I was being told something about what was rational, logical, good, and true, and this was not just about art or by anyone in particular, but a kind of general and pervasive line. It’s a method of understanding and perceiving the world that is presented as normal or of common sense. By this method the chaotic strangeness of life is ordered into arrangements which offer both meaning and comfort. It is a way of illuminating experience, and the light shows everything how it really is, and gives us a proper way of seeing things. We are instructed, trained from an early age, on how to make these illuminating light sources, unquestioningly, and wherever we travel in life’s dark journey.
Yet, I remained skeptical.
“But that’s not how it really is out there,” thinking about the vast regions beyond the reach of illumination. “Out there it’s dark and chaotic. Why is this way of order through illumination deemed good and true? It’s not anymore true than the dark out there. And it’s less natural. Artificial. Maybe it presents things in a false light…” I might waver, change my mind, fall into bouts of uncertainty, but I would never be convinced that these methods of illumination and order were true. Useful for certain things, yes. They could be functionally employed. But to accept them as normal or common sense, without question, was to live a lie: be conditioned or molded by a particular methodology, trained to accept a whole accompanying sets of discourses, and, ultimately, a complete lifestyle and worldview. Certain people might find this an acceptable way to live, but I could not. It went against my fundamental notions on what it meant to be an artist, an individual creative perceiver.
And yet, in spite of my feelings, I could never travel very deep or for very long into the darkness beyond the illumined sphere. It was rough on me. One must be prepared to have his or her insides scoped out and outside burned away. I couldn’t go all the way because after a while I’d worry too much and start questioning what I was doing, or I’d get sick with depression or anxiety. But maybe this is just as well. After all, it’s a good thing to question your beliefs, to cross boundaries, to look and move in new and different ways, but one also has to, after a while at least, listen to that inner voice that’s screaming, “What are you doing? Stop!,” or look into the reasons one is becoming sick with depression or anxiety or rage or whatever other malady, because it may be a sign, a warning to change one’s actions. My belief was that it’s good to challenge or ignore this voice too, but after a while I’d wonder if I was just being stupid. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with stupidity, but it can get one in trouble. Not that there’s anything wrong with trouble either, but at some point these things can be painfully unsustainable, and for someone who goes through periods of uncertainty, there will probably be a time when one wonders about continuing in painfully stupid pursuits, especially if one has the means to avoid them. And so it was with me. For these reasons I gravitated to that diffused region between the dark and light. I don’t see this as fence-sitting, or a case of being too weak or uncertain to pick and so meandering around the in-between spaces. I see this as a complex position in the midst of interesting occurrences and strange interactions. It’s a place where your view can drastically change with subtle movements of your head, and where you’re removed enough from either side to be convinced of it’s totality or ultimate rightness or logic. I understand how it might appear as a compromise to someone firmly entrenched in an extreme position in the dark or light camp, but when you’re standing between the two it feels fascinating, rich, full of its own overwhelming reality, and capable of offering a more complete and intriguing perspective.