July 18, 2023
"The new Black Mirror season is a disaster," or so they say. Is it, really? Or are we just missing the point of what art truly is? Should art be a replicable commodity? Predictable, safe, always hitting the spot? Let's take a quick look at Black Mirror's latest season and see why the answer should be a resounding 'no'.
But before we start, here is a disclaimer. Art is highly subjective and I don't pretend to know the objective truth about it. The following ideas are just that, ideas. Take the ones you vibe with, and leave the rest behind.
I recently watched the latest season of one of my favorite shows: Black Mirror season six. And man, I loved it. Yeah, sure, some episodes were better than others, but overall, it hit the spot for me.
This season, Charlie Brooker was playing the hits, with episodes like Joan is Awful, we were treated to the trademark portrayal of a dystopian world, while Loch Henry reminded us that dystopia isn't always a distant reality — sometimes, it's been here all along.
Yet, I was surprised by certain critiques aimed at the final two episodes. Some viewers voiced disappointment, calling them 'not Black Mirror enough'. And I get it, if you were expecting the usual dystopian story with technological themes and found something different, I understand how you could feel misled.
But to call a piece of art bad simply because it was not what you expected, is not a great way to critique and experience art. Black mirror is not really about spooky technology and the dark side of humanity, rather it's an exploration of fresh, unpredictable ideas. That's all art really is.
This situation reminds me of the release of Arctic Monkeys' Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, it was a gamble since the monkeys took an entirely different sonic direction. Some people loved it, some people hated it, fascinatingly, for the exact same reason: the band dared to innovate. They dared to change their sound.
These sentiments of artistic disappointment highlight how art is largely misunderstood. Art should never be treated as a predictable commodity, a package with known contents, and a predetermined taste. When you order a cheeseburger at McDonald's or pour yourself a beer, predictability is indeed key. You anticipate that familiar flavor, the nostalgic taste that never fails to hit the spot. But art is not a cheeseburger.
Art is not about serving a predefined expectation; rather, it is about providing a unique aesthetic experience. Donald glover put it quite nicely in one of his shows: If you came here to hear your favorite song, you should go home and do that. Art, in its purest form, isn't a commodity, instead, it's an experience where you immerse yourself in the collective energy, the shared anticipation, and the spiraling waves of sounds and visuals that transport you to a different world.
In contrast, art thrives on novelty, on surprise, and on challenging the viewer's comfort zones. When consuming a new piece of media, it's just better to have an open mind and let go of your preconceived notions and biases. To fully appreciate art, one must willingly surrender to the experience, step into the world that's been carefully crafted, and ponder: "What if?".
Choosing to hold onto your biases and expectations is a one-way ticket to Disappointment town. Unless you're settling in for the familiarity of a superhero movie or the latest rom-com, you're likely to be let down because art isn't here to cater to your preconceived tastes or gently guide you through your comfort zone. No, good art should knock you out, put you in the back of a van and leave you stranded in a new land where you've never been.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to bash commercial media or deem it inferior to 'Art' with a capital 'A'. Marvel movies aren't inherently better or worse than artistic films; they're simply a different beast, a product designed for consumption, akin to a cheeseburger. The point I want to drive home is this: the main goal of creating a commodity, a commercial product, like a Marvel movie, is often to sell as many tickets as possible and maximize profits. On the other hand, the purpose of art is more elusive, more abstract. If I were to define it, I'd say that the purpose of art is self-expression — it's about projecting your thoughts and feelings into the physical realm through various mediums and sharing it with others. This process leads your ideas to be interpreted, re-interpreted, and even misunderstood, leading them to morph and evolve into new artistic expressions. It's an ongoing, endless cycle of idea exchange, a fascinating dance of creativity that you're invited to join.
Art's beauty lies in its uncertainty, its potential for exploration, its capacity for sparking discussions. So, the next time you encounter a piece of art — be it a song, a film, a painting, or a TV series — remember: the experience is not about getting what you want, but about what you might discover.
June 27, 2023
I guess this is part rant and confession, or a Rantfession. I haven't been sincere in ages, I have been completely consumed by irony. Perhaps that’s not the best way to put it.
I imagine sincerity and irony as two massive clouds made up of billions of information particles colliding in slow motion like two galaxies, it wasn't like that always. I remember back when sincerity was a thick solid column that I could rely on and irony was just a gimmick, but this memory is now a speck of information in the conceptual galactic crash.
Let’s zoom out and catch this cosmic event in all its glory. In the vast darkness, many massive collisions look like dots of neon colors, I see patterns materialize and dissolve. Ideas float like objects massively distributed through space and time. What a view, isn't it?
As I reject the idea of a single objective truth, I too float in liberation of being able to choose any idea and appropriate it briefly until I get seduced by the next one. Let’s zoom in! I know a great spot near the majestic idea splash zone. Here, ideas happen to look like waves crashing against each other in mid-air.
waves crash
I feel ideas splash over me like raindrops on an overcast spring walk. Fuck! I forgot my umbrella!
But it’s okay. I let go and enjoy every drop that lands on me. Wow, I see a huge splash coming, looks like a whole ocean is dropping on me. I lose control, I am not a subject, I am the medium itself. I am mere means to an end that I have no sight or control over. No different from real waves violently crashing on the rocks.
waves crash
I am no different from the bubbles rising to the top, in the glass of prosecco that you are holding. You sip on your drink careful not to spill it, since you’re riding on the passenger seat of a cheap but efficient electric car. You finish your drink and start messing with the radio to find the perfect track for this road trip. You see a beautiful cow grazing on the side of the road and decide to play “Music to think about cows” because it just feels right (this is a real song). With a smirk on your face, you ask:
Is this Ocow?
