Art thou Sm(art)?

Hello there and welcome back! It seems like we’re in the midst of some sort of record-setting writing performance here. This marks the third straight day that words have been taken and recorded in a combination and order never before seen with human eyes! Think about that! No one, and I mean not one person during the millions of years of existence has seen the words you’re reading right now, in this very order (well, with the exception of those few souls who visited this blog before you did).  I suppose by the same logic, every time you read something that is not plagiarized you can make the same claim with the same authenticity.  How many of you though, stop to think about it? 

I had this realization just today, and you might even say it floored me. Indeed, it floored me.  When you do stop and think about it, how many experiences in your life are truly unique? Is there anything you have done, (or even thought!) that hasn’t already been done (or thought!) by someone else?  In a way, it’s a little bit depressing, knowing that the path you’re on is most likely a well-worn one in the scope of humanity. 

I suppose that this makes a nice segue into a newfound, slightly improved appreciation for modern art.  I have tried to understand, and many have tried to explain, the appeal of modern art.  I have none of it, however.  I don’t think it takes much talent, and I believe art should require some sort of talent (at least the kind that makes the cut at MoMa, or the Met, or my living room), not simply access to materials and adhesive.  When modern art ‘speaks to me’ so to say, it very often says something along the lines of “Some sap threw this together, and THEN came up with a very deeply profound, soulful explanation for what he was trying to do”. To me, it rings hollow. Portrait painters will sit down in front of their subject with a concrete goal in mind; namely, to reproduce the likeness before them with some degree of recognizeability on the canvas. Rarely, I think, does the modern artist set about with a goal to express feeling [X], and then go about doing it to a similar degree of recognizeability.  Hogwash.

Though I will give it credit in the aforementioned regard; with every piece we are seeing something truly unique, no matter how bad it might be.  Perhaps this is the end goal, just to create something that has never been created; to allow people to see something that none of the preceding generations ever had the chance to see or to imagine.  In this regard, I think I now appreciate modern art slightly more, if only because it makes me think.

If you are an art expert, or brave enough to put forth any defense of modern art, please do so. I’m completely aware that I may be ignorant of a massive aspect that could change the way I think entirely. If so, do not hold back!

On that note, I bid thee adieu until next time,

Ian

Kaizen!

I stumbled, or rather, restumbled on this word the other day. The word is Kaizen, and in Japanese it means continuous improvement. The first time I heard this was on the trading floor at Nomura, but, that being a Japanese bank, I heard many Japanese words and this one did not stand out amongst the swearing.

I’ve been mulling it over, and I really like the concept.  The way I see it, every day is an opportunity to improve yourself.  And so I shall.  It can be anything, as long as at the end of the day you can look back and say ‘I did [x] and am now a better person for it’. 

It doesn’t have to be big, the idea is that the sum of lots of little things will eventually make you a more complete, well-rounded person. And the beauty of it is, it never stops! Nobody is perfect, and thus there is always room to improve some aspect of your life. 

Just today, this has motivated me to clean my room, go to church, workout and write down this blog post. I could very easily have just sat on the couch and watched TV or some other slothful activity, but now I can look back on the day and know that I’m happy with the choices I’ve made. And in the long run, isn’t that the exact feeling we all want on our deathbed? To be satisfied with the choices you’ve made in your life, and not to regret a thing. I think that starts with the little, day-to-day activities, and there’s no time like the present to acknowledge that.

I leave you with some food for though: are you happy with what you’ve done today? If so, great! If not, why? What can you change?

Goodnight and enjoy!

Ian

Mt. Yoga

It isn’t often I find myself in an uncomfortable physical situation; I like to think that I am capable of doing whatever is asked of me, beyond the normal call of duty.  Walking, even double time, or whilst chewing gum, fails to challenge me.  Running, at distances up to ¾ of a mile, barely breaks a sweat. Dancing, it seems, is what I was born to do.  However, ask me to assume a stationary pose and hold it, and you ask me to push my limits to the brink. 

Thus I felt while at yoga class the other day.  I had gone to clear the mind after a day of work, and to sweat out some of whatever it is you sweat out when you sweat.  Grace, it seems, deserted me in my hour of need.  The yogi (Bear, I couldn’t help but think), made everything sound so easy and relaxing, when in reality it was anything but.  I contorted myself into various shapes meant to resemble dogs, ninjas and planks.  Several times, the instructor had to come over and actually adjust my positioning, implying that my alignment was wanting. Meanwhile I found myself surrounded by a sea of superhuman flexibility. No doubt my surplus testosterone was a great handicap. Not being one to give up, even in the midst of humiliation, I put on a brave face and endured the torment to the bitter end. 

Afterwards, I experienced the sort of euphoria I imagine an inexperienced mountain climber would feel upon summiting Everest. The hill had been conquered, the adversity overcome, a great trial of mind and body laid to rest.  It can only be that the alleged peace and relaxation gained from doing yoga results from the endorphin release from having survived the ordeal in one piece. I now better understand the psychology behind the ‘living on the edge’ sorts, who claim to feel most alive while willingly knocking on death’s door.

Having counted this as a productive day, I retreated to my lair to recover and considered myself stronger for the experience.  If you regularly do yoga, any tips or hints would be greatly appreciated, as I may subject myself to this again.

With that, I call it a day. Goodnight and enjoy!

Ian 

Eye of the Storm

A hiatus, and a lengthy one at that, it has been since I last greeted my innumerable readers with a new update. Well, wait no longer my friend, for the creative juices have returned, and the fingers have found the keyboard once more.  As has been the case before, I find myself here now due to illness.  It strikes me that illnesses are particularly conducive to writing, because they open up the entire day before you.  In an alternate universe, you would have remained the picture of health, labored at whatever it is you labor at for the length of the day, and returned home to eat, read, perhaps relax, converse with loved ones, or even a workout for the more ambitious among us. Before you know it, the day is gone and the next is about to begin.

When you are sick however, this rhythmic cycle grinds to a halt.  A bar of lead in the spokes, we shall say.  All of a sudden the hours of the day stretch out before you like the Atlantic before Columbus Now usually, I am inclined to be passive, to watch TV, or movies, or lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, artificially prolonging my life. This time, however, the case is different. I have been reading the blog of a great friend of mine, Jason Connolly, and it has inspired me to put pen to paper once again.

In the course of this wretched illness, the idea struck me that a breath of fresh air would do the soul a bit of good.  Converting thought into action, I threw of the blankets and sallied forth into the wild blue yonder.  In more specific terms, I took a book, navigated both Park and Fifth Avenue, and found myself parked on a bench in Central Park.  Now, let me tell you, if ever a place was created for the purpose of soothing the stormy mind or body, Central Park would not be first to pop into mine.  I suppose though, that if you think of the city as a sort of static, perpetual hurricane, Central Park would be the eye.  It is calm, it removes you from the chaos, and it is green.  And so it was here that I’m quite convinced I overcame the ailments of the body, and started to feel better almost immediately. 

Not only physically, but no matter what mood you’re in, I find a stroll in the park can improve it substantially.  It makes you take a step back, slow down, and appreciate the moment, which I often find myself failing to do.  Having reached a Buddhist’s tranquility, I decided to take my profits, so to speak, and legged it for home, whereupon a dose of airborne, a good night’s sleep and sound breakfast rendered me once again my usual invincible self.

With that, I will bid thee adieu, and wish you the best,

Until next time,

Ian