For new content, follow me at: http://tessastrain.tumblr.com
Email:
strain.tessa@gmail.com
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/tessastrain
Essays about the San Fernando Valley:
http://valblog.tumblr.com/
Art:
http://number1pennumber2thoughts.blogspot.com/
On why talking about irony is totally beside the point →
Hey all, thought I’d remind you once again to follow me at my new Tumblr if you haven’t already. I’m writing all kinds of things thereabouts.
Post with 19 notes
On Artists, Critics, Fans, & Haterz
To be alive today is to be witness to a period of massive transition in the way art is produced and disseminated. I think it’s great. I understand and sympathize with the hysteria that goes along with this (Who decides what is good?! How does anyone get noticed?! Is it dangerous to give everyone a voice?! For the love of god, how do we monetize this?!), but, like most of my generation, I find the changes in media exciting and democratizing, if occasionally disturbing.
What surprises me is how little the definitions and understanding of the roles of artists, critics, and fans have evolved given the extremity and swiftness of this (I cringe to write this phrase, but I’m at a loss for a better one) paradigm shift. Which is to say, I’m surprised people are still making distinctions between them as the line grows increasingly blurry.
Critics have long been vilified. “No one ever erected a statue to a critic,” Jean Sibelius once said. There has always been a prevailing attitude that critics exist for the sole purpose of undermining artists. How often have you heard an artist say “I don’t make art for the critics; I make it for the fans”? Critics are portrayed as hateful, bitter, craven, emotionless, and lazy. What right does anyone have to say about any kind of art if they aren’t participating in it?
This attitude is several kinds of ironic. Critics, firstly, are fans by nature. Nobody becomes a critic because they hate art; you become a critic because art so moves you that you are compelled to learn everything about it, to experience it as often as possible, and to contribute to the dialogue. Critics aren’t fans in the sense of being blind followers, but fans in the sense of having so much invested in art that they cannot remain silent. They are often the only ones who care as much as the artists.
Secondly, many critics are artists. Particularly in this day and age where the production of art is so readily accessible to so many, it is far from uncommon for people to be producing art with one hand and commenting on it with the other, yet there is a pervasive assumption that this is not the case. The image of the critic as a bitter failure in the art they critique is a wholly outmoded one. Now you see the word “hater” too often misapplied to anyone who offers criticism or raises questions; only the deepest insecurity could lead an artist to believe that critics are their enemies. Moreover, criticism is an art in itself. As with any craft, the quality and style of criticism has a great deal of range. Of course there are petty and pretentious critics, but there are also critics whose work is brilliant and challenging.
In the post-At the Movies world we have come to think of critics as people who say what is good and what isn’t. Thumbs up or thumbs down. That is at best a gross oversimplification and at worst an insult. It is the critic’s job to shed light on art. Sometimes this involves passing judgment, but more often it means finding what is important and compelling in a work of art and exploring that. Sometimes bad art does strange and interesting things (this is why I find Flashdance so arresting); sometimes art can be of high quality yet utterly forgettable. A critic is someone who wants to understand why that is.
There is also a generalized fear of negativity in our culture, a raw nerve that critics have the audacity to expose, and it is important that they do so. Art does not exist in a vacuum; any artist who wants their art to escape comment shouldn’t share it. Negative criticism, provided it is done thoughtfully and in good faith (which is how all criticism should be done), is neither bullying nor snobbery. It takes a great deal of courage to put your art out there; it also takes a great deal of courage to raise your voice against popular opinion.
Critics are, moreover, not solely interested in criticizing, which is not the same as critiquing. Critics are often some of the best champions of art and works of art. As I said before, they are first and foremost fans—they want art to be good, and when it is, they want to share it. We tend to focus on negative critiques because often they are funnier and easier to write, lending themselves to the stereotype that an artist works hard to produce good art, and it is the work of a moment for a critic to tear it down (nothing further from the truth if it is done well). It is infinitely harder, however, to articulate why something is beautiful and extraordinary. When critics do this successfully, they are giving a priceless gift both to the creator of the work and a voice to all the people unable to say why it moved them.
The artistic culture we live in is a participatory one, and it best rewards people who are involved in every aspect of it, who can realize that that being a toiling artist, a gushing fan, and a cerebral critic are not mutually exclusive identities. Socrates believe that the best way to engage with the capital-T truth is through interlocution, and we are fortunate to live in a time where that has never been easier. Critics, artists, and fans are no longer strangers to each other. Critics can respond to art, and artists can respond to their critics. When done in good faith, this is a remarkable gift, one not really available to other generations—to spoil it with antipathy and mistrust engendered by outworn stereotypes is a tremendous waste.
