Here's the next page from my book of 306–307 Drawing Prompts (the previous page appeared with my digital-wellbeing entry); this current page had a double prompt: "Gecko" and "Sherrif's badge"; one prompt is written in the top left corner while the other's down at the bottom right; cuz the page is supposed to contain two distinct masterworks separated by the diagonal line thru the center.
Dear diary,
This whole idea of “cause and effect” — is it real? Does it exist? Can we trust it? Is it effective in any way to speak of causality? Is it even amusing?
Yes, “cause and effect” is a sham concept. It is therefore amusing. It’s something we’d be better off to unlearn. That’s why I employ it. Wrong thots and every misguided philosophy are welcome here in Bryanland. As it is written: it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. So let us dally with false surmise:
Causality Explained
Why do people do what they do? If we hold what people do to be the effect, then what was the cause of their exploits?
Take an example. Hunter-fishermen: why they do what they do? — We start with a bland, regular person; unflavored and empty. Then X occurs, and that same blank soul becomes a hunter-fisherman. So, what was X? I’ll tell you: X was a desire for venison, coupled with a desire for fresh fish. When these yearnings arise in tandem from the abyss of potential, the previously dormant soul awakes, straps on a crossbow, grabs a fishing net, and shoots one roebuck, and catches one bluegill.
Now let’s try the same manner of inquest for artists:
Why do artists do what they do? — I find no answer. Apparently the cause is unknowable.
Maybe we should try focusing on a specific type of artist. Since I myself am currently engaged in writing this letter to the world that knows me not, let’s ask about writers...
Or actually, to be clear, I’m not writing per se — I’m not technically moving the stylus over the tablet — that’s the job of my amanuensis. I’m really just pacing back and forth in this hut and dictating. Once I finish the epistle, it is handed off to a messenger, who then sets out on foot and delivers it to your church. After my words are read aloud to the congregation, I ask that ye read them also to the church of the Laodiceans; then, that ye likewise go back and read to your own assembly the letter that I wrote to Laodicea, which I sent to them earlier; I instructed them to pass it off to you, or to your messenger, as soon as they’re done with it. (Colossians 4:16)
But back to the question — remember, our topic is cause and effect; we’re trying to figure out what makes things happen...
So why exactly does a writer write? — The answer is money. As the proverb saith: No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money. So it’s like the hunter-fisher above, but instead of the desire for cuisine arising ex nihilo, there is the lust for coins or cash. Thus a writer is born.
But what is the attraction of these coins and cash? Why would one want them? This is what I don’t understand about writers: If the cause of your existence is the desire for banknotes, then why not just skip the busy-work and be a hunter-fisherman? For your banknotes ultimately are exchanged for fresh fish and venison. Is art therefore simply a means to procure the things that money can buy? Did God write the Bible because he was hungry?
SELAH
I chanced upon an instructional film called How to Make the Perfect Mousetrap. “It is crucial,” said the teacher, “that you wear gloves. When you wear gloves while setting up your trap, the mice will flock to it; this is because the gloves block the natural oils of your hands from getting on the trap, so the mice can clearly smell the trap’s bait: but if you set up the trap with bare, ungloved hands, the mice will smell your scent and avoid the trap — the scent of humankind terrifies them.” The teacher then ended his lesson with an anecdote: “I tried an experiment last weekend. Wearing gloves, I set up a trap, and overnight the trap caught a dozen mice! That was on Saturday. Next morning, I emptied the trap and set it up again, just as I had done before, except this time I did not wear gloves — I used my bare hands — and on Sunday I did not catch one single mouse.”
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