I am still looking for the full text of this . . . I think I may have deleted it. [Ed. Winterwinter 2019]
THE FUNCTION OF CRITICISM AT THE PRESENT TIME
by
JESSE ARNOLD LEPP
“Every society has the tendency to reduce its opponents to caricatures —at least in imagination—and as it were, to starve them.” —Nietzsche
THE FUNCTION OF CRITICISM AT THE PRESENT TIME
by
JESSE ARNOLD LEPP
“Every society has the tendency to reduce its opponents to caricatures —at least in imagination—and as it were, to starve them.” —Nietzsche
INKWICH
(c) 2014 Jesse Arnold Lepp
Written because there is an online 'interview' of me and almost another one now,
October 2014 - November 2014
Recently Mr. Cousins [C] sat down with me, Mr. Lepp [L], at my table, in my home, and he asked me if I might answer a few questions. Perhaps he meant to give me a proper interview; possibly a fairer deal then what he did re: Razmataz Magazine (still online). What did he have in mind?
We join the two of us in situ.
C
. . . to create a painting, and if so; what effect might that have on the work?
L
I need to be sure of myself—
C
These are new questions.
L
Yeah.
C
Okay, and these are—
L
Well, ask it again.
C
—extremely important questions—
L
Go ahead.
C
—I need to finish this piece—
L
Yep.
C
—Which she's hoping to get from me at the end of this month.
L
Recently Mr. Cousins [C] sat down with me, Mr. Lepp [L], at my table, in my home, and he asked me if I might answer a few questions. Perhaps he meant to give me a proper interview; possibly a fairer deal then what he did re: Razmataz Magazine (still online). What did he have in mind?
We join the two of us in situ.
C
. . . to create a painting, and if so; what effect might that have on the work?
L
I need to be sure of myself—
C
These are new questions.
L
Yeah.
C
Okay, and these are—
L
Well, ask it again.
C
—extremely important questions—
L
Go ahead.
C
—I need to finish this piece—
L
Yep.
C
—Which she's hoping to get from me at the end of this month.
L
Ask the questions and I'll answer them.
C
Okay. Is there a certain mindset you need to have or be in to create a painting and if so what effect might that have on the work?
L
Well, I have to be sure of myself. I have to have sure-footing. And uh, how does sure-footing effect anything? It makes, uh it, uh increases the value of it; it increases the magna- magnosity? I can't remember the word—magnambity? Uh—
C
I like that word: magnamity. That's good.
L
—It makes it more magnificent. If you want a magnificent painting you should have sure-footing. Next question.
This transcription is nearly word for word (or as good as I can get it, barring innocent mistakes). I know it because I have written it out, 'um's and 'uh's and all, from the recording of the interview I made for this very purpose: I used a Panasonic digital recorder. Yes, I made a recording of the interview—which I even suggested to Mr. Cousins, at the time, might come in some use. Mr. Cousins had no need of it. Certainly he didn't ask me for it to work from.
So, this next bit is what Mr. Cousins has come up with. As we shall see he has ditched my answer for something else—something he has invented, fabricated, contrived, made-up; etc. I have taken it from the draft he showed me (which he downloaded for me onto my computer from his memory key—I did see a printed out draft of his piece some days earlier). I'll be as true to his work as possible, but I'll capitalize everything in the question, like a title for the, well, strange response by a ghost-y, ghastly 'me'.
Is There A Certain Mindset You Need Or Have To Be In To Create A Painting And If So What Effect Might That Have On The Work?
And—here is the answer Mr. Cousins has written as if it were mine.
JAL: Usually, for me, even if I have low energy at the moment of
C
Okay. Is there a certain mindset you need to have or be in to create a painting and if so what effect might that have on the work?
L
Well, I have to be sure of myself. I have to have sure-footing. And uh, how does sure-footing effect anything? It makes, uh it, uh increases the value of it; it increases the magna- magnosity? I can't remember the word—magnambity? Uh—
C
I like that word: magnamity. That's good.
L
—It makes it more magnificent. If you want a magnificent painting you should have sure-footing. Next question.
This transcription is nearly word for word (or as good as I can get it, barring innocent mistakes). I know it because I have written it out, 'um's and 'uh's and all, from the recording of the interview I made for this very purpose: I used a Panasonic digital recorder. Yes, I made a recording of the interview—which I even suggested to Mr. Cousins, at the time, might come in some use. Mr. Cousins had no need of it. Certainly he didn't ask me for it to work from.
