Holy Trinity!

Reasons I believe myself to be a deplorable individual(and why you might be also); potential explanations to behavioural traits (so that, you know, we don’t all abandon each other outright).

1. I think about myself, my desires, my time – in short my own interests, before and as above those of anyone else. This is particularly stressful being an empathetic person. I can see how putting myself before a loved-one would injure them, as it would me were the tables turned. I feel that pain, that becoming inured to the position of second best, it’s awful, yet, I do continue to neglect the feelings of others in response to my own actions both accidentally and on purpose. Why, just this morning I refused to get out of bed, cut out the silent treatment and say goodbye to a very good person, because of my own bedevilled bent on fury in quietude. Knowing all the while that it was both frustrating and saddening for the other person, indeed experiencing guilt and shame while fighting any move toward truce… I also know that were I in his situation I would have probed and probed and probed, “why do you want me to leave? What did I fail to detect in your tone prior, or in which ways did I fail to modify my behaviour or read your signals and respond accordingly?” Instead of feeling impotent in the face of the angry mute’s behaviour, I would assume anger, point fingers, send arrows ; “why didn’t you convey your feelings effectively enough that we’re in this situation now? How can you expect someone to grasp and then assume your position when your descriptions of it are so inadequate?!” You can’t win with me. If I’m in a sulk it’s because you didn’t read me well enough (and resultantly I feel neglected and maligned – for, who wants to feel misunderstood?!) , though were I to be in receipt of such sulkiness it is you who are again in the wrong because you failed in getting me to see your point of view! (On the subject of sulking please see this wonderful article in this gem of an online publication)

2. I look down on those who don’t agree with me. This is an awful trait to have stowed away inside your bones! Being as I am someone who disagrees with a great many people’s views, tastes, proclivities and so forth I should only come to expect and accept their lack of alliance with my own – without pain. I judge and judge and when I’m not judging I fear being judged! I should be able to see (and be soothed by the fact) that people can for instance be members of certain political parties without being inherently evil, since I know they subscribe little to my views on such matters but that I’m nevertheless not an egregious mistake on my parent’s part, that I too have value, as they surely must (despite my belief that I’m somehow deviant, and am presently outlining details of my unfortunate and wicked condition, I can’t deny that I believe my beliefs to be correct, else I wouldn’t pay them any mind!). I nevertheless am unable to shake this petulant, idealistic and holistic “all or nothing” sort of  mentality. I am perennially convinced that there’s no good dealing with part of an issue (in this case if a person is partly corrupt there’s no use appeasing and appealing to them and the whole system should just be wiped out, REVOLUCION!). Feeling misunderstood (and feeling sad about this) is no small part of the problem though, I can’t help but think that my contempt of or reluctance to engage with people who don’t share my views lies not in my desire to be above and to alienate people, rather to agree with and forge bonds with them, and when there’s an obstacle in the path of mutual sentiment I can’t help but feel something akin to “well, if you don’t see the sense in X, Y, Z, then, you’re missing a fundamental part of who I am essentially, and we can no longer take this dialogue any further, good day!” But you can’t agree with everyone, so, where does this leave me? Mostly angry and alone though increasingly indifferent…

3. I occasionally begrudge those who agree with me. This next is even less lucid and far less tolerable than the previous; I occasionally disdain or experience inner denigration towards those who share my sentiments, possibly due to some intangible notion that they don’t share my sentiments wholly or enough (whatever enough is!), or perhaps that my sentiments are so solid and correct that voicing assent would only be subscribing aloud to the crudely obvious and utterly pointless. An example: in recent years I have read extensively about micro nutrition, numerous articles and books containing thoroughly peer-reviewed studies from respected (non corporate-funded) physicians (though some of which have family roots in the meat and dairy industries) who feel they’ve no choice but to recommend a totally plant-based lifestyle as the ultimate for health and longevity (as well as being the best diet in terms of sustainability of the biosphere). As a result of this compelling and damning research I have discussed these topics at length with my family, having them fall of course on deaf ears (if people are going to change they have to be personally willing, having ideas forced upon you, especially ones that contradict your whole lifetime of habit, is rarely effective, when the time is right (or running out) people usually seek these things for themselves as I did). So, you would think that I would be happy to hear my father broaching the subject of deciding to eat half a grapefruit every day to “cleanse his liver”, instead of applauding this slight increase in fruit intake however, I merely chide “stop eating meat, that’s the best thing for your liver”. I find it hard to see the positive. A more universal example perhaps is the phenomenon of “I liked them ages ago”, you all know it, you’ve loved a band, or designer, or filmmaker, author, whatever, you’ve been enthusing aloud to your friends, to little or no real interest (certainly nothing to match your own) then suddenly, months or years later, everyone’s telling you about this “new discovery” of theirs, instead of feeling relieved, excited at being able to enjoy and share your love of something/someone with your close friends, you just feel mildly resentful… Far from being merely a juvenile “I was there first” type of response though, I feel this too has its roots in the aforementioned experience of wanting to connect with someone and somehow failing slightly. Whereas in the example of the previous paragraphs where you weren’t being understood properly, here the problem is of not being listened to. Your parents and friends may nod half-heartedly, “yep, sure, shit diet, that’s probably the reason I feel so tired and bloated all the time, maybe it isn’t genetic”, “yeah yeah, thats song’s quite decent I suppose”, it can’t help feeling like a subtle rebuke, a pseudo-approval and agreement of your stance and taste when really your loved ones, the ones who you’re supposed to connect with, are humouring you because they couldn’t really care less (see paragraph 1 and self-interest I suppose, they’re all linked). Essentially, I guess, wanting to connect in some meaningful way - and falling short are the roots to many a harboured grudge, a heated row, a silent resentment. Must. Try. Harder.

