Week #2 -- Aesthetics and Artistics

Probably the major lesson I learned this past week is that when you truly like what you do, you do it regardless of money, projects, etc. No matter how disillusioned one may be with their talent, quirk, or philosophy, I think they'll still find a way to use it even if said endeavor didn't quite fit into once hoped mold. Maybe this is where passion turns into hobby: a word I think is somewhat insulting to the artistic crowd.

There we go. Here's the major lesson: the difference between artistic and aesthetic. These two words are honestly best friends so it isn't smart to separate them from each other.

Aesthetics has to do with a sense of the form; in most artistic pieces while partaking in during childhood, one connects with what they understand, what evokes their emotions, and what catches their attention, even if in all honesty they have no idea what the piece means, how it was put together, or any larger humanistic themes.

In a sense, we use aesthetic teachings to encourage young students to read and become literate, not necessarily analytical, but literate. In the developmental stages of anything, it is much easier to take note of the aesthetics, the things you can relate to with your own story than take notice of how the compositions of colors, sounds, actors, and the like come together to teach a whole message.

Aesthetics shouldn't be forgotten, for the power of it helps people to drift away from their own world into the silver screen, the pages of an ancient book, and the words of a curious poet. Aesthetics is easier on the mind and can be what a film can offer for audience members who are not connecting with some of the more complex plot points, struggles, meanings, and the like.

Artistic has more to do with a science -- which may be why art and science are often two interchangeable words.

Artistic has to do with the whys; how the composition of a particular frame is built and the reasoning behind what it means. This is the more analytical side which asks more from its reader and audience. I don't know if people are as literate with the visual medium to know the linguistic patterns of why a certain light might be telling the story, the relation of colors in a scene, or just the temporal space itself and what it has to offer.

Artistry can come off much more formulaic which may bother some artisans, but the truth is that in each piece of art, just like in every building block of life, there is a formula behind it -- a blueprint explaining the reality of the substance. Every chemical has a code behind it, not to sound eerie, but if it exists than it has an identity. Art is in a sense the same way and understanding those codes helps to find the more genius points behind the piece and the artist's mind. And we study chemical sequences to figure out how they operate and how they exist so as to have a better understanding of the universe around us. Storytelling at its heart helps us to understand the universe around us.

If we want better films I think we need to take this to heart. Aesthetics is what the majority of the audience will want in their film experience. Most people who go to a theater are looking to escape from their laundry list of obligations. We watch films in our leisure time. At the same time, many in the audience are fully capable of following and deciphering the complexity behind films, and in fact, many who are more prone and educated to follow this tract will find a great amount of pleasure in seeing how these highly crafted scenes were put together to make one whole story ring true. But, without aesthetics, I don't know if the meat of art can even be reached because aesthetics is simply the aroma coming off art. It's that aroma that asks more of the audience to dig deeper, to see why on some sort of level one has connected with genius, and how all of it relates back to the viewer.

All three of the Matrixes are really not that bad. Maybe not as killer as the first, but I think the main problem is that the material used in the second two films is a bit more undefined. We have a great amount of religious, psycho-theory, philosophy, any other cool related words -- thrown into the plot behind the films, and it gets tangled fast. I still enjoyed the second film, and the third was still enticing to me compared to other films, but I think as the films went on they began to lose their aesthetics and there was too much emphasis on artistic, which not only jaded the audience, but made it less interesting to watch. Even still, I think there's some incredible scenes in the second one that are worth noting on any top 100 action scenes of all time list.

The point of the sword has to meet the story. In Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, the fighting doesn't become pertinent until the last battle when you actually feel the story, the characters, the aesthetics, and the artistry all coming in sync. Even on the director's commentary, the director and cinematographer agree that the last battle is the only one that matters. When a movie drags it isn't just because of pacing, it's that things are not connecting and we want to get to that visceral world of urgent storytelling.

I for one think most action scenes are crap.

If you can't follow the story when getting lost in a fifteen minute action sequence -- who cares? It's just a nice way to get away from the story in many cases and use it as a deus ex machina. But when that action sequence connects to the story, the audience is on the edge of their seat. There's been multiple Bourne movies because each has been setup to where the action lines up with the story. Only what matters to the story should exist, anything else is unrelated and lessens the story. All aesthetics are connected to art; art needs to be composed in such a way that it brings out story in the best way.

Every frame matters. There is nothing hobby that should remain; there is nothing idle or trivial. Everything needs to be active, in sync with each other, and made relevant. Otherwise... the story is no longer reflecting reality; it's reflecting a foreign piece of pointless despair. And I for one don't necessarily believe that everything happens for a reason, but that everything has meaning. Every event in life has its own landscape, its own influence, and its own teachings. Strong art represents this.

Reason is just a box, and I for one don't think every action is reasonable... and for the sake of humanity, it shouldn't be.

Week 1: Something About Jungles -- Or Maybe Tangled Hair Trends?

The following blog is for MED 667. It is a weekly blog to discuss some of the finer things found on writing/storytelling/film/etc.

