tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60570311135153991082024-03-12T21:14:11.468-07:00Delineating ArtArt, creativity, and the mysteries of the universe?Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-23601591747810810612012-01-23T22:05:00.000-08:002012-02-04T12:53:18.896-08:00Prints, Prints for Everyone!!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jaySfv1ZzHw/Tx5FUfbBonI/AAAAAAAAAM4/ZJchByoT164/s320/webHokusaiDragon.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cafepress.com/floatingbridge" target="_blank">Yin Yang Dragon by Elaine Cheung after Hokusai</a></td></tr>
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All's quiet on the... I've been incommunicado for awhile. For good reason. I have been rethinking and reworking my approach to art. I have been so long a stickler for one of a kind pieces that I think I've been blinded. I could not see beyond the original work of art. I still of course believe in the original and feel that there never could be a replacement for working in oils on canvas, but there is this whole other side to art as well. And, that is the concern for reproducibility. That certain types of art are meant to be reproduced, like the book (discounting calligraphic manuscripts). With that in mind, I spent the last few months thinking about how to reproduce beautiful books. But, before I go any further, above is a graphic I did, completely (and I mean completely) digitally. There was no paper or pen involved. I made it for my <a href="http://www.cafepress.com/floatingbridge" target="_blank">Cafe Press shop</a>.<br />
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Back to what I was saying, the concern for reproducibility. I used to make linocut prints so my first thought was to make either woodblock or linocut prints. These could work for small print runs before the block deteriorated. There is no need for a printing press which is very costly. The problem, though, is that if you wanted a design with many colors, each color would represent carving another block and then the printing of them would necessitate having the blocks and paper in register. Again, all doable, but downright tedious. Certainly it is an option, but one that I do not personally relish.<br />
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My second thought was to make black and white drawings which would then be scanned, printed on a laser printer, and finally transferred to the final paper with xylene, a neurotoxin.... again, not something I relish working with since I don't really want brain damage. But, if there were a better transfer method, I think this one could work out. The black and white image could then be hand-painted in watercolors, pencils, etc. and the final product would be an original work, yet be somewhat reproducible. In other words, it wouldn't be a clone, but more of a multiple. Kind of a monotype, but kind of not at the same time. Ultimately, I think this is the best approach for reproducing original works, if I may. But it was at this point that I had a revelation. <br />
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It occurred to me that there are many reasons for art and often it is not for that original. In fact, most often it is for mass production. Even the prints that we admire so much today by the artist Hokusai were nothing more than that. They were prints made for the masses to enjoy. In fact, that was the whole purpose of printmaking, of woodblocks, of lithography, etc. It was to widely distribute the image itself. But, now that we have computers, images are instantly accessible. Woodblock printing seems to the modern mind like a quaint method that is now considered only for the production of "real" art, when in fact its first and main purpose was a utilitarian one. One could almost say that printers today are the modern equivalent of the woodblock. But, I wouldn't go that far!<br />
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And so on and on about woodblocks and monotypes and transfers.... my mind was spinning... 'til, being unable to let any of this go, I had to teach myself vector graphics for the very sake of its infinite reproducibility in any medium to any scale without pixelation! My god.... the possibilities. This time, as opposed to the last time I tried my hand at anything digital a couple of years ago, I liked it so much that it brought to mind an exchange I had once long ago about snail mail versus email. I had said at the time that I could not imagine using email to correspond with anyone. I insisted that snail mail was far better. One could hold a letter, feel its weight, appreciate the handwriting, ink blotches and feel that you were receiving something of the person. While I still wholeheartedly love letters, I do not write letters any longer. Email and texting is my preferred mode of communication. I even despise telephone calls... to the point where I will glance at my phone and maybe even turn it off if it so happens to ring. But, I digress...<br />
