It was, after all, the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature. And the winner was Bob Dylan. You know, harmonica? Deviated septum kind of twang? Yeah, that Bob Dylan. But I shouldn’t have been taken aback. All I really had to do was examine my own creative behavior. And, no, I don’t expect the phone to ring anytime soon:
Them: Is this Dr. Robert Schrag?
Me: Actually it is Schrag, "oug," rhymes with frog. But what can I do for you?
Them: This is the Nobel Prize Committee calling . . .
Nah. Ain’t gonna happen.
What I mean about Dylan’s Nobel making more sense when I look at my own creative behavior is that I use the literature in songs as a partner in my image making. A number of you asked about how long it takes to create some of my images; Harlequin Bottles, for example. Well, I don’t run a clock on it, but I’m guessing that piece took a couple hundred hours, give or take. So what is the rest of my mind doing while much of it is devoted to line, color, pattern, etc.? Part of it is listening to music. Two versions and by design.
Instrumental. This is essentially music without words - or music with words in a language I do not understand. I use this when I'm designing the the "cartoon." That is the black and white outline of the image that will later be filled in with color. I need all my concentration to be on the image form. Sometimes with an exceptionally tricky part, I will draw the design lightly in pencil and then go back over that part with a black marker when I am pleased with the design. So, really focused on the design. No room for words.
Vocal. Music with words. This comes in after the design is set and I am adding color. There is a sort of a split here. There are songs that I know so well that the words usually don't really register as words, rather just part of a gestalt that flows through the brain without catching on any particular synapse for further consideration. There are some exceptions to that "brain on auto" situation. For instance if something in my current "life lived" is somehow addressed in the words of the "brain on auto" song, the train may jump the tracks a little - "Hum. Interesting." But then usually back on auto again. And the focus jumps back to color composition.
And then there are songs that are purely poetry set to music. And this is where Dylan comes in. His Nobel Prize was awarded specifically for "for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition." This kind of poetic music finds its expression most comfortably in "folk music," or "country," "ballads" "blues" "western" or "traditional" "protest songs" some "early rock" - basically any music form where the emphasis is on the words - particularly storytelling music. It's not that the music becomes secondary - not at all. Interestingly much of the chatter on Beatles sites splits pretty evenly between musical issues - chords, progressions, etc., and debates over content. Usually Lennon and McCartney fighting over "granny songs" or heavier content.
But with Dylan, apologies in advance, the music is so simplistic that the focus inevitably comes down to the poetry. Dylan got the prize, but there are other musical poets out there whose history would have put them in the running for that particular version of the Nobel: Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie and his kid Arlo, Joan Baez, Janis Joplin, Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Aretha Franklin, and Marty Robbins who could sing anything and drive NASCAR, and an occasional dose Hank Williams. Of course, I am showing my age and musical biases, and there will be the inevitable debates over who really wrote what, and who just became "the voice." But you get the idea. So once I am pretty clear as to which colors will dominate and where - generally - they will be going, I can draw while a big part of my brain listens to the poetry.
Hours and hours of poetry and hours and hours of color. Hey, retirement could be a lot worse!
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