Parasocial relationships, the flip side

Okay so aside from a quick update, I haven't posted in 6 years. It's not that I don't have thoughts. Maybe I have better outlets for them? But today I want to ramble on about a topic without boring my Discord friends so it's time to dust off the old blog. I'm going to start by saying *I'm insecure*. I worry endlessly about what other people think of me. Yeah, yeah, I know, they aren't thinking of me at all. But when I'm talking to them, is there ever just a flash of "this chick is weird" in a not good way? And just when I think I'm, you know, okay, someone comes along to make me question all over again. Most recently, it was Oliver Thorn's brilliant short film, Artists and Fandom, which you can watch here: https://youtu.be/3IG0Y63LkDM Go ahead, I'll wait. Now of course this is Ollie's personal if educated opinion and experience. And he certainly wasn't talking to me as our contact would be generously described as minimal. But *could* he have been talking about me? He's not the first one to address parasocial relationships. I felt similar dread when Wil Williams wrote a piece on them specifically in the podcast industry (yeah I feel *very* indicted) I invite you to read here: https://wilwilliams.reviews/2019/01/04/podcasters-are-people-the-intimacy-of-medium-vs-parasocial-relationships/ So since I have strong feels about this, I thought maybe it would help me - and maybe others - to write about parasocial relationships from the other side. From the point of view of the fan. A couple of starting principles. Parasocial relationships (I'm just going to say PR from now on) are by definition one-sided. They are a relationship between a consumer and an image. The people and things behind the image (and this goes for Oliver as well as breakfast cereal) can manipulate this relationship for well-meaning or not-so-well-meaning ends. I just want to point out that, to one extent or another, the fan is being used. To sell something, to get more YouTube hits, or occasionally to become a better person. But used nonetheless. Now a word about art, and not the same words Ollie used. Art is self-expression and therefore reveals some part of the artist to the viewer (or listener). Sometimes you may not understand what is being revealed (like abstract art) and sometimes it's very clear. But there is a vulnerability being uncovered for public consumption. And this creates a power imbalance. I'm going to go out on a limb and say artists create because they want to be seen. They want to be known. There is a deep human need to be witnessed and acknowledged and hopefully accepted. If it weren't important for strangers to do this witnessing, this acknowledging, this accepting, people wouldn't display or share their art, or they'd just go into therapy where their vulnerabilities remain protected by doctor patient privilege. Blogging is actually the same thing. I'm not saying this ramble is art. But my thoughts and opinions are acts of creation. Writing them down is an act of creation. And rather than writing them in a notebook and shoving it in a drawer, I'm putting it on the internet. In the hopes that you will understand. In the hopes that you will agree. In the hopes that you will disagree. In the hopes that somehow this will create a connection between you and me. So does that not make art an act of reaching out? Are we as the recipients of art not expected to reach back? I mentioned before about the power imbalance. The artist is exposing themselves which puts them at a disadvantage. But at the same time, hopefully they feel some fulfillment by being "seen". The human response is to try to correct this imbalance by exposing our own vulnerabilities and experiencing that same sense of being "seen". But the PR model presupposes this to be unhealthy. It's fine to form attachments to artists but it is not acceptable to try to make it a two-way relationship. If you want to be seen, you too must become an artist and express your vulnerabilities not to the ones who created this need in you, but to more strangers. Is it any wonder everyone has a blog and a YouTube channel, not just artists? Is it any wonder people sign up for talent shows and reality TV? We have an ingrained drive to find our place in the social hierarchy through acceptance into higher and higher status groups, and in a culture where anyone can be a celebrity and where we are becoming increasingly isolated from the people sitting next to us, it is instinctual to seek approval, to seek connection, with the highest-status person we think we can reach. I mean, you went to high school, right? This is Lord of the Flies 101. It also brings to mind an episode of the sci fi television series Crusade - a terrible virus infects a spaceship, transmitted by touch. The crew form a human chain, holding hands as the virus races from person to person, out the airlock and into open space, and when there are no more people, the virus dies in the vacuum of space. So instead of creating two-way bonds, we create an endless string of one-way bonds in an attempt to feel validated. So my argument is that it is not unhealthy or bad to try to create a two-way connection with a stranger who has been vulnerable to you. But celebrities seem to want it both ways. They want to be able to benefit from the PR through box office sales and Twitter followers but don't want to deal with these same people *talking to them*. I am taking this a little to its most ridiculous conclusion. A little. Obviously the real problem is with boundaries and what a lot of PR essayists bash on about is that the fan perceives a relationship which is not there. And have we not all had people in our daily lives we thought we were a lot closer to than it turns out we were? When you find out you're only a "4" friend when you thought you were a "5"? (this is from my as-yet-completed friendship scale) But even I, as the logical, level headed person you've met in this essay, am not always clear on the boundary. I tread lightly around the edges, mostly. I have sent letters of appreciation to performers who have done some particularly moving work. I do not expect them to then validate me. But there is the tiniest element of selfishness in even that act. At the same time as I am saying, "your work is important to me", I am also saying, "I exist". "See me". This is still only a 1 on the friendship scale but it is something. If I admire someone's work, and I like what I know about them as a person, of course I would love to move on up the friendship scale, just as I would have loved to have gotten closer to the cool theatre kids in high school. But I have to accept that this is unlikely and move on. Also I would like to interrupt myself to say that I think the way we treat performers in the media is appalling. I personally do not read tabloid stories *about* celebrities, at the same time I enjoy interviews and their opportunities to talk about themselves and their work. I am only interested in consuming information they wish to put into the public domain. I think they are entitled to private lives. We may as a species want to see pictures of them walking their kids to school (or in a bikini on holiday) but I don't think that justifies photographers following them around on the streets. This is not news, it is not in the public interest, and we are not entitled to it. This is definitely PR gone wrong. Oliver Thorn, if you want to talk about "giving the people what they want" you really needn't look any further than any Insta account with a young woman posing in her underwear or … whatever the male equivalent is. Are these photos body-positive or cries for attention? Okay back to my main point, if I had one. Right, so you've got the Andrew Scotts on the one hand who are a 1 on the friendship scale. Then at the other end you've got people who write audio drama alone in a closet and then are surprised that people all over the world enjoy their work. And these often quite shy people emerge squinting into conventions and festivals to discover they are beloved of strangers. In my experience, they are generally very keen to engage and move up the friendship scale. Maybe not as high as I'd like, but certainly into non-binary numbers. And it is a little weird when, by enjoying their art, you do know a little bit about them, but even the most popular do not consider themselves celebrities and are consequently not standoffish (if they are standoffish, it's usually social anxiety). I should note I have also experienced this level of mutuality in theatre. I no longer "do stage door" as it only exacerbates my own neurotic "us vs them" world view. But one of the reasons I fell so hard for The Grinning Man (the greatest musical production ever) was the fact that the people involved loved the fans as much as we loved them. Too often, commercial entertainment loves fans' money, but not them. Much like harassment, stalking is in the eye of the beholder, and it is often not clear to the fan what makes the artist uncomfortable. Building up a whole imaginary romance and expecting the artist to participate is a hard no. Sending lingerie to an artist is another no. Ollie mentions being bought clothing (he does not say "inappropriate" clothing) as being a boundary-crosser, whereas other artists are ecstatic to be sent gifts. I'm a gift giver, it's true. I do beadwork and I have made jewelry and pins as gifts for some of the people to whom I owe a debt of gratitude. I have never given underwear. None of my gifts have been sexualised as, for me, that's an absolute no. I once recorded an album's-worth of cover songs to try to "share back" with an artist. I don't think at the time I was trying for the "I'm an artist too and therefore am justified in creating art" angle but just that it was what I had to give. This is probably a whole therapy session on its own. I have seen fandoms ruined by fans. Yeah. It happens. I even refused to use the word "fan" because of its roots in "fanatic" when Cumberbitchmania was at it's height. I became an "aficionado" because I can use words with many syllables. Or an admirer, because that was true. I wanted to distance myself from the people I felt had formed an unhealthy attachment to a performer. But almost without exception these fans just wanted to get to 1 on the friendship scale. For a person they admired to know that they existed. When I love something, I can get overexcited. I get passionate. I run out of superlatives. And I want to share that excitement with the people who created the thing. I think this can maybe be overwhelming sometimes. I don't think I do anything quote unquote wrong. I am certainly not dangerous. I try to make sure I don't get more personal than I would with any other stranger (but I can get *real* personal with strangers). But I do feel a greater paranoia when building a maybe friendship with an artist than with someone who is not a creative or whose art I do not consume. Because I worry that they are judging my every move, to make sure I don't cross this invisible boundary, that I don't try to get too close, constantly on guard for toxic behaviour. I don't know how to navigate through this if artists don't communicate their boundaries. I'm sure Oliver (yes, I'm picking on him because he has so recently delved into the topic) thought it would be educational to identify types of toxic fans, but the descriptions of behaviour he found unacceptable were still vague for someone needing a set of rules for "do" and "don't". There really was never any risk of my sending clothes - or naked pics - to him. But now I feel quite uncomfortable responding directly to him or addressing him. Even this blog post, in which he features heavily, is written about him and not to him. I don't want to be mistaken for a … debater? I think if I got to know Ollie I'd probably really like him, but now, he just makes me nervous and I feel judged. No matter how many times he says "the vast majority of my fans are lovely and very much appreciated". I'm not sure if I've made a point here. Takeaways: I'm insecure. And I assume everyone else is insecure as well, even paranoid. Because I don't know what level of intimacy makes an individual uncomfortable and they are unlikely to communicate this clearly to me, I am inevitably going to stomp all over boundaries but the last thing I want is to invade anyone's personal space. I'm happy with a high degree of emotional and psychological intimacy (or I wouldn't be posting this on the internet). I know I will be judged and misjudged and that makes me a little bit miserable. But the desire to connect to another human being is natural. And as Wil says, podcasters are people. Artists are human. I'm not going to stop trying to make these human connections because someone is a creative (hell, that's generally the most attractive thing a person can be). I will make people uneasy and I will alienate some but occasionally I will make a real connection. And then I will forever question that connection, if history serves. But as long as creatives use their art to reach out, I'm probably going to reach back. Namaste, y'all.

