A year ago I posted my first real blog post, one that had nothing to do with my writing. I think it's when I first felt free to just blog about whatever interested me. Of course I was hoping, right then, to attract some visitors who would then go on to buy a copy of my book. But right there and then I was trying to see what this blog could be, and, I suppose, find my blogging "voice". That post was titled, "Eye Of The Beholder", and I repost it for you now.
If you've read it before, why just ignore it for the self-involved maunderings it is. If not, then I hope you enjoy it.
Eye Of The Beholder
Look, I know that we all have different taste. In many things. Food, Music, Art, Writing. Well, you name it. I know people who, honestly, enjoy eating Brussels Sprouts! Can you imagine? *shudder*
So, when I hear supposed 'smart' people denigrating things, simply because they exist for, or appeal to, the 'common man', I have a pretty good idea that they are elitist snobs who need to eat some Nachos, sip some cold beer, watch some Three Stooges short films. Why do they need these things, or something similar? Because they've been poisoned.
Yep! Poisoned! Ever hear this, or something like this: "If you have to ask what it is, you just don't understand 'art'."
I have. Oh, not aimed at me! Nosir! I don't usually parade my plebian tastes to the Elite, y'know? But I've heard it. What that person usually means is, "I have no idea what it is, but the label says it is 'Peace' (or 'Horse with Love Ankles' or 'Heart Sack One' or ... see?) and I'm not going to look foolish by saying it looks like a twenty pound slab of bacon, dipped in chocolate, and dropped from a twenty-story building."
Thus, the Elite have denigrated Norman Rockwell for ages. They poo-pooed Maxfield Parrish. The composer of "The Nutcracker Suite", Tchaikovsky, was nothing. And so on, for many creative people whose only crime was to create things - music, art, poetry, books - that everybody understood and enjoyed.
This is a painting that I enjoy. It's "Garden Of Prayer" by Thomas Kinkade.
Not my favorite, mind you. My favorite is Maxfield Parrish's "Moonlight". But this I find beautiful. Thomas Kinkade is a solid, talented painter. He's found a niche in the market, and his fans love him. Therefore, to the Elite, he's dull and his work is garbage.
The same is true of some of the most popular novelists. When did you last read the book that won the Nobel prize for literature?
Can you look at the above and not enjoy it? Be honest, now.