I read a review of Paul Motian’s posthumous album, Further Explorations, in The New Yorker today, which described the drummer as “defiantly eccentric in nature.” Even in this respectful appreciation, this could be read as a polite way of saying Motian made some artistic decisions that just didn’t make much sense.
While it’s maybe not the life summary to shoot for, I’m thinking I could do worse than “defiantly eccentric.”
I’ve been making some goofy little zines and flip-books to go with my goofy bigger “serious” art. A few weeks ago at a meeting with my MFA thesis committee these didn’t go over so well. The words “nothing” and “shit” were tossed around. I disagree with the general consensus, but to be fair, these (by all appearances) throw-away works came out of left field, and they were, on one level, meant to elicit just that sort of response. Hooray! Success!
At one point in the conversation, I said that what appeals to me about a certain work is that it is a transgression. But transgression for its own sake is juvenile and rarely interesting. Much more intriguing is the tension that can exist between a work of art and its viewer (or listener), manifested as a temptation, or an annoyance, or an uncertain act of trust.
Artists defy our expectations so we don’t get too comfortable, and they most often are defying themselves. I’m far from comfortable with my work, but getting shaken up in my last critique, and doing some of the shaking, was probably good for all of us. “Not afraid to look foolish” wouldn’t be the best obituary, but it’s not a bad motto to live by.