Art and Criticism

[Nikunj Bansal]

Does that ever happen to you that you go to bed to sleep but your head keeps wandering, not figuratively but literally. By figuratively, I mean that you imagine in images, which sounds quite similar, hence logical. By literal, I mean that you imagine in words. That is you speak to yourself, so fast, so so fast, that you finish three 500 word articles in under 5 minutes. Then, you toss over and think of something else. Mostly about sex. Then toss over back to the intellectual side and finish more 500 word articles. Before you know it, you have opened your laptop and starts typing, in the hope to get rid of all the 500 word articles circulating around, to enable you to have a decent sleep. By decent I mean a 12 hour sleep. Does that happen to you? No? You don't have a fucking right to criticize me, then.

Three years back, the biggest question in the mind of mine and also a big roadblock for the mind of mine to go far and long was "Am I an Artist?" It was more like, "why the fuck am I not an Artist?". Then it transgressed to "Yes, I am an artist, not polished yet, but with all the ingredients present, waiting only to be mixed and muddled with." Then came you. And through my seemingly never ending words, I purged myself of all such delimiting thoughts about artistry and tapestry. But I did find love. In writing, I found my true calling. Not writing, of course, that would be silly and wannabe like. But through writing, I found my true love. It was love. I realized how much I love love, and the deeper I went into it, the more I wrote. And funnily, the more I wrote, the deeper I went. Criticize that, Bitch!

I write only about I. That is my favourite topic, as I am yet to meet someone more interesting than I. As and when I meet that someone, you shall be bombarded with her. I am quite sure it will be a her and not a him, as I am too proud to make a living being my idol. And the male who'd be muse can only be an idol. Or someone I want to trash and thrash. Lets objectify our rant and make a story out of it. The guy I want to criticize here is Prachin Ganwar(Old Illiterate). He is a big time pseudo. He talks about Wittgenstein and Heidegger like they are best of buddies. Because he reads them in old books, he takes it for the truth. He then gets into an argument about Nietzsche with Nietzsche, and wins it too. Nietzsche knows better than quarrel with fools and religious retards. This is called criticism, my dear friend. 

Any writer worth his/her salt would not give any credence to any criticism. (s)He will give ear perhaps, but not importance. Writing is like masturbating, as I have always maintained. If I enjoy doing it with my left hand, then even if you tell me that Kant does it with his right and that that is the proper way to do it, I will continue stroking with my left hand. That alone will give me pleasure, and I have too much self-importance to write for any other reason than to derive pleasure from the act. That my masturbation is scenic to you, is of absolutely no concern to me. You can watch, you can tape, but you can not disturb the rhythm. You can lick, you can swallow, and you can ask for a different flavor; you can even shout out to stop, you can burn the pages, you can abuse right back, you can block, you can destroy, but my dear critic, can you create with an equal flair? If yes, welcome to the ring, we will sip coffee and watch them cry. But, I bet, No. 

Personally speaking, I have a very high IQ. My subconscious is so smart, my conscious mind gets dazzled. Kissing my own ass, you say? I just want to point you back to the previous paragraph. It starts off with me being a feminist. Just as my good nature registers in your subconscious, I take you on a crassy trip of masturbation and all. I do that to thrill and awe. Just like Tarantino. Make them laugh. Make them gasp. Make them feel sad. All at sudden cuts. That sort of thing is hard to acknowledge for you, as you are just loitering over and above the text. Sometimes jumping ahead quickly out of ego issues and sometimes you just don't care. But even when you don't care, you form an opinion. I am not against free speech. I am all for shouting out what you are thinking. I only hate bitchiness, especially from men. Girls of my society are allowed to be bitches, they have had a lot to sufffer, but men really really need to be gentle. And not just with speech, but also with their thoughts. Prachin Ganwar always has a tremendous vibe coming from him. He attracts cats and dogs alike. But with power comes responsibility, and responsible, I am not. So, I better back down, not before announcing - to be continued...

[Nikunj Bansal]

Sadness has a way of elevating dead spirits, as has been pointed out by pseudo researcher. This is the saddest tune I have ever heard, sadder than any of Radiohead's songs. Sung by the ever so soulful Kishore Kumar, this song is also about recursive worthlessness. I can't sing even a fraction of what the proper tune is, but for what it was worth, it elevates me out of my ever so persistent sadness. I don't like this word, sadness, and therefore I will write it again and again, till I get purged of it. But does it really work like this? My art is rudimentary and pedestrian. Perhaps my children will be better artists, but I can't live for that. That would mean putting undue pressure on the yet unborns. Does pressure have any effect on art? Does it speed it up? Or does it take its own sweet time? I don't know. I am no scholar. I just breathe and that is all. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3KPJwnfWBY

Lets do some old style ranting now. And this time, truly, seriously, for the last time. 