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My final point is that even though I use this program to generate art, it did not change my aesthetic in the least bit. I still like wildly intricate drawings. I still obsess over seemingly inconsequential lines and colors that to most people probably wouldn't even see and probably wouldn't make a difference on the whole. I do notice, though, that it has made me even more meticulous when I am doing non-digital work... for instance, I've just spent three months painting a landscape that is still not done... dab, dab, dab. That's it in a nutshell: the medium matters not, only the artist.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-19599240303734347512011-09-07T12:42:00.000-07:002011-09-07T12:42:40.322-07:00Astral Extension<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-It-M5DHvEGg/TmfGL2ic-2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/S44PpVyUkBk/s1600/Schiavonetti_Soul_leaving_body_1808.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="264" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-It-M5DHvEGg/TmfGL2ic-2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/S44PpVyUkBk/s320/Schiavonetti_Soul_leaving_body_1808.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Schiavonetti, 1808, Soul Leaving the Body</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Just bear with me a moment. Some of you will think, "she's off her rocker," but I have to relate an experience that I had a few years ago. I was living in an apartment in Tokyo. It was a three story house about a ten minute walk from Ikebukuro station. The house was brand-new; the previous house that stood had been torn down. So, obviously, what I'm trying to say is that it was a new house. I slept in the lowest floor of the house, mainly because I liked that it was a tatami room with futons. For some reason, I also found that the other rooms in the house were creepy. But, again, remember, this is a new house, so I chalked it up to my overactive imagination. Suffering from jet-lag in that first week, I found myself frequently awake at odd hours, unable to sleep. I found myself staring up at the wood ceiling, admiring the aesthetics of the room. Then, I noticed the light with its dangling string. At the end of the string was the metal bell-shaped pull. As I lay there, on my futon with the sun filtering through the shoji screens, I started to think that I could see the light-pull start to move; it was a pendulum, after all. Indeed it started to swing in a circular fashion clockwise. Then, when I wanted it to stop, it did so. And, when I told it to swing counter-clockwise, it did so as well. I did this for about an hour and perhaps thought I was going insane. In the following days, I moved this pendulum again and again, and it responded. I did not mention this to anyone at the time because surely they would have looked at me and promptly checked me in to a psychiatric institute. <br />
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Well, so I've looked for explanations into this. I've come up with several:<br />
1. It was a figment of my imagination<br />
2. The place was haunted<br />
3. It was my astral body extending itself<br />
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1. It might have been a figment of my imagination. But, I have never been able to replicate this particular imaginative episode anywhere. Believe me, I've tried. Of course, one could never rule out this one, but I know that I am not loony nor do I suffer from delusions. I am a sane, grounded individual, not prone to flights of fancy, and believe in logic and scientific explanations.<br />
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2. The place was haunted. I have never first-hand experienced a haunting. I have woken up once when I was about five and thought I saw something in my bed. It looked like the face of a clown (and yes, I have a fear of clowns), but in retrospect, it was most likely only my mind playing tricks on me. It was most likely a stuffed toy in my bed that I saw. I have known people who have seen ghosts and spirits, but I have not. Also, if it were a spirit, then this spirit would have had to read my mind to know whether I wanted the pendulum to swing clockwise or counterclockwise or stop. And then, if spirits had the power to affect physical objects, why do the swinging of a pendulum? Why not go all out and stack chairs and stuff?<br />
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3. So I was reading the other day this book written by Swami Panchadasi entitled "Clairvoyance and Occult Powers." It is the first book that I have read that offers a comprehensive explanation of supernatural phenomena. Swami Panchadasi explains the ability to affect distant objects by what he calls astral extension. He says, "they first picture the astral extension, and then will the projection of the astral and the passage of the prana (or vital force) around the pattern of the mental image. ... their body becomes so charged with prana that it is able to move physical objects." (from "Clairvoyance and Occult Powers" by Swami Panchadasi). In effect, oddly enough, he offers a non-supernatural explanation. It is our astral bodies, our non-physical bodies, that can cause phenomenon that seems supernatural. (But, you might argue that the "belief" in an astral body is already something of the supernatural....) Take for example the