Weblog 108
March 02, 2008~ 1:15am
We all have an idea of what beauty is. For some, it's tied to reality so anything real-- no matter how broken or untidy, may be considered beautiful: old faces, old hands, or a mangled old shed half falling down from years of snow and wind-- all of these are things of beauty. I believe I fall into that category, for I like to see the wear and tear, and the wrinkles Time's given to things and to people.
This gives me a much broader scope for joy, because my definition is expanded beyond the impossibly perfect, or limited only to the new or the young. But what I see in modern media contradicts my criteria.
It has the plastic look of air-brushed impeccability-- it's an "unaliveness" that's beyond touching or bleeding or dying, and I believe it's that whisper's touch of death in things that make them more precious. It's the innate entropy present in everything from the time of birth or bloom, to the time the petals begin to fade and fall-- it's transience gives poignancy to reality.
I don't know what's happened. There have always been pictures of lovely women
such as the silent film star above that feel ethereally perfect, but they don't seem to be inhabited with denial of eventual old age and decline. Indeed, there are paintings like this Odalisque
showing the creamy lines of ideal flesh, and the dewy youth inside it- but they don't deny the way modern photos, modern media photos, do. Perhaps it's the fact that right alongside the youthfulness, there were plenty of paintings and depictions of weathered old peasants: Van Gogh's "The Potato Eaters" or Millet's "The Angelus", so there was a continiuum to it, and the heart could follow along and see that change is inevitable. The viewer could reflect on the naturalness of time's passage, and embrace the full length of it at once.
However today - with the banishment of our old into nursing homes, and the whole contemporary denial of decay- its mad pursuit of youth restoring regimens, countless cosmetic surgeries, along with the the snatching up of youngsters painted as grown women for fashion magazines- and discarded in their twenties for being 'too old'---- that's the disturbing denial that I'm talking about. That is the very crux of the modern denial of the inevitable and what contributes to the 'doll-like', unanimated feeling of what is considered modern beauty.
We need to see the future inside of the present. We need to be unafraid of that ghosting of images, that blending of one era into the next, that natural gracefulness-
one over-lapping the other and leading not merely to death, but to a circle that encompasses all. To see the extension of our narrow and hysterical cut-off points, to include all in what can be vibrantly, stirringly beautiful because of the changes themselves. We need to stop lying. We need to watch more movies with Anna Magnani and Olympia Dukakis....we need to kick lying in the ass, and boot it out of town.
March 04, 2008~ 6:00pm
I have wonders to show you today!
I'm sure that most of you have seen the movie "Rain Man"-- which follows Dustin Hoffman on a trip to Las Vegas, and his very special talents as a savant astound the viewer over and over. His ability to instantly count how many toothpicks are dropped upon a floor just by looking-- and the enormous encyclopedia of odd facts right at his fingertips- ("Quantum airlines has never had a crash")- and on and on and on. Have you ever wanted to take a closer look at the confounding world of talented savants?
Click on the image of the cute little guy with the strange configuration of tangled pathways to hyper-abilities, and you will find yourself in the delightful site of the Wisconsin Medical Society's showcase of some mind-boggling savants. Goodness, this is fascinating! In their magical, sweeping mastery of art and mathematics and music, they seem like gods to me.
* * *
When you've seen all the goodies to be had there, you may want to click on the door below-
to enter the arcane world of author, Diane Setterfield, who will open your eyes to a humdinger of a modern, gothic classic . I'm certain of this... (I'll let the site itself whet your appetite to go and read the book)...all I can say is "The Thirteenth Tale" is a totally engrossing story of mystery, ghosts~ and one of the most fascinating characters you're not likely to ever to come across in real life. She'll captivate you, but only if you open the cover and let her out. This one is sheer pleasure cover to cover.