So, this next bit is what Mr. Cousins has come up with. As we shall see he has ditched my answer for something else—something he has invented, fabricated, contrived, made-up; etc. I have taken it from the draft he showed me (which he downloaded for me onto my computer from his memory key—I did see a printed out draft of his piece some days earlier). I'll be as true to his work as possible, but I'll capitalize everything in the question, like a title for the, well, strange response by a ghost-y, ghastly 'me'.
Is There A Certain Mindset You Need Or Have To Be In To Create A Painting And If So What Effect Might That Have On The Work?
And—here is the answer Mr. Cousins has written as if it were mine.
JAL: Usually, for me, even if I have low energy at the moment of
inspiration, painting can coax me from any place my mind is at; it just grabs me. But having said that I also know that just like anything else worth doing, I have to push myself from time to time when things aren't coming easily or my energy's low, for instance. I suppose state of mind is always reflected in the work but I do not see how I could be a judge of that; that's for the audience to determine I think
[the bold typeface is in the original]
No mention of me needing or having to be “sure”. No mention of my “sure-footing”. Instead, Mr. Cousins writes (under my initials, JAL) that I “do not see how I could be a judge of” my “state of mind”; i.e., that I am fundamentally unsure. Instead of the stability of “sure- footing” I teeter on “the moment of inspiration”, I have to “push myself” to paint. So Mr. Cousins mistakes my answer for what it is not and writes willy-nilly the way he likes; a new answer – his – wherein I am coaxed by painting to, well, he doesn't actually say; “that's for the audience to determine”—so he precludes the 'effect' I try for when I 'create' a painting, which I say is “magnificence”, and replaces my whole point of view with a banal sort of pedestrianizationism.
“Magnamity” (whatever that means).
And I'm afraid it is even worse than that.
So, I have the unenviable task of the critic, of anyone, actually, with any sense of self-preservation—I must give my side. I must, as they say, 'bear witness'.
So, to begin with, I say, “sure-footing” and it is what I mean; I don't mean, as Mr. Cousins thinks, that this is some sort of “state of mind” that I need to have to be in—much less do I agree with Mr. Cousins' axiom, that “state of mind is always reflected in the work.”
“State of mind”! I mean, to me, a mind is in either of two states, made-up, or not made-up. In a Platonic sense you might say happy or unhappy; in a physiological sense you might say cognisant or non- cognisant. Now, does it matter whether a sure-footed man or woman is made-up or not made-up, happy or unhappy, cognisant or non- cognisant—as a necessary (if not wilful) precondition to life—to art? It is sure-footedness – a special kind of 'know thy-self' – and not some feckless 'state of mind' that determines whether I paint magnificently
[the bold typeface is in the original]
No mention of me needing or having to be “sure”. No mention of my “sure-footing”. Instead, Mr. Cousins writes (under my initials, JAL) that I “do not see how I could be a judge of” my “state of mind”; i.e., that I am fundamentally unsure. Instead of the stability of “sure- footing” I teeter on “the moment of inspiration”, I have to “push myself” to paint. So Mr. Cousins mistakes my answer for what it is not and writes willy-nilly the way he likes; a new answer – his – wherein I am coaxed by painting to, well, he doesn't actually say; “that's for the audience to determine”—so he precludes the 'effect' I try for when I 'create' a painting, which I say is “magnificence”, and replaces my whole point of view with a banal sort of pedestrianizationism.
“Magnamity” (whatever that means).
And I'm afraid it is even worse than that.
So, I have the unenviable task of the critic, of anyone, actually, with any sense of self-preservation—I must give my side. I must, as they say, 'bear witness'.
So, to begin with, I say, “sure-footing” and it is what I mean; I don't mean, as Mr. Cousins thinks, that this is some sort of “state of mind” that I need to have to be in—much less do I agree with Mr. Cousins' axiom, that “state of mind is always reflected in the work.”
“State of mind”! I mean, to me, a mind is in either of two states, made-up, or not made-up. In a Platonic sense you might say happy or unhappy; in a physiological sense you might say cognisant or non- cognisant. Now, does it matter whether a sure-footed man or woman is made-up or not made-up, happy or unhappy, cognisant or non- cognisant—as a necessary (if not wilful) precondition to life—to art? It is sure-footedness – a special kind of 'know thy-self' – and not some feckless 'state of mind' that determines whether I paint magnificently
or not.
Or—let me put it another way. Since when is a work of art prized
for the piss it takes of its maker? 'Well Mr. Lepp seems like he's sure on his feet but if you look closely at this painting there is a definite, insufferable wonkiness.' Well, maybe. Just not surely.