very famous 1970s <a href="http://youtu.be/X2lGPT2J1cc">Philip Experiment</a> whereby a group of people conjure up an imaginary ghost. Their imaginary ghost, named Philip, causes the table around which they sit to move and levitate. The researchers believe that this is due to some sort of mental activity of the group; their psychic (or mental) abilities as a group created a physical result, the movement of the table. These mental projections also explain the "supernatural" phenomena of mediums. The mediums, in some cases, may not actually be conjuring spirits so much as reading the thoughts of those present and thus creating a psychic entity from their collective thoughts. In essence, in order to understand our minds and the world as a whole, we must also take into account the as-yet-undeveloped ability of our minds to work as a collective whole. So, instead of arguing whether or not we have astral bodies or what not (all a matter of semantics), why not simply say that there is something that our minds are capable of, but of which most people have not developed yet. Let us work towards developing these mental capacities.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-35501201945708605012011-08-29T00:28:00.000-07:002011-08-29T00:28:08.050-07:00Quan Yin posing as Lord Shiva<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9GlSKWSXTQ8/Tls-IMYenVI/AAAAAAAAAMo/6tUNxc4VfHM/s1600/Guan_Yin_as_Lord_Shiva_.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9GlSKWSXTQ8/Tls-IMYenVI/AAAAAAAAAMo/6tUNxc4VfHM/s320/Guan_Yin_as_Lord_Shiva_.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>I came across this beautiful painting today and had to share it.<br />
On Wikicommons, the quote is as follows:<br />
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"Quan Yin Posing as Lord Shiva.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;"><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.4em;">Performing a divine dance of creation and destruction Surrounding flames represent the manifest Universe Upper left hand holds angi (fire) - signifies destruction Upper right hand holds a ḍamaru (hourglass drum) - creation Stoic face of Shiva & Quān Yīn represents neutrality and balance Second right hand shows Abhaya mudra - protection from evil & ignorance Second left hand points towards the lifted foot - signifies upliftment & liberation</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.4em;">Dance position performed is in which the universe is created, maintained and resolved."</div></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div>Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-50007690706938129802011-05-18T23:43:00.000-07:002011-05-31T17:27:59.378-07:00Paper Ingots and Hell Bank Notes<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UjBmy_-Qy7A/TdS1DgNiHfI/AAAAAAAAAMI/utlDVu2FeA4/s1600/800px-Chinesepaperfoldteal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UjBmy_-Qy7A/TdS1DgNiHfI/AAAAAAAAAMI/utlDVu2FeA4/s320/800px-Chinesepaperfoldteal.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paper folded into <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sycee">sycee</a> to be burned as an offering</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Death has always been an important aspect of my life though I do not think that I have an unhealthy preoccupation with death and the afterlife. It is simply that I grew up thinking a lot about death. In Chinese culture, we have Ching Ming which is a holiday when we go clean the graves and burn incense and offer food to our ancestors. Colloquially we call it "bai san" which means "pray (or worship) the mountain." In this case, even though "san" is literally "the mountain," in this meaning it is also of the burial site. When I was little, my extended family and I would visit the grave of my great grandfather and great grandmother at the Chinese cemetery. I cannot even remember where it was because I never drove there myself, otherwise I would put a link to the place if anyone were so inclined to check the place out... it was the creepiest place. It is not like the beautifully landscaped Mount Auburn Cemetery in Boston nor like the meditative Valley of the Temples in Kaneohe. It was a smallish cemetery with bubblegum pink walls. There were small, crooked tombstones in the oldest section. The graves there were so old that the names were completely worn away. Some of the tombs were sunken. In the center of the cemetery stood the crematorium. Even at the age of five or six, I knew what a crematorium was. There were few trees so the sun was always blazing down on us as we children stood in front of the graves with sticks of incense in our hands. With my eyes always closed, I said a prayer, mostly along the lines of, "please take care of me and help me to be good... I promise to be good, just don't do anything bad to ruin my fate." As I looked at their photographs on their tombstones and admired the sparkly granite, I poured out the offering of wine on the grass in front of me. All the while, the boiled whole chicken with its head still attached and the various pastries and dim sum were spread in front of their tombstones. When everyone had their turn praying, we took the food to the trunk of the car and stood there eating it. All of this was done to appease the dead and to make sure they were well-taken care of in the afterlife. We ate the food at the cemetery so that they would know not to follow us home. There was always the fear that if you pissed them off, they would come get you somehow. It was never very specific.... I guess it was kind of like what parents tell their children about Santa Claus. If you don't behave, you won't get any Christmas presents. Except in this case it was more like, if you don't behave, your dead great grandparents will haunt you. Eh, whatever works... I mean, let me tell you, I tried really hard to behave. <br />