Tu chutiya hai sabse bada jo tu ye sochta hai ki mai chutiya nahi hun. mai utna hi chutiya hun jitna tu chutiya nahi hai. I have never thought ill of any person, living or dead, ever, and yet I am always misunderstood. I try to make it up, by laughing at myself, and mocking my own incapacitated body. That doesn't mean I don't have an ego. I am quite shy, doesn't stop me from writing here! The only problem is that I think people are naturally good, and they are too, but backstabbing! You better look into my eyes, and watch fear unfold in your heart. Many a times you said I am a psycho. Psychotic patient, to be exact, which if you remember I pointed out is technically incorrect, as three separate doctors have given me a clean psychological chit. Excluding RBN. That makes it four, although she is not a psychologist, she just have a penchant for reading minds. I read minds too. I can read minds from whispers and width of eyes. My defense mechanism is so tuned that I sense danger. I have a gift of evolution. I need to practice forgiving. And forgetting. And letting go. And embracing new. And never dreaming old. For old is gold, and gold is mighty costly. And I am a thrifty baniya.

As you saw, there was not enough rant, but most of good old self-explanation. Well, I am done with both. There's one parting advice. I am an artist worth my salt. I am better than you, if there is any artistic scale. You are quite puny in comparison to my innate talents. We can compete in almost any field of art, and you will see that I hold my ground. I am the alpha artist. 

And I have decided that I do not want a career in art. Because art is not a career, but a way of life. I know I am not the only one who thinks thus, each one of you feel like an alpha artist, there must be something in our time and age. I am sure much more beautiful times are just around the corner, all the people feel like true artists. But take my suggestion, and drop that tainted vision of being a famous artist. Forget about the blue bus and groupies. Forget about cutting your album and directing a film. Let go off of all those lofty dreams, because my friend dreams do not come true. Let me tell you a mind blasting revelation. Human mind dreams to relieve itself of fairyland visions. Those ideas and words that are dangerous for survival if they live for too long in the conscious mind, go back to the sub-conscious mind and play itself out. Once played, the thought is purged, and the man continues living in this imperfect world. This is how it goes, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I am your shubh-chintak, and I am telling you, you can't make art as a career. You are just not good enough. Still don't agree? Learn from me, dude, I am better, this much you agree, otherwise you would never have allowed me hijack this group for so long. And I have accepted the harsh truth. Time you follow suit, like you should, you silent listener. God has spoken!

[Naveen Tanwar]

WORDS ARE ALL THAT WE HAVE

What does it mean when a psychotic Lady Macbeth tries to wash the blood off her hands incessantly? She is guilty. Guilty of a crime. It means that there is no blood on her hands, for sure. Crime is a debatable word. Although "chutiya" can evoke much more meanings to different minds. As some royal highness has said,"everybody is a chutiya". This has to be taken as the final word keeping in our minds the myriad definitions people have in their minds when uttering the c-word. My observation is that people use it often lightheartedly or else when frustrated with the lack of words they can conjure to offend(lightheartedly again, though not always true) someone.

Words are all that we have Nikunj. 

I say something,

She understands something,

She says something,

I understand something,

Get me a drink, someone, something..!

I have a lot of your words, a lot in number which makes me feel I know you and vice-versa. Doesn't mean we do. Right?

Words are all that we have Nikunj. This effect is so much more magnified here on an online forum. In "real life" we also have the "magnetic" feelings that are felt by everyone and critically analysed by trained actors. Do not worried by any mistaken pomposity. By training I do not only mean the training for a play but also the rigorous physio-psychological training that is there in place for all of us. As another royal Highness once said" All the world's a stage and all men are mere actors".

And then you say Pracheen quotes too much. At the risk of sounding narcissistic, I decided to write this note out of my concern for you and the subject matter. I un-wantingly feel like a celebrity like Arnab Goswami when you say this and other stuff. although this group is like an empty auditorium. You can nevertheless feel something in an empty audi as well. Coming back to the point Nikunj, keeping in mind the massive lack of originality around us (do no wrongly presume "there must be something in our time and place". Any such thought is the mental conditioning speaking. "A midnight in Paris" deals with it.), I do not find it fair to quote anyone without expressly naming the person. I know I am going just a bit too far but generally whenever a person talks about himself, he is either asking for help or is being narcissistic. But wouldn't a narcissistic guy quote Nietzsche and Heidegger without naming the authors? It is a difficult question. I agree..

