What I Believe: About Fine Art

When I think of fine art – the sort of art that the Met or the Prado or the Louvre would display – I think of paintings, watercolors, gouaches, etchings, and drawings. I think of sculpture, large and small, in clay or stone or bronze or steel. I would also include some photographs and videos.

My definition encompasses the full history of artistic expression. From prehistoric wall carvings to ancient jewelry to Greek and Roman (and other) classical paintings and carvings and sculpture to genre art of the 16th to 19th centuries to Romantic art, Neoclassical art, Impressionism, Expressionism, Abstract Expressionism, Cubism, action painting, COBRA art, naïve and outsider art.

What I don’t think of when I think of art is, for example, a woman painting her body with feces. Or a pile of stones or driftwood on the floor. Or a discarded piece of machinery on a pedestal. Or a dented car fender in a frame. Or a woman dressed in a pink leotard making animal noises from inside an iron cage.

In other words, when I think of art – the sort of art I am happy to call art – I want it to have two things. The first is what some art critics call plasticity – that it is a physical object made of something. And I want it to be something whose aesthetic value comes from its visual self – how it appears to my eyes.

When art is plastic and visible, it can be seen and judged according to its plastic and visible properties. It stands by itself, announcing what it is through itself. It doesn’t need an explanation. And I don’t want one. I want to judge it myself. I want to figure out whether it’s worth anything on my own.

The idea that anything can be a work of art is the core “insight” of conceptual art. The argument is that a urinal, by being placed in a museum, becomes something more than the thing it was before it was pulled off a bathroom wall. That, in seeing this utilitarian object in its new setting, the viewer gets to have a different and somehow more artistic experience of it.

I believe that is half true. When I encounter conceptual art in a museum, it does make me stop and think. But my thoughts are never remotely close to what the pamphlet or placard tells me the artist thinks I should think. My thoughts are, “What an utter waste of floor space.” And, “Seriously?”

If you want to be a conceptual artist, stick to the art form that caters to the brain’s capacity to understand and create ideas and concepts. In other words, become a writer. And if you want to be a performance artist, become a performer. Learn to dance or mime or juggle or tumble or act.

The borderline hysteria that the COVID pandemic provoked has finally exhausted itself. Americans – old and young, healthy or not, Trump lovers and Trump haters – have traded in their enervating views on the virus and returned to the habits of the pre-COVID days. They are gathering maskless at restaurants. Children are attending school. And the stadiums and concert halls of America are filling up again.

Among the most reluctant, however, are American workers. Many are going back to the factories and offices in which they used to spend 40+ hours a week. But many are not.

My business partners, whose employee counts range from several dozen to several thousand, have differing views on what should be done. Some believe their businesses would be better served with a complete return to the old days. They tell me that having workers in situ will improve productivity, accelerate the transfer of knowledge from seniors to newbies, and generally increase company morale.

Others, like me, have a less certain perspective. We believe there is some value in having one’s employees in the same space some of the time. But we also think there are good reasons to believe that productivity is as good or better with so much of the work being done remotely. And we can’t help figuring how much money we can save on rent.

Employees have their own points of view. Some long to be away from whatever it is that happens at home during their working hours and look forward to the refuge of an orderly workplace and collegial community. But the vast majority, according to the surveys I’ve read, would like a future that gives them the liberty to come and go as they wish.

At a recent board meeting with my main client, we decided to avoid making a cross-company mandate, and passed along the decision to the individual heads of each of the operating groups. Most of them are settling for policies of partial return. At least one, though, is looking to get everyone back full-time. He’s running into resistance because many of his employees would rather have the freedom to decide how many days they should spend in the office. And some, including some very valuable employees, are simply refusing to come back at all.

The arguments he is hearing from his employees that don’t wish to return are what you would expect. “I get more done at home.” And, “I can work more hours now because I don’t have to waste an hour every day commuting.”

A group of Apple employees are resisting the company’s back-to-the-office mandates by taking an entirely different approach. You will be amused to discover their argument in News & Views, below.

Actors That Make the Difference 

Gene Hackman and Al Pacino are great actors. Both have been amazingly good in so many roles over the years.

But Hackman has something that Pacino doesn’t have. Some ability – some something – to make every movie he stars in work.

