The entries on this site so far have just been terrific, we felt a real pressure to turn in something unique. Check out the other entries here (and watch Kyle Starks in particular set the bar with Baron Perdu)
Reading Allie Brosh’s latest post about depression was extremely difficult for me. While it was amazing and truthful and beautifully done, I found my mouse pointer hovering to close the tab. I read the whole thing, but there were many times I just wanted to click the button and go look at kittens on the internet.
Her recent experience with depression very closely mirrors how I was many years ago. Before this blog. Before I knew I had a way to reach people and entertain them. My emotions stopped working. I found it impossible to care about anything. Especially myself. I would interact with people who expected me to be “funny comedy guy!” and at that point in time I thought that part of me was dead. But I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. So I tried very hard to pretend to be “funny comedy guy!” which resulted in some of the most horrific attempts at humor ever known to this earth.
I put on the faces I thought people wanted to see.
But I’ve worked hard to get my emotional self back. My journey through depression is further along than Allie’s. But being reminded of that time brought me to tears several times. In the end, I’m glad I didn’t close the tab. Reading her story helped remind me how far I’ve come. It reminded me how glad I am that I stuck around.
Stop thinking about art works as objects, and start thinking about them as triggers for experiences. (Roy Ascott’s phrase.) That solves a lot of problems: we don’t have to argue whether photographs are art, or whether performances are art, or whether Carl Andre’s bricks or Andrew Serranos’s piss or Little Richard’s ‘Long Tall Sally’ are art, because we say, ‘Art is something that happens, a process, not a quality, and all sorts of things can make it happen.’ … [W]hat makes a work of art ‘good’ for you is not something that is already ‘inside’ it, but something that happens inside you — so the value of the work lies in the degree to which it can help you have the kind of experience that you call art.