The groove is so mysterious. We're born with it and we lose it and the world seems to split apart before our eyes into stupid and cool. When we get it back, the world unifies around us, and both stupid and cool fall away. I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the importance of embracing creativity and the joy of expression, suggesting that everyone has a unique rhythm or groove to connect with life.
In this quote, Lynda Barry describes the innate 'groove' that each person possesses, symbolizing a personal connection to creativity and joy. She emphasizes how this groove can be lost amid the complexities of life, leading to a disconnection between the worlds of mundane and extraordinary experiences. When we reconnect with this groove, we can see the world in a unified way, where both the 'stupid' and the 'cool' no longer seem to divide us. Barry expresses gratitude towards those, particularly the innocent and wise, who help us remember the fundamental joy of expressing ourselves, suggesting that any form of self-expression, like dancing, is valuable and necessary.
In practice
In a speech about creativity in education, one might say, 'As Lynda Barry reminds us, any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.'
In my writing class, we never, ever talk about the writing - ever. We never address a story that's been read. I also won't let anyone look at the person who's reading. No eye contact; everybody has to draw a spiral. And I would like to do a drawing class where we could talk about anything except for the drawing. No one could even mention it.
When you start to think of the arts as not this thing that is going to get you somewhere in terms of becoming an artist or becoming famous or whatever it is that people do, but rather a way of making being in the world not just bearable, but fascinating, then it starts to get interesting again.
The radio was on and that was the first time I heard that song, the one I hate. Whenever I hear it all I can think of is that very day riding in the front seat with Lucy leaning against me and the smell of Juicy Fruit making me want to throw up. How can a song do that? Be like a net that catches a whole entire day, even a day whose guts you hate? You hear it and all of a sudden everything comes hanging back in front of you, all tangled up in that music.
The minute you understand racism, you're responsible for being racist. It's like eating from the tree of knowledge.
I believe a kid who is playing is not alone. There is something brought alive during play, and this something, when played with, seems to play back.
Playing and fun are not the same thing, though when we grow up we may forget that and find ourselves mixing up playing with happiness. There can be a kind of amnesia about the seriousness of playing, especially when we played by ourselves.
I don't care much about music. What I like is sounds.
Great art is clear thinking about mixed feelings.
All I ever wanted to do is to write stories that people will enjoy and feel at home with.
People try to pigeonhole comics by saying they're just for kids. So is The Odyssey. So is the Labors of Hercules, the story of Fa Mulan. The advantage of those stories over the contemporary ones is that they've had 2,000 years of editing. All the crap has been weeded out over time.
If you shoot with a billion cameras, then there's no perspective. You want to use one shot at a time, so it's better to discover what that is before you shoot, rather than trying to make something in the cutting room, and then it just becomes generic.
Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?
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