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Create Your Passion, Not Your Obsession - Or, Whatever Happened To Baby Poll
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by Les Anderson
Some artists believe that to convey the ultimate in emotion to the viewer, you literally have to become your subject. They become obsessed in their belief that the viewer or reader of the work will benefit more if the artist has created the work from the viewpoint of the first person. This is sound reasoning if you have actually been there, but it can be risky thinking if for example, you are a man whose creative subject is a woman. Should the man become a woman as a means to convey the most womanly creation possible? What if you write about monsters? What if you paint pictures of cars? Should the writer become a monster? Should the painter become a machine? That is a fascinating idea... ...Michey was in a slump. He had not sold a single creation for the last year and a half. Now his savings were gone. Michey began to mooch off his friends. Slouched in a chair at Poll's apartment, Michey said, "I've been thinking. Maybe the key here is getting more into my subjects. You know, like, if I'm going to continue painting vehicles, I really have to like, be the vehicle. What do you think, Poll?" Not taking his eyes off the video game that had consumed him, Poll said, "Yeah, whatever." That night, Michey became restless and went for a walk. Around 1 AM, he found himself downtown, checking out the classic car showroom. He leaned on the door. "Whaa...?" Michey was startled as the door swung inward. He found himself on the floor as the glass door swung back toward the street, leaving Michey inside the showroom. "I can't believe someone left this unlocked." Michey whispered aloud. Michey loved classic cars and he loved to paint pictures of them. However, with sales of his artwork at an all-time low, he had become desperate to figure out the problem. In his mind, Michey figured it was a lack of closeness to the subject matter. He had become complacent and lazy, almost apathetic toward classic cars. For too long he had taken them for granted and had lost appreciation for them. But tonight, as Michey fell onto the showroom floor, something in him changed. There was a certain angle on the left fin of that '57 Chevy that aroused his senses. As Michey sat there, he thought, "That's it. To truly convey the emotion and feeling I am seeking, I must become the subject of my paintings." Michey's body tingled as he got up and walked over to the Chevy. He ran his hand along the smooth, shiny headlight bezel. He bent over and looked down the perfect slope of the door from the front of the car to the rear. With goose bumps forming on his arms, he pressed his cheek against the left front fender. The goose bumps spread to his back and down his legs as Michey kissed the headlight. Leaving his cheek on the car, Michey spread his arms, pressed his chest against that '57 Chevy as he moved smoothly along the driver's door, and made his way to the left tail light fin. Oh, how he loved this car... ...The sun was just breaking the horizon as Michey stumbled into Poll's apartment and collapsed on the floor. Poll had fallen asleep on the couch and awoke with a start at Michey's noisy entrance. "What's with you?" Poll asked. "What do you mean?" Michey replied, obviously irritated. "I don't know, I mean, it's like you're glowing. And you look like your bones are like, close to the surface. It's weird." Without saying a word, Michey picked himself up and looked in the mirror. He was startled by the strangeness about him. Poll was right. There was a sharpness to his features and a glow to his skin. He appeared shiny. Michey reached down to grab a cigarette. As he struck a match on the paper matchbook, Michey noticed his hands felt rigid and rubbery all at once. He found it hard to hold the match, but managed to get his cigarette lit. The day passed uneventfully, but Michey had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he wanted to visit that classic car showroom again... It was past midnight when Michey slipped out the front door again. This was the seventh night in a row that he felt compelled to go. There was something inside him, something in his head that was eating at him, urging him on. He could feel it tickling under his skin, eating away at his brain like a parasite. He had to go. He had to go. He had to go. Something told Michey that the only way he would be capable of creating worthy works of art, was to become the very subject of his creation. So Michey made that his goal, to become the machine. Poll began to hate the new Michey, and he told him so. "I don't like you, Michey. I hate what you've become!" Michey despised Poll for this. One night, something awakened Poll. It was still dark outside. The air was thick. The only sound was the humming of the small table fan on Poll's night table. Poll was lying on his back in bed when he opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling in the dark. A feeling of dread came over him, swallowing him like a hole and covering him like a cold blanket. Why had he opened his eyes? Poll's eyes were open, but he could not see. There was an unexplainable feeling of a presence in the room. "What was that?" Poll thought to himself. The fan hummed. "There it is again," he thought. It was like water dripping in slow motion. Poll reached over and turned off the fan. As the fan wound down to a stop, Poll heard the sound again. It seemed to be coming from directly above his face. He reached for the light... Poll was not seen in town again after that night. The weeks turned to months as Michey made his nightly ritualistic roll downtown to the showroom. He had left Poll's apartment two weeks prior and was living on the street, but he didn't care. His skin had turned to steel and the tread on his arms and legs became thick, and almost too heavy to bear. Michey's fixation had overcome him. With his new persona, he could not bring himself to create. He had succeeded in his quest to become something he was not, only to relinquish himself to his obsession. You do not have to become what you create, to create a work of art. However, these things I do believe are necessities for you to create your best:
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Copyright © 2007-2008 Canvas and Pen / Levi's Rain™.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Copyright © 2007-2008 Canvas and Pen / Levi's Rain™.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.