Celebrity Once Removed ...

... or why I love Nerina Pallot and am angry at Benedict Cumberbatch.

Sometimes I think celebrities have too much influence over our daily lives. Look at how many entertainers are in Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential list. And I'm not saying entertainers can't or shouldn't use their visibility. I'm just saying there's little in their professional training that equips them for such a role. Athletes, generally less. And I could write a whole blog post about how politicians probably shouldn't be influential, but I can't be arsed.

Anyway, that's by way of an introduction to today's topic. I know I haven't blogged for ages, so long I don't even remember writing that last post, but I suppose I'm still hoping to inspire some sort of intelligent discussion, so I'll keep trying, every few years or so.

I love Nerina Pallot because she's brought singing and playing music back into my life. And a bit of songwriting. I might have taken the occasional multi-year hiatus from making noise, but I suppose I've never truly stopped singing. But the reason I credit her so highly is because it has become as important to me as breathing and I'm enjoying it now as I never did before.

I am actually classically trained, which sounds more posh than it is. My mother loved to sing, sang at church and in community chorales, went to the opera ... As soon as I was old enough, we started taking voice lessons together. And I learned to do scales and arias and recitatives. Classical music really isn't my bag, but some of the pieces weren't terribly dreadful and occasionally we'd come across a quirky art song and that could be fun. I performed and competed, and I hated it.

I spent a couple of years retraining myself to breathe to cure my chronic asthma, during which time I was afraid to sing for fear my body would think I was hyperventilating. Even now, almost entirely wheeze-free, I sometimes emerge from a practice session with a bit of tightness in my chest. But it goes quickly. Anyway, during that time, I lost most of my high register and a chunk of notes at my passagio. Subsequent attempts to sing were marred by the fact I sounded terrible. But it turned out exercise really was all I needed. At least for the middle notes. I'm resigned that I'm no longer a colloratura soprano but rather a mezzo (but I don't have the rich low notes of an alto).

The fact I didn't enjoy singing didn't temper my love of listening to music, and Nerina has been my go-to singer/songwriter since I discovered her around 2006. She comes to Cornwall every year for concert and we've seen her each time for the last 7 years, I think. But late last year, I was listening to one of her EPs (the specific song, if you're curious, was Eleven) and I had a bit of an epiphany. My definition of an epiphany is when you get hit over the head with an idea that really should have occurred to you decades ago. Part of my classical training, and my nature to be obsessed with getting things right, is to concentrate on technical perfection (which, I think I've established, at this time was nearly nil). I've never naturally connected emotionally to music. Or much else. Animals, always, for good or bad, and if I'm lucky, people, although that is getting way easier as I get older and stop caring so much about whether or not it's appropriate to talk to a complete stranger in a way that reveals your soul. You know, as I'm doing here.

So my epiphany was how much BETTER you can sound when you clearly stop worrying about the technical and start feeling the emotion in a song. That didn't come out quite right. It sounds like I'm saying Nerina doesn't have technique. She has an amazing, beautiful voice and she knows how to use it. But she also has a relaxed approach to singing. She trusts that her voice will do what it needs to do, which is something I never have done, and I still don't trust it not to crack or simply stop for no apparent reason. But I've had to let that go.