Suffice it to say, what Mr. Cousins has written as if me is not what I think, say, or believe (tempting though it is for one to mire one-self in abasement, in defeatism). Neither is what he has written by any stretch what I consider truthful or honest—unless—well, it happens to be exactly what Mr. Cousins himself feels about my work. I mean, if it's not me then what is it? “It just grabs me” is certainly something I've heard him exclaim from time to time on this or that piece of mine. “For the audience to determine” is typical of his contemptible attitude towards me and my explanations—but tellingly there is also the surreptitiously repeated, “low energy”/ “my energy's low” (wishful thinking on his part given the present course I am taking) and this is, I think this is, fascinating.
It's as if Mr. Cousins feels just what he feels 'the starving artist' should feel. A kind of forever-surreptitious blow to the ego. What's more, these answers he gives, these blows, are, I think, what he thinks to be the appreciable genius of my art—but what could he possibly be on about?
Well . . . but it's so fascinating isn't it? Let's rejoin the interview as recorded by me—next question.
C
Do you have any taboos or superstitions when it comes to painting? L
There are— Well, let me answer it this way. There are certain paintings I've painted that um might be considered rude by some—
C
No. You're not understanding the question.
L
Yeah, I understand it. Go ahead, ask it again.
C
Do you have any taboos or superstitions when it comes to painting. You won't paint in the evening, you'll only paint on a sunny day—
Or—let me put it another way. Since when is a work of art prized
for the piss it takes of its maker? 'Well Mr. Lepp seems like he's sure on his feet but if you look closely at this painting there is a definite, insufferable wonkiness.' Well, maybe. Just not surely.
Suffice it to say, what Mr. Cousins has written as if me is not what I think, say, or believe (tempting though it is for one to mire one-self in abasement, in defeatism). Neither is what he has written by any stretch what I consider truthful or honest—unless—well, it happens to be exactly what Mr. Cousins himself feels about my work. I mean, if it's not me then what is it? “It just grabs me” is certainly something I've heard him exclaim from time to time on this or that piece of mine. “For the audience to determine” is typical of his contemptible attitude towards me and my explanations—but tellingly there is also the surreptitiously repeated, “low energy”/ “my energy's low” (wishful thinking on his part given the present course I am taking) and this is, I think this is, fascinating.
It's as if Mr. Cousins feels just what he feels 'the starving artist' should feel. A kind of forever-surreptitious blow to the ego. What's more, these answers he gives, these blows, are, I think, what he thinks to be the appreciable genius of my art—but what could he possibly be on about?
Well . . . but it's so fascinating isn't it? Let's rejoin the interview as recorded by me—next question.
C
Do you have any taboos or superstitions when it comes to painting? L
There are— Well, let me answer it this way. There are certain paintings I've painted that um might be considered rude by some—
C
No. You're not understanding the question.
L
Yeah, I understand it. Go ahead, ask it again.
C
Do you have any taboos or superstitions when it comes to painting. You won't paint in the evening, you'll only paint on a sunny day—
L
Oh, I thought you meant taboo in the psychological sense.
C
No. Superstitions about paintings. A lot of artists have them. Certain— L
I don't equate taboo with certain—superstitions.
C
—routines . . . Well—
L
You're asking two different questions. Taboo, right—
C
—It says “or”.
L
There are a lot of taboos—
C
All right—it says, “OR”!
L
Yeah, okay, so let me answer.
C
—OR superstitions.
L
It's a two-part question so I'll answer in two parts. Uh, taboos. There are a lot of paintings that break taboos—
C
Don't-dos, okay? That's what taboo means: you don't do it.
L
Uh, there are a lot of paintings that break taboos or uh transgress taboos is I think the more appropriate term, and these paintings are now considered, uh, epic-making, they're considered uh, marvellous. How did that person escape the restraints of morality in his or her day and age? So taboos I don't believe are off-limits to any artist. I believe uh, taboo, uh, is not the same as having an unclean thought. I think that understanding taboo is not the same as, uh, being, uh, insane. So, I think that taboos – if they're considered in the truthfulness of what a taboo is—and should be – I think that's fair game for any artist. Now, the second part of your question is: do I have any superstitions? C
Oh, I thought you meant taboo in the psychological sense.
C
No. Superstitions about paintings. A lot of artists have them. Certain— L
I don't equate taboo with certain—superstitions.
C
—routines . . . Well—
L
You're asking two different questions. Taboo, right—
C
—It says “or”.
L
There are a lot of taboos—
C
All right—it says, “OR”!
L
Yeah, okay, so let me answer.
C
—OR superstitions.
L
It's a two-part question so I'll answer in two parts. Uh, taboos. There are a lot of paintings that break taboos—
C
Don't-dos, okay? That's what taboo means: you don't do it.