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It wasn't just Ching Ming, though. There were the burials themselves. We used to visit L.A.'s Chinatown on Saturdays quite frequently. I remember watching numerous funeral processions roll down the street. The coffin of the deceased would ride in a fancy black hearse with a large photograph of himself mounted at the front. Then, on loudspeaker, they would announce the name of the person who died. There would follow a line of cars escorted by police. When my great grandmother died, limousines were hired for our family. I remember going shopping for my black outfit which I was told should not be too nice since it was to be burned afterward. The thought of burning my clothes really bothered me. They said it was bad luck to ever wear that outfit again. In fact, anything worn to a burial must be burned.<br />
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Then there were the superstitions. Color was a big one. For instance, we were never allowed to wear only black or only white as both signified a death in the family and was bad luck. My mother used to do the Chinese equivalent of crossing herself. She would say, "Dai gut lay see" which translates into "Big tangerine lucky money." It was impossible. Almost everything we asked or said would prompt my mother to mutter about big tangerines. When my uncle listened to the song "Say Say Say" by Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson, my maternal grandmother pounded on his door to get him to stop playing the death song. The word for death in Chinese is "say." Which also happens to be the word for the number four in Chinese. And that is why Chinese people avoid fours. Fours are bad. Four is death. Everything is death. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qj9JTNxxIV4/TdS7G-Q-osI/AAAAAAAAAMM/d4unoD3J-sQ/s1600/800px-HellBankNote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="139" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qj9JTNxxIV4/TdS7G-Q-osI/AAAAAAAAAMM/d4unoD3J-sQ/s320/800px-HellBankNote.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hell Bank Note</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So you see, while most American children are told lovely stories about angels and heaven, we were told about angry vengeful spirits that could make life really tough for you. It is the reason to give proper burials and to regard the dead with respect. And even with all of my efforts to rid myself of superstitious behaviors, I cannot easily let these pass. When I buried Mamaa, my paternal grandmother, in 2006, I followed the Buddhist priest as he told us what to do. I bowed and I put my hands together with incense. I folded the little gold papers to resemble gold ingots that were then placed in her casket. Some were burned after the open casket viewing. As the ashes of the paper gold floated into the air, I spoke her name so that they would be sure to be deposited into her bank account at the Bank of Hell (I guess this means everyone goes to hell). At the cemetery, I never looked back at her grave. I had been told long ago by Mamaa that if I were to look back, I would see the spirit of the deceased. It was then that it finally occurred to me that all of these customs and rites were done out of respect for the person who raised you and taught you how to do a million things and who helped you become the person you are today. Sure, there were some confusing scary nightmares, but ultimately, these traditions help me to remember the ones I loved best and to remember to live and not fear the inevitability of death.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-60969523204730289152011-04-26T23:33:00.000-07:002011-04-26T23:33:58.612-07:00The $pending Habit<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a3pWT0KzzEc/Tbe2M-yL5rI/AAAAAAAAAME/rAJOn3enB-Y/s1600/Dios.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a3pWT0KzzEc/Tbe2M-yL5rI/AAAAAAAAAME/rAJOn3enB-Y/s320/Dios.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Detail from a US Dollar Bill... should make one's heart flutter???