Now I know I don't sound technically perfect. I know when I was younger and my voice was in better shape, I sounded more polished. But I'm enjoying singing, enough so that I'm cautiously sharing it with others, even though I still hate "performing." And I've had to learn not to beat myself up when a note comes out in an unexpected way. Or when I forget the words or play the wrong chord. But one of the side effects of choosing songs I am in love with is people do ask me if I sing any happy songs. No. I don't. I don't feel happy. But for now I'll settle for joy.

So why am I upset with Benedict Cumberbatch? What could such a well-spoken, polite, intelligent young man possibly have done to earn my ire? He only bloody reawakened my love for theatre, the git. I thought it was dead and buried after the theatre and I had a rather messy break-up in 1990. We didn't even speak for years after. And until recently I was quite happy that we could see each other VERY occasionally, exchange a few words, and then go our separate ways. I was contented with the less rubbish television and romantic comedies at the cinema. I could cope.

Then HE happened. I'm not going to apologise for appreciating the man's work. But to my peril I enjoy watching him perform so much I'll watch anything he does. The low point was probably the racing. It took me an hour to realise that some of the cars were identical, so the car I was cheering for because I liked it's paint job the best was actually two cars. But bully for me, they came in first and second. Yay, pretty paint! Actually, that probably wasn't the low point. I tried Nathan Barley. I don't "get" that kind of humour. I watched one full episode, then just the few seconds the Batch was on screen. He was great, as always. Probably best he didn't have a larger role or I would have had to watch even more seconds of that ... ahem.

So of course I went to see Frankenstein when the National Theatre rereleased it last year. Both versions. And since then I've seen other NTLive productions. And recently, I saw Birdland live at Royal Court in London. I can feel a lump in my throat just thinking about it. I've got another trip to London coming up and I will see at least one live performance a day. And know that it still will only scratch the surface of what's on offer. And the reason this is a problem is because IT IS NOT ENOUGH. And I think most people have experienced some kind of unrequited love in their lives, and it sucks! Right now, it appears very much as though, even if I have not gotten over the theatre, it has very much moved on and is just fine without me.

I generally strive to be fair, so some of the blame has to be given to Tom Hiddleston for being so brilliant in The Hollow Crown, but that wasn't live theatre. It wasn't even semi-live theatre, like Frankenstein. But it was Shakespeare. And I'll also blame Andrew Scott for being so amazing on stage in Birdland. And Simon Russell Beale for breaking my heart as King Lear.

And it is NOT ENOUGH to watch live theatre from the relative comfort of my local cinema, although I appreciate the fact it is available. It isn't even enough to enjoy increasingly amazing drama on television and in the movies. I'm not sure what will constitute enough. But I have a feeling that, when I find out what that is, I'm going to be too busy to tell you about it. UPDATE: I am revisiting my blog nearly 6 years later because I have *thoughts* and I have reread this post. I still love Nerina and am looking forward to seeing her perform live once the pandemic (COVID 19 for those of you - and me - in the future who have forgotten about this). I surprisingly have no strong feelings about Benedict Cumberbatch. I moved to Essex, just outside of London, nearly 5 years ago, and in to Whitechapel nearly 2 years ago. I've gone from 2 live shows a week to 4 live shows a week to several a month. I love the fringe theatres the best, and if I don't have to move my feet for the performers to get by, or if I'm not spat on at least once, I'm not close enough. I have also gotten into podcasts, which you would think is a retrograde step. But not at all. Podcasting is brilliantly interactive. Having the voices go straight into your head is intimate, and podcasters are an accessible lot, through Twitter, Discord, and even live shows (where you can get spat on). Podcasters are, in general, the best people on the planet. Oh, and I've seen Cumberbatch, Hiddleston, and Scott live on stage (Scott more than once and I even spoke to him at a charity function). I've discovered amazing talent I'd walk over broken glass for. I did training in stage management and I've even directed. Even as the theatres of London are shut down this week (and who knows for how long) and I worry so hard about their survival, I never once stop being grateful that I have had the opportunity to experience live theatre every few days when so many people can only get it on special occasions. I could write a whole essay on why theatre is important *to me* but I can summarise it as "it's a safe place to fall in love". Theatre means different things to different people, but it is so important y'all. Love and light. Zx

Don't worry, be happy

I know I haven't posted in a really long time, but today I'd like to share a little story.

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Once upon a time there were two brothers. They may have started life the same, but by the time they were adults, they shared only one thing: a dream of finding gold in the mountains in which they lived.

Every morning as the sun touched the tops of the pine trees they got up and carried their tools up the mountain. They dug deep into the earth. They drove their picks into the stone. They panned the water for signs of the treasure waiting upstream.

Jonas enjoyed the feel of dirt between his fingers. He enjoyed the smell of it, and the fresh air around him. He listened to the song of the birds and watched for deer making their way silently through the trees. He enjoyed swinging his pick and he loved the feel of the cold water flowing over his hands.

Thomas set his mind only to the digging, the picking, the panning. He didn't notice much of what went on around him.

As the sun slid below the horizon, Jonas made his way home where his family was waiting. His wife kissed him and asked him how his day went. "Nothing yet," he smiled. "Maybe tomorrow." After dinner, he read aloud until the children were asleep, then he and his wife would sit quietly watching the fire burn to embers.

Thomas went home to an empty cottage. He had never had time for courting. Maybe once he was a successful prospector, he would find a wife and build a family, he told himself.

Day after day followed the same pattern. Days turned into weeks; weeks into months; months into years.

Until one day, they both struck gold. Jonas was delighted and ran home to tell his wife, clutching a chunk of the metal to his chest.

Thomas too was delighted and clutched a chunk of the precious gold to his chest. And he realized that for the first time in his life, he was happy.

Life, vicariously

The other day I was talking at work about chocolate (which is becoming more and more common) and one of my compassionate colleagues offered to eat chocolate and tell me about it. Funnily enough, my husband has invented a creature called a Sense Monkey who does the same thing.

Unrelatedly, one of my favourite songwriters was blogging about marrying someone with an advanced work ethic and the fact he wasn't impressed with her industriousness when she managed to both make the bed AND buy the entire series of Grey's Anatomy on DVD in a single day.

So with both of those things in my head, and fantasising (while driving out near Lamorna Cove) about living in the country and also not ever having to leave home, it occurred to me:

The point of artists must be to live life fully and then tell the rest of us how it was.

Are you paying too much for ...... customer service?!?

This will be a relatively short one.

I'm concerned about a growing trend with UK companies. I don't know if this has caught on in the US yet; I certainly hope not.

More and more service companies are switching their toll-free support numbers to premium numbers. These can cost from a under a pound per minute to several pounds.

