Syrup

~ thank you very much

Cindy leaves at eight, and about ten I drag myself into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror for a while. Then I shower, pull on jeans and a T-shirt, and eat breakfast in front of whatever comes up when I turn the TV on, which happens to be an Elvis movie.
 A little while later I realize that I'm staring at the screen without really seeing it, so I try to pull myself together by calling a few advertising agencies to see if anyone has a spot for Cindy. One guy asks if Cindy will sleep with him for a spot, and I tell him no but I will.
 I do three more calls, then realize that I'm staring pointlessly at my shoes. The phone is dangling from my hand, emitting quiet tones to itself. Five months ago, this stuff was actually fun.
 I Look at the screen, where Elvis is sitting on a log and strumming thoughtfully at his guitar. A sprightly girl in a bright orange sweater is sitting at his feet with an enraptured expression, like Elvis knows the answer to everything. "Elvis," I say emotionally.

"Tell me what's wrong with me."
 Elvis says to the girl, "Well, I guess I just love my music. I love making it all up. Some people go through their whole lives without ever getting to create something, you know? If that was me, heck, I'd go crazy."
 I stare at the TV, open-mouthed.
 "Elvis," I say eventually, " they didn't call you the King for nothing."

~ mktg art

I'm expecting that 6 will want to stay at this party for roughly five minutes, but three hours later, she's sipping neat vodka and guarding a prime position on the sofa. The closest I can get to her is a tight group with Tina, so I strike up a conversation.

"So," I say, "you're okay with the fact that your artwork was actually liked by a corporation?"

Tina sips at her beer. "I didn't produce art."

"I mean the film. Art, right?"

"No," Tina says. "Not."

I'm lost. "What?"

"Art and marketing can't coexist," Tina says. "It's either one or the other."

"Not this again," 6 says from the sofa.

Tina ignores her. "I made the film for you with the intention of appealing to a bunch of corporate suits. That I used artistic techniques to do it is irrelevant."

"Just because it's aimed at a particular market means it's not art?" I say.

Tina nods once. "Exactly."

I frown. "What if I take a work of art and market it? It's still art, right?"

"You can't take artwork and just tweak it to be more commercially appealing." She sips at her beer. "Not without destroying its artistic merit."

"Tina, this is so crap," 6 says, standing up. "If I showed you a painting but didn't tell you whether it was created by a starving artist or an agency commissioned to produce it, you couldn't tell me whether it was art or not."

"Oh, I think I'd be able to tell," Tina says.

6 shifts impatiently. "Who cares what the intent was? It's the result that matters."

"The intent is not dividable from the results," Tina says. "I know you people don't want to face that, but it's true."

"You don't want to face the fact that marketing is the greatest producer of art on the planet. There's packaging, copy, TV advertising--can you tell me why that's not art?"

"If you can't make the distinction yourself, I won't be able to explain it to you."

"Oh, right," 6 says, "you think some hack's poems that no one ever reads are more important than a movie half the world sees? A lot more people have seen a Coke can than a van Gogh."

"I've noticed you corporate people do this," Tina says. "Confuse popularity with quality."

"It's a democratic society, Tina," 6 says. "Your opinion of quality is no more valid than mine. Popularity is quality.

And so marketers are today's real artists."

"Drink, anyone?" I say.

Syrup