Tag: Art

Unknown Future Readers Of The World Unite. (a mini essay)

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By Martin Anton Smith

And so on this wintery day in late September in New Zealand, I think of the artistic mind & it’s tempestuos temperaments. . .will this be the forever homeostasis? Or are the winds of change being encoded into our futures as we speak?

An artistic mind can never win in a conservative town, suburb or country. No matter how much they say “we promote the arts here” …. they’ll always look at the artistic temperament through squinted eyes.

Luckily the Art itself @ the artistic process won’t ever actively reject the artist. Of course, this doesn’t mean most art, be it painting or poetry isn’t bad to ordinary.

The main point is twofold: firstly, every bird wants to sing & on a personal level that’s a harmony. Secondly it has wider importance. Artistic temperament & its unfolding works is the thing that can question society in real time @ in a meaningful way. The “hold a mirror” cliche is terrible, but at least twice true.

And as History plays itself out & the fascists of the particular time in question don’t totally succeed in ‘burning all the books’ – at least a few people the future will truly appreciate its maker and its mark left in future-time.

I’d like to think that sometimes when I concentrate enough on the past artworks & what they say – I too am one of those people from the past’s future, who now understands it a little better…or hell! even gets the chance to know that those things were going on at all back then.

And one related thought is this: when a true thinker ages. & finally, wisens up, they realise that it’s art, fiction & imagination that holds the best truth on offer. Yes Sir @ Madam the “non-fiction reference books” tend soon show themselves up as dry propaganda. At the risk of sounding glib, I think It fair to say that ‘Good art really is like a fine wine for the mind’ – if in time you can find a bottle in some forgotten nook or cranny that is. If you do, @ you pop the cork & take a sip? Simply sublime.

P.s. One of these days I am sure all the unknown future readers of the world will finally unite, if only just for one day. For then perhaps the struggling artist who swims in a seemingly forever-ly conservative soupish milieu might just grab an infinitesimally small slice of warm-feel-goodian pleasure out of those modern day mainframe smokestacks that fill our skies. But if that happens the art would suffer for it and ipso facto so would the truth. Thus we must always be persecuted in order to be effective. So Marcus Aurelious & the stoics were probably correct – those crooked smiles on weathered faces are a real currency during monsoon seasons of (artistic) life.

P.P.S Some’s truth’s surely will never evaporate: Even if a very rich bloke or bloke-ess & their mates deem it false. Despite the chastisements we’re for the independent thinkers, perhaps not even born yet.

“Fire Hydrants, Leadership & Assholes” (A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith

I was walking to the corner convienience store,

The usual fix: coffee, a pie or something fried.

On my way I saw the car parked of the very young man –

It was Parked over the under-the-street fire hydrant,

He parked there even though it stuck out like a sore-thumb:

A bright yellow metal grating plate,

That also had a 3-foot radius thick yellow circle around it.

Also, it was despite the street being devoid of other cars.

I guess I’m saying he had no logical excuse.

I file the information away.

I walk into the store, order, & they make my coffee.

While I wait, I scan to see if the boy is there.

He is.

I get his attention.

“You know you’re parked over the fire hydrant?”

I say firmly but fairly.

I wondered if this prooves I am definitely entering ‘early old man phase’.

“No” he says becoming embarrassed.

“You know if there’s a fire, they wont be able to connect”

“You’re also risking a fine”.

He just stands with awkward embarrassment.

He doesn’t connect that there is also a chance a house could go up in flames,

& his dopey parking could result in someone burning to death for lack of firehose water.

As I leave I say:

“If I was you i’d move that car asap”.

I don’t think that comment landed either.

I don’t usually agree with ‘the feminists’-

But they are definitely right on this particular sub-set of males:

Very young men are usually very very dopey.

Statistically speaking I predict this young fella will keep on doing it,

For is it not a rule of the Universe?

That young men park over fire hydrants?

This is also why I didn’t overplay my hand.

The world has far too many grumpy assholes who are scanning the world,

So as to pull up someone on some minor matter.

Of course, it is always a fine line between being a strong leader of men,

& being a total asshole.

In fact I do believe the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

I think assholes can also be good leaders,

But it is also a matter of degree.

And a good leader certainly doesn’t have to be an asshole.

In fact, this makes me wonder:

Is a ‘Great Leader’ simply a ‘Good Leader who is never an asshole’

“The Poem’s Title Is The Last Line” (A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Afraid Of The Real World?

Become A Blob

Work In The Paint Sector

Work In Red Paint Town Yellow Paint Town Or Blue Paint Town

Strike A Bold Line

On Your Blank Canvas

Or Produce Nothin’ At All

And Wail Reverently At The Pub About Having “Painters Block”

Or Paint Ditch Diggers For Topsoil & Coal Miners For Warmth

Or Wall Street Bankers For Store Credit

Whine About Your Lot Artistically

Cultivate A Wily Look On the Lips

Where the Ladies Swoon & Whisper To Each Other

‘Is It Or Isn’t It An Upside-Down Smile He Has’

While Away Hours Away In Basements

While You Frantically Search For The ‘Energy’

Create Your Collages

Sit Right Next To Your Ideas

You’ll Never Ride The Gravy Train

But You Can Slurp the Latte

Never Eat Meat Again

If You Want The Coolest Artistic Friends

Ride On The Far Left

On Your Expensive Trendy Bike

Into the Blurred Sunset

That’s Covered In Emboldened Rain Clouds

While The Wild Philo Blue Wind Batters You

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I Ask Of You

What Could Go Wrong

When You Live Color Central

With Your Head In The Imported Tea

Holding Never Much Cash

For You think It Appears Only In Dreams

You Love Blobby Paint Strokes

Your Blobbyness Will Come Back To Haunt You

When One Day The Photo-Realistic Real World

Knocks On Your Door

& Wants Its Money Machine Employed

When This Happens

Pray That You Disappear Into Nothingness

Like That Faceless Ditch Digger You Painted

Who In His Overalls Merged Almost Entirely

Into The Ocre Hole With Purple Contrast

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ok I Agree This Poem About Painters

Isn’t Normal In Its Construction

I Must Be Honest

It Was Written Out Of Embers

Of A Bad Poem About Public Sector Workers

Weirdly Each Line Morphed Really Well

Like It Was Always Going To Happen That Way

The Bad References About Economics

Have Turned Into Good Ones About Art

Good Art Comes From Bad Economics

I Like That Line

I Am Glad I Transmogrified That Former Poem

That I Called “We Are Hiring”

To The New Title Called

“I Just Used Artistic License Wisely”