Charles Tells Us About: The great washed Un-truth

Prelude to Chapter 2

I have often heard it spoken and sometimes whispered that Art is a lie.   While possibly true this statement leads to a corresponding one that says ultimately that there is truth in art.  I would instead put forth the idea that Art is, rather, the Untruth.  I really don’t think that Art wants to be known for or thought of in the same breath as being a collection of real facts.

 

It really does not matter if a fact in Art is true or not.  Who cares as it’s not as if we are discussing science, math or what you just said to your lover or your wife or your mother because we are talking about the mystery of Art and not the truth according to a collective association of the facts.  Art is the great Untruth that helps us find our own truth.  All that matters in Art, according to my logic, is what influence Art has upon us either in the making of or the enjoyment of or possibly even how it influences our sense of the erotic.

 

When speaking about facts concerning Jarry and Picasso you are already at a theoretical loss because of the anarchistic nature of their Beings. Throw into this mix the great circus master of artists G. Apollinaire and you, the reader, are thrust down a black rabbit hole concerning the truth or any grasp of the collection of facts or any coincidence with reality.  It could happen, but for each of these men the truth, they will all tell you without hesitation, the truth is whatever suits the situation or the moment or the need in any given moment.  

 

 

Remember that these unique personalities are artists and Anarchists and supreme believers in their own personal and artistic magic and myth and the only real truth they know is the objects of art they leave behind for the rest of us.  Picasso made over 20,000 objects of art so he did understand that kind of truth quite well.

 

Jarry lived in a hallucination and Apollinaire made up his own personal history when he needed or wanted to.  While they left behind an array of artistic gems between them you simply would never rely upon them for the truth of any matter whatsoever.  No that would be absolutely no fun at all for them and foolish for you to consider.

 

If the three of them did not know each other very well, or at all, they should have.  The magic of the avant-garde years was all mixed up in the water and the air and the mood that these great artists lived in and these three men worked hard and long stirring up this glorious mix and romance of the modern age.

 

These are the years that define our past greatness our past golden age of Being. That is, if you are a writer of Arty History, such as me.  That is what I do.  I write about Arty History.  I am not a Historian and I am not an Art Historian.  And I am not a scholar who writes about Art.  I write about Arty History as an Artist would write about history and if the truth is bent to its knees so much the better.  Like Pere Ubu said, “doesn’t that make such good literature.”   I learned long ago that the truth, in literature, is intolerably dull.  What is really so much better, as a writer, is to catch people’s imagination with as little truth as you might need and as much make-believe as you can dream up for your story.

 

Viva the liberation.