Maybe you don’t love their art, but you can love their motivation for it. Their drive to just keep trying and practicing and letting their heart out. The act of making art is sometimes more beautiful than the actual art.
I think if you truly love someone you will find yourself loving their art as well, not just in a patronizing, “Oh, it’s nice that you’re trying!” kind of way but sincerely and objectively. You will see it as beautiful work because you are so deeply connected to the person it came from that you see and appreciate elements no one else would. If you love the artist, you’ll be resonating on the same frequency as they are and begin to see things through their eyes, because you want to. So if I knew my girlfriend thought I was a talentless hack, it would be a clear sign that we aren’t resonating.
If you’re an artist, could you ever be in a relationship with someone who didn’t like your art?
If music is your life and livelihood, could you marry someone who thinks your band sucks? If you’re a novelist, could you ever feel respected by someone who has no respect for your books?
I don’t think I could. It seems like a shallow concern—if you’re in love, what does it matter what they think of your silly little band or paintings or book?—but I’m not convinced you can truly love someone while hating their art. The connection between the two is surprisingly inextricable. Art is like an internal organ that you extend out of your body and let float in the air, hoping to brush against someone and communicate something. How people respond to that part of you tells you a lot about how they’ll respond to the rest of you. Can they understand your private language? Do they even want to? When they see your internal organs exposed to the air, are they going to walk on them and grind them into the dirt, or touch and smell them and call them beautiful?
Dear Photojojo Company,
I recently placed an order through your website, Photojojo.com, for a macro lens attachment for my iPhone 4S. I received the package in the mail today, and was pleasantly surprised to find that, along with the lens that I purchased, you also included a small plastic dinosaur.
However, Photojojo, there is a problem with my order.
I am very much enjoying the macro lens attachment. It works exactly as advertised, allowing me to take very close-up photos of the objects that surround me in my daily life. Blades of grass, apple seeds, dead insects, fingernails, toenails, teeth, bits of discarded food, cola cans, rusty office staples, puddles of congealed fluid—any object, really. The photo attached above—a photo of a small plastic dinosaur lying on its side—was taken using this lens, and I am pleased with the results.
What I am not pleased with is the plastic dinosaur itself.
As you can see in the photo, the plastic dinosaur is lying on its side. This was the only position in which I was able to photograph it, because this is the only position in which it can be placed. To put it simply, Photojojo, the plastic dinosaur does not stand upright on its plastic feet. To put it even more simply, it falls over. To put it in the simplest way possible, it is defective, and I would like a full refund for my entire order.
I am not a lunatic, Photojojo. I understand that the plastic dinosaur was not part of my original purchase and was thrown in simply as a whimsical gesture because you are a whimsical company staffed by twee, frivolous, whimsical people. However, by including it in the package with the rest of my order, you have implicitly designated it a Photojojo product, an unlisted peripheral component of my order, shall we say—and as such, it remains a representative of your company and its quality standards.
Need I repeat, Photojojo, that the plastic dinosaur falls over?
How am I to trust the quality standards of your photography products after this fiasco with the plastic dinosaur? Will the macro lens attachment burn a hole through my iPhone 4S next time the sun comes out? Will it even take good photos? So far I have only tested it on the plastic dinosaur you provided, and the results were satisfactory, but will it fare as well on other small objects, such as denim fibers, Durex condom wrappers, or pools of bacon grease? How can I entrust the capture of my precious experiences—the birth of my first child! My child’s first steps! A UFO sighting! My child’s first erection! Aurora Borealis!—to a lens attachment made by the same company that makes plastic dinosaurs that fall over?
I anticipate no resistance to my request for a refund. But please be aware that as a matter of principle I will be leaving a negative epinion on Epinions.com regardless of your response.
Every morning I go to my favorite coffee shop and wait in a huge line, sweating and licking my lips, my eyes darting furtively at my fellow line-waiters, checking to see if they have laptops with them, if they have friends—what are their intentions for my coffee shop?
There are only four comfortable tables in this place. The competition for an open one is fierce, and the tension in the line is palpable. By the time I get to the front, I can barely think straight to place my order. What if some line-cutting asshole is taking the last table behind my back while I’m paying for my coffee? It’s happened to me before. Suddenly I’m stuck with coffee for here and nowhere to drink it. Not to mention nowhere to work.
Subterfuge…double-cross…Why does waiting in line for coffee have to be so damn thrilling?