Index:
1) Intrusive Thinking and Creativity
2) The Role of Missing Information in Creativity
3) Art and Algorithms
4) Art, A.I., and Culture
5) Autism and The World
6) YouTube Channel and Miscellaneous
The Road to Nirvana is Paved with Karaoke: This is original text from a sub-domain I create a decade ago. (This sub-domain has since perished):
Schopenhauer said that every generation believes it is the salt and summit toward which humanity has striven. The case is always strong, but clearly wrong if the next generation does not concur. Where seizing the reins of power (as well as the modes of production), we have not so much liberated the best and brightest among us as have been swallowed up by manifold vanity projects of plebeians. The New World Order of culture is Karaoke Culture; and where culture is left to its consumer to invent, one gets exactly the culture one deserves.
Autism versus Social Media: One may marvel at the amour propre required to build a website of this scale, but autism makes one naturally disposed to the occupation of publicist, whether in the service of obscure subjects (like seed drill catalogs, doorknob assembly, etc.) or in the service of one’s obscure life.
When I first started blenderkitty.com in 2002, I believed I would be part of an artistic vanguard that would take to the Internet like beatniks to a Parisian coffeehouse. Nothing like this happened. It has been said that the Internet was created by autistics for autistics, but since social media brought the cattle in from the field, God-only-knows how and where you would find autistics now.
The baseline premise for Internet success begins with being socially well connected. This status does not, generally, describe autistics. Through the coarse sieve of social media, the few are still the prisoner of the many. The Internet has changed nothing about human nature, or about how culture is promulgated through gatekeepers.
Perhaps in its early days of clutter and disorganization, the Internet was a diamond in the rough. But as things have gone along, ever-improving algorithms have sand-blasted away this roughness. The Internet has come to resemble an overly familiar strip mall: No matter what your inquiry is, you wind up in the same cramped parking lot looking at the same Office Depot and Subway sandwich shop. In desperation, you jump deep into Google’s listed pages, trying to unearth original and novel content, but the strip mall follows you wherever you go. Like a specter, or detached retina, it is inescapable in your line of sight.
Art, Real Estate, and Location: Art is like real estate. It is about location. This is the main reason why I have been invisible for most of my life as an artist. I do not live in a place where artists thrive.
While Bloomington, Indiana has (or had) a distinguished school of art, local artists are generally less distinguished. There is the obligatory watercolor society, and the recent addition of a plein-air society, which includes former students of mine. However, contemporary painters, such as one finds in large cities, number few. I can only think of one, actually. I have known illustrators who have earned their money out of town, but Bloomington is not large enough or wealthy enough to support artists who can make money selling paintings of scale or ambition.*
Many cities have given artists unused post-industrial buildings to convert into artists studios and galleries, but the one good building of that type here was claimed by city hall for its uses. The one dinky building that was given to artists did not last long. I can only guess as to why. I suspect that it became a hangout for skateboarders or drug hook ups. Perhaps the building attracted youth who wanted a clubhouse, and so, working artists, were there any, probably gave up on the idea of going to this location and getting work done.
An artist workplace requires a serious mission statement, a critical mass of like-minded artists, and locks on the doors to keep out thieves and riffraff.
(*Where there is local funding for “emerging artists” in my town, it is the usual sort of high brow, politically well-connected claptrap that one finds perpetually paraded by The discredited National Endowment for The Arts. One of my students was the director of The Arts Alliance in Bloomington, and he showed me images of last year’s winners in a local arts funding scheme. He shared my mystification for why art of such obviously inferior ability should be praised.)
A Club that would have Me as a Member: Someone tried to recruit me into this scheme, but as I describe in my comic pages, I am a creature of coffeehouse society. I am not a joiner but, instead, a person who would rather watch others from a respectable distance.
A professor from IU also tried to rope me into some participatory project after I graduated in 1988. He meant well, seeing me as someone who failed to get a teaching gig after grad school. Perhaps society would give me structure. He was frustrated to find me reluctant to give up my cartooning evenings at The Runcible Spoon.
