Life of Wry

[Photo, unrelated to comments below, celebrates the fogless early morning. Bright blue sky through a tangle of leafless branches.  YES!  Cold, but nothing like the midwest right now, which will experience a massive storm today and two feet of snow.  So no complaining coming out of me on a 36 degree morning. Nope.]

“Ah, good taste, what a dreadful thing! Taste is the enemy of creativeness.” -Pablo Picasso, painter and sculptor (1881-1973)

Wondering about that.

I work at good taste–in clothing, decor, wall art, serving bowls, purse selections, head bands, my choice of car.  Endless.  Artful, attractive–in my view, anyway–but generally within bounds.  I claim it as my personal aesthetic and consider it a fine way to be.  I like my taste. I like being in my personally decorated world.

But it’s a fine line, no?  Maybe it lacks passion, and abandon.  Oh yes, and RISK.  I love the idea of spontaneity and chance–mostly because I rarely act out of the bounds and safety of good taste.  I lean tasteful.  Careful, correct. But often lust after, you know, the other.

Good taste reflects in my actions, too (mostly).  Comes out as tact.  Tact and good taste sort of go hand in hand, I guess, and really, it’s the appropriate response most of the time (she said defensively).  Tact, diplomacy, “being impeccable with your word,” is important if others’ feelings are to be honored, taken into account.. all persons respected.  But.  Who doesn’t love the guy who just frickin speaks his mind? Or just wears his messy old heart on his sleeve.   It seems more real, more honest.  But, maybe not always in good taste.  Not always nice, not always dignified.  So, a fine line there, too.  Of course there is simple beauty in living life honestly, in clear, direct communication that does not hurt people around you.  Tact isn’t always dishonest or boring.  That level of human communication is a true art.

But I ramble.  Tactfully.

Good taste shows up in my writing as well.  Careful, measured.  Technical.  Uptight. Spiritless.  (It’s getting worse, isn’t it?)  But that’s another post.  (Actually, I already beat myself up on that one… way back September, I think.)

It’s a skill, I guess.  To trust enough and to be liberated enough to act colorfully, impulsively, sloppily.  To be unhinged and joyful. To release yourself into the world openly.  Or, as Pablo Picasso goads: creatively.

So, yeah… the Picasso quote, and others like it, always kind of hit a nerve… they challenge that self-conscious place of restrained expression–even if artful, tasteful and tactful.   I keep saying to myself: 30 years, babe.  There’s time left to reach.

Who’s to say it won’t also come out tastefully?