Dangerous Art

“Dangerous art can be made with a pencil.”

Laurie Anderson

Laurie is speaking here to the fact that art is a mental and emotional process. It is not necessarily a thing that can be commodified.

We don’t need AI to make art. We don’t need studios or grants or all the arts infrastructure to make art.

At its basic, art is an advanced form of communication and community. Art expands the mind, taking us to new worlds, new words, new visions, and perspectives.

Artists are under attack by the “blobby thing” that rules us. Who or what is this “blobby thing” that I speak of? At its core, it is hollow. You can put your hand through it. It is spectral, and ubiquitous. I am uncertain if blobby thing should be given the credence of capitalization?

Blobby Thing? Amorphous, absolute, and evil.

The euphemistic Powers That Be. Our Dark Overlords. We can feel their stranglehold; we can smell their Mean Spirit. We can debate origin theory, we can trace their financial entrails in the sandbox. We can shout from the Memphis balcony, or pound the podium at the Presidential News Conference-except presidential news conferences only exist in memory. We can whisper in chat rooms, dare to speak of this Blobby Thing in the Hush of the Moment.

We live in fear of the Blobby Thing. You can recognize it in the crowd. See Its shadow on white sheets of paper. There it is in the fingerprint of your empty computer screen. Blobby Thing yearns for blank canvas. It feeds on blocks of unmolded clay.

Fear can rule our lives if we let it. If we invite it in. Like a vampire, you have to invite it in. If we choose to wallow and soak in it.

Or we can grab the nearest gun. Raise the fists with sharpened pencils.

A pencil. It is pointed. It has an eraser on the other end. In between point and eraser lives the possibilities this instrument can offer. But be careful! A pencil in the hands of a child can be a very dangerous weapon. with ample opportunity to injure self or others. Let me caution you “Don’t run blind with a sharp pencil!”

The lead inside the pencil also has its limitations. It can be erased. It can be worn down in time by simple usage. It can unexpectedly break off, the sharp point flying god knows where. Also it requires some care. It may requires sharpening from time to time. Eventually, a pencil will run out. Or rather, you will run out of pencil.

Then what does the artist do?

Find a new pencil. Buy it. Borrow it. Steal it if you must!

Dangerous art can be made with a pencil.

This is a statement. It is a fact. It is a prayer.

If you listen very closely, you will hear the pencil screaming to be heard. It won’t rest until it is heard, until it is seen, until it is felt and even tasted. I had a friend in Grade 1 named Alan. Alan chewed his pencils. He ate the paste, which was made of horses we were told. Did the paste come from a glue factory or was it made by the janitor in the basement? Did I mention that Alan collected large gallon glass jars of his own urine, which he hid under his bed? These historical memories beg the question, “Was Alan an artist?”

I have no clue. Actually that is not true. I have a photo of my first grade class somewhere that my mother saved. I could pick out Alan, and send this photo out to the social universe. With effort, I could probably track down Alan some 60 years later.

What would he look like? Would his lips be forever chapped? Would he still sport the crew cut? Would his now bald head bear a red MAGA hat? Or would he a lover of all things Biden?

Is Alan a dangerous man? Is he even alive?

All of this from a pencil. Not even a real pencil. Just the thought of a pencil.

I can safely say that no pencils were harmed in the writing of this “art.”

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I love to read your comments, see your art, take your hard earned cash.

The phone lines are now open. We are standing by with pencils in hand, ready to take your order.