Audio post reblogged from novaya zemlya with 75 notes - Played 340 times
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]Common People — Pulp
I’m not saying this is the most important song. I’m saying it might be the only important song.
Co-signed.
Source: novazembla
Post reblogged from Love & Radiation with 17 notes
Nerds, chill out.
Everybody gets to be nerds if they wanna be nerds.
I’ve written before on why the whole nerds whining about nerd cred is tedious and totally beside the point. Nerd cred, by their definition, is all about pettiness, exclusion, and impermeable social isolation from the mainstream. So I accept the definition I see in their actions, if not their rhetoric:
A nerd is someone who cares so much about being defined as such that they reject people with similar interests so as not to sully their nerd reputations and dilute the waters of nerddom.
There you go, nerds! Cred restored! Hope you’re having fun excluding potential friends with similar interests!
Source: love-and-radiation
Smile or Die →
Christine just sent me this animated video in response to my earlier post. It beautifully illustrates what I was talking about, re: the horrifying implications of the cult of positivity.
Quote with 8 notes
Ocean: We in O-Force are all so proud and honored to be given the chance to make a difference. You know…these are troubled times for all of us…but I sincerely believe that our greatest enemy…is cynicism.
Myles: She’s so right. Starvation, AIDS, and poverty just pale into insignificance next to bad old cynicism.
From Peter Milligan & Mike Allred’s X-Statix #3
I find the cult of positivity in America really disturbing for a lot of reasons. Firstly because it defines positivity as 100% optimism at all times, but also because it sees positivity as tantamount to virtue and goodness, making the acknowledgment of anything negative a sign of moral corruption.
I’m going to come right out and say that Voltaire’s Candide was a pretty formative text for me. I read it when I was a teenager, but unlike the other books I venerated at that age, I find that it only becomes more relevant to the world I inhabit.
There is a callousness and self-interest inherent in so much of the talk of positivity I hear. Books like The Secret, which insinuate that you deserve everything good you get, and that everything bad is born of negativity, inspire, rather than a desire to help others and to change the world for the better, a sense of entitlement and complacency and an excuse to ignore the suffering of others. Phrases like “You have to love yourself before you can love someone else,” while perhaps well-intentioned, deliver the message that being frustrated with yourself makes you undeserving of love and inadequate at loving.
The cult of positivity rewards exceptionalism, not in the sense of being exceptional in what you do, but in the sense of being exceptional in what you have. If you don’t get everything that you want, it is because you are flawed and undeserving. You brought it on yourself with your negativity. Good things only happen to good people, and bad things only happen to bad people.
The cult of positivity is capitalistic in the worst sense, in that it denies the existence of luck and privilege and presumes that everyone is dealt the same hand. People who believe in it don’t feel genuine gratitude when good things happen to them (although they will attempt to give that impression—“I’m so blessed”); they think “I deserve this,” regardless of the actual effort put forth to earn their good fortune. Do millionaires work harder than fast food cashiers? Do people who survive life-threatening diseases “embrace life and positivity” that much more than people who don’t? It sets up a culture where you have only yourself to blame for your lack of success, and contrary to what the cult of positivity will tell you, that is entirely different from personal accountability.
It is no one’s duty to be happy or to see the good in everything. It is everyone’s duty to work hard and help others as best they can. It’s great to look on the bright side, to retain your strength of character and hope that things really can get better, but it is morally vacuous to do so at the cost of actually recognizing the need for change in the world and doing your best to enact it.
Post reblogged from Lazy Self-Indulgent Book Reviews with 56 notes
Justified, FX
I keep losing interest in the movies. Television is just a better medium. The contrivances you need to make something happen in ninety minutes, to imply that someone has changed, are just starting to seem pointless and forced to me.
I can’t give a shit about something that doesn’t have the time to make you mad or frustrated or confused for a while, you know?
Good television is where things are going. I haven’t seen a movie in years that meant more to me than “Deadwood,” you know?
You know.
I wholeheartedly agree with this. Serialization allows writers to really explore the ideas and characters they are working with, to really experiment and test boundaries. Actors are able to get comfortable with their characters, to develop them in ways they wouldn’t have the opportunity to do in a film experience. Add to that, one of the things that I love about television is that it hasn’t quite yet escaped its reputation as a trash medium. It’s so exciting to see wonderful art being made in what a lot of people still view as a disreputable and commercial arena. This is part of why I love comics as well. I think a lot of people assume that mainstream comics are basically identical to the superhero movies they see, but actually some of the most artistically risky and brilliant work I’ve seen (in any medium) is happening in comics today. Grant Morrison’s runs on Batman and Batman and Robin are wild and ferociously intelligent literature, and pretty much everyone outside a specific niche will never know because it all happened within a flimsy paper cover.
