At the heart of man

So many different things have been on my mind lately... And I wonder if I should talk about some of them? Or if they are meant to be quiet personal revelations that aren't shared... Maybe a month ago or more a book passed through my hands, Cultural Amnesia, and the title captivated me, as well as the subtitle... Something like the necessary history of humanities and the arts. That's wrong but some of the words are right (necessary and art...) But I placed a hold on it and finally got it yesterday. Last night I read the authors intro and it really stimulated my thoughts. It coincides with the direction my mind has been going in lately. I was first attracted to it because I thought it would be a commentary on the condition of modern and post modern art- which is a subject I greatly enjoy. But looking at it last night I realized it's something much more than that. It is a facing of the dichotomy of beauty coming from the same source as evil. The conundrum of poets, painters, movie directors, musicians who produce incredibly beautiful art but also support, applaud, participate in and believe in evil systems. He is looking at it from the perspective of humanism and seeking a true definition of it, how to know it's real face and it's evil face, but also looking at it's history, at humanity as a whole- at humanism in a universal sense. When I asked myself the same question it was on a smaller scale, looking at individuals who create and who also do horrible things and wondering if it was possible? Is there something wrong with what they create because of their personal evil? Is it wrong to admire their work? My conclusion is no. I guess it was by returning to a larger scale that I found the correct perspective- recognizing that all men have the capacity to create beauty and to create evil, that to varying degrees we all do both. It's terrifying... but simultaneously freeing.

I hate doing registration forms for new library cards. I also hate trapping holds at the return counter... I've only got an hour left which is good, because I'm past my limit. Shortly after I get home I'll be leaving for the weekend. It feels a little crazy. I've worked so much this week and it seems like my free time has been tight.

What did I dream about last night? Art... I was in a sort of class studio, my teacher was actually a middle aged woman, they're so often men. But we were looking at all these unfinished pieces up on the wall and some of them were large frames with thick watercolor paper pulled over them and green landscapes on them. I was telling her that the next painting I did I wanted to be large watercolor paper pulled over a frame like the ones on the wall. She then began to demonstrate things that I could do with it on one of the canvases. She started painting in the upper torso of a large bald blobby man. I was really impressed and studied the colors she used for flesh tones, but began to feel like I couldn't use that one because it wasn't mine... I remember being so struck by the figure that began to emerge on the canvas, how effortlessly she created him.

I guess I really only had one sentence left on this post. I kind of forgot about it. There is always more to my dreams than I remember.