L
Uh, there are a lot of paintings that break taboos or uh transgress taboos is I think the more appropriate term, and these paintings are now considered, uh, epic-making, they're considered uh, marvellous. How did that person escape the restraints of morality in his or her day and age? So taboos I don't believe are off-limits to any artist. I believe uh, taboo, uh, is not the same as having an unclean thought. I think that understanding taboo is not the same as, uh, being, uh, insane. So, I think that taboos – if they're considered in the truthfulness of what a taboo is—and should be – I think that's fair game for any artist. Now, the second part of your question is: do I have any superstitions? C
Uh-huh.
L
And like—like any person I—I've heard that phrase: that all technology is magic to the inferior, uh, population, and so—are there things that I think work like magic? Or are there things which I believe I understand well but my superstition (which may be very technical, but obtuse) which may involve, uh, phrases that I've gleaned off the advertising of, of, of corporations, um—I may have superstitions and, you know, everyone strives not to have them but, um, maybe there are some things that people think they know well and they don't know at all. And it may be as simple as, you know, why does a chair have four legs not three?
C
Hmm.
Not a bad answer! I have in mind troubling creations of mine, sometimes violent, or prurient, and a whole lot of unpublished (a lot of it lost due to twinges of conscience); but no matter. Here is how Mr. Cousins would have it.
Do You Have Any Taboos Or Superstitions When It Comes To Painting?
JAL: I have been told that I break convention in art. I'm not so sure I know what that means. I am somewhat ritualistic when I paint but I don't think I'm supersitious [sic] in the general sense. I have been known to change my underwear even if I'm doing a 'masterpiece' (lol).
Shit. I certainly didn't say anything about “convention in art”. I mean, a 'convention' can be awfully unconventional (and vice versa,breaking a convention is often the height of conventionality). I did speak of the “restraints of morality” in art, insofar as art is situated in a time and place. And what's with the “lol”? I mean, are we supposed to be having a 'moment'? Uh, far from it, eh? Mr. Cousins' suggestions about “You won't paint in the evening” and “You'll only paint on a sunny day” which I consider are nearly idiotic, a bit obtuse, uh, which
L
And like—like any person I—I've heard that phrase: that all technology is magic to the inferior, uh, population, and so—are there things that I think work like magic? Or are there things which I believe I understand well but my superstition (which may be very technical, but obtuse) which may involve, uh, phrases that I've gleaned off the advertising of, of, of corporations, um—I may have superstitions and, you know, everyone strives not to have them but, um, maybe there are some things that people think they know well and they don't know at all. And it may be as simple as, you know, why does a chair have four legs not three?
C
Hmm.
Not a bad answer! I have in mind troubling creations of mine, sometimes violent, or prurient, and a whole lot of unpublished (a lot of it lost due to twinges of conscience); but no matter. Here is how Mr. Cousins would have it.
Do You Have Any Taboos Or Superstitions When It Comes To Painting?
JAL: I have been told that I break convention in art. I'm not so sure I know what that means. I am somewhat ritualistic when I paint but I don't think I'm supersitious [sic] in the general sense. I have been known to change my underwear even if I'm doing a 'masterpiece' (lol).
Shit. I certainly didn't say anything about “convention in art”. I mean, a 'convention' can be awfully unconventional (and vice versa,breaking a convention is often the height of conventionality). I did speak of the “restraints of morality” in art, insofar as art is situated in a time and place. And what's with the “lol”? I mean, are we supposed to be having a 'moment'? Uh, far from it, eh? Mr. Cousins' suggestions about “You won't paint in the evening” and “You'll only paint on a sunny day” which I consider are nearly idiotic, a bit obtuse, uh, which
I answer in the abstract—it's exactly the sort of schlocky subjective response he has written for me. I mean, I can answer in that way too: “I don't paint in the dark”, for example. I don't paint funny pictures of the prophet Mohammed (lol?). Well, maybe I would even do that—I can't even rule that out . . . it's a dumb question, the way he wants to put it. But Mr. Cousins makes it seem as if we are in complete agreement: “I have been known to change my underwear even if I'm doing a masterpiece”—which is ludicrous. I mean is underwear wearing some sort of sports ritual thing? Like not changing underwear during a tournament or something? Mr. Cousins might know. Oh, and have I really been told that I break convention in art? Not that I remember. Perhaps Mr. Cousins told me it?
In any case, this whole thing is a don't-do, isn't it? It's about something that won't do. I can't let Mr. Cousins' stuff stand. Having to break up a convention seems a moot point; I am dealing with one person—a convention of one.