If there is any attribute that separates autistic creators from non-autistic creators, then it lies in the Achilles heel of the social dimension. Non-autistic creators value community often to their detriment. They become distracted by squabbling, pecking order among members, and all the difficulties one may imagine arising from family life. More so, non-autistic creators budget a lot of time for such things. They appear, from an autistic view, to lack the ability to concentrate and, necessarily, the drive to be both selfish and self-reliant.
In framing the condition that came to bear his name, Hans Asperger stated that perhaps only certain autistic individuals were capable of unique achievements.
I would describe autistics as being undistracted; and because of this, social media havens are not good fits for autistic creators since these organizations put social connectivity before achievement.
Yes, groups have benefits: words of encouragement, friendship, and career opportunities through interpersonal relationships, etc… But that is a difficult needle to thread.
Original animated gif from my original website.
Hacked Twice, but Undefeated: If you attempted a Google search for “Michael Teague” or “Blender Kitty” in recent years, then you were unable to find my site. Unbeknownst to me, the .htaccess file in my root directory got hacked around 2018. This effectively made my website invisible to search engines. So complete was my eradication from the Internet that, unless you typed in the FULL ADDRESS of my website into your browser window, you could not make it appear in any search. Initially, queries were directed away from my site to a malicious site, but after this pirate ship was scuttled, I was effectively memory-holed.
To be clear, blenderkitty.com, which became mlteague.com, was not itself hacked, only my .htaccess file was hacked by the insertion of special redirection instructions for search engines. I acquired my SSL certificate somewhere around 2018. However, added security would not have caught this.
My website disappeared off my radar screen during this four year window. I got no web traffic, and I was dealing with demons in my personal life. I discovered the hack recently when I tried to submit a new sitemap to Goggle Search Console in March 2022 and was told, by them, that my site did not exist. I received “404 page not found” error messages because—again—the malicious site had long since disappeared, if not its redirect in my root folder.
Host Gator was unhelpful when I told them I thought my .htaccess file was hacked. They sent me to a SEO (Search Engine Optimizer), who told me my site was crap and to pay him $1,000. After I rewrote my .htaccess, and deleted every inscrutable file in my root folder that I did not put there, Google could again see my site—and I did not have to pay $1,000 for that.
Google Streetview: Several years ago I was walking home from the coffee house when Google Streetview drove up beside me and snapped a picture. I was heading uphill on 4th Street, almost to the gated entrance of Rosehill Cemetery, which I always cut through when I walked to class at The Waldron Art Center. I never thought to look for myself on Google Earth until months later. Lo and behold, there I was, with laptop in tow, and in considerably warmer weather than was presently had. I find this apropos since I have numerous places of dark interest pinned on Google Earth, and here I am within a half-block of a cemetery: 39°09'56.07" N 86°32'35.13" W
This is one of two sets of Google Streetviews of myself. There was another, closer to my apartment, but that one was removed from Google Earth before I could copy it. The unlikelihood of being captured twice by Google Streetview comes up as a topic of conversation in my new novel.
The Vivien Leigh Bedroom 1977-1980: My libido arrived at a normal age, and there it resided until my late teens when adulthood beckoned with a need to objectify these untapped energies. While working at McDonalds in 1977, I saw Gone With The Wind for the first time and was smitten with its star, Vivien Leigh. My obsession for her blossomed over the next year, and coincided with my discovery of Tchaikovsky and The Romantic Composers.
The first of my many handmade Vivien Leigh posters was a modest portrait with a stark yellow background (seen in the middle of the fourth picture). The poster board was cheap, and color was added to it by rubbing oil paint over a finished graphite drawing. Other painted drawings of this period survive in dusty chapbooks, while all my posters were lost to time. Decorating my room with Vivien Leigh images may have persisted as late as 1981, although it was ended by the time I started my BFA degree in fine art. I explain the thinking behind this obsession in my online novel.
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