Monday, May 9, 2011

To an Artist



This is...A DIARY ENTRY...as recent as last year...UNPLUGGED


Let this be an unpopular demand, I don’t care, or an encore. I want it and want it all the more hardcore.

Let there be natural light. I know it, Jim C, when you fake it. Oh! How I loathe it!

Don’t write a book. Don’t shoot a film. Don’t perform a stage play. Don’t just. I want all this, and more, in one between two covers.

Sell me a ticket to your ancient cave. I want to find there your cave painting. Let this ticket be your Chapter One. Your name is Anon. and for once you’re not a woman...or a coward.

Chapter Two is a folktale, again here’s a ticket to it. I am one among the audience. Tell it, perform it, or do both.

A facsimile after the fashion of Bill B – not necessarily depicting the meaninglessness of life or the omni-impotence of God. This shall be Chapter Three.

Avoid grand narratives by all means for it leads straight to atom bombing or worse to knifing or still worse to forgiving and forgetting. When you’re telling a truth mark it as a lie. Tell your audience in the face they’re the only people in the whole wild world you mistrust after, of course, you own self.

Be devoid of any sympathy whatsoever toward dead white males. If you admire Foucault do not proclaim it until you’ve read Spivak. Do not trust Spivak when she speaks well of Derrida. On the other hand, do not hate white males (dead or alive) for it may be, who knows, one of them who are liberal and swell and ballsy enough to publish what you call breached aesthetics.

Chapter Four is laid out in plain text – neither the easiest nor the hardest thing in the world. With this capture the flux of narrative…only you let go of it in the following chapters.

A comic book – ligne claire it, paint it I don’t care. This is Chapter Five.

Now I see I’m laying out one rule too many even for a radical audience, even if I end it by saying rules are flexible, so I will take leave with one more…or a few leaving the rest to your fertile imagination. Yes, rules, including your own, are flexible.

The chapter which is a movie (in a tiny copy-proof disc) must be a Dogme 95 plus real blood. That is to say if there’s any killing it must be real murder. But on one condition. Hire a person who can resurrect backstage. Not Buddha, not Christ. You know to do better than that – they will never be at your beck and call. Try Brahma, having Shiva already in your court, instead. If you are clever enough to trick them into a contest, just maybe. Again this, with lives at stake, is no play of maybe's. So if it isn’t and you can’t, stop making that film.

The name of your bachelorette protagonist is Kavi Tha. The name of your bachelor protagonist is Poi Kaaviyam. When they marry she will be called Kavi Poi and he Poi Kavi. Their caste is earth, religion sky. Their kids, which they will have many – two pairs of twins, will be taught uncoerced alphabets.

Do not depict lovers/secret lovers getting cozy for more than ten seconds. There’s no bigger cliché in the world.

I want to hear her tell ‘Why do I have this strange feeling of being written by a genetically, culturally challenged misogynist.’ Break the fourth wall. Allow your female protagonist to kick you in the balls. She knows you made her. You know she hates her creator.

Tell me I’m shallow, tell me you’re shallow, let’s not opine on others, tell me things I don’t want to hear.

Give me what I didn’t know I wanted.




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