* * *
But since life is an amalgam of all possible human experience, and if you're a person who wants the whole truth, and nothing but.......and if you have heart enough, and the courage to venture in.....walk inside the world of
"Rachel Sarai's Vineyard". This is a true account by a woman I am proud to call my friend, who has been through every ring of hell, starting with the Nazi occupation of her native Amsterdam, to an even more malicious occupation of her young life under the most vicious mother figure I've ever encountered-- in life or fiction. The mother from the book 'Sybil' comes near it... but Deborah's was worse. She was the true black widow: a sexually inappropriate, life-sucking vampire, who once held the soft clay of childhood in her hands. (Happily.....she is dead...and that's from the bottom of my heart.)
Your toes will curl as young Rachel Sarai is 'conscripted' by her Jewish father when she is barely out of toddlerhood, to become a baby courier for the Resistance by leading adults through the dark woods behind her home and bringing them unerringly to safety- just at the edge of the nihilistic nightmare of that time. I won't say anything more, except I encourage you to get yourself a copy and read this unsettling-- deeply disturbing --but finally triumphant odyssey of a wonderfully courageous woman grown from the most extraordinary child imaginable.
We carry our childhoods with us, for better or worse, and for some, the burden is staggering-- fear, abuse, hunger- coarsened affections, every sort of insult to the body and spirit. The crazy-making adults who encircle the young Deborah in this book could annihilate most, but in the final analysis, she is redeemed by the one person who made all the difference- and whose betrayal and sudden absence became the most devastating loss in life.
You might stop by the author's Blog. I do quite frequently........and why? Because she's a wonderful, animated writer- a straight-shooter with a wicked wit. And because she inspires me.
She's one of those people in life....
who hold the lamp..
March 06, 2008~ 9:00pm
Ever notice how all evil, power-crazed men begin to resemble one another? After a few years of empire, they seem to develop the indentical, mad sneer.
It seems to mold their physiognomy in the same way, until all that's left is an angry, upthrust chin....looks like someone who'd say, "Of course I killed your puppy...he was barking!"
(...Yep. That sounds about right.)
***
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We all have an idea of what beauty is. For some, it's tied to reality so anything real-- no matter how broken or untidy, may be considered beautiful: old faces, old hands, or a mangled old shed half falling down from years of snow and wind-- all of these are things of beauty. I believe I fall into that category, for I like to see the wear and tear, and the wrinkles Time's given to things and to people.
This gives me a much broader scope for joy, because my definition is expanded beyond the impossibly perfect, or limited only to the new or the young. But what I see in modern media contradicts my criteria.
It has the plastic look of air-brushed impeccability-- it's an "unaliveness" that's beyond touching or bleeding or dying, and I believe it's that whisper's touch of death in things that make them more precious. It's the innate entropy present in everything from the time of birth or bloom, to the time the petals begin to fade and fall-- it's transience gives poignancy to reality.
I don't know what's happened. There have always been pictures of lovely women
such as the silent film star above that feel ethereally perfect, but they don't seem to be inhabited with denial of eventual old age and decline. Indeed, there are paintings like this Odalisque
showing the creamy lines of ideal flesh, and the dewy youth inside it- but they don't deny the way modern photos, modern media photos, do. Perhaps it's the fact that right alongside the youthfulness, there were plenty of paintings and depictions of weathered old peasants: Van Gogh's "The Potato Eaters" or Millet's "The Angelus", so there was a continiuum to it, and the heart could follow along and see that change is inevitable. The viewer could reflect on the naturalness of time's passage, and embrace the full length of it at once.
However today - with the banishment of our old into nursing homes, and the whole contemporary denial of decay- its mad pursuit of youth restoring regimens, countless cosmetic surgeries, along with the the snatching up of youngsters painted as grown women for fashion magazines- and discarded in their twenties for being 'too old'---- that's the disturbing denial that I'm talking about. That is the very crux of the modern denial of the inevitable and what contributes to the 'doll-like', unanimated feeling of what is considered modern beauty.