Yes, painting is inherently ritualistic – in its means – but to what end? And, once again, my answer, which is about superstition in the general sense—I mean I even make generalities in my answer; becomes, in the 'real' answer, “I don't think I am superstitious in the general sense” (Mr. Cousins means, I think, the 'common' or 'ordinary' sense). And as for painting masterpieces . . . I hope I am working towards a masterpiece—the idea of me tossing them off while I do or don't change my underwear is just bizarre.
So . . .
Let's skip forward a bit later in the recording:
L
. . . Well, uh . . . the answer to that is in the painting.
C
Beautiful. I couldn't have thought of that answer myself. I was thinking up answers and that one—
L
One, one of the the reasons I began painting – and I've said this before – is that, uh, I was somehow incapable of managing truth any more, in the English language, and I thought painting—
C
In any case, this whole thing is a don't-do, isn't it? It's about something that won't do. I can't let Mr. Cousins' stuff stand. Having to break up a convention seems a moot point; I am dealing with one person—a convention of one.
Yes, painting is inherently ritualistic – in its means – but to what end? And, once again, my answer, which is about superstition in the general sense—I mean I even make generalities in my answer; becomes, in the 'real' answer, “I don't think I am superstitious in the general sense” (Mr. Cousins means, I think, the 'common' or 'ordinary' sense). And as for painting masterpieces . . . I hope I am working towards a masterpiece—the idea of me tossing them off while I do or don't change my underwear is just bizarre.
So . . .
Let's skip forward a bit later in the recording:
L
. . . Well, uh . . . the answer to that is in the painting.
C
Beautiful. I couldn't have thought of that answer myself. I was thinking up answers and that one—
L
One, one of the the reasons I began painting – and I've said this before – is that, uh, I was somehow incapable of managing truth any more, in the English language, and I thought painting—
C
Managing truth, that's a—
L
I thought painting—
C
—nice buzz phrase.
L
—was only as good as the English it inspired in others, so whether it was praise or criticism um, especially criticism; so like I always say, the married couple is the great, uh, art critic, and, uh, I think that, uh, they, uh, anyone who speaks meaningfully about your painting may even speak about whether it's worth buying or not and I think that's legitimate praise and, uh, art criticism. Just having that conversation, um, but—[I prefer to delete this wholly personal bit . . . ] uh, everyone might represent that scene differently, and the only reason to be an artist is because I think that I will try to represent that objectively. C
Okay.
“I was thinking up answers,” Mr. Cousins says!
Now, any interviewer might think up answers—to anticipate and think up better questions? In this case, I think Mr. Cousins means answers that he will write despite what I have to say during his 'interview'. Which leads to the question, why ask me to do an interview at all? If you ask me, that would have to do with Mr. Cousins'morality.
“Nice buzz phrase,” he says!
“Managing truth” is what he hears—what he likes; whether he hears “managing truth in the English language,” which is another matter, a personal matter, possibly aphasia, escapes him. What I have deleted above (and below), what I think becomes too personal, should go a little like this hint from Michel Foucault's Madness and Civilization:
Between word and image, between what is depicted by language and what is uttered in plastic form, the unity begins to dissolve; a single and identical meaning is not immediately common to them. (Foucault, Madness and Civilization, Vintage Books 1988,
L
I thought painting—
C
—nice buzz phrase.
L
—was only as good as the English it inspired in others, so whether it was praise or criticism um, especially criticism; so like I always say, the married couple is the great, uh, art critic, and, uh, I think that, uh, they, uh, anyone who speaks meaningfully about your painting may even speak about whether it's worth buying or not and I think that's legitimate praise and, uh, art criticism. Just having that conversation, um, but—[I prefer to delete this wholly personal bit . . . ] uh, everyone might represent that scene differently, and the only reason to be an artist is because I think that I will try to represent that objectively. C
Okay.
“I was thinking up answers,” Mr. Cousins says!
Now, any interviewer might think up answers—to anticipate and think up better questions? In this case, I think Mr. Cousins means answers that he will write despite what I have to say during his 'interview'. Which leads to the question, why ask me to do an interview at all? If you ask me, that would have to do with Mr. Cousins'morality.
“Nice buzz phrase,” he says!
