Did you know that many young artists are encouraged to trace or recreate other people’s drawings when they first start out? Often, this is to help develop an understanding of anatomy, lighting and color theory, and a personal style. Now, this is not the same thing as forgery.  Forgery, instead of being created with the intention of learning, is done with the intention of ‘becoming’ someone else’s work, almost always with a monetary incentive. It often lacks any type of creativity, with forgers acting more as highly detailed printers than independent thinkers. Despite all this, however, I do believe that forgery is still art.  

You might argue that, since forgery is often done with the sole intent of making money, it should not be considered art. Using this reasoning, however, the hundreds of artists taking commissions would then also not be considered ‘real artists’. For those unfamiliar, an art commission is when you pay someone to create (draw, paint, etc.) something specifically for you. When an artist opens commissions, they almost always do so with the sole intention of making money. This reasoning — that art must be made without a monetary incentive — would also discount any artist who produces multiple prints of their work to sell. 

“But art forgers pretend to be other people!” I hear you yell. And this is true; another cornerstone of art forgery is passing off the work as someone elses. Unfortunately, this really has very little to do with whether or not the work itself is art. Art, to be defined broadly (and ignoring all the elitists), is a thing produced utilizing the mediums we delegate as ‘art supplies’. A child’s crayon scribbles are art, the same way the prints you find at IKEA are art. Neither one holds a particularly profound message or is created with any earth-shattering creative intention, but both are still art. In the same way, forgery fulfills this definition. Is it dishonest art? Absolutely. However, it is still art.   

‘Ignorance is bliss’ is a sentiment we are all familiar with, and, despite our claims to the contrary, is an attitude many people still cling to. I have spoken a fair amount about humans insistence on staying stagnant and comfortable; we as a species tend to avoid anything that will muddy the waters, so to speak. ‘Anything’, in this case (and most cases), is knowledge. Nothing can shake up someone’s life more than awareness can; therefore we often avoid it like the plague. It is infinitely easier to stick your head in the sand than, say, read the news. If we hide under the covers, the monsters can’t eat us. This sentiment is echoed in the texts we hold close; for the purpose of this post, let’s look at the story of Adam and Eve in the Book of Genesis.

Adam and Eve’s tale is a classic story about the loss of innocence (or ignorance) and the (often perceived as evil) change it brings. These characters are, for all intents and purposes, created to be ignorant. As said by Eve to the serpent “We may eat the of the fruit of the trees of the garden But the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden [the tree of knowledge of good and evil], God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die” (Genesis 3:2-6). This quote also highlights the supposed paradise of their current state. Adam and Eve are given every tree to eat, the tree of life to ensure their immortality and the bliss of childlike innocence. Trouble does not exist for them until “…the eyes of them both were opened…” (Genesis 3:7). Perpetuating our ideas of the bliss of ignorance, Adam and Eve are forced to leave the paradise of Eden in exchange for their newfound knowledge, made to face the troubles of the world. As God declares “…in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee…” (Genesis 3:18).  

However, ignorance does not render something nonexistent. Just because we cannot see the monsters doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Similarly, the outside world did not pop into existence when Adam and Eve left the garden; they simply gained the ability to see it. Life and time move onwards, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. Although it is hard to admit, ignorance serves no purpose other than as a feeble pair of blinders, hindering us from seeing things as they are. While we like to blame knowledge, it alone is not at fault for any turbulence brought into our lives. 

This is exemplified in Gilgamesh, as the titular character struggles with the idea of mortality after witnessing the death of his partner, Enkidu. Suddenly confronted with the knowledge that he, too, can die, Gilgamesh sets out on a journey to discover the secret of  “Utnapishtim whom they call the Faraway, for he has entered the assembly of the gods” (97). Although Gilgamesh himself blames his sudden unrest on the knowledge gained after Enkidu’s death, saying “How can I rest, how can I be at peace? Despair is in my heart. What my brother is now, that I shall be when I am dead” (97), Enkidu alone is not to blame. Gilgamesh, being only human, would have died no matter what. As Utnapishtim warned, “From the days of old there is no permanence… life and death they allot but the day of death they do not disclose” (107). His ignorance did not remove the struggle – or outcome – it simply prevented him from being aware of its approach. 