You turn left, wondering if you got any reaction. You lock eyes with the unamused driver, but these eyes are your own. The sudden realization hits you. you are driving. How can you be both the driver and passenger at the same time? Half quantum superposition, half creative writing, your alter ego replies.
Are you you? Or are you me?
Something in between
This is just a little introspection, not that deep, get over it. A mere exploration of one's own psyche. You are both on a road trip and not on a road trip. You are on a road trip in the sense that you are being led on the journey. You see a sign on the road, “Subjective beach” it reads. “We’re almost there” comments the driver with a smile on his face. You are also not on a road trip, in the sense that you’re actually just reading words on a screen and this whole episode is happening in your head. Unless you’re reading this while actually on a road trip, in that case, what are the odds?
waves crash
The car speeds down a straight narrow road on the side of the beach. It reaches a parking lot and stops, after a couple of minutes two small figures exit the vehicle. From afar they look like midgets. On a closer look, it appears to be either large midgets or typical small men.
As you get out of the car, you’re distracted by a distant buzzing coming from an unknown direction. You look up in search for a source but you don’t see anything, and the buzzing fades away. Welcome to Subjective Beach! the driver announces.
“It’s lovely, I just wish we could have caught here”, you say.
You still don’t get it, you do? This whole thing is happening in your head. It can be sunset if you want. The driver snaps his fingers and the sun fast forwards towards the horizon. This is all a mental fabrication, it can be sun-rise, moon-rise, sun-set, moon-set, no sun, two sunsets, whatever you want. The driver snaps his fingers again and another sun rises.
“Oh my god, I find it a bit overwhelming” you gasp.
And as you look at the horizon now adorned with two glowing orbs of light, the ground beneath your feet feels unreal, as though it's shifting to match your whims. The world around you morphs with your thoughts and desires. The grains of sand are like millions of tiny stars, twinkling beneath your feet.
waves crash
A wave of realization washes over you, "If I am both the creator and spectator of this world, then the world is nothing but a reflection of my own thoughts, of my own mind." The concept of a single objective truth evaporates like a drop of water on a hot summer day.
You look at the driver, your alter ego, with newfound respect and apprehension. You are standing at the precipice of an infinite pool of self-created realities and perspectives. The infinite possibilities are overwhelming yet liberating.
In this newfound realm of fluid reality, you decide to challenge the boundaries. You imagine a third sun, one that's a vivid purple, slowly rising over the horizon. You gasp as the surreal star manifests, painting the sky with strokes of indigo and lilac.
“Oh my god! this is too cool!”, you shout. You lock eyes with the one sun in the middle and command it to become a gargantuan mirror ball. The light from the two remaining suns hit and reflect on the numerous mirrors, creating a million little beams of light painting ocean and earth with dancing dots of color. Your eyes follow the beams of light heading into space.
waves crash
Suddenly, a thought strikes you, "What if I’m not the driver nor the passenger, but the car itself? A vessel carrying ideas, experiences, and emotions, traversing the vast expanse of reality."
The driver smiles, "What if you're the road? The journey itself?"
The idea makes your head spin, but you're eager to explore further. You've dipped your toes into the limitless ocean of introspection and found it exhilarating.
"It's a vast landscape inside, isn't it?" the driver asks, leaning on the car and looking out at the disco ball setting on Subjective Beach. "The deeper you go, the stranger it gets."
"That’s… trippy," you whisper.
The driver frowns, “Some people don’t like it though, to disrupt the known and dive into the absurd, to question and challenge the status quo. They hate it when you puncture their bubble of relatability, they can’t handle a little ‘what if?’, they need a strong reliable comforting truth to hand-hold them through life. And here’s where I come in! I don’t see their beliefs as solid edifices, I see them as fragile sand castles a little too close to the shore. And just like a cat that can’t help but push something off a table, I just get the irresistible urge to be an asshole, and splash some waves over their sand castle beliefs”
waves crash
The driver starts laughing, "Well, isn't that just the irresistible urge to be an asshole, my friend?”
“I guess it is," you respond, your gaze still fixed on the two suns and the mirror ball over the horizon, "And I wouldn't have it any other way." You feel a strange sense of satisfaction in the chaos, a newfound excitement in the absurd, in the disruption.
waves crash
The driver grins, "Good, because we've got a lot more road to travel and many more bubbles to pop." He opens the car door and slides back into the driver's seat.
You pause for a moment, taking one last look at the panoramic spectacle of Subjective Beach, your beach, a creation of your liberated mind. You feel the gentle touch of the waves at your feet, the warm breeze against your skin, the subtle crunch of the sand under your toes, and the surreal glow of the twin suns and the mirror ball on your face. A million beams of light dance around you, their playful movement mirroring the chaotic beauty of your thoughts.
waves crash
Then, just like the driver, you too slide into the passenger seat of the car, ready for the next journey. As you strap in, you glance at the rearview mirror. The sight of the beach growing smaller brings a twinge of melancholy, but the promise of endless possibilities ahead fuels your excitement.
"Alright, let's hit the road!" the driver says, pressing the accelerator. The electric car whizzes down the road, leaving the beach and the twin suns behind. You roll down the window, feeling the cool wind on your face, carrying away the last remnants of the beach. You're ready for the next adventure.
"Where to next?" you ask.
waves crash
With that thought, you lean back in your seat, eyes fixed on the sparkling blanket of stars, ready to take the plunge, ready to splash some waves and enjoy the visceral irresistible urge to be an asshole.