“Managing truth” is what he hears—what he likes; whether he hears “managing truth in the English language,” which is another matter, a personal matter, possibly aphasia, escapes him. What I have deleted above (and below), what I think becomes too personal, should go a little like this hint from Michel Foucault's Madness and Civilization:
Between word and image, between what is depicted by language and what is uttered in plastic form, the unity begins to dissolve; a single and identical meaning is not immediately common to them. (Foucault, Madness and Civilization, Vintage Books 1988,
p.18)
Anyways, this portion of the interview becomes, in Mr. Cousins' inimitable fashion:
JAL: To me, the answer to that is in the work I've done. I'm sure there are stages of me and my development as a working painterand a person throughtout [sic] the works to date. I just never dwell on it. I don't think [referencing the personal bit deleted above] hinders my love of painting. There are days when it's...inconvenient, but luckily, as I've gotten a bit older, I find that certain routines have helped maintain some balance day in and day out, one way or another and painting is a part of that balance. [italics in original]
“Stages”? Stages, for me, conjures up Stages on Life's Way by Kierkegaard, or the educational theories of Erik Erikson and that parental expression, “it's just a stage/phase,” or even that joke about Shakespeare I like, “Life is a stage—so let's rob it” (Joe E. Lewis). But of my development? And, as a person? And there “I” go again, somewhat abject, saying, “I just never dwell”! (Hardly the answer a man who has read Heidegger can say with a straight face!) And, “I don't think”! Then there's that dumb ellipse as if I can't quite think straight. Obviously an affectation—a 'real live interview' it surely isn't.
Mr. Cousins writes (for effect, I think), “Certain routines have helped maintain some balance day in and day out, one way or another”—I mean this has got to be the least self-aware person in existence! What routines, for instance? I mean, is this supposed to be the stage where I'm at? One of Nietzsche's horrid abortions? A solipsistic sophomore? A zombified dick-head? Or is it just staged? Only – I have to remind myself – its not me, it's not my answer—it's Mr. Cousins's! Once again I find myself precariously saying some such thing as “balance day in and out”, “painting is a part of that balance”, “one way or another”, before Mr. Cousins is done with it, without mentioning what 'it' could be.
Well, how could he know? Because he's such a true friend? The recording goes on. I could go on.
JAL: To me, the answer to that is in the work I've done. I'm sure there are stages of me and my development as a working painterand a person throughtout [sic] the works to date. I just never dwell on it. I don't think [referencing the personal bit deleted above] hinders my love of painting. There are days when it's...inconvenient, but luckily, as I've gotten a bit older, I find that certain routines have helped maintain some balance day in and day out, one way or another and painting is a part of that balance. [italics in original]
“Stages”? Stages, for me, conjures up Stages on Life's Way by Kierkegaard, or the educational theories of Erik Erikson and that parental expression, “it's just a stage/phase,” or even that joke about Shakespeare I like, “Life is a stage—so let's rob it” (Joe E. Lewis). But of my development? And, as a person? And there “I” go again, somewhat abject, saying, “I just never dwell”! (Hardly the answer a man who has read Heidegger can say with a straight face!) And, “I don't think”! Then there's that dumb ellipse as if I can't quite think straight. Obviously an affectation—a 'real live interview' it surely isn't.
Mr. Cousins writes (for effect, I think), “Certain routines have helped maintain some balance day in and day out, one way or another”—I mean this has got to be the least self-aware person in existence! What routines, for instance? I mean, is this supposed to be the stage where I'm at? One of Nietzsche's horrid abortions? A solipsistic sophomore? A zombified dick-head? Or is it just staged? Only – I have to remind myself – its not me, it's not my answer—it's Mr. Cousins's! Once again I find myself precariously saying some such thing as “balance day in and out”, “painting is a part of that balance”, “one way or another”, before Mr. Cousins is done with it, without mentioning what 'it' could be.
Well, how could he know? Because he's such a true friend? The recording goes on. I could go on.
So. Mr. Cousins has responded in the following next three ways to the encumbrance of an actual interviewee (I read him excerpts of this article, from an early draft). So. An interviewee that proves an obstacle.
But, I have to say, first of all, that before the interview (so-called) I offered Mr. Cousins corrections on the Razmataz Magazine interview questions he planned to reuse, uh, not quite realizing that it would make him look like a dick if he reworked that interview in any way that contradicted its immaculate republication.
In the end, seeing the necessary criticism of him, of his work, I had to denounce the whole idea of him interviewing me. I told him it was shit. I told him what he was doing was shit. Well!
1. Don't I want to help people?
2. Isn't this the business?
3. Aren't I making too big a deal of it?
Three retorts. Three impromptu retorts. Repeated over and over for effect. But I think these three things too. 1. I wonder whether what I am doing is helping people. I believe that truth is all that one can do to really help. 2. I wonder whether the business is in my favour. I want to sell paintings after all. 3. Nonetheless, I hope for a big deal; to pay off my car insurance, to pay off my expenses. To live on.
