art itself, or are we engaged in the process of self evaluation by proxy?
Again, i think we focus too much upon the art product rather than the art. It is not the product, but the process of the artist that speaks of grief, or loss, or beauty, or catharsis, and the act of expression that interacts with medium and style.
My language is dense, formal, my sentence structure complex, my conclusions indefinite. It must be so. I am writing to the concievable universe. My thoughts are fragmented by nature, but in the act of writing them i must also consider the reader. I must try to predict someone elses interpretation of my writing, must communicate my intentions as well as my ideas, leave space for contemplation and rebuttal. It matters very little that i expect few people to actually read this essay; i am engaged in the act of writing, the act of expression, the art of language.
You, the reader (real or imagined) will see only the product. Will you judge me a bad writer for my opening sentence fragment? Will you note the irony of my parenthetical untruth? Will you contruct this prose as a flippant rant, a carefully constructed illustration of my idea, or something else entirely?
For what purpose would anyone write an essay on art and our interraction with it?
Friday, September 23, 2016
musical taste and criticism (a personal essay) - part 1
I recently told a joke on my personal facebook page about my deep respect for music as an art form, and how my determination to understand and respect music that doesn't readily appeal to me comes from a desire to better myself be eradicating ignorance and prejudice from my thought process. The punchline was that i hate nickelback, but it made me reflect on my listening habits. As a result, i want to share my process for finding and listening to new (or at least new to me) music and the reasons why certain songs, pieces, bands, etc. stick with me while others do not.
I consider myself a connoisseur of listening. I am an academically trained musician and poly-instrumentalist. Decades of my life have been spent translating musical sounds, feelings, and thoughts back and forth from one to another. I hear music in my mind all day and night. Listening to music is not a static, passive experience for me. My body physically mimics the actions that produce what i am hearing, my mind connects disparate ideas to on another and develops fragments in interesting ways, transposes and translates sound from one instrument to another.
All this means that i naturally gravitate toward music that physically connects to my life at the moment. When i write, i write music that feels right, that follows a logical sequence, that alludes to the references i have accumulated. Thus, i am motivated to listen for new ideas, new connections, things i haven't thought of yet.
But, how do i do that? Well, for starters i may be one of the few people left on earth who actually reads the liner notes (the boring parts where a band thanks their families, and friends, and recording engineers, and tells you who actually wrote the song, and mentions other bands. I've spent hours following youtube rabbit holes of associated videos. Back when record stores existed i would buy at least one new album (sound unheard) and listen to it a dozen times before adding it to my collection or trading it in for something else.
What i've found is that no matter what genre, there is at least one artist with whom i connect, at least one piece or song i like by any artist. That one moment is the point at which our experiences cross and the place from where appreciation and understanding begin.
I also spend a great deal of time re-listening to albums in my collection, sometimes for pleasure sometimes to find new or forgotten ideas associated with that music.
I plan to write more on this subject, but this is a good introduction to my approach to music.
Until next time, cheers.
I consider myself a connoisseur of listening. I am an academically trained musician and poly-instrumentalist. Decades of my life have been spent translating musical sounds, feelings, and thoughts back and forth from one to another. I hear music in my mind all day and night. Listening to music is not a static, passive experience for me. My body physically mimics the actions that produce what i am hearing, my mind connects disparate ideas to on another and develops fragments in interesting ways, transposes and translates sound from one instrument to another.
All this means that i naturally gravitate toward music that physically connects to my life at the moment. When i write, i write music that feels right, that follows a logical sequence, that alludes to the references i have accumulated. Thus, i am motivated to listen for new ideas, new connections, things i haven't thought of yet.
But, how do i do that? Well, for starters i may be one of the few people left on earth who actually reads the liner notes (the boring parts where a band thanks their families, and friends, and recording engineers, and tells you who actually wrote the song, and mentions other bands. I've spent hours following youtube rabbit holes of associated videos. Back when record stores existed i would buy at least one new album (sound unheard) and listen to it a dozen times before adding it to my collection or trading it in for something else.
What i've found is that no matter what genre, there is at least one artist with whom i connect, at least one piece or song i like by any artist. That one moment is the point at which our experiences cross and the place from where appreciation and understanding begin.
I also spend a great deal of time re-listening to albums in my collection, sometimes for pleasure sometimes to find new or forgotten ideas associated with that music.
I plan to write more on this subject, but this is a good introduction to my approach to music.
Until next time, cheers.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Welcome
Welcome to the bottle of beef blog, verbal repository of the composer p(nmi)t. You can call me paul. Feel free to comment, follow me, find me on other platforms, listen to my music, send me money, whatever.
Most of my music is available at paultompkins.bandcamp.com (or search for "p(nmi)t"). If you would like to send some money my way, fantastic, but you may freely download and copy anything you like.
I record all of my stuff in my basement (aka bottle of beef studios). I switched to linux a couple of years ago and primarily use open source software. I've been meaning to do a rundown of my setup for a while, and i'll eventually get to it.
Find me on facebook at "Bottle of beef" for random images and insights into my musical life.
Cheers.
Most of my music is available at paultompkins.bandcamp.com (or search for "p(nmi)t"). If you would like to send some money my way, fantastic, but you may freely download and copy anything you like.
I record all of my stuff in my basement (aka bottle of beef studios). I switched to linux a couple of years ago and primarily use open source software. I've been meaning to do a rundown of my setup for a while, and i'll eventually get to it.
Find me on facebook at "Bottle of beef" for random images and insights into my musical life.
Cheers.
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