When I was in the 20’s and 30sI was a tough critic, sometimes harsh and even caustic. I had artistic standards and, in service to them, I made my living. Sometimes I held people to those same standards, which was not to best wasy to treat friends, family and lovers. I was extremely judgmental. I read back on some of my wor from that period of my life and go - damn Nelson!
Still, the art I found exciting, well crafted, or defiantly visionary I supported with has much vigor as I could, be in Tracy Chapman’s first album, Anita Baker’s second or Rick James’ ‘Street Songs.’ Young people, particularly those that have tried to be a student of cultural history, tend to have very specific rules or guidelines that define their vision of art. These are things they’ve mulled over in search of self-expression and identity. Most manifestos — artistic or political — are issued by youngish folks determined to impose their will on an unruly planet. I was definitely one of those ambitious people and my writings from the ‘80s and ‘90s reflect it. Even my interviewing technique was pretty aggressive. I often find myself amused by my tone when I listen to old audio tapes or see TV appearences (that my voice was much higher pitched then only heightens the humor.)
Well, I’m not that guy anymore and haven’t been for quite some time. Of course I’m older and have a lot less to prove. I’ve written the books I wanted to read. Made films I wanted to see. Crucially I’ve gone from critic/reporter to the role of creator/historian, having written novels and movies, and directed or produced all manner of visual storytelling. My relationship to the artistic process is profoundly different in middle age. Instead of taking in a completed piece of work and analyzing why it does or does not work, I spend much of my time these days developing projects, collaborating with others, pitching for financing anf pushing ideas into reality amid deadlines and challenges invisible to those on the outside.
Now, if you run into me (and I trust you), I’ll tell you what music or film I think is terrible. But, in general, I’m very selective and gentle in talking about art these days in public. I don’t feel its essential to have an opinion on any or every thing. Ignoring hype clears the mind of clutter. In this era of constant chatter on social media, the temptation to become an opinion machine, participating immediately and vehemently in the latest cycle of outrage, is a disease that creates panic and unrest.
I pick and chose my outrage, knowing that some events are horrible, but not focusing on them to the point of distraction. Joining the chorus of outrage takes precious time away from contributing something tangible to the world. I refuse to be trapped in a cycle of noise that, ultimately, is sound and fury signifying nothing. I keep my head down. I mind my business. I donate to causes. I support my friends. I try to stay positive in the face of every current crisis. They’ll be a new crisis tomorrow and time is so damn precious. The wheel goes round and round. You have to decide every day: are you gonna be beneath the wheel, your mind and time crushed as it rolls, or are you pushing it down the path of your specific destiny?