</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I was lamenting to the bead store lady the other day about how there was no such thing as a bead store when I was growing up. We did, however, have Newberry's. I like to think of it as the everything-and-the-kitchen-sink store. You could buy plastic flowers, pots and pans, crafty things, and little piggy banks in the shape of Santa Claus. It was where my grandmother went to buy fabric to make blouses and yarn to hand-knit sweaters for us... which, incidentally defined much of my wardrobe throughout my childhood (fashion has never been my strong suit, no pun intended). All of my allowance and birthday money went to that store. I bought embroidery floss, cross stitching kits, latchhook pillow kits, beading needles, and lots and lots of yarn. This craft habit started at the tender age of six. I could knit like there was no tomorrow by the time I was 12. I never had money in my little safe and frequently tried to borrow from my older sister. My mother rightfully thought I had no ability to save money and accused Grandma of instilling in me bad shopping (and useless crafting) habits. It was the family joke... like, hey, you Chinese girl should be thrifty and money-saving, but you're not and *gasp* you use money to <i>buy</i> things!!!! They would look at my palms and see that money would slip through my grip, like water leaking out through the wide spaces between my fingers. I was accused of having a too-generous nature (a trait one must, of course, strive to eliminate from one's personality) because I would give away my toys to anyone who asked. I was lectured about the virtues of saving money. I was told there would be some joy from watching numbers rise on my savings booklet. My parents even forced me to open a CD account which literally trapped your dollars in an account for a year.... in exchange one would earn (back then) 8%... (I know! Unbelievable rate!). I even invested in a utility company in my teens. So, by all means, I should be well-versed in saving and investing money. I should be a wildly successful business woman today, what with all the money talk, right? But.... oh, the buts! But, it was truly yawn-inducing. Looking back, I know my parents meant well. They wanted me to be money-savvy. I just never really got it, I guess. I mean, where is the fun in watching numbers go up and down? Even after all that "education" I basically have the same spending habits as before. I think it must be something in the genes, some kind of recessive gene that reared its ugly head in the face of all those money-saving genes so dominant in my family... I like to blame the genes. I was born that way. The way I see it is that some people are spenders and others are keepers. And no amount of convincing or education could ever sway them to the other side.... believe me, they tried!Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-36115258710736085192011-03-25T18:50:00.000-07:002011-03-25T18:50:57.497-07:00Back to Paper<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Kv1dqVXEMaI/TY1Fy26zM6I/AAAAAAAAAMA/T84Sm9jTaKU/s1600/Dagon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Kv1dqVXEMaI/TY1Fy26zM6I/AAAAAAAAAMA/T84Sm9jTaKU/s1600/Dagon.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dagon, 2.5" x 3.5" by Elaine Cheung</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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Sooo... I gave it a go. I don't like technology after all. Confirmed. Fini. Done. It was great for awhile. I did a portrait of my friend's dog.... so, it's not da Vinci. Then I did a few sketches while out and about and I have to say, I don't like the feel of it. There isn't the friction of the pencil on paper, there's no tactile sensation. I can't get my lines fine enough. The picture that comes out is way too colorful and because of the back lighting from the screen, everything glows. It's just all wrong. I give up on technology. Technology is great for word processing. It's great for watching netflix and looking things up on wikipedia, but for art, it is lost on me.<br />
<br />
I think technology and I were doomed from the start. Even when I was in school, taking notes for run of the mill classes, I would only write with a fountain pen. No modern ball point pens for me! It had to be ink. And I preferred the non-cartridge type pen, the ones with the ink bladder. I would have used a quill and ink at the time, but I couldn't find a source for tail feathers and it would have been burdensome to be sharpening quills in the middle of class anyway. Still, I have to say, it was very, very enjoyable to write with a fountain pen, a pleasure. <br />
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So, these last few weeks, I've completely gone back to just pen and paper. It's simple, portable, infinitely more pleasurable than tapping a stylus on a glass screen. And, there up above, to my utter relief, the simplest of pleasures, is my latest work... Dagon.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-65705669323926042472010-12-03T20:35:00.000-08:002010-12-03T20:35:54.236-08:00From Watercolors to Pixels<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TPnEYqB0TJI/AAAAAAAAALM/ntfUuZRpO70/s1600/494px-Judaskopf_%2528da_Vinci%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TPnEYqB0TJI/AAAAAAAAALM/ntfUuZRpO70/s320/494px-Judaskopf_%2528da_Vinci%2529.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sketch for The Last Supper, Juda's Head by da Vinci</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Many artists in the past used watercolor and pen as a sketching tool out in the field to record roughly major shadows, shapes, and line. They would then return to the studio with their quick watercolor sketch and work up an oil painting from these sketches. The choice of oils in the past was mainly for its durability (or permanence) and also for its flexibility as a medium. Watercolor, on the other hand, being done on paper, was lightweight, not permanent, a rather fleeting medium. It was also less expensive and more portable. Hence, it was the perfect thing to take into the field to use for a quick study. At some point, watercolor became more than just a tool; watercolors are now finished pieces, beautiful in and of themselves. Maybe the invention of more permanent, fade-resistant colors, archival papers, and treated glass/plexiglas allowed people to display these more fragile works of art. <br />