What a kind of an example I would be if I capitulated to Mr. Cousins! If I accepted his retorts fatally and decided to work against my better judgement? Anyways, I don't believe Mr. Cousins—certainly it is not the case that all interviews prove libellous. And because I can't know whether Mr. Cousins would go ahead and submit his 'interview' to an editor despite my objections, I mean, without giving me my due, I think I have to see this through.
So. Mr. Cousins has responded in the following next three ways to the encumbrance of an actual interviewee (I read him excerpts of this article, from an early draft). So. An interviewee that proves an obstacle.
But, I have to say, first of all, that before the interview (so-called) I offered Mr. Cousins corrections on the Razmataz Magazine interview questions he planned to reuse, uh, not quite realizing that it would make him look like a dick if he reworked that interview in any way that contradicted its immaculate republication.
In the end, seeing the necessary criticism of him, of his work, I had to denounce the whole idea of him interviewing me. I told him it was shit. I told him what he was doing was shit. Well!
1. Don't I want to help people?
2. Isn't this the business?
3. Aren't I making too big a deal of it?
Three retorts. Three impromptu retorts. Repeated over and over for effect. But I think these three things too. 1. I wonder whether what I am doing is helping people. I believe that truth is all that one can do to really help. 2. I wonder whether the business is in my favour. I want to sell paintings after all. 3. Nonetheless, I hope for a big deal; to pay off my car insurance, to pay off my expenses. To live on.
What a kind of an example I would be if I capitulated to Mr. Cousins! If I accepted his retorts fatally and decided to work against my better judgement? Anyways, I don't believe Mr. Cousins—certainly it is not the case that all interviews prove libellous. And because I can't know whether Mr. Cousins would go ahead and submit his 'interview' to an editor despite my objections, I mean, without giving me my due, I think I have to see this through.
It has been some time now since Mr. Cousins first interviewed me for publication in Razmataz Magazine (an online publication) and —I didn't think to record it. That time, I have to say, I just let it happen. Not that there weren't a few troubling details then too. I remember him writing something about “Epi-Zodes” instead of simply “episodes” as I had said it—well, I haven't read the Razmataz interview in a very long while, I won't grace “Epi-Zodes” with a remark: apart from the hope that that invention never made it into print. Point being – I had accepted Mr. Cousins' case for non-involvement: a 'boost in sales' as well as the comfortably numb idea of not having to do anything. This time what Mr. Cousins had going really woke me up. National publication? Available at Chapters book-stores?
Not so long as I has any redeeming power. So, the “final” question:
C
Where do you see yourself ten, twenty years from now as a painter? That's the final question.
L
I'll have clean paint-brushes. C
He, he, he.
L
And all the different colours of oil paints. And an acre of canvas. Working on my masterpiece called, 'Pushing Up Daisies.' . . . All right that's too negative for you?
C
It's too cliched.
L
All right, too cliched.
Turns into:
I see myself with clean brushes and an acre of canvas! No, I have no idea. I'd like to think that I might be able to have left a solid
It has been some time now since Mr. Cousins first interviewed me for publication in Razmataz Magazine (an online publication) and —I didn't think to record it. That time, I have to say, I just let it happen. Not that there weren't a few troubling details then too. I remember him writing something about “Epi-Zodes” instead of simply “episodes” as I had said it—well, I haven't read the Razmataz interview in a very long while, I won't grace “Epi-Zodes” with a remark: apart from the hope that that invention never made it into print. Point being – I had accepted Mr. Cousins' case for non-involvement: a 'boost in sales' as well as the comfortably numb idea of not having to do anything. This time what Mr. Cousins had going really woke me up. National publication? Available at Chapters book-stores?
Not so long as I has any redeeming power. So, the “final” question:
C
Where do you see yourself ten, twenty years from now as a painter? That's the final question.
L
I'll have clean paint-brushes. C
He, he, he.
L
And all the different colours of oil paints. And an acre of canvas. Working on my masterpiece called, 'Pushing Up Daisies.' . . . All right that's too negative for you?
C
It's too cliched.
L
All right, too cliched.
Turns into:
I see myself with clean brushes and an acre of canvas! No, I have no idea. I'd like to think that I might be able to have left a solid
footprint amongst the vast and impressive landscape ofCanadian painters both past and present but then I suppose that isn't a driving force and realisticly [sic] it doesn't matter one way or another. But I hope I'll have made some contribution that makes some sort of imprint on others by entertaining them or sparking an idea or slove [sic] a problem or anything, really. I'm a fan of art and painters too. And just like anyone who is a fan, I know the pull artwork can have on a person's emotions, how people can find solace or rage or peace from a picture done by a human hand. The limitless configurations of the human imagination is a wonderful challenge to try and tap into.
