in art there is an inherent tension between nature and nurture. is the conflict between those simple executions that are known to work, that stimulate base parts of our sensorioum and brain and thus of massive appeal, easy to grasp and enjoy; against things that are dense in technique, and concept, for which one has to develop a language, a technical understanding and a taste, hermetic and not easy to grasp at once.

i think most of the public expects most art to fall on the first cathegory to some degree or another. a painting should look "pretty", whatever pretty means, a song should be "catchy", food should be "tasty", a joke should be "funny", a movie should be "entertaining". either way, the point is that art should "feel good" or rather it should "click" in a quick sensory way. that when you watch a movie its quality should be as immediatly appreciable as when you eat a good meal. and when they hear experts try to explain more advanced pieces they are expecting to hear an explination that makes it so that those advnaced pieces stimulate those simple buttons that more simple stuff so easily satisfies. but of course they never get that, instead they get a bunch of theory that does nothing to make the art any closer in a purely sensorial way.

the idea that in order to appreciate something one has to first develop an understanding or appreciation of it feels counter intuitive, it feels like enjoying art with extra steps, you have to force yourself to extract joy out of something (which is not a pleasant experience, there is always that frustration of the excercise not feeling genuine, not feeling true and emotionally potent, it feels like an affectation) in order to extract the joy and entertainment that one could get much easier from something more direct and simple.

for some people having fun listenting to a catchy jingle made with the classic 4 chords or eating a nice chocolate cake feels more "natural" than listening to prog rock or reading infinite jest. its almost teleological. our tongues were Made to enjoy sugar, that is how things are meant to be because that is how nature designed us. in a sense the studying of art techniques is basically the analisis and compilation of the formulas that work, of the buttons that one has to press to stimulate the human animal in the correct way. we know how the pentatonic scale works, on almost a biological level, we have color theory, we have composition, we understand the three act structure.

so one might ask, why even bother with the weirder stuff, the stuff that is hard to appreciate? the stuff that we kind of have to shape ourselves into enjoying? its artificial, its purely a social construct. is not real, humans were not made for this.

well, the truth is, humans are much more versatile than that, and whilst we are all born with some basic buttons that anyone can push to satisfy, it is also in our nature the capacity to develop more buttons, more complex and intricate. buttons that start to crave for layers, for nuance, for the weird and ecclectic and unique. people DO develop a taste for special, particular old wines that were cultivated in such and such a way, people DO get a lot of meaning from the works of john cage, people DO have fun reading ulysses and these things are not necesarily an affectation. and this is a process that will happen on its own the more we are exposed to more and more art.

i do want to clarify, i dont believe in teleological arguments or appeals to nature. even if that last paragraph wasnt the case, that wouldnt change anything for me, but still, it is the case and i think its worth being said.

now, a lot of people see the developing of their taste as a challenge or an obligation, which can make it an imposition and rob the enjoyment out of it. god knows i forced myself to watch some movies simply because i thought they were the kinds of movies i was supposed to like if i wanted to consider myself a cinephile. i dont think this is a good approach, experiment and push yourself out of your comfort zone, yes, that is how you discover new things. but dont force yourself to stay there if its just not doing it for you. i came to terms with the fact i will probably never understand pollock no matter how many of his paintings i see or how much i study on the subject. but i have come to discover i do like donna tart's the goldfinch quite a lot.

and this doesnt go just for the higher forms of art, try those "trashy" things that come from spaces that are not your scene at all. i was convinced i was never going to be able to enjoy cumbia or trap or bachata and yet i kept my ears open and ended up finding songs in all of those genres that i cant stop listenting to. there are so many buttons inside of you and you dont know what is going to press of of them by surprise one of these days.

Anxiety

Yeah yeah I know, I always write about such fun things, don’t I? But listen close, this isn’t as bad as it might seem.

Well, here I am, trying to write again (not my native language btw, sorry for the mistakes) about what goes on in my life and more specifically in my head. I have always liked football (or soccer for the Americans out there) and tried to play with my friends, guys of course, because around here girls aren’t supposed to play football, there were hardly any teams until recently.

I had partially given up on this, only playing once in ages, but last May I was contacted along with some friends by the owner of my (university) city’s football team. He said he wanted to create a women’s team and that we should try out for it. I spent the whole months of June and July training with the contestants and finally made the team at the beginning of August.

Excellent, isn’t it? I had never received a proper training, only learning from copying boys, and yet there I was, in an official team. But oh, a competitive team. With real athletes. People who trained for many years. And THERE I was. We had instructions to train throughout August and I did the running I was supposed to, rapidly realizing how out of shape I was, but doing what I thought was my best. Now, you know I am depressed, medically depressed, if you have already read something of mine. Anyways, fiy I am. Depression means I sometimes can’t get off of the sofa, it means I doubt myself all the time, it also sometimes means that I make excuses for myself when I shouldn’t. The monster was hovering over my head every evening when I was deciding whether to run or not. All in all I must say I did quite a good job (except for last week, thanks to my period) and I was sure I was going to be soooooo fit at the beginning of the actual training sessions.

The days leading up to the first training (which was yesterday) were exhausting, I kept doubting and then reassuring myself, I was anxious about meeting new people and having to bond with them (thanks, social anxiety!) and on top of all that I was anxious about my body. I do have a very nice body, hourglass shape, butt and breasts and all, and I recently lost and gained back weight which was fine by me. But this was and is going to be intense. I will train three days a week plus a match in the weekend, run a lot, do a lot of excercises. Do you get my point? There’s chances my body will change in a substancial way, since despite years of volleyball training I have never had to work out this hard. And changing your body when you mind is completely shattered is hard, trust me. Yeah yeah some of you will say “boo-hoo, she will get rock-hard abs, poor thing”, but others will probably understand, or at least try to.

So, flash-forward (or backwards I guess) to yesterday, when I was getting ready and driving to the field. I was so damn anxious, I couldn’t handle the time. I was early and ended up being a few minutes late. A disaster, in my head. Training seems fine at the beginning, until my headache comes back and makes it difficult to do some stuff. Then I realize I am not as resistant and fit as basically any of the others and more anxiety kicks in. By the end of the muscolar training session, an hour later, I am horribly mad at myself for not being able to push harder. At some point my headache leads to vertigo (yeah, so lucky I am) and I become hardly able to focus, right when the small match between us starts. I do get some things right, but many horribly wrong, to the point that the team I am in loses for the first time. The trainers try and talk to me and explain what I’m doing wrong, I tell them about the vertigo but that I won’t stop. Right after that I do some wonderful stuff and hey, I am all sunshine again, thinking I beat this thing. But no. Really, completely, no. By the end of the training I was hurting and pissed at myself for not being able to keep my mind on the game and having to tell the trainers about my headache and vertigos.

I have to skip two sessions in the next day and start again on Monday: I HAVE to do better, I HAVE to become stronger, I HAVE to concentrate. That’s it. I can’t let myself lose this precious occasion, this anchor to salvation.