I haven't written in a week or so. Too long. And too bad, because I have lots to write about and the inclination to write. I think it's because I've not been very happy the last few months or more. I tend to like to write and whine when I'm not happy. I actually like being unhappy sometimes. haha Anyway, unhappiness is a topic for another day.

Today I thought I'd write about the major events of last week--the June in Buffalo music festival that I attended, and a few movies I saw. I saw first a Philip Glass concert and talk, followed by a screening of Naqoyqatsi, a movie by director Godfrey Reggio to music by Glass. A few days later I saw a concert of music by Steve Reich, including a screening of his video opera "Three Tales," with video by his wife Beryl Korot. And then the next day I saw another Reggio/Glass film, their first, Koyaanisqatsi. Of the three theater pieces, only Koyaanisqatsi really seemed to be efffective. They all had similar themes--Naqoyqatsi and Three Tales were both about the effects of technology and how effectively we're assimilating it. Three Tales is divided into segments--on the Hindenburg, on nuclear bomb testing on Bikini Island, and on Dolly, the cloned sheep. Koyaanisqatsi was similar, but focused on the ravages of modern life--ravages on the earth brought about by consumerism, ravages on the human spirit brought by a souless and brutish urbanism, etc. I find that I could write about these things at length, but I don't want to bore you. What I want is to make a simple point or two. First, these things, as works of art, may not have staying power. In 50 years we'll be looking at them as sort of curiosity pieces or anthopomorphic glimpses into the social and moral views of their times. How did people at the turn of the 21st century view technology? Look at Reich's Three Tales. Of course I believe this is not true of the music, but of the drama, yes. Reich doesn't tell us anything but a sort of journalistic account of three events set to a rather dull video montage. There is no human story, only message, albeit an unclear one. Yes, today it makes us think, and perhaps he's content with that. But in 20 years we'll be chuckling at his naivette, at the crudeness of what we think of now as innovation in video and the integration of the various media--there will be no emotional payoff.

And so my theory on great art is trotted out once again--the best art is art that moves us emotionally. And art that moves us emotionally, profoundly, has no overt message. Great art has no message. Message is not the artist's friend. Koyaanisqatsi works best when Reggio discovers something cool visually and exploits it. It seems dated and a bit silly when he uses images to make a larger point about the environment, for example. That's not to say his film making should not be guided by overarching themes. But it shouldn't set out to make a point. And he knows this. (I'm remembering a quote we heard of his during the introduction to Koyaanisqatsi, but I can't remember quite how it went. And also Glass discussed how the films were put together instinctively rather than with with reason.) I keep thinking about the Corigliano opera "The Ghosts of Versailles." I don't know what this is about, but I'm certain I'm more interested in this than Reich's (or anyone's) ruminations on technology.

Story and narrative should not be contaminated by the author's larger ideas. We don't care about those; we care about the story. But it's not as simple as that. Many cheap paperback authors tell great stories, yet they don't approach great art. So what does it take? In my opinion, great art appears when the author both surrenders himself to the story and uses it as a vehicle for revealing even smaller things. Artistic efforts get better as they focus more and more on small things. Not grand ideas, but the buzz of a fan next door, the frayed hem of a summer dress--the small events and things that comprise the story. The story should unfold without notice while we're focusing on smaller things, the things we see and experience every day.

Great art reveals things about ourselves that we acknowledge with the author with a smile and a nod. This is why the movie that Ann and I saw the other night.... what was it called??? .. "Raising Victor Vargas" ... that's why is was so wonderful. It focused on people, their simple stories, little things that together make a beautiful film. And this is why Proust is such a great author. He sees more than nearly any author I've ever read. He doesn't hurry to tell a story. The story is nearly incidental as he tells you about Swann's internal panic when his lover doesn't show at a dinner party, or about the pain the narrator felt as a child when his mother didn't come up to his bed to kiss him good night, about the momentary confusion one sometimes experiences upon waking up in a strange room, about the route his family walks would take during summers. Proust sees everything around him, and everything within our heads. And he sees the beauty in it all. I love him as an author. His writing is perfection.

But enough of this. Everytime I write in this I think I should do just that--write about real things, little things. But then I always get side-tracked by ideas. This is exactly why I'll never be a good writer. hahah