This same idea is found in Oedipus Rex. Oedipus, a tragic king prophesied to kill his father and marry his mother is in many ways like us. Although his original crimes were committed in genuine ignorance, as the story progresses, he begins to willfully ignore enlightenment; even when Teiresias tells him plainly “I say that you are the murderer whom you seek” (20) Oedipus refuses to listen to him. He understands what it would mean for him to have killed the king of Thebes – and the distress it would bring to his life –  and tries to avoid this by ignoring the facts. We know, however, that this does not work; Oedipus’s stubborn ignorance does nothing to negate his actions. 

So why is knowledge important? To call back to a metaphor used earlier: if ignorance is a pair of blinders, knowledge is glasses. Although it may do little to change a situation, it can change our reaction to it. The knowledge of good and evil allows Adam and Eve to gain autonomy, giving them the ability to become independent. The knowledge of morality forces Gilgamesh to reevaluate his ideals, making him a better ruler. Oedipus, in accepting his crimes and retreating into a self-proclaimed exile, allows Thebes to return to health. 

In Lone Star, Sam Deeds and Pilar Crus are forced to have an uncomfortable realization as they discover that they are half-siblings- and in love with each other. Now, this knowledge is not pleasant; it caused them to reevaluate their entire relationship as well as a good part of their lives (including their parents’ reaction to their high school fling). However, it also allows them to make an informed decision about what to do next. Instead of remaining ignorant, possibly endangering the lives of any future children, they are now aware of the risks they might face in the future; they are also able to plan around them. 

While ignorance offers an easy, oftentimes comfortable cop-out to upsetting situations, it is just that: a cop-out. Sticking your head in the sand does nothing but render you unable to make informed decisions about your life; and although it can be uncomfortable, it is more important to be aware and knowledgeable of the world around you.  

We like to be rewarded for doing good. In many ways, our society is built on this principle. You preform well at work, so you get promoted and make more money; that is how we’re told things work. Much of this is to incentivize people- working hard can be tiring or boring or any number of negative things, so obviously we want to avoid it. By rewarding people for ‘good’ behavior, we reinforce the likelihood of those people being good again. Similarly, by punishing the behavior deemed ‘bad’, said offense is less likely to be repeated. 

As said before, good behavior can require more effort or even be less satisfying than taking negative action. Keeping your mouth shut when someone is insulting you doesn’t feel great, but is usually considered the best response. The idea that we will be rewarded for choosing the high road, therefore, is a leading factor in choosing to be ‘good’. Flipping that, the idea that one can be good yet still be punished is upsetting: you have done the right (possibly hard or upsetting) thing, therefore you deserve something good in return.  

Personally, I believe that my ‘luck’ is due to a mixture of just that – luck – and good spiritual standing. I am a rather religious person, and generally take care to be pious and conduct myself accordingly. Within my beliefs, the idea of xenia – hospitality and kindness – is of utmost importance, and I tend to find kind actions self-fulfilling. That is not to say I am completely devoid of struggle or ‘punishment’; however, I find that to come from the fact that I do not live in isolation, and the world at large still has an impact on my life. The Constitution, in writing, establishes a very near-perfect government- as long as you don’t add people to that mix. I find luck and religion function similarly. Additionally, the gods I subscribe to are not omniscient- they do not and are not expected to have a hand in everything. 

Now, I understand that many people struggle to fit the idea of divine justice with reality, or, in other words, to remain good when there is no guarantee anything will come of it. To return to a point I made earlier, I believe that good deeds are self-fulfilling. As hard as they can be to perform, acts of kindness to others or even shows of self-restraint often have a very immediate payoff. Taking divinity or luck out of it, other people are more likely to gravitate towards you if you are kind or good, and more likely to be kind or good in return. Things become trickier when one is a lovely person and is still dealt a (pardon me), shit, hand. I honestly think that, at that point, the only thing you really can do is take a step back and separate your actions from the outcome. Similarly to the facade of meritocracy we insist on clinging to, letting go of the idea that everything has a cause or effect is a way of giving ourselves more control in our lives. It is scary to admit that bad things can happen even if we are still good; the important thing to acknowledge is that neither way is a guarantee of anything. That being said, I think it still feels overall better to know that you’ve acted in the best way possible, even if the outcome was not quite what you wanted. You must be willing to act on your morals and uphold your beliefs, even if there is no guarantee of a reward. 

