There are accidents, and then there are accidents.
In life, a car might spin out of control and careen into a front stoop.
You might stumble on a stone when walking.
It is an accident.
Maybe there is meaning to it, or maybe not. Some people say that in God there are no accidents. A Polypantheatheist like myself believes in many beautiful, terrible things, but I do not believe in any monotheistic God- in any singular god, ruling the Universe. Because there are accidents, and I have no need of a God that allows for accidents. For that, science has that Universe well enough covered.
Around the edges, we can come in with love.
After all, in art are there no real accidents.
Readers here will know that I enjoy the union of disparate elements; Calvin and Hobbes romping through Pooh's Hundred Acre Wood, or maybe an invasive insect on a Valentine's Heart. So it was a delight to me to catch a recent clip of Bruce Springsteen reminiscing about making his opus, Nebraska.
Let me explain:
Springsteen was showing an interviewer the home where he wrote Nebraska, and the room where he did the work for it. Bruce had been facing the first, deep depression he would battle for many years to come. He'd returned to this New Jersey house and wrote what he (and I!) consider his best and most essential album. Nebraska. It is very dark.
So here is the buoyant, energetic artist with his finest music made from his heart of darkness. And the notebook, a three-ring binder, that he had put all his Nebraska songs in, curiously features another artist who created a buoyant, bright work, that also is, at heart, full of darkness and grief.
And yet despite these similarities, one would never, ever, in a million years, think to juxtapose these two people, or their work, together in any way.
Here is the picture of Bruce Sprinsteen with his old notebook he put together all his Nebraska songs in.
In as much as it is art, it is is no accident.