I'm not naive. I know that there are costs associated with providing customer service. This and other business expenses are normally spread amongst the entire customer base when providers set their fees. So I do know that these costs are ultimately borne by the consumer.

I also understand the benefits of apportioning certain costs only to the customers who use them. For instance, cell phone providers routinely let you choose between paying a set rate for texts, or only paying for the texts you send. I can see why businesses would like to remove every cost possible from their normal running expenses - because then they can advertise a lower rate.

But in this case, the overwhelming reason *against* such premium numbers is that ultimately there is no impetus for businesses to improve their products and services to reduce the consumer's reliance on phone support.

Our phone and internet provider, Toucan, is the most recent we've noticed to move away from toll-free support. Their rates did not reduce, but when our internet went out, we had to pay to phone them - twice - only to find out that the problem was at their end. An exchange had blown. I fail to understand why we had to pay to find out they had technical issues.

It's a problem I've encountered frequently since moving to the UK. UK companies seem to have no sense of customer service. Waitstaff are surly and inattentive, shop assistants seem as though they would rather you shop elsewhere, and the big companies, well, just don't get me started on the big companies. The fact that UK concerns feel it is appropriate to charge customers for the shortcomings of the business just follows on from that.

So if you are shopping for a service provider in the UK, be sure to factor in potential support calls into the cost of doing business with a company. Because if companies won't listen to their customers over the phone, perhaps they will listen to their plummeting sales.

In case companies don't catch on, I would like to do them one better. From now on, I would only like to pay for the portion of their advertising budget I use.

What Women Want

or ... the problem with boys.

For those of you (men) who haven't figured it out yet, please let me explain to you the phases of a relationship.

Phase One: The Education
[lasts from first date through Honeymoon]

The Education Phase is quite simply those months or years of a relationship in which the female shows the male how she wishes to be treated within the relationship long-term. She will often demonstrate the correct preparation of meals, cleaning schedules, and apportioned independence (in the form of "boys' nights out"). Sometimes the male, keen to impress the female, will offer to participate in some of these activities. It is important to take careful note of the female's response, often along the lines of, "Don't worry, honey, I like doing things for you."

Phase Two: The Transition
[lasts from the end of the Honeymoon until the female gets too frustrated to continue]

During this second phase, the female initiates the reversal of the relationship. Signals are given to the man subtly, at first, by asking or suggesting the occasional reversal, for instance, "I've had a really rough day, honey, would you mind heating something up for dinner?" Latitude is granted, as the female knows the man has, until this point, only been observing the desired behavior. However, in line with the "see, do, teach" formula, it is important to gradually increase the opportunities for the man to do things. Only through practice will the man achieve competence in these activities, and in early stages may require supervision and gentle correction. In time the male will be capable of carrying them out without assistance. The female may also begin to exercise her apportioned independence ("girls' nights out" or "pedicures").

Other techniques for initiating the reversal include: assigning chores, trading/withholding sexual favors, and nagging. No studies have confirmed the efficacy of any of these techniques.

Phase Three: Full Reversal
[length of phase varies]

During the third phase, the role reversal completes and the male has been fully trained to treat the female in the appropriate manner. He now seeks domestic duties and, should the female offer to help, the reply is along the lines of "Don't bother yourself, sweetie, you know I like making you dinner. Here's a glass of wine, why don't you go have a nice hot bath?" Whilst less perceptive males would at this point be wondering why the female has become surly, dinners less elaborate and the house less clean, and why the relationship seems to be in a tailspin, the male who has reached Phase Three is content in the knowledge that he has been properly trained to be in the relationship, and is confident that he is doing a good job.

Ideally, Phase Three is of equal length to Phase One. This can vary, however, depending on how smoothly Phase Two progresses. If Phase Two must be repeatedly extended due to the male's resistance to or failure to understand the reversal signals, this is tantamount to the continuation of Phase One. But, theoretically, at least, Phase Three would have a terminus, at which point the relationship moves naturally into Phase Four.

Phase Four: Equilibrium
[you didn't think there would be a phase four, did you?]

In Phase Four, the male has proven himself fully capable of treating the female in the ways he was shown. This qualifies him for promotion, to use a business analogy. Throughout Phase Four, equilibrium is reached through the female resuming some of the activities from Phase One while the male continues all other activities from Phase Three. An organic give-and-take ensues until both the male and the female are sharing the activities equally and without artificial rotas, schedules, gender-based assumptions or "understandings."

Phase Four, in theory, carries on until the death of one or both of the parties. The sad fact is that few relationships survive Phase Two. The most widely accepted theory for this is that males in general seem to misinterpret Phase One as a demonstration of the relationship rather than a mirror of Phase Three. This theory is not without its detractors, however no rival theory better explains why many male subjects have been observed to complain, "I don't understand what she wants." This common complaint clearly illustrates that the male has not correctly identified the instructional nature of the female's behavior.

It is my hope, by making these findings available outside obscure research journals, to increase general understanding of the four phases of a relationship and perhaps even increase opportunities to observe Phase Three behavior.

I couldn't say it better myself

http://warner.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/11/06/title/?ei=5070&emc=eta1

Too Cool for School

Lately I have been reading a lot of kids' books. Not exactly intentionally, but because they were around. My husband has a small collection, half a dozen books, no more, from the new Doctor Who series and the tenuously related Invisible Detective series (written by former BBC books editor Justin Richards).

I'm no stranger to children's fiction, and I'm not talking about my formative years. Yes, I read several Madeline L'Engle books when I was 9, and two Narnia books at about the same time, but I quickly graduated to the works of James Herriott, Evelyn Waugh, AJ Cronin.

I've probably read more children's books after 30 than before. I've read the Artemis Fowl series, The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents, the first several Harry Potter books (until they got too big to carry with me on trips, plus frankly the movies are just as good), and even one Lemony Snicket. Okay, now that I think about it, I did read more books as a kid, because I read every Nancy Drew I could lay my hands on! But this post isn't meant as a list of favorites. My point is, or may be, get to know any adult, and you will find either a book they read to their kids that they enjoy at least as much as their children do, or, for those who haven't got kids, children's books which allow them to secretly recapture their youth. It's like going to see the newest Disney movie, and nowadays, there's no shame in it. You don't have to borrow a neighbor child to go.

Why the fascination with children's fiction? It isn't just the fountain of youth, at least not in the traditional sense, that warding off of maturity, old age, and eventually death. It's recapturing the innocence of youth, and the fascination of a world which still offers more possibilities than disenchantment. It's an opportunity to throw off the shackles of our jaded adulthood and dance in a world of magic and imagination, a world which, however scary it might be at times, is always ultimately safe, and good will always win.

