Once again after all the ratiocinations; after all the ups and all the downs, it became still, a matter of priorities.
Again the most curious part might be that I had come to this conclusion before I ever even came to it. But it was no surprise, I tell you. It was not the first time. It won’t be the last. And it will never annul the need for deep ratiocination.
I had come across it, the conclusion about priorities, and, without ever being conscious of it; without ever choosing to acknowledge its presence; I had accepted it as mine.
I think it was one of my favorite authors wrote,
> To elude priorities is Art fighting Nature on Nature’s ground. It will lose!
This was too reasonable to doubt; Like I said, I did not fully grasp the meaning of this statement. I did not grasp it at all, in fact. But the conclusion was too reasonable to ignore; There must be priorities for an artist. Because there are choices. And with choices, of course, comes opportunity cost; foregone alternatives.
I hate choices. I suppose sometimes it’s better for an artist to not have a choice. This might be why, in fact, some artists love working under restraints. I must admit I do too. Sometimes I choose a style with a high degree of difficulty to write with; or an almost impossible plot/settings/perspective or whatnot. My choices are limited, lets see what you do with it. I used to think that was the test of a true artist. I was wrong. That is, in its way, the exact opposite. That was me eluding priorities. That was me fighting Nature on Nature’s ground. I lost. And that is why I’m writing down this thoughts. Because I lost and I not only want to know why — that is easy — I want to know why not. Why can I not fight Nature on her ground and win. Why can’t I choose to not prioritize! Why!!!!!!?
I suppose it is because all my life I have been wedged in between opposites; I suppose because at a very young age I learned to solved that quandary impeccably. I learned, to align these opposites — which of course is the only solution — but I didn’t learn how to align them. I simply learned to align them, i.e. that they must be aligned. That it is in aligning them that of course the solution lies. This is valuable wisdom I’m thankful to have learnt at such a young age. I understand most people never learn it in a lifetime.
So even though I never learned how to, that knowledge itself was enough to set me up on the path of alignment.
But to elude or not to elude
Priorities come from choices. The fact of alignment nullifies priorities. There is no alignment in priorities except of course the alignment is the priority. And yet it makes so much sense that to fight Nature on Nature’s ground is a total loss. And it is in human nature to prioritize–which is why the statement makes so much sense in the first place.
An artist who ceases to prioritize is fighting Nature with Art, on Nature’s ground. It will lose.
It, however, it should be noted, will lose. He will not. Or He may not. Hence quandary number four: Is the Artist extricable from his Art? Is he or can he be separated from his Art?
This is quandary number four. I will jump from one to one in no apparent order like the Brownian motion to which my thoughts are interestingly predisposed.
Now back to human nature. I must confess, to me this is the ultimate quandary. I have gone through such a roller coaster in this aspect of thought. And of course in all my journey I have learned nothing. It is ironic for a writer of fiction — which I am, or was? — to admit he has learned nothing on human nature.
I could have written this in a stream of consciousness. I should have. As is, this is still an interior monologue of mine, laboring though; chained, in fact, by the etiquette of a normal prose style. Chained from its free flow, like stones and weeds inside a river, by paragraphs and commas and full-stops. And the three asterisks line breaks for the blog, of course.
The quandaries inside which I delved without any apparent introduction, is that which I found myself stumbling upon in the paragraph before the last. Truth is, I can’t write good fiction anymore. It’s sad because I used to do it so fine.
I started this piece not knowing what I was looking for. I knew I wanted to resolve a quandary. I didn’t know what. I just started somewhere.
Here I am in the middle way,
The ineluctable wrestle with words and meanings.
And I did stumble upon it, and with that knowledge I went back again to read everything I’d written that led to that thought. This is the advantage of writing down your thoughts. You can always go back, the way you can’t in your head.
Well I went back but I tweaked some things in there and reading this it might not make much sense. I have wasted your time. You will never visit my blog again.
But maybe I’ll get it right next time. Maybe my thoughts won’t skip here and there like lights without exploring any path to the fullest. And while you might be disappointed. While this might read as though I did not accomplish what I set out to do, I’d beg to differ. This is an immense success. Its baby steps in the right direction and it’s been a while since I had that. Maybe there is hope, after all.
