My Photo

February 2006

Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
      1 2 3 4
5 6 7 8 9 10 11
12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25
26 27 28        

What I Read in the Waiting Room of Hell


From the Tongues of Angels

Search And Destroy

Blog powered by Typepad
Member since 02/2005

« Celebrate Poetry with The Heretik! Whitman: Crossing Brooklyn Ferry | Main | The Heretik On Robert Byrd: An Eagle Among Vultures In the Sky of A Nuclear Winter »

April 26, 2005



I study and teach art history. So since I do my best to look at art objectively, it is sometimes difficult to allow art to move me any more.
My godfather is an artist (Google 'Jim Moon' and you might find him) and I love his paintings. My mom has a great painting of his over the fireplace with an odalisque with a babboon face and flamingoes reflected in water. Oh! HERE are some of his paintings.
I have a big, giant book of Piranesi prints. I think those images do actually move me more than anything more contemporary.
When I teach art (ancient and medieval), I find that my students are almost incapable of being moved by it. I've concluded that in this age of TV, Internetl, CGI, etc. that we are terribly jaded by imagery. Nothing visually overwhelms us the way a Romanesque tympanum would have overwhelmed at 12th-century pilgrim.


I've never studied art, and I don't have a favorite. There are simply too many artists/works that I just adore. :)


The portraits of John Singer Sargent and the landscapes of Cezanne shut me up and calm my mind. And Chagall. I love Chagall.


I am a musician, not an artist, so it is music that moves me. Mozart has a simple elegance that is lost in works of the romantic era and completely missing from modern symphonic works, which are often jarringly dischordant. I find Modern American Acoustic Folk to be music stripped down to the bare essentials in a most pleasing way, whether it is the more complex supercharged acoustics of bluegrass, the elegant riffs of a grooving jazz trio, or the stripped-down acoustic-guitar-and-voice "singer-songwriter" modern folk.

When the world is looking particularly bleak, when I have read the headlines of death and destruction and the murder of dreams and apathy and ignorance and hate, I will pick up my trusty guitar and let it speak to me of anger and sadness and, sometimes, hope. One day perhaps the nightmare will become a dream and I will have a chance to write these down into the kind of songs that I love, like the songs I wrote after my experience teaching kids in inner-city Houston, quiet songs of dead dreams and lies and love and sorrow, songs that took close to five years of digesting before they suddenly all spewed out within the course of a few months, but the muse is capricious and I have learned that she will move when she moves. In the meantime I watch, and listen, and let the music talk to me as it will...

- Badtux the Musical Penguin

The comments to this entry are closed.