You can get that in small amounts in adult fiction, so that is not the only appeal. One thing I noticed with these last books I read, once I started I simply could not stop. I read each of the books in two sittings. It seems that children's fiction is faster-paced than its adult contemporaries, with more suspense. As at least one book proved, this can be accomplished side-by-side with thought-provoking issues. None of the books paled in comparison with more mature offerings, with the grittiness, violence, foul language, and awkward sex scenes (does anyone else wish Dan Brown would end his books earlier?) which seem required of adult fiction. They do tend to be shorter works, so the plots may be less intricate, but I've read less substantial bestsellers.

In case you are curious, the books I have just read are Wooden Heart,The Paranormal Puppet Show, and Shining Darkness. Wooden Heart takes a look at the relationship between a Creator and its Creations, Shining Darkness sheds light on what it means to be human and the unpleasantness and danger of racism, and the Paranormal Puppet Show is just unabashed adventure.

But at the end of the day, I'm an adult at heart, so I am also reading The Zahir by my new favorite author Paulo Coelho (simply the next in a long and illustrious line) and Labyrinth by Kate Mosse. We'll just have to see if they can keep up with the next generation.

The Map is not the Territory

I was corresponding recently with a dear friend. We disagree on everything, but I am very fond of her. I suppose she's like a sister. Anyway, she had expressed some concern that her daughter had not shown any interest in returning to school and getting a degree (she spent a short time in the military after high school and is now in employment). I reassured her that there is nothing like working full-time to inspire an appreciation for academic life.

Later in my letter to her I was ranting (a bit) about the youth in my adopted home town. I live in a depressed area where there is little opportunity for advancement. Employment is predominantly seasonal, low-paid, and requires little education. It is therefore perhaps understandable that the local youth rarely choose to continue their studying, or if they do, it is strictly vocational. Adults appreciate the fact that the pace here is slower than in town. And some may see the lackadaisical attitude as a reflection of that. But I see it as more endemic, indicating a plague of listlessness and hopelessness. There are so few jobs which require one, there is little value placed on getting a university degree. A first in typing is more suitable. And why should you strive for more?

Since sending my email to my friend, I have been concerned that she might have misconstrued my disappointment with the people around me as an indictment of her own daughter who has, for the time being, eschewed education. This is of course not so. Everyone must choose their own path, and if her daughter wants to work and it makes her happy, then that is all I would wish for. Knowing my friend as I do, and knowing her blood flows through her daughter's veins, I fully expect that at some point she will want to do something else, something new, something more challenging. And she will likely look to education to fill the gap. Either she will happen upon a vocation she enjoys but hit a point where she can no longer progress without a degree, or she will decide (as I did, when I decided to learn to program computers) upon a career which requires specific vocational training, or perhaps she will just get bored and begin taking courses out of interest. And I recognize there are lots of ways to become educated - school, private tuition, reading, doing, watching the Discovery Channel. But I don't think for a moment that she will become like the young people I see here - cashing their unemployment cheques and haunting the chippies (in this context, "chippy" does not refer to a young female of questionable morals but rather to a popular enterprise offering fried fish and potato wedges). The ultimate difference, I told myself as I lay awake this morning, petting the cat, was in the need to know, to do, to understand more every day.

This last bit hit me quite deep. I've been working for years now to establish "my purpose" and I have identified many goals which, upon achievement, would give me great satisfaction. For instance, I hope one day to create a planned community which caters to every mental, physical, and spiritual need of the residents, one which does not require limitless wealth to enter, and one which empowers everyone who visits to reconsider their potential. One which boosts everyone up Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, you could say. Another goal is to eliminate - or at least try - homelessness amongst domesticated animals. I still hold on to these goals, but without a monstrous reliable income, I'm finding them rather difficult to pursue. In order to attain a goal, you must make one small movement in the right direction on a regular basis. I'm still stuck on number one - save enough money to buy a large piece of land which is appropriate for development. I work in the planning department, so I know all too well how unlikely this is - if I could find land I could afford, I couldn't put so much as a teepee on it, and if I found land I could build on I'd never be able to afford it. To that end my discretionary income wouldn't get me a mortgage on a parking space with a cardboard box on it.

But think about "to know, to do, to understand more each day" as a goal. Doesn't that sound totally do-able? It doesn't take much to know, do or understand more than yesterday. I can do that just by choosing my cable channels more carefully.

So what does that have to do with the title of the blog, you ask? Or maybe you don't ask, but if you're still reading, don't you want to know?

One of the main functions of the human brain is to make connections. Imagine for a moment, you are dropped in the middle of an unfamiliar town and told to find your way to your new home at 123 South Easy Street. You begin to explore, carefully at first. Maybe you establish where south is, and then where the streets switch from being called North to being called South. Then you look at the street names to see if there are any clues - some towns name their streets alphabetically, for instance. You begin to create, in your mind, a map of the town. When you eventually do find 123 South Easy Street, you know how you got there and, if dropped in the same place tomorrow, you will have a much easier time getting home. You haven't created the territory, that was here already, but you have created a map, an image in your mind, to make sense of it. You might even be able to draw a rough sketch of how to get from the middle of town to your house. Not to scale, but with all the turns and landmarks indicated.

But imagine if your brain could not make connections, could not compile and categorise and evaluate new information. You're dropped in the middle of town, and, after wandering for an indefinite period of time, you do find 123 South Easy Street. And tomorrow, you're dropped in the middle of town, and you're no better off than you were yesterday. You haven't learned anything from your experience. NLP'ers have a saying, "the map is not the territory." The map is everything you understand about the world. The territory is the world itself. You can't know anything about the territory unless you have learned something about it, somehow, either through a book, or a news story on TV, or your own or someone else's related experiences. I don't know anything about China, for instance, other than what I've read or been told or seen on TV, because I've never been there. My map is rather sketchy. But I grew up in Oklahoma, and I have a pretty detailed map of the town I grew up in, what different parts of the state are like, what makes the Midwest different from the South, and, because I have spent time on both coasts, what makes Coastal America different from The Heartland. My map is pretty good here. But I'm using the word "map" a bit too literally. It has nothing to do with geography. I like to read about different spiritual systems, what people believe and why. Although I cannot prove that my map is accurate, it is built from information gathered from hundreds of sources (isn't the internet wonderful?) and I have carefully pieced them together like a jigsaw in the hopes that I will be able then to understand the finished picture.

