the order of the subpar artists

Add a subheading (2).pngI felt like my last post was subpar, and I told Becky as much. That led to a discussion of the theoretical Order of the Subpar Artists, which would eat subs and have subs for members who couldn’t make meetings. We’d probably have sublevels of sublime submissive and non-authoritative authority, too. The subsoil would be subsequently subbed. I have no idea. What? Anyways.

I feel like the order of the subpar artists would actually be the deepest, most wonderfully artistic side of the artistic community of the planet. We wouldn’t be united by anything but the longing for unity in disunity. or maybe we would be united by the artistic philosophy that to be serious about art, one cannot take art seriously, which I think is a very Barenaked Ladies approach. Maybe we aren’t united. Maybe we want to be. Maybe that’s why it’s a disorder/order of the highest form. Ordered disorder, disordered order…

So, there it is, I’ve started an order. We have, I guess. It’s more of a we thing. Join us. We don’t have cookies, but we wish we did. We aren’t the dark side, although we can get dark, just not very dark, because we find ourselves giggling madly when we think about madness. We don’t do any particular kind of art, we just… we just are. Aret. What?

I was in the shower today, thinking about stagnated people, and stagnant bodies of water, and fans (but not, like, human fans, like, machine fans), and insects and death and bubbles and rain and I don’t even know what else, because there was too much for me to remember. At breakfast, I just kept thinking, bread and buttermilk. Then I thought, skyscrapers could be skyscrappers, but a skyscrapper would be completely different, I think, there’s something sci-fi there… 

So, what I’m saying is, I think that’s art, a bit. I think that’s subpar art, because it’s not like I really tried, or thought about it, or refined it. It just happened. I think maybe if you’re one of us, you’ll understand.

Feel free to steal that image, up there *gestures vaguely* if you’d like to join the order. Or you can be a ClosetSubparian and not steal it but still join the order.

I am an artist 

let me paint you a picture 

I’ll hang it up on my wall 

and maybe I’ll dust it 

maybe I’ll love it 

maybe then one day it will fall 

I’ll pick it up, then throw it down 

crashes back onto the ground 

then I will stomp with bare feet ‘til it’s shattered 

droplets of blood from my heels will scatter 

 

I am an artist 

let me sing you a song

I’ll put it on a cassette

and maybe I’ll play it

Maybe I’ll love it

Maybe then you’ll pull the tape out

I’ll pick it up, then throw it back down

Tangled mess on the ground

Then I will step on it and slip, trip, and shatter

Now it’s bent up, it won’t work, on my floor it’s scattered

 

I am an artist

let me write you a poem

I’ll put it in a little book

And maybe I’ll recite it

And maybe you’ll like it

Maybe then I’ll forget stanza two

I’ll look up, then throw myself down,

Kick like a toddler, lie on the ground 

Then you will step on me, under your weight I’ll shatter

Now I’m broken, can’t get up, you laugh and then scatter

 

I am an artist

Let me perform you a soliloquy 

I’ll stand on a stage

And maybe I’ll feel it,

And maybe they’ll love it,

Maybe then I’ll break the fourth wall

I’ll look up, then I’ll look down

As the rotten tomato juice stains the ground

Then you will jeer at me, my career will shatter

As I cry, watching any supporters scatter 

 

I am an artist

Let me make you some art

I’ll do my best

And hope it’s good enough

And hope that I feel loved

But maybe I’ll mess something up

Messing things up, messing things down

Curl up and take a nap on the ground

Wondering if I cry hard enough will I shatter

As all my thoughts run away and just scatter 

 

I am an artist.

Let me live, let me breathe.

I’ll fight just like you.

No one is good enough, ever.

But we’re all loved, forever. 

I’m sure I’ll get some right, some wrong—

Feelings will lie, tossing me with waves so strong—

Wondering, why is it that I never actually break?

Can we all make little birds out of our mistakes?

I wrote that poem on a whim one day, after reading about Vincent Van Gogh and Steven Page (completely separately) and a friend said it was really good. I let another friend read it, and she said it was hard to like it, because, while she liked it, it was kind of dark and sad. So I added that last lil stanza that’s kinda Bob Ross-ish, because I did feel like there needed to be some redemption, there. And what is more redeeming than Bob Ross and his little mistakes–I mean, birds? There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.

And that, darlings, that’s art.

img_7598

Like hugging bubble wrap in a store is art. It doesn’t have to make sense. It just is. And it’s happy, somehow.

well, dang, darling.

15 thoughts on “the order of the subpar artists

  1. Yay, you did it!!
    ‘To be serious about art, you cannot take art seriously'<–You just described my whole life philosophy in one sentence. XD So I can steal that graphic for my sidebar whenever I like? (Which will be in two thousand and one years because procrastination). Being a member of the Order of the Subpar feels really good. It's like being in an order of knighthood, but…better.

    I LOVED your poem, btw.

  2. i may be late finding out about this buuuut i would love to join the order :))

    and ohhh weez that poem!! your way with words is tremendous ❤

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