Hopefully I'll have led the life of an artist,whatever that is,because that's what I enjoy doing most: painting. [bold in the original]
“It's in my notes!” (Impromptu response #4). Well, here we see the limits of Mr. Cousins' account. He tries in that first line to get it down; he at least remembers to jot down my “clean brushes” and “acre of canvas” (even if he forgets “all the colours of oil paint”).
I think, in this example, he means to write a character with something profound to say. But as to the sincerity of that try—he goes on to really try to get me: I have “no idea”, I'd “like to think”, I “might be able”, it “doesn't matter”, “or anything really”. He makes me sound like something I'm not—or worse, he makes me sound as if I am some sort of a effing dolt.
“A solid footprint among the landscape of Canadian art” is a pretentious metaphor. It says nothing.
“I know the pull that artwork can have on people's emotions.” But we all know that! Art can effect our moods tremendously. I am myself profoundly effected, for instance, by Mr. Cousins' art of the interview.
“People can find solace or rage or peace in a picture done by a human hand” is about as profound (or puerile) as a billboard of someone giving the finger to me on the QEW.
“I'm a fan of art and painters.” Fan? Untrue.
“The limitless configurations of the human imagination is a
Hopefully I'll have led the life of an artist,whatever that is,because that's what I enjoy doing most: painting. [bold in the original]
“It's in my notes!” (Impromptu response #4). Well, here we see the limits of Mr. Cousins' account. He tries in that first line to get it down; he at least remembers to jot down my “clean brushes” and “acre of canvas” (even if he forgets “all the colours of oil paint”).
I think, in this example, he means to write a character with something profound to say. But as to the sincerity of that try—he goes on to really try to get me: I have “no idea”, I'd “like to think”, I “might be able”, it “doesn't matter”, “or anything really”. He makes me sound like something I'm not—or worse, he makes me sound as if I am some sort of a effing dolt.
“A solid footprint among the landscape of Canadian art” is a pretentious metaphor. It says nothing.
“I know the pull that artwork can have on people's emotions.” But we all know that! Art can effect our moods tremendously. I am myself profoundly effected, for instance, by Mr. Cousins' art of the interview.
“People can find solace or rage or peace in a picture done by a human hand” is about as profound (or puerile) as a billboard of someone giving the finger to me on the QEW.
“I'm a fan of art and painters.” Fan? Untrue.
“The limitless configurations of the human imagination is a
wonderful challenge to try and tap into.” Stuff and nonsense.
“That's what I enjoy most: painting”. Ridiculous.
I think I must, at last, point out that these attributes that Mr.
Cousins bestows over-liberally on me throughout are actually the various attitudes that he himself has taken toward his own work, his work as an interviewer. Do what you love. And, as they say, that's that.
“Trite and extremely hurtful,” says Mr. Cousins.
I suppose some Matthew Arnold is appropriate, in conclusion, given my choice of title, “The Function of Criticism . . .”
I conclude with what I said at the beginning: to have the sense of creative activity is the great happiness and the great proof of being alive, and it is not denied to criticism to have it; but then criticism must be sincere, simple, flexible, ardent, ever widening its knowledge. Then it may have, in no contemptible measure, a joyful sense of creative activity; a sense which a man of insight and conscience will prefer to what he may derive from a poor, starved, fragmentary, inadequate creation. And at some epochs no other creation is possible. (The Literary Criticism of Matthew Arnold, “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time,” Crick & Disanto, p.37)
Jesse Lepp
NOTL October-November 2014
“That's what I enjoy most: painting”. Ridiculous.
I think I must, at last, point out that these attributes that Mr.
Cousins bestows over-liberally on me throughout are actually the various attitudes that he himself has taken toward his own work, his work as an interviewer. Do what you love. And, as they say, that's that.
“Trite and extremely hurtful,” says Mr. Cousins.
I suppose some Matthew Arnold is appropriate, in conclusion, given my choice of title, “The Function of Criticism . . .”
I conclude with what I said at the beginning: to have the sense of creative activity is the great happiness and the great proof of being alive, and it is not denied to criticism to have it; but then criticism must be sincere, simple, flexible, ardent, ever widening its knowledge. Then it may have, in no contemptible measure, a joyful sense of creative activity; a sense which a man of insight and conscience will prefer to what he may derive from a poor, starved, fragmentary, inadequate creation. And at some epochs no other creation is possible. (The Literary Criticism of Matthew Arnold, “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time,” Crick & Disanto, p.37)
Jesse Lepp
NOTL October-November 2014