Sometimes, in order to make a new piece fit, I have had to take the scissors and cut the tab off an existing piece (haven't you always wanted to do that?). But only after checking how the two pieces would look together - one doesn't have a picture of a flower and the other waves - and making sure the existing piece works without the tab. It doesn't do any good to put pieces together just because they fit, they have to create a flow from one edge to the other, so that the petal which begins on one piece continues seamlessly onto the next. This is also my map of reality. So too is my study of history in high school, although I will be the first to admit this once healthy piece of fabric is now moth eaten to almost nothing. And literature, and nature, and the personal history of a coworker. This is my map of reality. It will never be exactly the same as anyone else's map of reality (although, the more two people share and agree on ideas and experiences, the more their maps will overlap and the more connected they will feel).

Which also explains why two people can so vehemently disagree about a "fact." We like to say, "you can't have an opinion on a fact." But a fact is rarely a discrete element. We say it is a fact that water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit. But this isn't actually true. Ice will always melt at 32 degrees, but water has to freeze onto something (like the walls of your freezer, or, apparently, a particle of dust or soot or a passing airplane). It spontaneously freezes at -40 degrees Fahrenheit. The freezing point of water also depends on pressure (did you know that water in a vacuum will boil regardless of the temperature?). So there is really no such thing as a "fact." It is just a particle of information which is generally agreed to be true in a certain set of circumstances. If the "fact" is scientific, it has probably been subjected to careful experimentation and, like my water, there may be a great deal of information available on how that "fact" was tested and what factors render it invalid. However, other "facts," like my natural hair color, may never be tested and are, in fact, no more than educated guesses.

So back to my thesis. By knowing, doing, and understanding more than I did yesterday, I add to my map of reality. I increase my understanding of the map. And by doing so, hopefully, I get closer to knowing and understanding the territory.

If you haven't yet found your goal, feel free to borrow mine until you do.

The Meaning of Work

Twelve people wash up on a desert island. What are their immediate needs? They need cover, so four people volunteer to be builders. They begin to look for materials and construct shelters. They need food and water, so four people begin to scout the jungle for fresh water and fruit. They want to be rescued, so four people take responsibility for gathering wood and keeping a signal fire going. But the builders continue their occupations, discovering better materials, fashioning crude tools, and building better, sturdier huts. The hunter gatherers have been working out a way to make nets and catch fish. Someone takes responsibility for cooking the fish. Our “firemen,” for lack of a better term, are going farther in the search for wood, and are beginning to map out the boundaries of the island. Two years go by with no sign from the outside world. Babies are born. Someone stays at camp with the infants while the parents pursue their work.

Looking at human occupation in this way, particularly taking the exchange of money out of the equation, it is easy to see that work is nothing more than providing value to society. In this insular example, each person’s survival depends on cooperation. If any one person says “I can’t do anything” then everyone suffers. If one person is disabled and unable to build or wander the island, they will still find some way to contribute, providing ideas, wisdom, moral support. The only excuse for not contributing to the group is coma.

Compare this to modern society. We’ve lost the meaning of work. Work is something you do when there are no other options (when your parents can no longer support you, when your lottery numbers fail you) until you earn your retirement. If you want to directly benefit society, you usually do that unpaid. No wonder our biggest problem worldwide is greed. The work we do is no longer attached to our survival. More often than not, it is linked to our destruction. We work for corporations which exploit, pollute, and create agents that kill.

Society has failed to regulate business to assure each is beneficial. The free market allows such businesses to flourish as long as there are buyers for these products. This, unfortunately, is an issue for perhaps a later essay. This essay is on the meaning of work.

Work is inextricably linked with money in our capitalist society. Money, ideally, is a measure of the value you provide to society. This is seen more vividly in the case of the entrepreneur – the more valuable her product or service, the more customers, the more income. This is not as obvious in the case of employed work, where the teacher is barely paid a living wage but the manager is given large bonuses. Or jobs in the service sector where someone has to work two or three jobs to support a small family. But ideally it is a measure of value.

The problem with unemployment is that it leads to low self-esteem and low self-worth. This can lead to depression and lethargy and their associated side effects. I say this from personal experience, having been unable to find even meaningless work for two months one summer between years at uni. Now I live in an area of high unemployment, and living “off the dole” becomes a way of life, not a temporary measure to keep from losing your house between positions. These mostly young people are not benefiting society at all, except in the way they keep the chip shops open. And they have tremendous worth, so much potential, which is being wasted. So having all these youths living off benefits is damaging to them and to society. Surely there is a solution.

We don’t lack vision in Penwith. On the contrary, we have a comprehensive plan to achieve a wonderful standard of living. What we lack are resources. Is anyone else seeing the puzzle pieces coming together? We are already paying benefits for hundreds of people in my town alone. If a condition of unemployment benefit was part-time volunteer work, this labour would essentially be gratis. Hundreds of hands pushing forward the agenda of the area. Hundreds of people gaining skills in all areas of occupation. Hundreds of people building affordable housing, organizing events, keeping accounts, working in charity shops, providing support for new businesses, working with the elderly, the very young, the disabled, caring for injured or unwanted animals, there simply is no aspect of our modern society which could not benefit from an increased pool of unpaid workers. The trade off for industry and government is that, in exchange for all this free labour, time must be taken to provide these workers with training in valuable skills. Too often volunteers are given the unskilled work only, which benefits only the organization and not the volunteer (many voluntary workers become disenchanted with this kind of work when they remain unchallenged).

This seems like a win-win-win to me. People on benefits contribute to society, which leads to increased self-esteem and empowerment, and learn new skills, which also lead to increased self-esteem and better chances of well paid employment. Businesses both public and private are able to increase their workforce at no additional cost (most businesses are understaffed but lack the funds to add workers). Paid workers find their workloads become more manageable and they benefit from the experience of mentoring unpaid workers. Social programmes which now cannot get off the ground due to lack of resources find the human factor miraculously accounted for.

I cannot see the flaw in my own logic. Perhaps one of my intelligent readers (all two of you) can explain why this wouldn't work. As usual, I welcome all polite responses.

Charity badges

These last two posts are charity badges I made on two different sites, CareBadges and ChipIn. They are both linked to the newly-created PayPal account that goes directly to Cretan Animal Welfare Group (http://www.cawg-greece.com/), the rescuers who promised to check on Cowboy and Swipes if they pass the hotel. I have also opened a Facebook account and created a ChipIn badge there, but CareBadges doesn't have a instructions for adding that. Also on Facebook I created CAWG as a cause. If you are on Facebook, look it up.

I hope these small efforts of mine can bring in some donations to help these great people who are trying to make a difference in the lives of suffering stray animals.

Thanks for your support.

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For the Love of Crete

I could write an article about the rugged beauty of the Crete coast, or the verdant interior dotted with olive groves and vineyards. I could talk about the challenges of an unfamiliar language with an indecipherable alphabet or about Greek hospitality.

I could essay on any of the magical moments during our recent one-week holiday in Gournes, but nothing affected me as much as the state of the feline condition.

