Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Bronson and My Artwork

This is a film that requires no summary of events.  They are irrelevant.  Rather than a linear story, the film presents us with an ideology.  It just so happens to be a lifestyle that I find myself particularly attracted to.  It's made of the same stuff that makes Ayn Rand novels such a good read.

If appreciation of beauty is what separates man from animal, than art must be held as having paramount importance in every human's life.

For Charley Bronson (aka Mickey Peterson), the artwork is him.  He is the masterpiece that begs to be observed.

All you need is a name. 

The philosophy of "Life as Art" or "Life as Story" is simple to arrived at; all one has to do is switch the word moral, for aesthetic.  For the character of Bronson, he never has to make a moral decision in his life, not a single one, he simply makes aesthetic choices.

In the second grade I had a crush on this girl named Samantha.  I think every boy in my class did.  She was a bubbly blonde, smart, cognizant of the adult, and very much extroverted.  I had, already in my brain, at this point in my upbringing, began to formulate a way in thinking that helped push me towards action rather than passiveness.  I think by nature I was an introverted soul, but various environments were already pressing on me to live outwardly.

No, in second grade I never had the gall to make a move on the lovely Samantha.  That would have been too dynamic yet for me.  I did however, try other ways... and I did so, because the audience demanded it of me.  I had conceived of my life as a long-winded play, a book, a television show, a movie.  This process bound in me the desire to live an exciting story.  And the pressure came from nothing other than my own internal desire to live a lively storyline.  In the second grade I wanted to live a life worth watching.

Charles Bronson does the same.  All he wants is to be, that which is uniquely beautiful.  And we cannot deny him that.  There is a majestic beauty to his singular purpose, to his carnal attitude.

An art competition came to our school that year, the year of Samantha.  We were to draw a poster for DARE, that drugfree program that Nancy Reagan was all about (or was it Barbara's initiative?).  Whoever drew the best picture would get to go on a ship whale watching with his whole class.  That was my ticket!  If I drew the best poster, than out on the sea Samantha would be mine!  It was so simple.

Unfortunately, I failed to recognize that the Good Lord gave me no skill whatsoever in the realm of drawing.  So, my second grade story remained banal, and Samantha grew up without ever knowing about my care for her.  Sigh...

I am not Charles Bronson.  But I'll tell you this much; if there wasn't a God already watching my life unfold, I think I'd be forced to take matters into my own hand. 

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