We need to see the future inside of the present. We need to be unafraid of that ghosting of images, that blending of one era into the next, that natural gracefulness-
one over-lapping the other and leading not merely to death, but to a circle that encompasses all. To see the extension of our narrow and hysterical cut-off points, to include all in what can be vibrantly, stirringly beautiful because of the changes themselves. We need to stop lying. We need to watch more movies with Anna Magnani and Olympia Dukakis....we need to kick lying in the ass, and boot it out of town.
March 04, 2008~ 6:00pm
I have wonders to show you today!
I'm sure that most of you have seen the movie "Rain Man"-- which follows Dustin Hoffman on a trip to Las Vegas, and his very special talents as a savant astound the viewer over and over. His ability to instantly count how many toothpicks are dropped upon a floor just by looking-- and the enormous encyclopedia of odd facts right at his fingertips- ("Quantum airlines has never had a crash")- and on and on and on. Have you ever wanted to take a closer look at the confounding world of talented savants?
Click on the image of the cute little guy with the strange configuration of tangled pathways to hyper-abilities, and you will find yourself in the delightful site of the Wisconsin Medical Society's showcase of some mind-boggling savants. Goodness, this is fascinating! In their magical, sweeping mastery of art and mathematics and music, they seem like gods to me.
When you've seen all the goodies to be had there, you may want to click on the door below-
to enter the arcane world of author, Diane Setterfield, who will open your eyes to a humdinger of a modern, gothic classic . I'm certain of this... (I'll let the site itself whet your appetite to go and read the book)...all I can say is "The Thirteenth Tale" is a totally engrossing story of mystery, ghosts~ and one of the most fascinating characters you're not likely to ever to come across in real life. She'll captivate you, but only if you open the cover and let her out. This one is sheer pleasure cover to cover.
But since life is an amalgam of all possible human experience, and if you're a person who wants the whole truth, and nothing but.......and if you have heart enough, and the courage to venture in.....walk inside the world of
"Rachel Sarai's Vineyard". This is a true account by a woman I am proud to call my friend, who has been through every ring of hell, starting with the Nazi occupation of her native Amsterdam, to an even more malicious occupation of her young life under the most vicious mother figure I've ever encountered-- in life or fiction. The mother from the book 'Sybil' comes near it... but Deborah's was worse. She was the true black widow: a sexually inappropriate, life-sucking vampire, who once held the soft clay of childhood in her hands. (Happily.....she is dead...and that's from the bottom of my heart.)
Your toes will curl as young Rachel Sarai is 'conscripted' by her Jewish father when she is barely out of toddlerhood, to become a baby courier for the Resistance by leading adults through the dark woods behind her home and bringing them unerringly to safety- just at the edge of the nihilistic nightmare of that time. I won't say anything more, except I encourage you to get yourself a copy and read this unsettling-- deeply disturbing --but finally triumphant odyssey of a wonderfully courageous woman grown from the most extraordinary child imaginable.
We carry our childhoods with us, for better or worse, and for some, the burden is staggering-- fear, abuse, hunger- coarsened affections, every sort of insult to the body and spirit. The crazy-making adults who encircle the young Deborah in this book could annihilate most, but in the final analysis, she is redeemed by the one person who made all the difference- and whose betrayal and sudden absence became the most devastating loss in life.
You might stop by the author's Blog. I do quite frequently........and why? Because she's a wonderful, animated writer- a straight-shooter with a wicked wit. And because she inspires me.
who hold the lamp..
March 06, 2008~ 9:00pm
Ever notice how all evil, power-crazed men begin to resemble one another? After a few years of empire, they seem to develop the indentical, mad sneer.
It seems to mold their physiognomy in the same way, until all that's left is an angry, upthrust chin....looks like someone who'd say, "Of course I killed your puppy...he was barking!"
Fascism
1. A system of government marked by centralization of authority under a dictator, stringent socioeconomic controls, suppression of the opposition through terror and censorship, and typically a policy of belligerent nationalism and racism.
2. Oppressive, dictatorial control.
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