home panepage what’s behind the scrim?

Picture the Blue Ridge mountains. Is the air really blue? From every angle? Without perceivers, we would have no sense of external reality to talk about. The perceiver is part of reality. And so “reality” may simply be the sum of all projections which we are all helping to create as we watch and act at the same time. On stage, I knew what was behind the scrim: let down, clutter, a different drama called life. Who knows what is behind all the scrims we create? All we can do is offer what we think we see or hear or feel. But once in a while, it all adds up to inspiration and we find –some of us do–that we can or perhaps unknowingly created a magic word or two, that for someone just soothes out singing, even if it is just in your mind.

To me, art is about that. I am wholeheartedly with Friedrich von Schiller. In his time there was a movement to make art a cameo presentation of the “real” world. We have had and still have that today. And to which Schiller replied with words that amounted to: Reality? See reality? That’s not art. If you want to see reality, go stand on the streetcorner and look. I think Mozart and Beethoven and Mark Twain and Robert Frost and… and… must have had similar thoughts. Even the better war movies make them into something much more than just watching tanks shoot up other tanks. Here have some more popcorn….

One of the most poignant and expressive scenes in any movie is the crew of the U-Boat in the original Das Boot singing Its A Long Way to Tipperary.

It says more about who we are as humans than many and many a learned tome about battles and generals and logistics through which I have waded — interested and informed even fascinated, but not moved by visual and sound poetry in my soul.

There are those guys in a fragile steel double tube with two motors all alone in grey sky and steel waters, having just eaten a mold infested meal of spoiled meats, bored and irritated by the Nazi idology officder’s wooden might makes right nonsense from the Party, on board as the new Number One, knowing they could die horribly at any time. And yet they are warm, together, singing their favorite song, one known from having known their enemy as brother seamen probably before the war…. Even Schiller could not have exceeded that sequence’s visual and audio poetry of the human capacity to rise morally and spiritually above evil and tragedy. Every time I find it on YouTube I replay that same unforgettable sound and color image of U-Boat knifing on the surface, through the foggy, cold, grey North Atlantic water to that tune with the same deep appreciation for poetic dramatic mastery. It went on first viewing straight from my eyes into my soul.

I am not counting on it and I do not expect that I will do it, but maybe somehow someone will find that magic word here== even if just a little for a split second. And I do not always take the time and energy to look well behind the scrim, but once in a while I try. It is about progress, not perfection as the man said.

 Sure:  sometimes a rose is a rose is a rose. 

IMG_5725.Sometimes it is not just a rose.

Butterflies rising out of a thicket? Something photoshopped into greenleaves? Green leaves colored? No; the first color of fall on our young red maples, in the middle of summer.

Some could care less. But take Robert Redbird above. Why is he looking at us that way? IF it were one of my German Shepherds, I’d know what that look means: focus on me! Now!

We somehow each sort out what really is going on to find our right path in this world. Or maybe we just keep moving, knowing that we probably will not know for sure. In the end, after all what we see might not be what we see after all.

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