TV and comics. That’s where it’s happening.
Source: lazybookreviews
Post with 109 notes
On Never Letting ‘Em See You Sweat
There are innumerable reasons why last night’s Oscar telecast was completely unwatchable, but the most unforgivable was Anne Hathaway. To those of you lumping all your resentment on James Franco: he was bad, but at least he was bad in a “slowly disappearing before our very eyes” way. But Anne, Anne, you broke the cardinal rule of performing, and especially of comedy—you didn’t hide your fear.
My biggest ongoing complaint about Anne Hathaway is that she is what I call an A-student actor. She is far too studied, over-prepared to a fault. Michael Ian Black tweeted last night that she appeared to be auditioning for the lead in the school play, and that has always been her default position. Every one of her performances reads like an audition. This can be problematic for an actor, but it’s a fatal flaw for a comedian, which is (surprise!) what hosting the Oscars requires you to be.
One advantage of having some kind of formal comedy or improv instruction is that at some point, someone will actually sit down and explicitly tell you that audiences can smell your fear. You have to always pretend not to give a fuck, while actually giving more like a thousand fucks. This is a tricky line to walk and takes practice. Not rehearsal, practice. By which I mean, practice at bombing. At seeing a room full of impassive faces and knowing that you are the reason they aren’t laughing. That it’s going terribly, and it’s ALL YOUR FAULT. And that, above all, there is nothing, nothing you can do about it. It’s a horrible and exhilarating feeling, horrible for all the obvious reasons, exhilarating once you realize that you are going to survive it anyway.
It is important to have experienced the worst case scenario (and believe me, that is the worst case scenario—all the wardrobe malfunctions and spectacular falls in the world cannot compare) because then you can actually have fun. Anne Hathaway was not having fun; Anne Hathaway was acting the role of someone having fun. The difference is glaringly obvious and leads to all kinds of embarrassing moments. Several times during the telecast she tried to oversell a joke that wasn’t working, to re-attack it until it was left a mutilated corpse. Going big can be good, but going bigger almost never is. It makes you seem condescending (“Wait, maybe you didn’t get it the first time.”) and desperate (“No really, it’s HILARIOUS!”) all at once. The minute you do it, you have shown your hand, and everyone knows how frightened you are. At that point, winning an audience back is next to impossible.
But saying it is one thing. The fact is that comedy, like sex, is learned through (often embarrassing and painful) experience. This is why the whole idea of waiting until marriage to have sex is so horrifying to me. Rose petals! Fancy lingerie! Candlelight! I guess that’s romantic for some people, but to me all it says is “The stakes are high; better not embarrass yourself.” Whatever the moneymen in charge of booking Anne Hathaway and James Franco for the hosting gig said about the pair’s SNL appearances (which were okay at best), the Oscars were their first real stand-up gig. They were losing their virginities on their wedding night! James Franco couldn’t get it up, and Anne Hathaway brought handcuffs at Cosmo’s suggestion! And we all had to watch!
So the moral of the story here is that hey Christopher Nolan, have y’all actually signed contracts yet? Is it too late to recast? I will mail you a list of suggestions and maybe some cookies oh please god recast, recast, you can’t let this woman play Catwoman recast please I beg of you.
James Franco, you just keep doing you, but don’t ever host the Oscars again.
Photo reblogged from novaya zemlya with 12,565 notes
“I’m in the stocks perpetually in the UK — They say, ‘What is she wearing now? How dare she?’ Like, criminal acts. Now I feel like I have a reputation to keep. I have a responsibility now to dress badly, so it’s kind of liberating.”
My problem with Helena Bonham-Carter’s fashion aesthetic is that I don’t think she comes by it honestly. Her glee in the face of criticism would be inspiring, except that she just reeks of that that middle school desperation to look “unique”, which really grates on me. I would never dream of giving Bjork or Tilda Swinton shit for their outfits because they always wear them like they looked in the mirror before going out and thought to themselves, “Goddamn I look amazing.” Bonham-Carter’s fashion sense, on the other hand, just seems juvenile and tiresome, like she derives all of her inspiration from the only demographic which has yet to desert the increasingly god-awful movies of her partner Tim Burton—whiny-ass seventh-graders hell-bent on convincing their peers that they don’t care about being popular and who appear twice as insecure as a result. I am all for dressing ugly and dressing extreme, but I’d rather see people do it with some kind of aesthetic conviction.
Source: touchitgingerly
Page 1 of 2
