Saturday, June 1, 2013

More Inhuman Than a Human

I want to be a character.

The problem with being a character is maintaining him. You have to keep it up. The more you draw people into your character, the more you fail them when you lapse into yourself.

The character ought to be a genuine extension of yourself, expressing, however removed, genuine anxieties and absurdities. But he can't be you. He must be a character.

So when an artist seeks to become the portrait, does he forfeit some degree of humanity? To fully embrace the artificial, must the artist be something above and beyond a mere creator?

How much of his humanity must he lose? How detached should he allow himself to become from his authentic knee-jerk reactions, and from the dulled senses of those around him?

Must he become delusional? Crazy?

What of himself is acceptable for him to be rid of? Does the general public ask itself that question? No. What would compel it to? Do artists ask themselves that question? I assume yes. So is it from the authority of other artists, of other mere creators of the artificial, that I can begin to find the mean of acceptable degrees to which I can destroy myself? Is there any way to effectively gauge the consensus opinion?

I suppose just fucking doing it is a start.


  1. I thought about this artists' "loss of humanity" recently while watching a talk-show interview with Denzel Washington. DW seemed boring as hell in person, as though he had no personality of his own. He was like a blank page ready to have a character written on it.
    Last night I watched a YouTube clip of Jimmy Kimmel's interview with Harrison Ford. Same thing. Ford came across as a pitiable elderly man until he suddenly took on the persona of Han Solo for a short comic sketch. Once he became Solo, he was instantly fascinating.

    1. The blank slate or the abyss, I guess that's the ultimate fork in the road for most artists.