Artists and Gardeners

If I were to remove the preface, I’d delete a confessional of the internal mushiness that I, your host, am going through. The dear reader wouldn’t know that I’m on day 2 of my worst flu in memory, and that I’ve just moments earlier walked out of La La Land. Very traumatic. Beyond the film, virus and outside world, the mushiness I mentioned and then avoided with situation content is that I fear not following through with this blog, and I get caught up my own head about wanting to say something cool and relevant. Here it goes anyway, I might be wrong.

I’ve been chewing on the contrast of the artist and the gardener, and their relationships to others.

Cultural, all hail the artist, right? …especially when bloodied (I’m looking at you Leo in Revenant.) The gardener however is not mentioned too often, save in the course of Californian cuisine; culturally, I don’t see a value for planters, people in the role much less.

What’s created by the artist is a representation, an original work, a personal reflection of desired expression, sourced from a mind, and the work of a brilliant human.

The artist that paints a tree holds control of the creation, she shows the world her interpretation of the almighty oak, her worldview and talent move the mind and brush to finality, and only then, the invitation of the artist, “come see my work.”

What’s created by the planter is nothing; rather, the planter facilitates the creation. The plant is perfect replication of an original beyond the creativity or ingenuity of the planter, wonderfully sourced from the Great Creation and carried on by the wind, the birds, the rain, and the way of things.

The gardener does not make the tree, there is loss of control here, a submission of personal creativity, and the world sees the oak as its own. There is a partnership taking place between the soil, the nutrients, the water, possibly Mozart, and maybe the gardener.

I’m curious about the correlation between a disconnected world and a culture of artistry. Shit, I can’t just throw out “disconnected world” without defining it. Using media to define, consume and boil together the collective impressions from: An Inconvenient Truth, Hugh Laurie’s final speech in Tomorrowland, Idiocracy, the book Ready Player One, the fat people in Wall-E, and S3Ep1 of Black Mirror.

Now that we’re so clear, I’m curious about the correlation or possibly causation between Los Angeleno’s french kiss of artistry and the developing disconnected world. Similarly, I wonder about the disappearing gardening scene.

The only way for an artist to survive is attention. When the city is full of artists, the self-promotional behavior competes and escalates, increasing the noise level. An expectation arises that everyone else should be stepping in to the artist’s world to enjoy their creation, to join their platform, to follow my posts. If they don’t, to often it becomes loneliness or depression, “the others either don’t think I can make it in this town or I should scream even louder.”

Why are there no gardeners in LA? <insert landscaping crew joke here that’ll I regret later>. The thing that no one is questioning because we’re so “nice” to our friends is whether it’s actually good for a city to be filled to the brim with artists.

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