Creative Rebellion Essays: The Exquisite Utility of the Useless
We often spend our days, and our lives, focused on “adult” issues that have been deemed by society to be proper engagements. There’s an underlying calculus to what we do: we work because we need money (obviously); we spend quality time with our families (well, we should); we work out to keep our bodies in shape (again, we should); we attend to the spiritual ceremonies that help us deal with the big questions. All these efforts have some kind of outcome that is quantifiable and we feel good about them. Very utilitarian. And all this is fine and good and we should be providers for ourselves and our loved ones. We should be strong community-focused, citizens who provide value, monetarily as well as in civil society.
However, I’ve found that there is still a lingering sense of something missing from our lives, even if we are fortunate enough to have a good job (especially during these times) and our family and friends are healthy and safe. I’ve seen, and experienced myself, the sense of existential meaninglessness when another day has passed and even though we were hard at work, we aren’t really sure what it is we’ve done. But, hey, we were busy and productive and isn’t it beer-o’clock yet?
There’s an innate sense for most of us for creative release. Most of us do this by proxy — we listen to rock or classical music loud and find ourselves transported for a moment by Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” or Beethoven’s Symphony #5 to the depths of darkened forests or to the apex of snow-covered mountain peaks, if just for a moment or so, as we drive our cars or cook dinner in the kitchen as the chords of god-like communion reverberate off the windows through the miracle of music. When we visit other countries, Paris, New York, Venice, or Tokyo, we flock to museums, even though we may rarely step into the museum in our own home towns. For an afternoon we might bask in the genius of Yayoi Kusama, Jenny Saville or Hilma af Klimt, the first truly abstract artist whose work is just now being re-discovered over a century after she made her first non-representational works. The first (and last time) I went to Burning Man, I saw the underlying burst of energy and creativity explode out onto the playa by accountants, lawyers and office workers; their need to create and be part of a like-minded community shredded their proper workday personas and for a period of time, they could wear costumes or paint themselves blue, alter their moods artificially, dance under the moon, release their primal selves, and it was all “socially sanctioned” within the framework of the event.
With the exception of Burning Man (which allows for involvement), what all these things have in common is that they are all rarefied and passive events — others made the music or the art that we engage with. Even when we go to Coachella or Lollapalooza, it’s the artist on stage who we react to. Yes, there’s a back-and-forth, almost religious call-and-response, to the shaman-like rockstar on stage but ultimately we are accepting their gifts. Which is great. Awesome. But here’s the rub. Each of those pioneers in the arts, science, music or business had to engage in useless beauty. Even the entrepreneur has to see above the beige cubicle of their workday and wonder, What if? And to get to “what if” you have to access that same sense of play that we all had as children.
Children have no filter. They laugh, dance, run, scream, draw, sing with abandon. But that can’t go on for long — that kind of creative expression is chaotic to a proper society. So we tamp them down. Tell them to grow up and stop wasting time engaging in things that are clearly not going to make money, like philosophy or poetry or painting. Ironically, the creatives that actually make it through the societal obstacles and pressures, we venerate once they’ve “made it.” But we really put them through the ringer.
The point is, it’s in that What if? that we, paradoxically, find exquisite utility in the useless beauty. In those moments when we put the constant demands of life on hold, just for an hour or so, and allow the dust to settle, we can find that the most meaningful things in our lives are the ones that we loved as children but have shelved. On a long enough timescale, all of our works will diminish. Even the immortal works we produce will turn to dust — all the art, music, literature, science will one day, be gone.
So meaning, true meaning and purpose, are found in the now. The complete immersion and engagement with what you are doing in the moment. And it’s often when we connect back to the now, to the active engagement in something that is deemed useless that we find purpose, drive, excitement and perhaps the next great artwork or startup.
AS RAM DASS SAID: BE HERE NOW.
John
What I’m watching:
Portrait of a Lady on Fire — a remarkable film by director Céline Sciamma set in 18th century France, revolving around a love affair between a painter and the aristocrat she’s commissioned to paint. Sciamma won the Queer Palm at the 2019 Cannes Film Festival as well as the best screenplay award for Sciamma. I noticed an almost complete absence of a film score and there was no music aside from what was actually played in the film and this led to a type of beautiful austereness that underlined the melancholic sexual tension between the two female protagonists.
What I’m reading:
Led Zeppelin by Led Zeppelin — the only officially sanctioned book on the seminal rock band by the rock band itself. A wonderfully designed book with massive photo spreads uninterrupted by lengthy text — more in-depth annotations about the photos are at the back of the book, from each of the three surviving members: Robert Plant, Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones.
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