Ask yourself: Have you ever seen a Gene Hackman movie that didn’t work? From The French Connection to The Conversation to Hoosiers to Mississippi Burning to The Unforgiven to Enemy of the State to The Replacements to Crimson Tide to The Firm to The Royal Tenenbaums to The Birdcage to Young Frankenstein to Uncommon Valor to Bonnie and Clyde?

Al Pacino was fantastic in The Godfather (I and II and III), Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, Donnie Brasco, and Once Upon a Time in America. And all those movies were fantastic, too. He was good in Sea of Love and sort of good in Scarface and even Frankie and Johnny. He overdid it a bit in Scent of a Woman. But then there were all the others: Cruising, Author! Author!, The Local Stigmatic, Dick Tracy, Two Bits, City Hall, Chinese Coffee, S1m0ne, etc.

Maybe Hackman is simply better at picking movies. But I think there’s more at play. I believe he has a kind of thespian charisma that is so strong it makes bad scripts sound good and brings out the best in the actors he plays against.

Anthony Hopkins is another actor that comes to mind when I think of that sort of charisma. He was amazing in the “Hannibal” movies. His performance was key to making The Remains of the Day so successful. Likewise with Meet JoeBlack and, most recently, The Father. But I’m not sure about his movies that I haven’t seen – like The Edge, The Rite, or Fracture. Did they work? Did he make them work?

I thought I’d waste some of my time today (and some of yours when you read this) contemplating which of the several dozen “really good actors” I’ve listed below have that magic ability to make the movies they star in work. Check it out. Tell me what you think.

MALE ACTORS 

I think these actors have it: 

Gene Hackman, Anthony Hopkins, Jack Nicholson, Dustin Hoffman, Robert Downey Jr., Marlon Brando, Paul Newman, and Humphrey Bogart

And maybe these… 

Sean Penn, Joe Pesci, Robert De Niro, Tom Hanks, Denzel Washington, Kevin Spacey, Will Smith, Lawrence Olivier, Leonardo DiCaprio, Morgan Freeman, Christian Bale, Samuel L. Jackson, Brad Pitt, Sean Connery, Don Cheadle, and Mel Gibson

But probably not these…

Al Pacino, Liam Neeson, Robin Williams, Hugh Jackman, Daniel Day-Lewis, Johnny Depp, Peter O’Toole, Henry Fonda, Bruce Willis, Michael Caine, George Clooney, Jeff Bridges, and Nicholas Cage

FEMALE ACTORS 

I think these actresses have it:

Frances McDormand, Audrey Hepburn, Katharine Hepburn, Diane Keaton, Bette Davis, Jennifer Lawrence, Ingrid Bergman, and Maggie Smith

And maybe these… 

Helen Mirren, Faye Dunaway, Cate Blanchett, Elizabeth Taylor, Meryl Streep, Marilyn Monroe, Judi Dench, Jodie Foster, Glenn Close, Emma Stone, Scarlett Johansson, Jane Fonda, Charlize Theron, Vivien Leigh, Kathy Bates, Jessica Lange, Barbara Stanwyck, and Olivia de Havilland

But probably not these… 

Hillary Swank, Penelope Cruz, Ellen Burstyn, Susan Sarandon, Sandra Bulllock, Anne Hathaway, Michelle Pfeiffer, Reese Witherspoon, Shirley MacLaine, Sally Field, Nicole Kidman, Julia Roberts, Natalie Portman, Kate Winslet, Julianne Moore, Amy Adams, Viola Davis, and Sigourney Weaver

BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE! 

Then there are the character actors that cannot save the movies they have a role in, but bring to life every scene they are in. Like…

Tom Waits, Peter Lorre, Eli Wallach, Thelma Ritter, Martin Balsam, Quentin Tarantino, J.K. Simmons, Steve Buscemi, Charles Coburn, Harry Dean Stanton, Vincent Schiavelli, Tilda Swinton, Walton Goggins, Judy Greer, and Chris Cooper

What do you think? Who did I miss? Where am I wrong?

When I was 17, I registered as a conscientious objector. There were two options: (1) I won’t go under any circumstances, or (2) I’ll go, but I won’t carry a gun. I took the second option. I was drafted and had an appointment with my draft board to defend myself. I was told I would not succeed, that I’d go to prison instead. I was okay with that. When the day came to defend myself, I somehow missed the appointment. I got a call from my draft board saying I was going to jail. I heard nothing more from them after that.

