Mythical dignity under the magic lens

Mythical dignity under the magic lens

Posted on March 1st, 2011 by Chris Matarazzo

Bear with me for two reasons: First, I can’t believe that someone, somewhere in the history of philosophical thinking, hasn’t said what I am about to say — but as a guy who cranks out a column a week here and three other pieces per week on his own blog, I’m simply not going to research it and find out. (Please feel free to let me know if I am parroting Descartes or Dr. Phil or something.) Second, I’m going to start with people, in general, and then apply it to the artistic types, so, please be patient, dear reader.

It seems to me that each of us creates his own mythical tale to sum up a lifetime, with himself as the central hero. Sometimes the story lives only inside our heads and sometimes we tell it to anyone who will listen. It also seems to me that the relative tallness of the tale depends on the creator’s own perception of his worth as a human being; the less confidence, the more hyperbole. By extension, artists do this with their artistic identities. But to support the premise, let’s examine, say, the dating world:

Ever watch the TV show “Blind Date”? About seven out of ten women interviewed on the show — pre-date — declare that the reason they haven’t found significant others yet is because men “find them intimidating.” Let’s hold up the Magic Matarazzo Lens to that statement. (This lens automatically transforms total bull-dookie into absolute and irrefutable truth. You’ll have to take my word for it.)

Here we go. The phrase “men find me intimidating,” through the lens, magically becomes:

“I am an arrogant and insufferable beast whose simplistically superior attitude is a cover for my own awareness of a lack of any real achievement or importance on this green Earth.”

See how it works?

Likewise, men will come on the show and say, “Women tend to find me too intense. Like, ‘go hard or go home’ is, like, my motto. Most chicks can’t keep up with me.” And, we hold up the Matarazzo lens:

“For some reason, yahoo that I am, I can’t seem to have a thought that is generated from any location above my navel. My constant state of motion, which I call ‘intensity,’ is a cover for the fact that my brain is actually a dried out Buffalo wing. In short, you may well have met telephone poles with more interesting things to say. I know I am unable to contribute anything meaningful to either a conversation or to the world around me, so I scream as loudly as I can in order to drown out anyone’s opportunity to point out this obviousness or to confront me with any idea that I cannot understand.”

Whoa! Easy, lens. The lens, it seems, has little concern for its subjects’ feelings. Please, intense and intimidating people, accept my apology on its behalf.

There are all sorts of societal examples of self-created mythologies in miniature: little guys in big trucks; intellectually-clad stupid people who sit in coffee shops pontificating about banalities with other stupid people and calling it philosophy (I really wanted to write “calling it macaroni,” there); liars who have learned to actually believe themselves; villains in white and heroes in black, if you will; teachers who lord it over kids because their own high school days were filled with wedgies. The world is brimming with myth-makers. It’s how some of us save face and build foundations of self-esteem within.

When it comes to artists, especially those of us who are unknown to the world in general, many of us get so wrapped up in the absence of conventional benchmarks like awards, credentials and income that we write our own myths to pad our egos.

In this case, certain statements tumble out — things like: “I’m the best pianist in South Jersey!” (Matarazzo lens: “Must convince self . . .”) or “No one else has my moves . . .” (Matarazzo lens: “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing and I am trying to pass it off as innovative . . .”) or “You want to kick me out? You try to find a better lead singer!” (Matarazzo lens: “Crap. What if they find a better lead?”)

Let’s be fair, while we’re at it. You might have read some of my previous articles, especially things like “Why I’m thankful for artistic failure” and said: “The guy’s making excuses. He’s pretending to be comfortable in his obscurity so people won’t think he’s a failure — or that he feels like a failure.” It could be true. But only I know that for sure, if I am willing — and able — to be honest with myself. But I’m either building my own myth or spitting out truth. There’s no other possibility I can think of.

You’ll have to invent your own truth lens if you want to find out for sure.

If we do our artistic best and reach our personal goals, we’ll know we went as far as possible and maybe the tall stories will shrink a little. A writer writes; a composer composes; a painter paints; a poet poets (What?); a dancer dances; a sculptor sculpts; an actor acts, etc. The rest is interpretation and all of it is creation, from whatever angle.

Chris Matarazzo’s ARTISTIC UNKNOWNS appears every Tuesday.

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Chris Matarazzo

Chris Matarazzo is a writer, composer, musician and teacher of literature and writing on the college and high school levels. His music can be heard on his recent release, Hats and Rabbits, which is currently available. Chris is also the composer of the score to the off-beat independent film Surrender Dorothy and he performs in the Philadelphia area with the King Richard Band. He's also a relatively prolific novelist, even if no one seems to care yet. His blog, also called Hats and Rabbits, is nice, too, if you get a chance...