Masturbatory Manifesto

I turn on my computer (aptly named the Pornalator5000) for two basic reasons. Either to blog or masturbate, both serve very similar functions, but service different wings of the nervous system. It would be all too simple to reduce this complex dichotomy to a question of mental stimulation vs. physical, because both are present in both activities. Masturbation is absolutely necessary for my mental health, not just for the release, but the repetition of regular masturbation is essential to my comforting morning routines. Blogging, while seemingly only useful for mental gratification, actually provides a little tickle of physical pleasure, often times culminating in giddy chuckling. Knowing I'm writing something makes me feel like I am living out my purpose and distracts me from any aches, pains or Münchhausen I'm suffering from.

The very practice of writing a manifesto is extremely masturbatory. My idea is so important that it will manifest itself in your mind upon reading my defense of it. I have accomplished something today; I have declared myself to be an original thinker worthy of conical consideration. My idea isn't that strange of one, or that new of one, but you really don't hear it that often, especially among writers.

Proposition #1: The point of life (and by dubious association the point of art) is to enjoy yourself as much as possible.

Proposition #2: Good art is that which the artist's labor brings him/her the most joy.

Traditionally, we think of good art as something that is universally meaningful, or something that expresses itself in a way that resonates with an audience. Like much of what we learn in school, this view is highly romantic and is based on the idealized notion that audiences are looking to be changed by art. I personally believe that audiences view art to affirm feelings or views that they already have, and find the idea of change as unsettling if not repugnant.

Let's say that good art is actually the art that the person making it enjoys the most. Think Kindergarten finger-painting. The kid who got the most praise from the teacher wasn't the kid who tried to smear something life-affirming. The teacher smiled and told us to have fun, to smear with gusto, to smear whatever is bugging you, or whatever you saw on the playground earlier that day. Smear for the love of smearing. After you washed up and everyone compared their smearings some would claim theirs was better than others. The teacher might even try to analyze some of the smearings for deeper meaning, but one thing is evident to anyone (excepting the self-enamored artist): The paintings all suck. It's O.K. to admit, you're five you were only using tempura paint and your hands. You can't expect to much.

Now let's take this idea to the Louvre, line up the greatest works of art made by man and look at them carefully. Now look out the window at the skyline, maybe a few trees, and come to this conclusion: These paintings all kinda suck. It's alright to admit this. Sure these are some man's best attempts to immortalize an image, but so much is lost on many viewers, so much is made up by historians and critics and the kicker, many of these works weren't considered great by the artist, or by the artist's peers. Maybe this is the wrong criterion for judging art. Maybe we are holding ourselves to standards much to high to be attainable or even realistically measurable.

Many artists comment that their best work isn't their most famous. I purpose that their best work might not be their most famous, or what they consider their best. Really their best work is the one that brought them the most glee, which distracted them the most, which turned them away from life, something transcendental. It might not bring any acclaim, but it will bring a great sense of personal satisfaction that is more salient. I could get a standing ovation and get boner at best, but the only way to realistically get myself off is to strip down and jack it. Sure, it doesn't seem as satisfying for the audience, but think about the stories they will tell. "Honey I was at the opera last night and you wouldn't believe what the bullfighter did during intermission." Maybe that is art.