The invasion of Ukraine has me thinking again about the morality and practicality of war. I wish I had the clarity of mind I had when I was younger. Defending one’s home and homeland certainly feels justifiable. Invading other countries? No. But what if, as in the case of Ukraine, the invader believes that it is a form of self-defense?

I don’t know. But my general sentiment about war is cynical. I do like what Tolstoy had to say on the subject. He believed that the upper class uses war to dominate the working class:

“They stir up their own people [against some] foreign government, and then pretend that for the well-being, or the defense, of their people they must declare war: which again brings profit only to generals, officers, officials, merchants, and, in general, to the rich. In reality war is an inevitable result of the existence of armies; and armies are only needed by Governments to dominate their own working classes.”

Holding Fast to the Stories We Want to Believe 

I got into an interesting discussion about a comment I made in reviewing King Richard. I said:

“Before I saw the film, all I knew of Richard Williams was the character the media portrayed him to be: fanatical, egotistical, and abusive. The story told here, which was approved by Venus and Serena, showed evidence of the former two traits but none of the last. On the contrary, the Richard we see in King Richard is a loving and devoted father, doing his best to raise five healthy, successful daughters.

“I haven’t done any research to determine the veracity of this portrayal. If it’s good enough for Serena and Venus, it’s good enough for me.”

A friend took issue with that last sentence. “By all accounts,” he said, “Williams was more horrible than the movie indicated.”

One man. Two stories. Which should we believe? The extremely negative characterization put out by the media for so many years? Or the more benign view presented by Richard Williams’s daughters in the movie?

We debated the question earnestly. But neither of us was persuaded by the other’s arguments.

Afterwards, I was thinking about other, similar media characterizations. There was Woody Allen. Then Mel Gibson. And Alec Baldwin. And Jussie Smollett. And at the top of the YouTube hit list right now: Johnny Depp.

In each of these cases, there were two narratives. A very damaging one that caught fire in the tabloids. And another, more nuanced, view supported by a few friends and colleagues. For all but Jussie Smollett, the damaging story prevailed. Johnny Depp’s trial may determine whether he can restore his professional and personal reputation.

The same phenomenon has occurred in recent years with many public figures. Professional athletes. TV personalities. Politicians. And even social media influencers. The most flagrant example is narratives we’ve been sold about Donald Trump. One has him as a populist hero in touch with the working class. The other as a racist, narcissistic, homophobic, transphobic, and misogynist megalomaniac. And even now, two years after he vacated the White House, those two stories have not changed. Nor has the number of Americans – approximately 100 million each – that believe them.

As someone that’s spent a lifetime selling ideas and information, I’m attentive to the mechanisms of persuasion. And, as any experienced marketer will tell you, the single most powerful way to persuade someone of anything is to begin your sales pitch with a dramatic story. Facts are helpful in supporting one’s beliefs. But the beliefs are born in storytelling.

Stories activate the imagination. And, as neurobiological studies have shown, the imagination conjures up the same sensations – visual, auditory, olfactory, even the sense of motion – that are aroused by real life experiences. (In remembering experiences, the brain cannot distinguish between what was imagined and what was real.)

Facts are processed differently than stories. They are taken in and stored in the neocortical center of the brain, which is designed for logical and rational thinking. It does not have receptors or storage for feelings. (This is the part of the brain that makes Homo sapiens sapient.)

That is why we trust our feelings. They are stored unconsciously and are felt more deeply and more strongly than stored facts. Once rooted, they are almost impossible to deracinate.

And that, I think, is why it is so difficult for us to give up the stories we have come to believe. It’s why my friend and I won’t give up our beliefs about what kind of father Richard Williams really was. Absent the prejudice of deeply stored feelings, we can have a rational discussion that can change our minds. But once we “live through” a dramatic story – whether it is real, imagined, or conjured by a clever journalist or copywriter – facts no longer matter to us. In our limbic and reptilian brains, giving up our stories feels like giving up our very lives.

What I Believe: About Honesty and Dishonesty

I’ve done no research to back this up. But I’d bet that the tendency for humankind to lie developed on the same timeline as our ability to speak.

An essential component of civility – if not civilization itself – is the prudent employment of dishonesty. I would further argue that most of the best attributes of culture – art, literature, dance, and sport – are rooted in the willingness to lie about what is possible in the actual world.

I also believe the idea that honesty is not a virtue, but a privilege. A privilege granted by nature to the young and beautiful, and by society to the powerful and protected.

Life without dishonesty would be unbearable.

