Friday, January 27, 2017
Been thinking about what it means to be an artist. What defines art, internally and externally, aesthetics, the philosophy of critique. Why mankind is driven to create. Toiling in anonymity, the naive romance of it all, the crushing reality of indifference, the opacity of internal compulsion and combustion.
Any existential examination. And it made me re-watch one of my favorite films of all time, American Movie.
Such an amazing film. A documentary, well, I won't try to explain it. I'll let the incomparable and truly missed Roger Ebert do that. Read here.
Past that, I think most of all, the subject of the film, Mark Borchardt, inspires me. He is a broken, impulsive, aimless, ignorant, idealistic, romantic, probably irrelevant, determined, and often times clueless artist that I can empathize with. But he never gives up. A quick search shows he's still trying, ignored by all, but undeterred.