Lord Matt

When we tap into our imagination, we see different worlds but feel the same feelings. We revisit the smell and sound of a stony creek that doesn’t exist, except in mind. And yet we hold those places dear to our hearts–the sentiment of time spent in that place guarded as though life depended on it. Like any other such experience, the feeling is gone in a moment and back as quickly, on the chord of a familiar song or the first deep breath of autumn.

Yet to whom can we offer something in return for bringing little bits of joy to our lives, in the form of a good song, book or movie? The most obvious actions seem hopelessly shallow, if not rude. Joining a fan club, or making one of those awful “shrine” web sites, is at best a vain attempt to prolong the feeling held by the work. At worst, it’s the delusion of identifying with the author. However transparent a work might seem to us, we should never construe it as personal knowledge about the author. When held secret, our thoughts do make up who we are; but when shared, they become something else.

Oscar Wilde said, “A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.” He might as well have said critic. Critics are guilty of patronizing authors more than anybody, because it lends the appearance of credibility if not fame. It’s typically done with the malicious intent of suggesting that the author isn’t worth his salt. The results of subjective (and typically superficial) analysis are tallied up to produce a grade score that’s supposed to represent the author’s aptitude. Not that the world has no place for reviews of a creative work, even critical, but one crosses the line when trying to create the illusion that one qualifies as the author’s peer, let alone his superior. In my experience of doing reviews, the most important thing I’ve learned is not to fancy being a critic. Indeed, it’s about as fancy as a paper napkin.

The worst part about all of this isn’t that people try to piggyback on the author’s success or otherwise limit it; it’s that the work itself gets ignored. People attach themselves like parasites to the sources of creativity as if getting closer could somehow increase the effect of the work or rub off on them. But an author is just a human being, and the work is no more recreatable than life.

It’s for this reason that I would like to simply offer thanks for what I’m given, because the work enriched my life in a unique way. Having appreciation is the best way to put everything in perspective, to understand the value of things. And I don’t necessarily mean writing the author a thank-you letter, though I’m sure authors appreciate such things. I mean taking the time to understand what something means to you. Gratitude does not require a recipient and is always geniuine, unlike the song and dance of critique.

Here are just a few of the things I’m thankful for:

• As Good as it Gets - for showing me that no rut is too deep to climb out of, and no handicap too great.
• You’ve Got Mail - for showing me that business is always personal, and that people surprise you if you let them.
• Millennium Actress - for teaching me that beauty is longing.
• Seven Samurai - for teaching me that fighting always results in a net loss, and that employers never reciprocate the benefits their employees provide.
• Whisper of the Heart - for its warmth and keen insight into creativity.
• A River Runs through it - for innumerable lessons that have helped shape my morals.
• Beyond the Clouds: the Promised Place - for showing me that the only thing more important than keeping promises is making them in the first place.
• A Message (Coldplay) - because when the need to be understood is overwhelming, the feelings come like a tidal wave, bringing clarity.

In addition to gaining a deeper understanding of ourselves, it just feels good to appreciate something for exactly what it offers. It’s honest, and it’s easy. To do so is to respect oneself.