What can one person do in a single lifetime? 

For the first 50 years of my life, I don’t think I read a single biography or autobiography. But as I stepped hesitatingly into what I optimistically thought of as Part II of my life, I became interested in people that left their marks on the world.

In the last two decades, I’ve read about a dozen biographies and one autobiography, as well as a handful of memoirs. Some were authors (Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, Jack Kerouac, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Jane Austen, and Joan Didion). Some were businessmen (Andrew Carnegie, John D. Rockefeller, and Donald Trump).

I read two biographies of Henry Flagler. I think it was because of how much he accomplished after he retired from building Standard Oil with John D. Rockefeller. He moved to Florida and spent the rest of his life basically building four of Florida’s most important cities. St. Augustine, Palm Beach, Miami, and Key West.

The standard view of aging is that, at 50, the slope of one’s life is downhill. But, of course, it doesn’t have to be. By the time I hit 50, I’d had some success in business, but failed to accomplish anything that I had dreamed about when I was younger. I’ve been busy knocking off some of the items on that list ever since.

I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. Perhaps to explain why, last week, when I had the chance to read a short biography of Noah Webster, I was once again inspired.

Some Say Liberals and Conservatives Have Different Core Values, and That’s What Separates Them. Is That True? 

I watched a TED Talk last week that promoted an idea that’s become popular in recent years among a certain faction of social scientists. The speaker argued that liberals and conservatives have different political views because they have different core emotional values. Liberals value openness and flexibility. Conservatives care more about vigilance and security.

When I was a young wannabe, I would have agreed. Favoring free love and legal marijuana, I saw myself as open and flexible. Moreover, I viewed my parents, and the rest of their generation, as “stiffs.” (That was the term we used.)

That pseudo-psychological assessment provided me with two levels of pride. I felt intellectually superior to my elders, and I felt proud of my willingness to tolerate them.

When I grew out of childhood, I had to abandon childish things. Including that specious sense of superiority. I continued to value openness and flexibility, but I had to give equal credit to caution and security.

I do believe that, as a group, conservatives tend to value stability and tradition. But I don’t believe they are always less open or less flexible.

As for the liberals, those I know are open in their willingness to criticize and condemn conservatives. But they are shockingly close-minded when it comes to conservative ideas.

A related myth about conservatives and liberals is that liberals are more open and flexible when it comes to sharing their wealth. In fact, all of the studies that I’ve seen (including the one below) show that conservatives give more to charity on a per capita, per income, and per net-worth basis.

A third myth about the core psychological traits of liberals vs. conservatives is that the latter promote fear to sell their political ideas, whereas liberals sell hope and optimism. But, once again, the evidence doesn’t support this claim. A recent example is the political response to the pandemic. In that case, it was the liberals selling fear and the conservatives arguing against it.

Those are the facts. And that’s how I see it. Let me know your thoughts. In the meantime, click here for another TED Talk I watched not long after watching the first one. This one, I thought, was a bit broader in topic, deeper in thoughtfulness, and generally more interesting.

How I Fell Into Real Estate Hell 

In the late 1970s, I made my first investment in real estate. It was a tidy little one-bedroom in a recently refurbished building on Massachusetts Ave. in Washington, DC. The woman that sold it to us happened to be the owner of a townhouse we were renting about half a mile away. She persuaded me to buy the apartment by explaining how prices had been escalating in the area and by offering me a loan that required me to put nothing down. Not a cent.

Nice apartment. Recently remodeled building. Up-and-coming neighborhood. And zero out-of-pocket? It seemed like a no-brainer to me.

The no-brainer, it turned out, was me.

She was right in telling me that property values in that part of DC had been going up. And she did manage to get me a deed and the keys without taking a nickel from my wallet. But what she didn’t tell me was that the value of the property that was indicated on the mortgage was considerably higher than it was actually worth. Nor did she explain that the loan I had agreed to had a three-year term, and at a negatively amortizing rate.

What that meant was that my mortgage payments were not sufficient to cover the interest payments – or the principal. So, at the end of the three-year term, I had to refinance, which required me to shell out thousands. Plus, the amount I owed on the principal was more at the end of the term than it was when I first signed.

To make matters worse, I rented the place to a nice young woman that presented herself as a college student. As it turned out, she was earning her tuition by entertaining men in her apartment at night. This led to constant complaints from the neighbors and fines from the HOA. To add insult to injury, after the second month, she stopped paying rent.