<br />
So... I was thinking about this today as I was doing a digital sketch, instead of a watercolor one... *gasp*... and I... liked... it... yikes! I never thought I would ever say that about anything digital. Technology has so progressed that I was sketching with a stylus on a touchscreen. Pixels are evermore portable, flexible, and in some ways, more permanent, plus infinitely pliable. What's not to love? I'm going to work at it until I can sketch like Master da Vinci up there with my stylus. Will post my work later!!! Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-75660528994738766872010-11-22T22:44:00.000-08:002010-11-22T22:44:32.039-08:00Gypsy-esque<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TOtg3PRjbII/AAAAAAAAALI/fsxUYST8SS8/s1600/447px-Laivas.Debesys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TOtg3PRjbII/AAAAAAAAALI/fsxUYST8SS8/s320/447px-Laivas.Debesys.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ship Clouds by Ciurlionis 1906</td></tr>
</tbody></table>J called me a gypsy once because she said I had the "disease of moving." (Her exact words) It isn't so, I argued at the time. I was settled, I thought. Yet, as I gaze out on the ocean, I feel that familiar tug. I like leaving things behind. I like starting over. I like moving. I know I complain about the packing and about having to learn all over again where the markets are or where the post office is, but the fact is that it is kind of fun. And then getting to live in different apartments or houses, each with its own character in different neighborhoods; well, it's charming, interesting... and I feel as if I am assuming someone else' life for a little while. <br />
<br />
I suppose she is a little bit right. She herself has lived in the same place for decades, hence her observation. I keep asking myself why it is that I want to move in the first place and I cannot seem to find the reason, other than maybe I just feel restless, and that is really not even an answer. It doesn't faze me in the least to pack it all up (or sell it all), plane ticket and passport in hand to some faraway place I've never been and calmly settle there... maybe forever this time? It seems a bit callous. What about roots? What about family? What about friendship? Maybe it was because of my own father who left home one day, at the age of 18 (I think), and sailed the seas for years and years. From Hong Kong, he sailed all over the world: Europe, Hawaii, America. I admire that about him and maybe I inherited some of that restlessness too. There is something about the sea that makes us wonder about what lies just a little beyond. Maybe it is that we cannot comprehend the vastness of the ocean and so need to seek other lands. Or maybe the water is a little bit hypnotic... perhaps the movement of the water awakens in our deepest subconscious a need for movement and change. Is it possible that land-locked people prefer to stay put?Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-9883811271663164842010-10-12T02:49:00.000-07:002010-10-12T02:52:54.727-07:00Of Operas and Language<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TLQuwIPSfsI/AAAAAAAAALE/R1e4C05mc0c/s320/Mary_cassatt_In_de_loge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="260" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary Cassatt in de Loge</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"></div>What are the chances of having mentioned in conversation, twice in the same day by two different people, the composer Wagner? I am no musician, though I've dabbled in various instruments. And, I generally do not go around talking about composers or operas.<br />
Yet, on that very same day, I struck up a conversation with an older fellow at the bookstore (which, I must emphasize, is quite extraordinary in and of itself as I usually have my headphones on...). At first, it was the spiral staircase in Chambord designed by Leonardo da Vinci, then it was Wagner, the German composer and his militant style of music. He was convinced that Wagner's music could only have come from the German language with the majority of its words in consonant endings as opposed to the Italian operas which are far more beautiful, owing, of course, to the Italian language with its vowel endings. I have never studied Italian, but truly, thinking of the few words I know, it does seem that there are many words which end in vowels (fettucine, alfredo, spaghetti...). The reason for Italian being the most