And another thing:
Observing the camaraderie (and to some degree, intimacy) of the group last night got me thinking about the art crush. I’m not sure what else to call it, but it’s the experience of going absolutely gaga over someone based solely on artistic ability. I can’t even begin to count the times this happened to me: I met some guy who was unattractive to me, then got access to his artistic ability -writing, music, whatever- and became completely infatuated. These usually ended abruptly with some display of mundane humanness – bad breath, a weird body hair, boogers, something gross and annoying like that. I wonder what is at the root of the art crush. Talent and ability are exciting and mysterious, certainly, but lots of character traits are exciting and mysterious and don’t translate to desire, however short-lived. Maybe it’s the perceived intimacy of bearing witness to something so personal, maybe it’s weird crossed signals about creation firing somewhere deep in the amphibian brain. I would like to think I am evolved enough to be beyond that silliness, but as long as there are ugly, talented guys out there I guess I’m still at risk.
Regardless, what to call it:
Artdor
Artdoration
Infartuation (eew)
A “crash.” That’s it. Sums it up perfectly. I suppose one treats a crash with annoyntment. Hardyharhar.
On another amorous note, when I went to the garden supply store on Wednesday to look for a potential Planty, I felt unusually tender toward the plants, especially the trees. I figured it was probably a sign that I’m losing it and I need to move on to the next project. But, last night I asked the guy who played Paul if he had any newfound fondness for trees after being in my play, and he said that he kind of did. I guess it’s a good thing my play wasn’t about a guy who had sheep grazing in his cubicle.
