“The Artist” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti highlights the many roles
Ferlinghetti plays in the North Beach poetic scene of San Francisco. The very
act of writing the poem identifies him as an artist and therefore, at least,
sympathetic to the artist portrayed in the poem. However, his position of
curator, owner, critic, and docent of City Lights Bookstore also situates him
on the other metaphorical shore he creates, removed from the artist, despite
his apparent distaste for that particular group of people.
The poem contains slant rhymes in the second and third lines
(cheese/be) as well as the fifth and sixth (openings/galleries). They show the
potential of these spaces to be something, but instead miss the point. They are
slotted on Thursday nights to save Friday and Saturday evenings for “real”
parties and the attendees are more concerned with themselves and refreshments
than art.
The following section begins with an alliteration (critics and crickets)
followed by two couplets, both continuing the pattern of contrived alliteration:
And the singles
out to score
And the docents of
the donor classes
Sheathed in silk &
Christian Dior
Holding long-stemmed
glasses
In this moment, we see the groups Ferlinghetti condemns more than the
casual party hoppers. He packages them in alliteration and couplets to show
their confined thinking. The critics are crickets sounding in silence and
making mere background noise, seemingly filling the void with opinion that no
one seems to listen to as they appear at galleries to be seen rather than see.
The next three lines all rhyme with each other and invoke a sensation
of anticipation, the pulling back of the tide before the wave hits. The line
after the painter observes the guests (rising/apprising/uprising) rhymes with
the previous section describing those guests, placing them on that “most
distant shore.” As he ponders what he is “painting for,” the rhyme returns to
situate his self-worth in direct correlation with the audience he garners. In
response, he feels “adrift in this society” and “doth drink too much.” The
final line rhyme once again with the “distant shore,” suggesting their
reactions are what debilitates him.
It is interesting to think about figures such as Jack Kerouac and
William S. Burroughs who struggle with alcoholism and drug addiction as they
produced work. Kerouac became disenchanted with his own popularity and the
uproar surrounding the Beat movement. Ferlinghetti himself never turned heavily
to alcohol, but seems to sympathize with the plight of artists such as Kerouac.
It is also interesting to note that Ferlinghetti acted as a docent and a critic
by deciding who to publish and who to deny (Bob Dylan). Ferlinghetti seems to
conflate himself with artist and critic and bashes the condition of the San
Francisco art scene and the crowd it attracts while simultaneously praising the
San Franciscan artist for producing and absolving the same artist for having
the lackluster crowds affect him.
Back in February, I attended an installation/performance art exhibit called Fallen Cosmos held in a warehouse in the Dogpatch of San Francisco. It was an invitation-only event focusing on a painting depicting a pagan interpretation of Revelation in which Heaven an Hell would fight for the fate of Earth. Although the concept seemed interesting, I noticed the majority of the attendees were all sneaking in flasks, bragging about drugs they had taken, and asking if drinks or food would be served. I attended the show alone at the invitation of a friend of mine who was a performer. After the exhibit, they ushered us all into a large part of the venue where drinks were served (they were not complimentary).
I complimented my friend on the costumes, but felt the carnival-esque exhibits and final show "in Hell" left something to be wanted. She laughed and adjusted her golden robe. Her hands were stained from pomegranate seeds she had been feeding to guests and she smeared the juices on her garments.
"This whole thing was just a pet project by Chicken John to get funding for other projects he'd rather invest more time in."
And, well, I couldn't help but laugh too. The artists counted on the patron circle-jerk. Everyone likes to feel pretentious sometimes - why not play to that, I s'pose?
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