When discussing or dispensing with diatribes devoted to artistry, many make it crystal clear that holding your alleged profession as a badge of office will never net you a positive response from others.  That tends to make discussing ambitions or desires even more harrowing in our minds since, while doing so, you are not overtly investing energy in achieving them.

I was reading (aloud, as per my many, many tics) a fine book on surviving sociopolitical upheaval.  One of the key methods of success is to disparage those who lean against linguistics or slather their fortified nonsense with academic attention (if not rigor) just to win arguments about matters that do not register with the general population.  Everyone has a hard time accepting words as valuable, in other words–at least compared to actions.  They all say, “Show, Don’t Tell”, like it’s the Gospel of Good Writing.

How very true but, if so, then when is telling ever a good thing?

These days, the author of that book has a Happy Hour session on Fridays, during which she watches a boring-to-normal-people video, often a corporate training, in search of the quiet parts spoken aloud amid seemingly sympathetic company.  It’s all about ridiculing academic types for how out of touch and yet so destructively tenacious they are about their imagined world.  So, Happy Hour is about waiting to hear what needs to be heard (the audience needs to present what people are proposing in order to spook normal people to attention and action).

Since this involves someone telling something, telling is a perfectly fine thing.  Why?  Showing is impossible because academic types speak in code out of necessity.  If confronted for their ramblings and their societal fallout, they would either crumble or resort to juvenile name-calling and bullying.  That denotes a frail ego, or a non-existent one if the person is pressured by their in-group into such tricks just to see another sunrise.  It is this approach that makes me think they, through repurposed/rebranded statements, escape the persecution of objective reality by implication, rather than straightforwardness.  Showing is valuable only for those who have nothing to hide.

Telling is still important.  Sometimes, you have nothing to show and can only ride upon others trusting your word.  That can crush people, particularly those hypersensitive about living in poverty.  Selfsame Tuber writes at length about the plight of public schools, particularly in the U.S., which has changed to such extremes over four decades that nothing is safe or sacred there anymore.  Back in the late eighties, nothing was tipping over just yet but, back then, the first-graders were treated to a Friday afternoon game called “Show & Tell”.  Back then, they were seen as equals insofar as the stated title was “Show AND Tell”.  It was far more inclusive in the eighties for some reason.  It wasn’t “Show, DON’T Tell”.  It was “Show & Tell”.  Now, it seems odd to state this numerous times, but the main words were in alphabetical order.  If it was “Tell & Show”, we might not have a semantic argument as profoundly, but it would still happen because “Tell, Don’t Show” would get tons of scowlers in the room browbeating you for thinking “that way”.

I played “Show & Tell” quite often.  I was never good at it.  Well, I don’t remember much about the times I had something to actually show.  The game was that you presented an object, which carried a story or interesting happenstance around it.  It also reflected on your person, desires, hobbies, and how you size up next to others–similarities and differences.  I understand the logic and even embrace it.  It was still painful to “Tell” and bow out of “Show” when you had nothing to show out of your parents’ fear it might be stolen.  However, those times I could only speak about something gave me practice in presenting before the public.  It also enforced my being honest about everything lest someone scrutinize what I had to say.  The first-grade “Show & Tell” game conditioned me to never lie simply because I had to choose “Tell” one day.

This also made me scrutinize people who only show stuff, but never explain anything.  This, in turn, gave me a peculiar fascination with and attraction to stage illusionists, which includes their own pragmatic empirical skepticism by proxy of their profession.  The Wizard of Oz does that for me, too–that character captivates me far more than any other character beyond the Tin Man.  Showing is often part of a larger scheme to redirect attention and prevent the jig from looking like it has gone upward.  Want proof?  Accept a kid’s offer of a candy bar, only to discover you have been handed an empty wrapper that was artfully inflated with a bit of cardboard.  Do this while being rather conscientious about throwing away garbage from living in a cramped, unfinished house heated with a wood stove.  Then realize you have been shouldered with the burden of tossing out the candy wrapper you’ve just been graciously handed.  I don’t care if the implication of accepting a candy bar spells doom for your diet; “Show, Don’t Tell” is a bid for mass deception.

Now, that doesn’t mean “Show, Don’t Tell” is inherently wrong, at least in the case of writing fiction.  People want to see all of it happen before their eyes when it comes to entertainment; in real life, people get squeamish about what is shown.  This squeamishness is a societal conditioner, mind you, hence the otherwise illogical push by institutions of all flavors and camps to control entertainment.  Once you have an iron grip on what people watch, then things fall apart.  As one great comedian opined, “Is there nothing more tiresome than a revolutionary with a pension?”  Anyway, said Tuber I mentioned above, as a libertarian, prefers to uphold the U.S. Constitution’s chief spirit of letting individuals decide for themselves.  The Constitution is also arranged in a tripartite fashion where no single entity has maximum sway, but is checked by the other two through obligation or restriction.  “Show” and “Tell” have no in-between.  Everyone defaults to having one on top, but everyone’s favorite couple of numbers do not require that setup in order to succeed.  In that spirit, I recommend a third that would check “Show” and be checked by “Tell” (a third number on top of everyone’s favorites, however, is unnecessary and disregarded for the best–keep it simple).

