About Sanctified Odors

Post 1599:

The other day I was reading a Tom Wolfe novel and came across a great moment. The main character is faced with a painting that seems to be a terrible piece of crap. Offensively bad. Instead of voicing his authentic opinion, we get hesitiation:

What a piece of garbage… It was sick… But it gave off the sanctified odor of serious art, and so Sherman hesitated to be candid.

It’s a funny line and a situation we can all probably identify with. We form opinions really fast. I’d say that initial reactions are probably the most genuine. Does that mean they are right?

Usually. I can learn to appreciate certain things that I don’t otherwise “get,” but working up a sweat just to enjoy something seems a bit crazy. Of course, the scales might fall and my life might be enriched beyond measure, but this is rare. Life’s already hard. Making enjoyment a chore seems a ridiculous proposition. But what the hell do I know. I still like fast food and fast cars and short books and popular music.

I’ve tried to enjoy Ulysses and Mozart and modern art. It would be cool to authentically understand that stuff. But I don’t. Don’t want to. At some point it’s okay to like what you like. It doesn’t mean we have to judge other people for their tastes. I mean, we do—but we probably shouldn’t.

Bye. I’m going to walk around and express my true feelings to strangers. They will love me for my honest emanations. Or curse my sanctified odor. We’ll see. Cheers and see you after.