I inquired as to the procedures for kicking her out and found that DC had such strong tenant “protection” regulations that it would take at least a year and probably two or three to get rid of her. I considered changing the locks when she was away, but was told that if I did that, I’d be arrested. I’d be in jail – still paying the mortgage, still losing money every month on the negatively amortizing loan, still paying fines to the HOA. And she’d be comfortably entertaining “clients” until the eviction procedure finally took hold.

I considered refinancing again. But alas, the mortgage I had signed was not backed by Freddie Mac or Fannie Mae. That meant that at the end of those three-year terms, I could be forced to pay out the entire balance of the mortgage. (Which was growing by about a thousand bucks a month.) I didn’t have that much money. So, I had to accept whatever predatory terms the shitty bank that held the mortgage offered me. I had fallen into real estate hell with no prospect of getting out.

It wasn’t until nearly four years later that I managed to pay off the mortgage and sell the damn place. Instead of the big profit my landlady had promised, I took a hit for nearly $40,000 – which was about $40,000 more than my net worth.

Responding to Injuries and Insults: Good at One. Bad at the Other.

 “I once met a man who had forgiven an injury. I hope someday to meet a man who has forgiven an insult.” – Samuel Johnson

I’ve been told that I’m often too forgiving. Too forgiving of employees stealing from me. Or friends lying to me. Or colleagues failing to keep promises.

When, for example, I discovered that a personal assistant had stolen $35,000 from me through fraudulent credit card purchases, I didn’t fire her. We talked about it. She apologized. I forgave her. And we continued to work together (but in a different capacity).

When I discovered that a good friend had been lying to me about circumstances in his life, circumstances that affected my life negatively, I didn’t dissolve our friendship. In this case, we didn’t talk about it, because I believed the lying was not circumstantial. It was an immutable aspect of his personality. I had to ask myself if I could enjoy his friendship going forward. The answer was yes. We are still friends.

When business colleagues (and others) make promises that I know they can’t keep, I encourage them to be realistic. If they insist they can achieve the impossible goal or meet the unrealistic deadline, I make a mental note to forgive them later when they fail. I do it because I believe that when they make the promise, they intend to keep it.

I know that when I’m criticized for being excessively forgiving, it’s meant to protect me from myself. To wake me up to a frailty that could eventually cause me harm. I get that. I appreciate it. But I don’t act on it.

I am not oblivious to the fact that there are people in the world willing to do me harm. I recognize that envy exists – and envy breeds contempt. I know that I am sometimes too direct in my critiques and criticisms – and that, too, can spark embers that flare up later. Most important, perhaps, I have learned that in helping people, we can create in those we help unconscious feelings of resentment.

All those things I accept as common elements of the human condition. But I don’t feel endangered by them. Or vulnerable. I see them for what they are: expressions of hurt. Sometimes warranted, mostly not.

I recognize that I feel immune to them because I am usually operating from a privileged and protected position. And even when I am injured, my reaction is not to strike back. First, because I know that it’s much healthier to forgive than to harbor bitterness. Also, because I recognize that I sometimes injure others.

The bottom line for me is this: I’m comfortable with this “overly” forgiving aspect of my nature.

But there is a kind of injury that I am unable to forgive. As adept as I’ve become at forgiving personal injuries, I cannot bring myself to forgive even the mildest personal insult.

Five things happen when someone insults me:

1. I am emotionally hurt by the insult.
2. I blame the insulter for my pain.
3. I take it personally – i.e., the insult is between him and me.
4. I never forget.
5. I seek revenge.

Example: Years ago, a well-known novelist and I got into a short public disagreement at a literary conference. I could tell that he was unsettled by the fact that someone from the audience would challenge something he had said. Later, at the cocktail reception, surrounded by his acolytes, he made fun of the tie I was wearing. It was a small slight. I could have, and probably should have, dismissed it. But I didn’t. Because he said it to hurt me. And so, the five steps kicked in. He became my enemy. I wished bad things on him. And I still do.

As I said, I don’t see my response as intelligent. Or useful. I am not justifying it. In fact, in recounting it here, it embarrasses me. But at 71, I’m not likely to change. And to tell the truth, I’m not trying to improve myself in this regard.

I wonder: Am I unusual in feeling this way? Do you forgive injuries? Are you able to forgive insults? Can you, unlike me, forgive both?