From now on, we should also say, “Tell, Don’t Nudge/Hint/Imply” (I prefer one of the former since I’m obsessed with syllable counts).  Would “Show” do better than “Hint”?  No.  And why?  Well, speaking of The Wizard of Oz, the 1939 cinematic adaptation came about in early Hollywood during a time when something called “The Hays Code” was in effect.  This was a set of “no-no’s” in regards to what could be shown in the cinema.  That’s why you should check out public-domain movies that preceded this format–they’re incredible!  You should also consider EC, the long-defunct comic book company, who inspired envy in Detective Comics  enough that they took advantage of the Senatorial hearings borne from the psychology book, “Seduction of the Innocent”, which gave rise to the self-policing strong-arm of the industry which we call the “Comics Code Authority”.  The stuff EC did before the utter sanitization of comics, which included repurposing super-heroic characters into Silver Age versions, is the sort of stuff you read and wonder, “Wait, why was this controversial?” while also remarking, “This is fucking awesome!  They should never have stomped on this!”  At any rate, EC was unafraid to show it as it is.

The “Hays Code” cowed filmmakers from doing anything overt, which made adapting steamy novels into the treasured American genre of Film Noir difficult.  Much of the lurid stuff could not be shown, period.  This is neither a failing nor a handicap–just a fact of life you can work around.  The ways in which filmmakers did culminated in fascinating, gripping art showcasing morality tales slathered in beat poetry (before Black Americans harnessed it into rap music), rainstorms, fedoras and chicks who lead you to your doom (though not always death, and not always deliberately).  As most were set in jungles of asphalt, they also commented on urbanization, isolation, and pessimism.  Without the “Hays Code”, no Film Noir, no Blue Velvet, no Death Wish series of films, no Cyberpunk literary or film genre (The Matrix by proxy), not even rap music, whose streetwise understanding about criminality would neither strive for nor possess any moral compass without some black and white to go with the grays.  Most of the central conceit around Film Noir was the use of shadows and negative space to guide the viewer’s eye through a surprisingly rich visual tableau without any actual budget.  It also used off-camera antics or omitted what was seen down to what is heard, or simply had characters react to a situation that the audience is not privy to but can imagine just the same.  This restraint compounded the viewer’s desire to see or perhaps wonder what will happen.

In other instances, it pays to Tell and not Hint at something.  Sometimes, so much misdirection from the illusionist, or the mentioning of something that piques a reader’s interest, which is then never followed through upon later, gives rise to the obsession with the minor details that the writer never considered or developed, either because other elements matter more or the minor or unnecessary elements were not omitted to prevent literary noise from overtaking the reader’s interest.  Follow through or prepare to answer questions you cannot answer satisfactorily.  Film Noir succeeded by hinting at things instead of showing them.  That’s why excessive profanity from modern dialog disappoints me–only a few vendors at the flea market do so and only when no customers are around or even then.  “Nobody talked like that back then!” I always say.  Of course, most instances demand showing and not telling, but if hinting induces confusion or boredom thanks to not panning out the way the audience expects, then telling errs on the side of caution.  That’s why you have a psychologist appear in the closing moments of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho”, even though most people just sort of “get it” courtesy of pop cultural osmosis explaining the plot at length.  Audiences are not different as we urgently believe–it’s a matter of exposure, which modern technology has a knack for.

Anyway, “Show, Don’t Tell” still stands, but “Tell, Don’t Hint” and “Hint, Don’t Show” are two phrases that should be included.

Okay!  Since I’ve gone on a tangent about hints, tales, and showy stuff, and despite implying one Tuber who you can either deduce or merely speculate based on whether you trust what I have to say is legitimate, this post is about someone else entirely.  Her name is Chloe Rose, a Down-Under artist with such a scatterbrained or even frazzled delivery, it’s hard to believe she’s still a Tuber at all, let alone an artist.  Over the course of the pandemic, she took her trade seriously.  One of the first videos of her that I had watched concerned the painting of a wall, treating it as one big canvas, for the purpose of displaying some classic Disney glurge.  Trick is, she’s very good at it.  I didn’t upchuck at the painting, for one; reminded me of when Disney was in a Renaissance and not the Enlightenment.  Another, she makes the act of creation almost fun.  It seems like she plans things rather sparsely.  It’s also comforting to know I am not the only one who struggles to stay organized or stores supplies in such a way that I can count the many times I have done so next to the few times I have actually taken to a sketchbook.  Her advice on using square, not cylindrical storage devices is quite keen, particularly when space is at a premium.  Of all the plastic bins I’ve used, they’re always curved, often for stability purposes.  The ones that are straight-up cubical make me salivate, but cash is also at a premium.