Family Album

I would venture that each of us has felt, at one point or another, that we don't quite belong. In school, at home, in work - even with friends. So, how is it that I could be feeling "I don't feel like a part of this family" when my brother next door in his room, or my mother in hers, or my friends and their relatives, all feel that way too occasionally. Where do we all fit and, if we each of us sometimes feel the misfit, oughtn't we feel a sense of kinship as a band of misfits, and, thus, never feel alienated again? 

Well, no, not while we continue to harbour these feelings in secret, as fleeting thoughts while someone chats enthusiastically at us, or us them while they effectively mask their distance... 

I've often wished that people would be more open about these sorts of things, perhaps not face to face constantly while people are busy with their busyness(that could be embarrassing and feel like burdening someone's mind unnecessarily with worries of your own).

 But maybe if more people broached the subject of feeling estranged in the midst of supposedly similar folk (often with a unifying tie such as the same boss or job or family or teacher, as mentioned) in the form of an online diary or blog, in words or carefully (and cathartically) assembled images, so that you're not "bothering" anyone in particular, but that you still have the potential to reach out to others indirectly - providing a platform for others to discuss their own multi-faceted feelings of inadequacy. 

Or if not to discuss then at least not feel so terribly isolated. This is essentially what this blog of mine is, chewing over issues and trying out hypotheses without actively badgering anyone individually. It was Leonard Cohen, in his fantastically astute novel, The Favourite Game, who rather cynically put: 

“The world was being hoaxed by a disciplined melancholy, all the sketches made a virtue of longing. All that was necessary to be loved widely was to publish one’s anxieties. The whole enterprise of art was a calculated display of suffering.”

However jaded his words make him seem (though rather tongue-in-cheek since he's spent his life reaching out to others by way of his own beautifully packaged woe), I think he's touched upon something fundamental about the function of art here. The "desire to be loved widely" can be seen not as fame-seeking but rather, approval-seeking, and what is wrong with wanting to be accepted and valued, understood? 

In their new book Art as Therapy, Philosophers Alain de Botton and John Armstrong propose that "art has a clear function: it is a therapeutic tool to help us lead more fulfilled lives." 

Whilst I'm only a couple of chapters into the book so far it all seems clear and sensical. Though they propose artworks should come with more useful blurb beside them in museums (such as this Vanitas work is good for putting things in perspective etc.,.), I can't help thinking that not all artworks must come with such user manuals. I can see the utility and thoughtfulness in such a move, but I also know that sometimes it's valuable to empathise with a painting without having to know very much about it other than the surface, you do the rest in your mind. 

I can also see though, that I sit in a privileged position as a spectator who also creates. I don't feel the stigma of having to describe an artwork "correctly" that my non-university-Fine-Arts-educated parents might for example. 

Which is odd since surely I should be worried about "getting it wrong". I know though that I'm sometimes brave (and perhaps bored) enough to delve into my feelings occasionally and offer them up for scrutiny, a sort of "I don't care if you think I'm spouting nonsense at the moment since, if I had any insecurities regarding the validity of my currently voiced opinions, I wouldn't be opining aloud in the first instance!" 

I am keen to put to bed this idea of "art for art's sake", don't get me wrong I'm not a luddite any more than I am a fan of snobbery or a class system with regards to culture (or indeed, any other system in operation). I just feel that because people don't feel the need to explain their artistic endeavours, they don't put much mental (or for that matter aesthetic) substance into them. With tacky and trying consequences. A little more earnestness wouldn't go amiss in the art world. 

It must be said that I am in no way perfect with regards to the scant and suspect output of visual art I presently toil over, indeed I often offer very little explanation. I like to think though, that it is clear, I am not out to shock or impress in any shallow sense, and, though I don't state or seek via my captioning, that the pieces themselves (are obvious and predictable enough to) do all the searching and sharing, without over-annotation. I would appreciate feedback though. 

I have come to feel increasingly pointless, specifically regarding my almost need to put little scraps together as pages in non-existent books, all the while falling before seemingly closed eyes. Let me know what you linger over (if at all), what could be tossed (even if all of it) and so on.

I hope you will look upon some of the less awful pages in my family album and draw parallels with your own quests for answers and new questions, where you fit in, where you come from, what is "love"? Does it even mean anything?