I'm reposting a comment I left on my brother's blog about the types of stories literary critics like, versus good stories, and why there is that difference. I will probably write more on this, especially since I'm trying to stop being lazy and actually make some art this year. (New Year's resolution? Not going so well) But here's what I thought of. It relates to my thoughts on the Eisenhower Memorial too.... He asked why a bunch of spiritual bulemics are running our art world:
It's because they think the purpose of art is to challenge. I used to think they had it wrong, but since my is still blown from watching the last three DVDs of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood in one go, I'm actually ready to concede that point. But challenge what?
Critics steeped in critical theory who (surprise surprise) find themselves and their lives lacking something, think art ought to raise its fist and scream a challenge to God for making things so crappy. Or they would, if they weren't also wussy. And Marxists. So instead they raise their middle fingers and sneer an insult at the past, or the public, or anything that someone else might earnestly enjoy, for being, well, better than them. They tell us that stories about pathetic people being pathetic are realistic, because it's all they know, and they've settled for it.
But the purpose of art is to challenge. Us. To be heroic, not to give in when the odds are against us, to depend on our friends, to find and hold something or someone that makes us able to face down whatever life throws our way, to pick ourselves up when we fail. And not sneer at normal life and people, because that is what we are protecting, and what we will return to or start again when the story is over, until the next adventure.
We should accept art's challenge, not use it as an excuse to settle, and eventually decay and collapse, because the challenge is too much.
