Then it won’t be with serious intent that he writes in water or that black fluid we call ink, using his pen to sow words that can’t either speak in their own defense or present the truth adequately. –Plato Phaedrus, 276, c
Here you will find:
expositions on art and aesthetics –This
is pretty self-explanatory. Literature is not only included in the author’s
definition of art, it mostly crowds out all other art forms, which you might
have expected, if you had seen something DC painted, or if you had been around
when he was pursuing his ill-fated dream to become an interpretive cabaret dancer.
rambling social commentary -As a group, artists
have historically proven that their forays into the political arena are untrustworthy.
Adolph Hitler was a painter. Pound was a Fascist. Ginsberg marched with NAMBLA.
Elvis offered to narc out other celebrities for Nixon, who also had Johnny Ramone’s
endorsement. For those who haven’t read Mark Helprin, it is a heavy heart
which must concede that he is indisputably among the most highly skilled literary
craftsman of the past half-century, because he bent his enviable skill to the
task of writing campaign speeches for Bob Dole, (though he didn’t last
long once it became apparent that his approach to communication was far too
linguistic to effectively reach the conservative base.) In each of the above
cases, the artist in question’s mistake was allowing her (all those listed
above happen to be men, but Ayn Rand was only excluded due to the impossibility
of summarily conveying how dangerous it can be to take her seriously) or himself
to be goaded into stepping out from behind the shelter of the objective
correlative, leaving them all vulnerable to the barbs of specificity that
contrast so sharply with the impressions and generalities of art. Everyone since
the first guy to think of everything, Socrates knew that artists forever were,
are and will be bad at politics, though their position in the public eye often
provides them unqualified influence in that sphere. (The old Greek followed
up this feat of logic by deducing that busboys are often poorly trained to practice
law, and brick-layers perform sub-par pedicures.) Since DC Smith became aware
of this circumstance early on in his artistic development, he studiously skirted
the dangers of ‘political art,’ as should any artist during a period
of history that affords him the option. However, when Coach Modernity barks,
“You’re in, kid!” and jerks his gnarly thumb toward the field,
even the seventy pound nerd with his finger stuck past the second knuckle up
his nostril would be letting down the team if he just kept riding the bench
for fear he’d screw up. Hence DC sallied forth, spurred on by an unfamiliar
and unwelcome sense of social responsibility. Through adherence to a single
guideline he has resisted the temptation to retreat into the defensible clarity
of personal opinions even amidst the swarm of sharp-pointed political particulars.
At such times he took refuge behind the correlative and concentrated on this
piece of self-scripted advice, Incite, provoke, persuade, cajole, illustrate,
suggest; in a word, hint, but never at anytime permit yourself to proscribe.
(Was Clint playing Dirty Harry or a drifter when he said, “A man’s
got to know his limitations?”) To date, the only solution Mr. Smith’s
come up with for the world’s problems involves a big radioactive meteor
and a couple months of last-chance-ever, inhibitions-be-damned, what-the-hell
orgies.
imprecise translations –These might more accurately
be called interpretations. The emphasis in any DC Smith translation is on the
final product, over rigid dedication to the original. The author claims fluency
in no language other than English.