suitable language for opera is that operas tend to need long extended notes. Vowels lend themselves quite well to being extended indefinitely (one can sing aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh) while consonants end most abruptly and cannot be so extended. He is absolutely correct. Of course, when I mentioned this to a friend, she said, of course, I thought this was common knowledge.... Well, maybe to Europeans who must as a matter of course be polyglots! But to an American, who generally isn't... I thought it was a poignant observation. Add to that, that Italian operas are more beautiful. Besides, Americans are biased when it comes to language; we do not like to strain the language centers in our brains and thus pronounce that the world should only have to learn English, it being the "universal" language. I'm sure the French thought the same thing once when the French language was considered to be the educated language. According to wikipedia, "from the 17th century to the mid 20th century, French served as the pre-eminent international language of diplomacy and international affairs as well as a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingua_franca" title="Lingua franca">lingua franca</a> among the educated classes of Europe." And, where will we English speakers be tomorrow? Are there great operas in our future? Nope, too many consonants!Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-50458520614051740722010-09-11T13:11:00.000-07:002011-05-31T17:29:21.248-07:00I love Vienna!!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TIviQY3ys-I/AAAAAAAAAK8/zN_jw_gP_hg/s1600/Jakob_Jordaens_016b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TIviQY3ys-I/AAAAAAAAAK8/zN_jw_gP_hg/s320/Jakob_Jordaens_016b.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacob Jordaens, Feast of the Bean King, 1640-45</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I had an extraordinary amount of free time last Wednesday. So, I sat on the beach in the morning, gazing out at the ocean in relative quiet. Kaimana Beach is my favorite mostly because the hotel shades a good portion of the beach well until noon. And, because most people like to sunbathe, I get the shady part nearly all to myself... I mean, who goes to the beach to sit in the shade anyway? But, then a woman with her son came over and we struck up a conversation. It turned out that she was from Vienna, doing a home exchange. I told her Vienna remains dear to my heart, being the first European city I had ever visited. The one thing I missed the most was Viennese coffee. Throughout all of Vienna, from the hotel to the grocery to the cafés, without fail, the coffee is the best I have ever had. It is bold, aromatic... but not like the ubiquitous Starbucks, burnt, too strong, with a horrible acid aftertaste. After drinking Viennese coffee, I could not touch American brews for months. And the memory of it after all these years is still there. We were living in Boston at the time and Boston was not a Starbucks city. It was a Dunkin' Donuts city. The coffee is weak, sweet, and creamy... and delicious with a nice donut. Vienna ruined it for me. I could not drink Dunkin' Donuts for months afterward. It tasted to me like hot water. A little on the chemical side. I admit, I go often to Starbucks nowadays, as well as Seattle's Best (owned by Starbucks, of course) and Coffee Bean, and I order my iced concoction or latte... but something is missing, something else. The coffee is bland or burnt, but more than that it is also the coffee house itself. What is missing is the Viennese decadence, the gilding, the elaborate decorated interiors, the beautiful cakes evoking a long history of cake-eating and coffee drinking on slow slow afternoons, discussing art and life with friends. American coffee houses have become work places, second offices, not places to gather and chat. I can't tell you the number of dirty looks I have gotten when I disturb the quiet at one particular place (which I won't mention the name of). And, I hate it. I hate that people use it for study and work instead of a place to socialize. Our society has gone completely cock-eyed. It is no longer a refuge for pure relaxed socialization, or maybe it never was? Is it any wonder why Americans feel so isolated? Or overworked? Or feel that having that nice beautiful cake is a "sin"? Why, as a matter of course, people won't order an "eis caffee," which is not an ice coffee, but rather a cold coffee with two scoops of vanilla ice cream? Hmmm.... I dream of Vienna!Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-74180839292893493542010-08-15T00:08:00.000-07:002010-08-15T00:08:59.881-07:00David Hockney, continued<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TGeRVq_DE3I/AAAAAAAAAKs/jtNDI5wb8EM/s1600/Wright_of_Derby,_The_Orrery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="comment"></span><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TGeRVq_DE3I/AAAAAAAAAKs/jtNDI5wb8EM/s320/Wright_of_Derby,_The_Orrery.jpg" /></a></div><i>The Orrery by Joseph Wright of Derby, 1766</i> <br />
Take a look at the painting on the left... does it not remind you of a photograph? Could you not imagine the scene staged and lit?<br />
<br />
