Shifting the focus from the art to the intent.
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Notes
At seven years old, Annie Dillard drew signs in chalk that directed passersby to pennies that she’d hidden. “The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside from a generous hand. But—and this is the point—who gets excited by a mere penny?”
People are excited by being seen, but: “The essence of your art isn’t that it comes from a rare place of genius. That magic is that you chose to share it.”
At seven years old, Dan Shipper (a writer) worked on his first book, typed by his grandfather, which consisted of a single character reciting an endless series of numbers. “Everyone involved in the project remembered it for the rest of their lives.”
“You can produce more than you know if you are intent on doing it for someone else.”
Thoughts
I have mixed feelings about Seth’s anti-elitist stance toward art—that it’s not a work of rare genius, but a generous act that everyone can (and should?) do.
Part of me buys it; I understand (and dislike) the ways that so much of what we call art has been gate-kept, how often it’s an act of undeniable (and at times unimaginable) privilege. The idea that anyone—almost literally—can reach people with music they’ve created at home is a beautiful thing. (I’m reminded of an interview with a Nigerian guitarist, Helen Ibe, who reaches the world with her music, even though her electricity comes and goes without warning.) Not that long ago, great music (not to mention a lot of shitty music) only got to the world through a kind of machine (and one that often chewed up its musicians). Opportunities to be heard (and respected, and even to make a living) have expanded. That “democratization” is good.
But part of me appreciates art that is rare. Learning to appreciate the “pennies” is important, for sure. But while Pilgrim at Tinker Creek or Teaching a Stone to Talk may display pennies for us to appreciate in new ways (“Distills amazing sense / From ordinary meanings,” as Dickenson wrote), these works are not just pennies themselves.
How all that applies to my practice, which is the purpose of these notes and thoughts, is less clear to me. One of Seth’s main arguments—aside from the anti-elitism of his definition of art—is that we can’t control the outcome of our work. All we can do is put it out there (ship it!). And the best way for that to work (though it might not!) is to put it out with a generous intention—the desire to create positive change.
This series is meant to capture my thoughts as I work through Seth Godin’s The Practice. It’s a book with over 200 (very short) chapters, which I hope to work through and, I further hope, to implement over time.
If you’re interested in more of Godin’s ideas, or my thoughts about them, you can check out this collection of posts. Note that if you’re more interested in the former, you should probably get Godin’s book and read it yourself; my notes will be both incomplete and idiosyncratic, and my thoughts will relate to my own experience.
But if my thoughts resonate with you, or if you think I’m just silly, I welcome your comments.