This idea is explored in the Book of Job; God makes a bet with the satan, who claims that Job only loves God and is pious because of his good fortune. God says ‘nuh-uh’, and decides to test this by destroying Job’s fortune. His herds? Stolen or dead or scattered. His servants? Also dead. House? Destroyed. Kids? Dead (which is a Big Thing, because while God gives him some children back in the end, they are not these ones.) Now, God does end up winning this bet. Although he loses everything and gets blamed for his bad fortune, Job refuses to ‘bless (curse) God and die’, instead remaining faithful. Perhaps the most interesting part of this story, to me at the very least, is the fact that he is ultimately rewarded for this- that is what we, as readers, get to know about unnecessary suffering at the hands of God. If you are truly blameless, you should still be rewarded at the end.    

Ft. the brevity that comes with performance 

Eden is that old-fashioned House

We dwell in every day

Without suspecting our abode

Until we drive away.

How fair on looking back, the Day

We sauntered from the Door —

Unconscious our returning,

But discover it no more. 

I know this might come as somewhat of a surprise, but Emily Dickinson’s poem “Eden is that old-fashioned House” draws heavily on the story of Eve and Adam within the Bible. Besides using Eden as a metaphor throughout the poem, Dickinson also describes a process very similar (or the same) as the one the first humans underwent. As described in Genesis, Adam and Eve are almost childlike in their innocence- kept in the garden and forbidden to eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, they know nothing of the world. This is paralleled in Dickinson’s poem, as the subject described leaving also seems to be childlike in nature. “Eden is that old-fashioned House/we dwell in every day” (Dickinson 1-2) paints Eden as a childhood home, old-fashioned in the sense that it has been there forever (or for your entire childhood). As Eve and Adam must ultimately leave Eden, so too must the subject of Dickinson’s poem. However, there are some differences withing these stories.In Dickinson’s poem, we leave this House unaware that we have left: “Without suspecting our abode/until we drive away” (Dickinson 3-4). We do not know that we have forever closed the door to that house, leaving almost unaware of our loss of innocence. In the Bible, on the other hand, Adam and Eve are all too aware of the gravity of their actions, as they have already eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.  

As seniors, we are all similar to the first humans. We are still seen as children in grade school, maintaining some level of innocence and naivete- we have yet to enter the ‘real world’, as it is. However, we are on the cusp of adulthood; when we graduate, we ‘drive away’, not only by presumably physically leaving the house of our parents but by gaining independence and responsibility within society. We are also approaching or already at the age where we take on individuality in the eyes of the law; we are no longer our parent’s responsibility to shelter, feed, and finance. Like Adam and Eve, we are leaving the safety and security- or at the very least the known- of the garden, about to enter the unknown and uncertain world. We have gained enough knowledge to be able to be set free, and now we must fend for ourselves. And while we may be able to return to our Eden, as Dickinson writes “unconscious our returning/to discover it no more.” (Dickinson 7-8) Our home will never be the same as we left it- we will return with new ideas, perspectives, and identities; in this way, Eden is as lost to us as it was to Eve and Adam. 

My greatest fear upon leaving is simply that there will be no Eden to return to- by this I mean my childhood home. I have moved once in my life, from Shelton to Woodbridge for the (you guessed it) school system. I was, of course, rather young when this happened, and my memories are, in majority, from the Woodbridge house. That being said, I have grown quite attached to it; and I am not someone to become heavily reliant on people- I tend to cut them off with ease. After me, my parents will only have three more years with a child in the district, and both have expressed plans of moving. The idea of returning from school one semester to find the house on the market is one I dread, although ultimately, is something rather unavoidable.