Crete is the unfriendly home of thousands of stray cats and dogs which skulk and beg and live out of dumpsters. The few animal welfare organizations – most run by immigrants – are undermanned and underfunded. The island’s economy is reliant on tourism during the season, and this has prompted a few actions on the part of locals, in particular hotel owners, but the general disposition towards these animals is to treat them as vermin. Sickening reports of mass poisonings linger on the internet, and we found few natives willing to view the animals as creatures of value. We only found one kitten which seemed to be a pet – he was friendly and confident, healthy, and had a clean coat. Following my tradition of assigning my own name to cats (in my home of Penzance, I know many cats but few owners, and must have some way of referring to them!), this one became Niblic because of his habit of nibbling the ends of your fingers affectionately whilst being petted.

A Cowboy's Tale

Niblic may have been the only cat we found being truly cared for, but there was other evidence that cats might be treated as pets on a part-time basis. I’ve heard of this phenomenon before regarding Rome – that the Italians keep cats as pets, but when they leave for their summer holidays, often taking 3 months at a time, they simply lock their cats out of the house and leave them to fend for themselves. This prompted a group of Britons to start a rescue for cats near the ruins.

Cowboy was obviously accustomed to humans. He not only accepted attention from the visitors at our hotel, he craved it. He took any opportunity to cuddle the way a man lost in the desert takes to bottled water. The first time we saw Cowboy, he was sitting on a child’s slide. My husband invited him over, and knelt to pet the eager tomcat. Immediately Cowboy insinuated himself on top of my husband’s knees, forcing him to “make a lap.” His love of being held – and tendency to sleep contentedly for hours at a time – led us to carry him around with us whenever we were at the hotel. We’d go to the pool, and he’d lay with us. We’d sit in the shade, and he’d go with us. He even watched TV in the room with us one evening. He was never judgemental when we’d go out sightseeing during the day; he was always easy to locate near the hotel kitchen when we returned.

Cat-loving guests who had been there the previous week told us that he had had a collar on. There was still a part in the dense fur around his neck, but we never found the collar which may have told us of his previous residence. Although the owners and staff at the hotel were predominately neutral regarding the six or so cats that haunted the place, this is not a lifestyle any cat with a safe and reliable home would choose, so we must assume that his previous owner suffered a change in circumstances. And as we were in Crete at the absolute end of the season, when all the hotels were closing up and holiday-makers were vacating, we can make some unpleasant assumptions regarding the nature of the change.

Swipes’ Story

We have high hopes for Cowboy’s potential for rehoming. We’ve told one of the animal rescue centers about the cats at our hotel, and should Cowboy be taken in he would have no trouble charming his way into a new family. But we have deeper concerns regarding Swipes.

Swipes is a tiny tomcat, perhaps a year old. The cats on Crete tend to be smaller than the moggies in the UK, long and thin even when they are properly fed, and are almost all "white-and" – white and orange, white and black, white and tabby. So it’s difficult to say how old Swipes is for sure. He is not even half the size of our 18-month old boy but seems to have spent an eternity on the streets.

He has evolved very few social strategies, born of survival. There’s the beg: he will watch you while you are eating, come near, and mew. There’s the snatch: no matter how or what is offered, he swipes quickly, often catching the fingers of the tourist offering the treat with his needle-sharp claws. Then there’s the run, hopefully with a bit of food. Most travelers will respond to those eyes and that plaintive mew once – but few will persist after having been scratched.

My husband and I did what we could to improve the nutrition of at least these two cats. There were others at the hotel, and we’d feed them if they were around, but nearly every night we were able to locate both Cowboy and Swipes and feed them canned cat food from the corner shop. The first time we saw Swipes, we were eating a dessert with ice cream. I put a bit of cream on my spoon and set it on the floor. Swipes snuck up on it, swiped at the spoon, and ran off. The first time we introduced real cat food, he overcame his fear of cutlery and ate contentedly off the fork.

After the first meal, he brushed tentatively against my husband’s leg as a thank you. This emboldened me to try to pet him while he was distracted by eating. In the middle of a meal, he didn’t even bother to shrink away from a touch, and you could feel his purrs vibrating his whole body. Even in the afterglow of a good meal, you could pet him for a while, until he realized that he shouldn’t be enjoying it and would give you a good swipe. It hurt, but he meant it in play. He was cautious but not shy – he was getting to know us and he’d bounce around on us chasing the hand he wanted to “punish.”

Once he knew who we were, he became significantly more approachable. He also began to hang around the humans more incautiously, but his antisocial behaviour won him few fans. He quickly learned to be more discriminating when choosing human companionship. I certainly feel he needs to maintain wariness around strangers, but I also wanted to give him a wider arsenal of social skills, so one evening we worked on accepting chips (french fries) without maiming. The progress was minimal, but shows that he has enormous potential for learning. If someone were patient enough to offer him a home, in time he would settle into a playful and loving companion. But in the meantime, heavy gloves might not be a bad idea. He also craved acceptance from the older cats, hanging around and brushing against them, mostly receiving rebuffs. But Cowboy tolerated him at a distance.

The Challenge

I cannot in good conscience sit idly by while these cats, some of whom I have come to love, suffer. I am open to suggestions, but as financing another trip to Crete is not currently on the table, I am resolved to raise money for the charities that support animal rescue in Crete.

With the help of generous souls in Cornwall, I have launched a campaign I call Paw2Paw. It’s about cats throughout the world helping the less privileged. For the first endeavour, cats in Cornwall have posed for a calendar, all proceeds to help their brothers and sisters in Crete. You can find all the info at www.paw2paw.org.uk.

What is art?

In addressing this complex and difficult question, I'm first confronted with its smaller cousin, craft. We are born with an inherent understanding of what is "art" and what is merely "craft," but do we differentiate correctly? In examining "art," I find I must do so mostly in a dialog with "craft."

Speaking in broad strokes (pun intended), we think of art as something only someone with innate talent can produce. Craft can be learned by anyone. Craftsmanship refers to the perfection of a technique - like a craftsman who can turn a smooth, geometrically ideal stair rail. No matter how skilled the carpenter becomes, he can only ever be an artisan.

I've started with a search of definitions of art, and most distill to "the product of human creativity and imagination." But what is craft if not creation? And does craft not require at least a minimum of inspiration? Much craft does involve the duplication of a process, but does moving the sticker to the lower left hand corner of the hand-made card rather than placing it in the upper right make it art? Therefore I assert that most definitions of art are actually definitions of craft.

