Published by Erica on

Marcel Proust was a French Impressionist writer. He dealt with ideas of time and memory, something of a predecessor to the stream of consciousness style that James Joyce would develop in his literary contributions to the Impressionist movement. So while perhaps this meandering post might better be called Joyce-ian, I’ll stick with Proustian. It just fits. 

So last night while I was reading my homework, Aric took a nap. (I envy those who take naps. I miss that luxury.) Anyways, he was laughing out loud at some dream he was having. He didn’t remember what it was, but it must have been pretty hilarious. Well, this morning as I was trying not to wake up to my alarm — or trying to wake up to my alarm? — I had a cool dream. There was some band playing, mostly drums and brass instruments, I think. Then there was this whole group of monkeys. Like, probably a hundred monkeys or so. They were in a few really long lines, maybe three long lines total. (Lines, not columns.) And they were wearing these metal hats… very flat hats. Like this. 


 The band music I had been hearing before switched just to percussion. It was the tapping of the hats that made the sound, and the monkeys grouped close together in a tight formation. Even as I dreamt it the sound didn’t make sense with the image. I mean, that hats worked for the tonal quality, but the rapidity of beats they hit made it seem more like tap shoes doing a cadence as they grouped together. Hm. Anyways, they had just gotten all clumped, keeping this clean cadence, when my alarm went off again and I had to really wake up.

Ok, the other part of this post was going to be an educated “rant” of how people like to force meaning into art. Like painting. Some people love it when the artist explains the work. Oh, the reflection refers to eternity and the umbrella is the gospel, and the temple in the background is important and the workers are all different kinds of people because blah blah etc etc….. I just don’t agree with this kind of “art.” It so… proscribed in its interpretation. It’s true, without the artist’s easy meaning, you might not pick up on all that is going on the piece. But that is kind of the point of art. You study and discover what it means to you. And maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all — maybe it simply inspires an emotion, a mood, a thought.

People want to find a meaning in everything and everyone. That’s the disease of our age, an age that is anything but practical but believes itself to be more practical than any other age. Pablo Picasso
Everyone wants to understand painting. Why is there no attempt to understand the song of the birds? Pablo Picasso
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