The adage about not discussing your plans in lieu of actually accomplishing them is why I have mused thus far since, while not out of character, I have wondered if my strangely reticent chattiness (i.e. infrequent posting) about ambition has stubbed my toe somehow.  I wonder why I don’t do something.  Is it cowardice?  Can’t be.  It might be certainty of stability, which desired success does not guarantee.  Yet, I feel as if I have been missing out.  After all, I knew about the other Tuber before the book was even being written.  I could write something, and I certainly would give it the old college try if someone else proposed a concept, having little or no faith that mine would be considered or catch on.  So, why talk about why I’m down on this?

 

 

Because she designed a “Sun-and-Rain” spinning symbol necklace without telling anybody until this video.  Not even hinting at something like it!  I’m mad, but I’m not even mad at her for it since it was a commission where secrecy was part of the contract, essential or not.  I’m mad because there was no lead-up to it.  Then I thought about the Show>Tell>Hint>Show cycle I made up and wondered if communicating one’s ideas prevented them from manifesting them.  Then, I started to wonder real aloud about what I have been doing all this time.  This post took over three hours to compose, for instance, and at an hour when I should be readying my body for an early rise on Sunday.  If I devoted two hours per day about this, I might be a little saner.  Who knows.  Maybe I’ll evolve into the blogger who provides advice in a certain field of study (e.g. best kitchen knives on a budget) and gets paid indirectly for the trouble!

Of course, I have been invested in a hobby whose approach demands lots of attention around innumerable small objects–books.  There is also other merchandise, but that’s it.  I have no understanding of jewelry, other than knowing diamonds, gold, or other precious metals are great for solidifying your financial destiny.  A friend of mine is always looking into jewelry–the usual sterling silver, silver, gold, semi-precious gems, et cetera.  I have sought to follow through with his example.  I have also heard you can repurpose silverware into rings. In fact, at the flea market, I traded a vacuum cleaner to an amateur metalworker for a ring made of bent silverware with an eagle that says “New Jersey”.  I hope to offer it up to James Rolfe in case I happen upon him at a convention.

Selfsame metalworker referred me to a gent who occasionally performs estate clean-outs, in case I wish to procure more wares or liven up the current stuff.  I prefer that kind of job.  I have only a tangential understanding of jewelry and only have some after another seller had offered up not just colored gem necklaces, but the display paraphernalia like swede fabric.  She sought to clear out of the market and didn’t want to tote everything home.  I have set them on a butler’s rack along with other necklaces–nothing special, even for costume jewelry–and even plan to offer them to another vendor either for free or a flat-out song.

Again, I prefer small, climate-sensitive items and emphasize functionality and practicality over other concerns.  I don’t want to finagle with anything smaller or less fragile than a pamphlet. I have an idea of cleaning and selling small picture frames while including prints of my own ink drawings once I have drawn new, decent ones.  But that idea has yet to happen as my booth’s layout is teeming with simple low-cost lamps.  I even keep around light bulbs since they’re great for testing and including with the lamps.  I’m not one for collectibles, not even first-edition prints of books as they are beyond my price range.  Room decor, games, electronics, the occasional appliance–that’s it.  Being surrounded by truckloads of books I have yet to process gives me little sense of community, let alone ambition to draw anything.  It’s a case of so much around me and nowhere to go.

So, imagine my amazement and enthusiasm upon discovering Chloe’s greater success in not just Shooting the Tubes, but actually designing new jewelry for a company.  Then, my disgust in how she never shared this until now.  Maybe it’s because discussing something is not the same as working on it, enough that it detracts from actual labor.  Still, tipping us off even at the mid-point is not abjectly detrimental.  Imagine the excitement you have in discovering a good friend has a hobby, a soft spot that goes against his sculptured image, or a hard side that is finally melting during a crisis (not every excitement is of elation).  While Chloe is still just a Tuber and not a friend, the sensation is sometimes similar, though not as profound.  I don’t envy her by any means as I have no experience in the jewelry industry and would be lost.  Part of what drove her was the condition of her grandmother.  I went through that twice as a kid.  I should feel lucky–my grandfathers were long dead before I was born!

The actual piece itself intrigues me. It has a certain bipolar motif to it–spinning extremes counterbalancing the other.  Talk about bittersweet melancholia.  The jewel is out now and, barring a purchase of one, you should definitely look through her YouTube channel.  Now, if the seller site was not loaded with trackers, I might have checked the price on the piece to see whether I can buy it as a gift for someone. I’ve bowed out, not like a coward so much as a habitual skinflint.  I’m probably missing out, but investing in gold or at least just sterling silver feels like a fairer bet. Still, if Chloe has been at this for over a year, she likely has other even better jewelry designs in tow and it’s best to wait for the good stuff to appear.

So, if Chloe ever reads this scatterbrained diatribe, know this: I realize my hypocrisy as I have bought t-shirts from “The Rageholic” and “decino” in the past.  Look at it this way: some Tubers make a clay Pikachu holding a crowbar; others knit while watching crappy academic conference videos for the lulz. You paint the walls, then get contracted to design fuckin’ jewelry!

My friend and that flea market seller would blush to hear about you.