So I am left with no definition of art, but a mind full of the possible properties of art:

• art reflects the world as it is
  
• art presents the world as it may be
  
• art manipulates the senses to create an emotion
  
• art glorifies God and His creations
  
• art glorifies man and his creations

Some feel that art imitates life, and invariably this is presented as a defense of a piece of art portraying something we'd rather not see. The use of art to shock humanity out of complacency, to force us to face the dark corners of our world, is justified if it moves us to action, to redress wrongs, to shine light into those corners, to evolve. But static art lacks the momentum required to carry us forward. It drops us in the middle of the quicksand and stands back as we struggle. It can never be more than a singular protest.

Art which captivates us is typically of a different character. It may portray the lushness of nature, the bond within a family, the bittersweet bloom of youth, the wisdom of age, or an attempt to connect with a force bigger than ourselves. It is uplifting. It is hopeful.

Good art is a prayer. Great art is the answer.

Modern art

For those of you who enjoy modern art, I will say up front, we will disagree. I have visited modern art galleries, and I have found little that will rise above the level of "craft." And most is remote even from that.

I will inflame fans by lumping most modern art under the heading of "experimental." Experimenting with colors, experimenting with patterns which could only be described as "plaid," sculpture which defines curves and angles but which is of nothing in particular. Of these works I can only say, they are not art. They are practice. They are the steps along the way to creating art, not art itself. They are the extras on the DVD which show snippets of storyboard and sketches of costumes. The film is the art. I am not against experimenting. In fact, I am typically a fan of anything new, shiny, and innovative. But please do not frame your scribbles and hang them on the wall.

Modern maestros Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein cause me some consternation, however. Both are obviously craftsmen, creating technically perfect paintings. And in the elevation of the mundane to the potential status of art, they cause us to reevaluate the significance of things around us. I can only conclude that a can of tomato soup is not art, but Warhol's ironic display is. It falls under the category of glorification of man and his creations. It is neither good art nor great art as previously defined, but it is art.

Shock art

Those who defend shock art (Mapplethorpe, for instance) usually claim its detractors "don't understand it." Art is understood viscerally, not intellectually. Those who are offended by it simply don't like the way it makes them feel. This is a perfectly legitimate response to a medium which is intended to manipulate the viewer's emotions. It does not make one less to dislike it, or more to appreciate it. If shock art is intended to discomfit in an attempt to shift society towards a more functional model, then it must be classed as good art. Unfortunately, most seems to be designed for no other reason than to create a response. This is as unenlightened as creating art for money. Part of the difficulty in this category is that most of it seems to be photographic. Photography is largely craft, as anyone can learn to operate a camera, anyone can learn the manipulation of light and focus. Thus the genre must largely be judged on subject matter, not on execution.

It's the message, stupid

Another problem in evaluating modern, shock, or non-traditional art is that the message is often intended to be intellectual, not emotional. If art has to be explained, can it be art? If art is the manipulation of the senses to arouse emotions, then much in this genre fails. The message intended may be profound. But the message is not received by viewing the piece itself - it can only be gleaned by reading the manual. This is not art, this is unintentional misdirection.

Commercial art

Based on my understanding of the artist, art is something that grows inside him or her as a concept or an image, and it must be birthed lest the artistic psyche suffer. It often feels as though it has come from outside the artist, like divine inspiration. Therefore art is unconcerned with profit. Artists are not, and in a Capitalist society there is no flaw in wanting to pay the bills. I am not suggesting that artists not sell their work. Commercial art refers not to art which is sold, but merely art which is created for money. This includes advertising. Commercial art is, by and large, not art, but craft. It can be the duplication of a piece of art, which repeats merely the process of producing the art, not the inspiration behind it. It can be the manipulation of a viewer to produce the impulse to buy something else. This is a very precise craft which may be mistaken for art, but it is not art.

Historic art

Some crafts pieces gain significance because of the intricate portrayal of an otherwise forgotten time or place. They may allow us to understand how others lived and as such are of valuable service. This may not make them art, but grants them a position in certain museums.

Kinetic art

Art which moves has a distinct advantage over static art: it can present us with a path - a path to follow, or the consequences of a path to be avoided. Literature, films and television, music, even comic books are some of the most influential artworks of our time. I will apply the same test of the quality of art to these: a good work of art presents the problem; a great work shows the solution. Most kinetic art is commercial craft, but nonetheless this is where most of the great art of the 21st century will be born.

What makes West Wing, the show that inadvertently inspired this blog, art? The show was undoubtedly created for profit, at least from the view of the network. But the content remains artistic. It presents the problem: people are disillusioned about their leaders and disdain politics and, to a greater or lesser extent, remain uninformed regarding the complexities of national and international affairs. The solution: put a man in office who, while fallible and very human, acts with integrity and honor. Show others respond to his actions with respect and openness. Each episode represents a possible path from chaos to order.

And what of music? Isn't all music commercial? Well, popular music is commercial. But not all music is commercialized. Many popular songs achieve the status of static art, portraying with sensitivity the emotions of a moment. Some songpainters even create a flow, a timeline in less than five minutes. But where are our Mozarts? Our Beethovens? They're composing music for films and television. And the best of it is very much art.

And so I present a functional, but incomplete, definition of art: the manipulation of the senses by any media to create an emotional response which advocates action from chaos to order. My definition of chaos is a lack of self-determination through, for instance, illness or poverty or hopelessness. Order represents the highest goals of humanity.

Namaste.

Introduction

Hello and welcome to my blog.

I've resisted this move for a very long time. It seems everyone I know has a blog. In fact, many friends refuse to write individual emails anymore, preferring to direct all and sundry to their blog. And this I resent. But the purpose of this blog isn't to let others know what I've been up to (although some sort of online calendar would be a useful aide memoire at times).

I've finally made this move because from time to time I get these essays playing themselves out in my head, and there they tend to stay, unchallenged. Or worse, they come out in poorly constructed sentences and fail to make a coherent stance.

This isn't going to be a daily blog. It may not even be a monthly blog. But I will give it a chance. And I'll have at least one reader (Hi, Mom!).

If you agree with anything I say, please speak up. And if you disagree, I hope my point of view serves to sharpen your own. If your experience differs from mine, please share it. Each of us has a singular reality based on the perception of a sliver of what is really going on. The only way we can learn and grow is to partake of one another's slivers. It isn't that one of us is right and one of us is wrong - it is never that simple. It is that reality is far larger than you or I can possibly know.

And that, perhaps, is an essay for another day. But not today. For I have chosen as my inaugural blog the controversial question of "what is art?" A question which perhaps has been brought to the fore by the memory of a West Wing rerun where the actress who used to play Eve on Northern Exposure was objecting to the art which had been funded by the NEA. This scene, of course, was inspired by the Mapplethorpe debate. And while I have no idea of the current status of the NEA, I do know that the question of what constitutes art is no nearer a solution. I don't pretend to have the definitive answer either. What I hope to provide is one defensible position.

Please read on .......