The Trial

Book written by Franz Kafka

Franz Kafka looms over the twentieth century more inappropriately than any other artist that I can imagine. High school and college students have to read Metamorphosis about poor Gregor Samsa and his very bad morning. For me, and I suspect many others,  the personification of all the great works of literature that teachers inflicted on me in school was this man, F. Kafka.

The shape and sound of his name encapsulated the feeling that overwhelmed me when I saw his name on a reading list, always in the middle somewhere between Henry James and Frank Norris. It was the slow march through the completely alien while the teacher seemed to believe that we were going to be touched by the struggles embodied in these stories when the only struggles that interested me had to do with making it through the day unscathed by parents, schoolmates, and teachers. (For the record, I kept an open mind and have found a lot to love in all those books that teachers hoped would kindle an interest in the written word.)

But, Kafka?

In college, I had a seminar class with a professor who assigned a hodge-podge of intense readings and we had to prepare some for serious discussion. There was Kafka on the reading list- one more slog before I could be done with him forever. The weeks passed and Franz hovered until he was one class away. (I had not done the reading.)

As we were packing up to leave,

the professor commented that he had included The Trial as a nice break from the intensity of all the other readings. All of us must have looked at him as though he were mad. Then he said the simplest, most brilliant thing: “You do realize that Kafka meant it all as a joke. He thought he was being funny. All of it. Everything he wrote. If you don’t see the humor in it, then you probably ought to go back and read it again.” As we’ve established, I had to read it for the first time, but I went in looking for the humor. Let me tell you, there is nothing like being told you don’t have to respect your elders.

The curtains parted. The Trial is truly pretty funny. Sure, it’s disturbing, but sometimes you just have to laugh. Kafka knew that. Dickens and Conrad knew that. All of them knew that. The best thing you can do when faced with that book that you never dared tackle is remember that it was written by a human being. All art captures the rainbow of emotions. It’s okay to laugh when you see a Jackson Pollack painting, or cry, for that matter. If Dylan and Mozart can be us jumping for joy and screaming with anger, then so can Franz Kafka.

So, perhaps Kafka really tells us one of the better lessons of life in the twentieth century and beyond- it is all about maintaining your perspective. He wrote from his heart, but he also knew that they were merely words on paper. He asked that those left behind burn it all upon his death. Someone with a different point of view did not follow his wishes. I’m grateful, but it helps to know that this titan of world literature had no interest in posterity.

What’s it all about?

You’ve Got to Check This Out is a blog series about music, words, and all sorts of artistic matters. It started with an explanation. 214 more to go.

New additions to You’ve Got to Check This Out release regularly. Also, free humor, short works, and poetry post irregularly. Receive notifications on Facebook by friending or following Craig.

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Leah

Song written and performed by Roy Orbison

If you happen to discover Orbison like I did via Pretty Woman, then you are in for a surprise. Sure, the singer of that song has quite a voice, but then you listen to Leah or In Dreams or Crying. You might even wonder how he found his way into being a founding Wilbury– perhaps the best thing to happen to those other guys. (He died before they could make this video though you can see his guitar and rocking chair.)

Orbison rode a few waves of fame which I credit to that voice. Like Chet Baker and Aaron Neville and a few other blessings, I have seen people pause when they notice what they are hearing as if an angel has just landed on their shoulder and whispered something that they never thought they needed to know.

Roy Orbison is a hard lesson for any artist,

any fellow human being. He had early success with a sound that was beyond imitation. He wrote and performed some of the greatest music of his time. On the other hand, he did not fit the mold of an Elvis Presley or any of the pop groups. He looked fine and had a pretty good look with the dark sunglasses and black clothes, but he never caught on as a teen idol. He faced horrific tragedy as a young man, losing wife and children in separate incidents.

Bruce Springsteen name checked him in Born to Run when a few people probably had to ask around about this Roy Orbison who sings for the lonely. Resilience is not something that we think about in artistic careers. Instead, we decry artists for getting old and still performing. If we are not openly disdainful, then we are usually a little surprised, at least. After all, shouldn’t they be over whatever got them going in the first place, as if being an artist is something that people grow out of?

An interesting aspect to Orbison’s style is the incredible intimacy of his studio recordings. The portable record player meant that you could take your favorite songs into the dark with you and listen over and over to that one song that was a direct link to your heart. The intersection of the artist and the technology is an unending curiosity. Orbison’s arrival at the right moment may have been fortuitous, but the sound of his near-operatic recordings was crafted to the studio capabilities of the day. He heard something that he could do and made it, to our never-ending benefit. Sometimes, the art is in seeing what can be done with the tools available.

What’s it all about?

You’ve Got to Check This Out is a blog series about music, words, and all sorts of artistic matters. It started with an explanation. 215 more to go.

New additions to You’ve Got to Check This Out release regularly. Also, free humor, short works, and poetry post irregularly. Receive notifications on Facebook by friending or following Craig.

Images may be subject to copyright.

John Sokol, artist, author

We bought our first house in an old city neighborhood near downtown Pittsburgh. If we were part of any gentrification, you would not know it then or now. Most of the folks who lived within four blocks of us had been born there as had been their parents. Neighbors welcomed us kindly, but found us a little unusual. The main street that defined the edge of one side of the area was lined with Italian and Polish restaurants. For a brief moment when we lived there, the place also provided home to a few artists. An artisan iron works defined one corner. Tom Savini lived on our street. Art supplies stores and a a second-run cinema appeared. All (except perhaps Savini) are long gone now.

Around the time we took on the task of renovating our new home, a cafe opened on that main drag right at the end of our street. The house was small and the cafe proved a good destination when we needed out. One afternoon, my wife returned home excited about the art that she had seen on the walls while drinking coffee.

I had seen the sort of thing that they hung (you probably have too) and some of it was okay, but not something that our limited budget inclined me toward buying. Suzanne liked this portrait of William Faulkner. I do not remember how much I liked that one, but then I saw one of Eugene O’Neill.

I think the cafe manager gave us John Sokol’s phone number.

Buying the two prints

got us invited to John’s next open house. That visit opened my eyes because here was a working artist. Paintings and prints and books and designs literally filled his house. Here was an active studio. You can read all you want about musicians and their practice sessions or visual artists and their studios, but nothing makes an impression like seeing all that hard work. (Just agree to read someone’s manuscript and then receive the huge pile of paper…)

Off and on for a couple years, we had a sense of how much work John produced. We also saw what the life of a working artist meant, especially the struggles with museums and maintaining a positive outlook. We bought some of the older portraits that he had done. To this day, I eat breakfast under Franz Kafka’s watchful gaze.

Importantly, John showed us what he was doing with new media, notably tar. We all know the old trope about “Oh, so-and-so is okay, but I really like the stuff he did when he was younger.” While that is mostly pop music BS, the fact is that watching an artist develop something new is fascinating. Art involves much more sweat and thought than eureka. Every day, I have this powerful motivating image looking back at me.

John Sokol is one of the very few people that I am writing about in YGtCTO that I have actually spent any time around (and it has not been much and that time was long ago). Based on that limited interaction, let me wish you artists in your life.

What’s it all about?

You’ve Got to Check This Out is a blog series about music, words, and all sorts of artistic matters. It started with an explanation. 216 more to go.

New additions to You’ve Got to Check This Out release regularly. Also, free humor, short works, and poetry post irregularly. Receive notifications on Facebook by friending or following Craig.

Images may be subject to copyright.