Anthony Bromberg Abromberg@media.ucla.edu
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Nothing is relevant. Nothing is real. No one really knows
anything. Life goes on like a wheel.
Think about it.
Or, wait, no, maybe, don’t.
I’m not really sure?
What was it we were talking about? The migration pattern of
swallow-tailed doves from winter to summer.
The main point of the matter is that we, human beings,
carbon-based life forms, pirates on the sea of life, don’t
really know anything ““ at all.
That is the main point, anyway, of a lot of great art
that’s out there right now. And that has always been the
point of great art. Humans are feeble.
Our minds don’t really register anything.
How many fingers am I holding up right now? You don’t
know, do you?
Three? Damn, okay, bad example.
Remember the movies you have seen lately. Remember
“Memento.” Remember books you’ve read like Mark
Twain’s “A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s
Court.” Remember music you’ve listened to like
Radiohead or even David Bowie or even the Beatles. Think about
Picasso or even Warhol.
All of these things are asking you to question your own
existence.
There are whole genres about this topic ““ think about
science fiction, think about fairy tales. And you thought
“Goodnight Moon” wasn’t an existential treatise
on the struggle of objects just to be recognized in the universe of
a little boy (read God).
Think about the two basic constructs people have created at this
point to explain life. On one hand you’ve got religion and
God, on the other you have science. Humans can understand
neither.
On the third hand (yes, the bastard child hand coming out of the
universe’s stomach) you have art, creation and even beauty.
Humans reach out to give back to the universe.
So, we question the universe in our own creations and we
question our place in it.
Poets deconstruct words until they mean nothing, filmmakers and
painters deconstruct images until they are only questionable and
almost exactly nothing.
It’s almost summer and we students are graduating, and
moving on, or just trying to find something to do. What the hell
are we?
See, we are just like art, which is just like the universe,
which is just like, well, I lost myself …
Why are humans so unsure of what they are, or where they should
be? Why are humans driven to ask why? Why do all of these artistic
geniuses pose all of these questions and then leave us without
answers?
In fact, now that I think about it, I just watched
“Memento” again and I have more questions. I was
listening to “Kid A” the other day and I felt secure
only in my ability to question.
Well kids, maybe that’s the point then. If Bob Dylan and
James Joyce don’t have all the answers, and put their art out
there as inexplicable pieces of the universe, then maybe the
questions are the things we should strive for.
The more art asks itself, the more great stuff gets put out into
the world. So, questions are the key then.
Maybe, we can use that philosophy here at UCLA. Let’s push
ourselves. Let’s ask ourselves the questions that are going
to change the world.
Let’s start simple, baby steps as an old wise man once
told me. Ask yourself how you’re doing today. Oooh, that gave
you goosebumps, didn’t it? I see that faraway inspired look
in your eye. Now go forth, prosper, create.
Or, maybe you should take out the garbage first, or what was
that you were supposed to do? I can’t remember either.
Well, as you go away this summer or stay put or whatever it is
you’re planning to do, remember not to take anything without
asking “Why?” first.
The truth of the matter is that art is great. It pushes us, and
so no one really knows the meaning of life. Sure we’ve seen
“City Slickers” and “American Beauty” and
those are fun movies, but really we should take away questions from
sentimental drivel like that, just as we do remarkable works that
question the question of questioning around the question that went
behind the block with the other question and questioned
themselves.
Thank Art next time you see him for what he does for you (and no
I’m not just talking about the guy named Art who hit on your
sister last week), and that’s a lot.
Think about the last time you were making out and a little Jack
Johnson was playing in the background ““ that was pretty nice.
Or, when you were down over the weekend and “About A
Boy” proved a good tonic of escapism. Or when you read and
you just like it, a lot. Or when you write for a newspaper, because
in some odd way writing about art is fulfilling. Or, maybe
that’s all just me. But think about art anyway, because
it’s great, and because it will change your life and the
world, because it changes all of our lives. I mean if our parents
hadn’t bumped into each other when some Barry White was
playing none of us might have gotten conceived. So, throw that one
out there as a question of your existence.
Wait. So wasn’t this supposed to be a sports column? Or
are you just pretending to listen? Kasdkja/ytrussdgud.