There is little substance in the two posts( a substantial amount is the music :-) ) Why and how would a guy get into a debate with a dead guy over the dead guy and "win it" ?? This is multi-dimensional my friend. None but you can get around it. Winning seems to be a key note in your "rants". Freud says it is right. Let us not discuss why. But I was ecstatic when you at least doubted the existence of an artistic scale. Voila. That doubt is the first sane point in your argument which is I guess based upon the fact that I told you once that I am the best actor in the world. I will explain the psychology of my argument later(see. we only have words to judge. What I mean "through" them is a never ending process) Yes, how can there be such an artistic scale Nikunj? You really think there are/ ought to be a scale for art/ seperate scales for different arts like music, painting, theater and then different still for different genres et al? The thought itself is preposterous. 

You are right when you say art is not a career option but a way of life. Doesn't mean that people do not/ have not earned money through their art. That's the point you want to say. Then they start making vulgar art. But they know it in their heads. :-). Do you think they(Karan Johar/fill in any such name that comes to your mind) can die without this knowledge? But that doesn't mean that some day there will be no popular cinema or popular music. Mathematics will continue making fools run most of the world and for so many people, there has to be appropriate art as well, vulgar as it may be. I have reached a point where I want to end+quote. I will end by quoting Nietzche, ".... bad taste has its rights no less than good taste, and even a prior right ifit corresponds to a great need and compared to that, good, elegant taste always seems somewhat deliberate and contrived.it never is or has been popular"

PS: More important than that he ends the paragraph by writing the aphorism by saying that a vulgar turn in german works offended him unspeakably as he felt ashamed that the artist had to lower himself for the readers' sake. This is a personal point to note. This note may sound narcissistic.

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[Nikunj Bansal]

Good. Finally we are talking. I'll see you as a silent listener, speaking out for the rest of the empty audi. Proper long reply would have to wait, but to keep things alive - that qasn't narcissistic, not sadistic either. I sensed respect and frust, but could not get a hold of your true thoughts. Bad writing!

When you are addressing someone, you can't be too ambiguous. Leave it to the pris, shall we?

[Nikunj Bansal]

Em is the saddest chord in the spectrum. Although all minor chords add a touch of melancholy, but with other minor chords, you can atleast use them in bridge part of the song, or in a funky jazzy bluey composition, but Em is the king of sadness. One strum of Em cheers up my dead spirits. I have often sat down and strum Em for minutes on end, only changing to Am for some melody and for some base to sing to. I just love Em, and I heard it was the favourite chord of Kurt Cobain as well. Does that mean I am a blind follower? Am I a wannabe? I sure as hell don't want to join the 27 club. Lets talk about following.

There was a sadhu who descended the Gangetic planes after spending an unknown amount of time in Himalayas. He sat around trees and noticed the nature flow around his growing mane. He never read anything nor exposed himself to any music expect the chirping and swooshing, yet everyday he grew knowledgeable. Knowledge, which he felt, must be shared with the common public, not just because its his duty but also because he felt his head will blow if he doesn't relieve of all this new found wisdom. Thus he descended from the mountains and spoke to the people. 

As happened with Zarathustra, this saint of ours too faced strange reactions from his pupil. First they did not hear him at all. Then when they started hearing, they did not understand him. Some threw stones at him and went to their homes. Some others tried more, sensing there is some sense after all, and slowly the started understanding the core lessons of the sadhu. Soon, they became his followers. Sadhu too was very happy, as his knowledge was effectively been passed to commoners, out of whom, he thought, some would go on to spread the lessons even further. But the Sadhu committed one blunder. Unlike Zarathustra, he did not leave his pupils after the first of discourse, but instead decided to join them and lead them to further their reach. There was a tussle for the second place, and soon the pupil thought they now know everything they ought to know from the sadhu and he has become dispensable and they can do on their own. They started plotting his ambush. Sadhu, being sadhu, sensed it at once, and decided to back out on his own. His wisdom acted, so did his ego, which may be considered as ironic, as wisdom usually leads to an egoless mind, but sadhu felt he needs to go back to the mountains and grow wiser from the new experience he has had. And thus he left. 

It was obvious that the pupils would grow disillusioned again, but then they never really transcended, so it didn't matter to them whether the sadhu lived or died. They loved him ofcourse, but only when he was around. On other times, he was remembered for his causticity and his erratic behaviour, his bursts of temper and his calm eyes. 

It's a good read. Thus spoke Zarathustra. Especially the chapter on friends. tere liye to must read hai. to be continued still...