Communication Breakdown
“Communication breakdown, it’s always the same. Havin’ a nervous breakdown, drive me insane.” — Led Zeppelin
What does it mean if the lyrics to a 50 year old song by Led Zeppelin (yep, it was released 55 years ago), however grammatically questionable they may be, can communicate a concept more clearly to me than a lot of the art and literature floating around online these days? As I scroll through some of these online art and literature magazines looking for something to read, I realise that oftentimes I feel like I’m looking at what I can only describe as a word soup. Literally, a whole bunch of words, really cool and thought provoking ones for sure (in some cases), seemingly placed in haphazard order. Sometimes they’re positioned together one after the other on a line, as I would opine is the conventional way of drafting a thought with the intention of it being contemplated and understood by another human being; and other times perhaps following an invisible slanted line down the page, or maybe even in a way that looks to my eyes like words scattered randomly around the page, superimposed over abstract images which may or may not have anything to do with the words themselves, forcing me to find the connection between them like I’m doing some kind of dot-to-dot of verse.
Why does it always have to be all artsy, fartsy? Who said that creativity goes hand in hand with eccentricity? Which literary law is it that obliges one to write about deep, emotional trauma through wannabe genius symbolism and cryptic metaphors, preferably in an unconventional format rather than word after word and line after line, like it’s been done for hundreds of years, probably because it’s the most efficient way get one’s point across on the page. From book clubs to online literary journals, everybody seems to feel the need to unveil the most profound interpretation of the essence of the narrative, or to produce the most innovative, envelope pushing, cosmic journey every scribed in the history of everything! Ugh! Lighten up a little, would ya? I have to think of a good idiomatic phrase for the green barf emoticon. “We want art and writing that demonstrates / interaction; the processes / of things, both inner and outer; how certain functions are accomplished; how things become. How they expire. How they move or churn, or stand.” Diagram magazine’s call to arms, if you will. Barf emoji. That’s all I got. Barf emoji.
I mean, that’s literally what every artist and writer does, in their own way, right? Yet, when it’s defined by those words and in that way, it sounds fake, concocted, somehow, by the hipster police of all things literary. Have you read any of this stuff lately? It’s like, what are we even talking about anyway? The modern art of the Reina Sofía Museum in Madrid makes more sense to me at this point.
I’m ready for originality, I’m keen on innovation, but over-the-top extravagance when it comes to art and literature is wasted on me. If it’s authentic, it doesn’t feel so out of reach, but when it’s contrived in a way that screams, “Notice me, I stand out! I’m the most deepest and differentest!”, I just can’t get into it.
In fact, I’m sitting here right now trying to figure out what I’m writing about, but I know it won’t be anything so abstract even I won’t get it. I know it won’t be so in-your-face explicit that it’ll knock the innocence out of anyone whose eyes brush across it unwittingly as they peruse a literary magazine for something worthwhile. It won’t be a fabricated darkness intended to prove I have achieved a higher tolerance for misery than the average person, or any made up nonsense like that.
I can’t do that. It’s not my calling. But, what is my calling? Where do I fit in here? Do I fit in here? Do I really want it, or do I just think I want it? I can’t even come up with a bedtime story for my kids half the time! Where’s my muse? Why can’t she just do her work? As the author of The War of Art Steven Pressfield says, “The muse favours working stiffs. She hates prima donnas.” Well, here I am sitting at the computer, typing away… so, where is she? Ok, if I’m being honest, most of the time I’m just thinking about sitting at the computer typing away on some masterpiece I want to be inside me waiting to be born. Most of the time I’m just waiting for my muse instead of putting in the work. Bloody resistance.
Back to my main complaint of the day, what is it with abstract art and literature? I’m a grump, and a middle-aged one at that, but I think most of us are more in tune with art and literature when we can make some sense out of it, appreciate it, interact with it in our minds. If we can’t do that, it’s a one-sided conversation I’m having with my narcissistic neighbour. It’s like learning a dead language, or a language that’s only used in a tiny corner of the world, like Catalan, the native language of the region of Catalunya in the north east corner of Spain, and using it with people who don’t understand it, even though you are perfectly capable of using the language you have in common with that person, let’s say Spanish in this case, that you know will allow you to be understood. The point of language is communication for goodness’ sake! Why insist on speaking to someone in a language they don’t understand if you know how to use a language that they do understand. What’s the point? I’m going to get a lot of heat for this, but why put in the effort to work on or create something and send it out into the world if nobody but you is going to get it?
And, what’s with the need to push shock value to the outer limits of space these days. It seems to me that one of the best ways to alienate a large part of an artist’s potential audience is to use highly disturbing language and images purely for the sake of being scandalous. It creates an obstacle course for the reader, as we have to find the courage to get over each hurdle of harsh words and images supposedly intended to make us think deeper about the artist’s point, but that likely just give us an unpleasant feeling in the pit of our stomachs which blocks the fluidity of contemplation. I, personally, don’t find it thought provoking to be pummelled with a barrage of profanity. On the contrary, I find it to be a cheap and easy way of drawing attention to something that probably has no real substance. I understand that there are truly shocking and unpleasant experiences that some artists wish to express to others, of course. What I’m referring to is the empty, forced kind of vulgarity.
The thing about shocking and artificial expression of sentiment is that it’s mostly made up.There’s a lot of talk these days about how A.I. is going to change the world in the next 20 to 30 years. The different opinions and theories range from A.I. posing a serious existencial risk to humanity, basically destroying it, to the other end of the spectrum where artificial intelligence improves industry and the workplace, and people’s lives in general, by greatly improving efficiency and reducing the risks taken, especially in blue collar employment, and also by improving the way we learn. The idea there is that if AI took over the tedious and dangerous jobs, and people had greater access to improved educational methods, the workforce would be freer to perform more advanced and hopefully more fulfilling kinds of work, like, for example, jobs involving creativity.
Nevertheless, as many of us have probably already proved to ourselves, there are a few AI art and literature generators out there that can create a piece of artwork almost identical to any of the great painters of the last centuries, that can write the lyrics to a song or compose music for T.V. adverts or even the soundtracks for films. It can design a vase or create a pattern to print on textiles. A.I. can do copywriting, editing, blogging — it can write a story, even a novel, about anything you ask it to, and it won’t be the worst piece of literature you’ve ever laid eyes on.
However, A.I. does not have the capacity to feel true human emotion. A.I. does not experience human loss, illness, depression; it doesn’t know about true love between humans or happiness, joy, or about the reaping of the rewards of hard work and persistence. A.I. cannot effectively “feel” and therefore cannot empathise with humans. Even if it can be taught what humans sound and look like when they are feeling empathy, it will always be artificial.
Art and creativity, in my opinion, are born of empathy. We express the emotions we ourselves have felt or that we have experienced by empathising with others who were feeling them, through painting, sculpture, drawing, composing, writing, dancing, and a myriad of other art forms. These emotions and experiences are difficult to express clearly, even for those of us who have sincerely felt them. The way I see it, when creativity is expressed in such a way that only the person who created it can empathise with it, if there is truly is real emotion behind it to be empathised with and it’s not a falsely manufactured piece of work intended to wow, bedazzle and ultimately make money or conserve an appearance or reputation, it could just as well have been created by artificial intelligence. It’s as if the human element doesn’t exist in a piece of work that doesn’t transmit real human experience and sentiment to other humans. This kind of “art” and “creativity” can be emulated by A.I. because it’s not based in any mutual human understanding.
The collective human experience is what feeds all art forms, and when it is shaped and configured well, it can be profoundly contemplated and clearly understood by other humans. And to my mind, that’s the point.