I'm going to start this off with: I just deleted a whole block of written text because I felt that I wasn't exactly striking at anything enlightening.

Not that every excavation of the world of prose is intended to be a glorifying oil escape of gold, I just wasn't happy with what I was writing. There is one thing I've learned and that is to be true to myself, and if I'm not happy with where I'm going and it seems like I'm lost, well I may drive down the road for another 30 minutes, but it's uncomfortable and I know I'm in the wrong direction.

I do dare to venture out and experiment with the task of putting happy little words together in some contorted sense of matrimony, but perhaps one of the most important things, even in venturing too far left or too far right or too far diagonal, is that you must still have your instincts for survival, even in the written world.

With that being said, what is instinct in writing? All writing is a mirror to reality and I sincerely believe that this statement can be reapplied to writing in a myriad of ways. In reflecting on myself, I think instinct comes from knowing what actually makes one passionate. I have no idea why anyone would write about something they have no interest in but that's generally a bizarre road to take. I mean, if you hate bananas, then why are you eating bananas? My conclusion would be you've either lost it or deep down you like bananas. Knowing one's self is how you get through the jungle; knowing your instincts in writing gets you out of the tangled web of unsatisfactory drafts.

Instinct has its own innate qualities but at the same time it is something that is built upon over a number of years. I think a great deal of it comes from experimenting, observing, and persistence. Once you know a thing or two about grammar -- you can fly! But anyone who actually has spent time with words and would say that they are perfect at grammar is really just a person who should be avoided at all costs because most likely they've never been brave enough to make a mistake or they are holding dearly to some outdated rules from the 1950s.

When I was a kid, I actually took a shot at compound and complex sentences; variation gave me pats on the back by English teachers. And I imagine for many writers... they were drafted into the industry of wordsmithing out of similar cases. Granted, this isn't just a reflection of my writing capabilities as a youth; it is a testimony to how I lived growing up. I experimented with all kind of things to see what would happen in the hope of improving upon craft -- whether odd cooking recipes with tacos with bright colored sprinkles or tapping leaves together for art: one has to find the heartbeat of these things even if they do start in questionable ways.

Experimenting with words led to a greater understanding of grammar and its friends. The rules of the time ended up being ingrained in my head while at the same time, I made countless mistakes, and I will continue to do so -- and I'm more than thrilled by this.

Studying the rule books will help one to spring forward; actually trying and seeing yourself fall short a few thousand times will help you to build the authorial instincts one needs to tell genius level stories, not just happy cute pampering average stories.

My number (2) note for "writing instinct" is to observe. Some writers have stated that a plethora of reading and writing in turn creates well-balanced writers. Obviously, there's some truth in that, but I think there needs to be a much more open eye on this scale of achievement. Strong writing is about perspective whether that's from traveling all over the world, meeting people that are different from you, educating one's self, exploring other art forms, or any number of reasons -- a healthy amount of reformed perspective is the key in consistent reading and writing. How are you suppose to create characters different from yourself if you don't expose yourself to the type of syntax patterns of other minds? By having conversations, living one's life, and traversing through the world of ideas, I think the writer can begin to piece how others function, how their particular dialect is built and shaped, and how one's place of origin and biological factors all come into play in how one exists. If you want an ear for dialogue, you have to listen to the way people speak, not just their native tongue, but their articulating thought patterns, their Freudian slips, their supposed gangsta' flare, and whatever else the tongue decides to relate. If you want to survive in the jungle, you have to know the voices of the jungle; knowing intimately one animal noise could save a person from being kitty food. You want to know what's out in the written world? Go read. Want to know what you're trying to mirror in writing? Go live your life.

My last lesson of the day is perseverance. Working one's way out of a nasty, never ending jungle takes work. If you want to accomplish a piece, you can go through it without a plan, but it may be a tasking and pointless long route when by some serious planning not only will you get out of the jungle quicker, you'll also feel less... lost to the way of the jungle. Anyone serious about writing needs to equip herself with the right tools just as someone lost in a jungle (I'm really starting to hate this analogy) needs a compass, flashlight, food, etc.

Keep in mind what exactly are your end goals, is what you're trying to accomplish worth it, and what about it makes it innovative in the overwhelmingly vicious network of interchanging and interlocked ideas? I don't think a strong writer is someone who just tosses a few words on paper to be cute and right; it's someone who is trying to go deep into the depths of a fossil heap to find the un-found dinosaur organs, not just because it's awesome on a science fictiony level but because it unveils something new for us all, something that can provide new answers, perchance even hope. The arrowheads and T. Rexes have been found, but buried in a world of wonders are ideas so precious that they can actually inspire and reshape the minds of whole societies. There may be words out there to stop wars, end sex trade slaving, and bring answers into light.

Kind of dreaming a bit big here and getting a little preachy, but you know, there are realities to be found in storytelling. And that may very well be the simplest reason why storytelling is important.

We're all searching for reality. Finding the right methods will in effect lead to understanding reality.