..."Dylan's Visions of Sin"

I have given the "college try" in the last three months to dedicating a chunk of my time to the "expansion of horizons." So, in valiant attempt, I stumbled across "Dylan's Visions of Sin" by Christopher Ricks. Here in lies the problem with "stumbling into expansion"...

Great book, well-written, didn't grip my soul. That's as easy as I can put it. I made a rule for myself long ago that if the first 100 pages of a book do not connect with me, do not encourage further investment, then I will set it aside until a time in my life when another effort appears worthy.

It was an interesting concept; it is a poetic, literary analysis of Dylan's song lyrics, looking at them through the coloring lenses of the 7 deadly sins, as wells as the 7 saving graces and heavenly virtues. Spiritual content... score! However, this read is truly what it appears to be: a hard-core, very intense analysis of a man's lyrical work for more than 40 years. And I think in his brilliance, author Ricks missed the truly most brilliant aspect of the Dylan mystique. There is simply a quality to all brilliant art that is not quantifiable, not tangible to the hand that writes or the word waiting to be written.

Again, I mean no harm on his wonderful work; had I been in a place in my life when I would have been up for it's studious nature, I think it would been an outstanding adventure of enlightenment and intellect. I "feel" smarter for having consumed the first 100 pages. And perhaps that quality I found lacking is there, but I missed it due to a lack of connection with the work. Regardless, it went back to the library today, where I hope it finds the comforting grip of one who is prepared for it's toil.

Back to the untangible quality that all great art has. I think this is the reason that as I grow deeper into being the artist that I want to be, I worry less about certain things that used to matter so much. I believe my soul is leading me away from conciously, and constantly, analyzing the trivial and immediate, towards a place where I can just "exist" with what's being created and deal with it in more sincere, humble terms.

Where I used to obsessively watch guitarists, trying to understand the depth of their art by the simple watching of how it's done, now I kind of just wonder, in a not-quite vacant state of mind, how and why they are doing what they are doing. Though I just overly simplified this all, in that frame of mind, I find I actually learn a lot more than I ever thought I could, by simply just enjoying and being enriched by the art of another. It is that feeling that I am slowly finding in my own playing. Note- I still obsessively listen to recordings of myself to better myself. I am finding that 'more' is necessary, but not often.

Because of this practice, I find myself doing what Ricks has done, and that's why I applaud the book though I have not finished it. I believe in bettering myself by the planned unraveling and repair of my intent in being an artist. What I mean is this: as an artist, we make many choices that do not serve the art we are creating. I play weird modal things in the middle of a slow blues because of muscle memory that plays familiar shapes, or because I conciously want to sound complex and accomplished, even though I couldn't admit that in the moment. So those ill-fit choices serve as educators to me, in that when I can unravel the reasons behind why I made the choice, then repair the intent or "cause", then I can 'program' myself to not make the same mistakes over and over.

Unraveling is a good verb for this act. I guess the heroes I've kept in adoration over the years all started with the same primary-colored balls of yarn. It's the rainbow they created with them, full of life, and vigor, and difference, that drew me to them. In reflection, I've got some good-looking panels on my patchwork quilt. To the needle and thread I return, thanking Ricks for the ride and hoping some day to finish the trip.