If David Hockney's theory has merit, then there are many implications. Take, for instance, our veneration of the Old Masters. I never thought they used lenses and/or cameras to project the three dimensional world into two dimensions. We were taught that they were great masters of drawing, that they could draw anything by eye-balling, and it was this skill which they built upon that allowed them to become masters of painting. It also means that the chiaroscuro effect that we associate with many Renaissance artists, namely, Caravaggio (as Hockney points out), was simply an artifact -- that in using a lens, subjects had to be strongly lit in order to be seen, and thus cast deep shadows which were then simply captured in painting. In other words, this rather sudden concern for realism was the consequence of a technological innovation and not a purely aesthetic movement. Ironically, it was the invention of the photographic print that spurred artists to found the Impressionist movement. Artists did not want to imitate a print... in a sense, they wished to remain relevant and prove that they could do something only a human being could do, and not some piece of machinery. So, if Hockney is correct, then artists of the Renaissance were capturing the two dimensional image they saw projected onto their canvas.... they were the "developers" of the image. They fixed the image onto paper or canvas using paint/pencil/ink, and were then replaced by a copper plate and some mercury and silver when the daguerreotype was invented. Ironic, isn't it? Could it be so? Were artists simply performing a mechanical type of work? Were they simply trained to paint... by numbers, so to speak? Is art as expression of an aesthetic sense only a "modern" concern caused in part by inventions such as cameras and now computers? Is art (and literature and music and dance and all other creative endeavors) all that is left to assert our humanity? And, if so, shouldn't we prioritize these endeavors instead of pushing them aside, thinking that they are useless, frivolous pastimes for the elite? Isn't it time to reclaim our humanity?Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-59192130416847961302010-08-03T19:40:00.000-07:002010-08-03T19:40:02.666-07:00David Hockney<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TFjSFzjwMyI/AAAAAAAAAKk/-u3zRvR864A/s1600/800px-Caravaggio_Judith_Beheading_Holofernes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TFjSFzjwMyI/AAAAAAAAAKk/-u3zRvR864A/s320/800px-Caravaggio_Judith_Beheading_Holofernes.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caravaggio, 1598-9, Judith Beheading Holofernes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I just finished David Hockney's Secret Knowledge, cover to cover. Intriguing. If you have not read it, I highly recommend it. I don't totally agree with everything he writes, but certainly, his thesis merits deeper investigation, even more than what he has already found. Basically, he claims that early in the 15th century, artists used lenses (a camera obscura) to help them draw and paint the world. And that even if they had not actually used the lens to draw, certainly they were influenced by paintings that were drawn with the aid of a lens; ultimately, paintings have a certain "look" when painted with the aid of a camera obscura. From my own experience, I can tell you, that certainly painting from a photograph is absolutely, 100% different than painting from life. There is a certain look to it that betrays its photographic lineage. It could be that when one is working from a photo, it feels as if there is no time limit... so, naturally, the hand slows down, the lines become static and too sure. Live models are fleeting. Muscles settle and move, expressions change, fruit decay, light fluctuates. But, mostly, you see differently. I see objects and can feel they are dimensional, they continue beyond what one can see, they continue to exist in time as well. Photographs are flattened and the dimension of time is lost, and it shows even when one tries to paint them. Hockney says the "look" of the camera obscura is the chiaroscuro, the dark deep shadowy background with the intense lighted foreground, all figures nearly lined up on a plane. Also, the sudden development of the fleeting expression, such as the smile. And, now when I see paintings, I cannot help but see them in this new light. I used to go often to the Norton Simon in Pasadena and think the same thing... why weren't there smiling people in paintings? Then again, a smile is a little disturbing. It would seem a little psychotic if a smile were perpetually frozen in a painting since smiles are supposed to be fleeting. Smiles are natural expressions of joy/menace/deceit... Why, even Pepperidge Farms had to leave some goldfish unsmiley. So, why is it that people always want to capture people smiling in photos?Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-75926944239938239052010-07-13T14:31:00.000-07:002010-07-13T15:02:01.557-07:00Jungles and Cities<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TDziRdiFmkI/AAAAAAAAAKc/2IdMaVPzbBM/s1600/414vyP%2BTG4L._SL500_AA300_.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TDziRdiFmkI/AAAAAAAAAKc/2IdMaVPzbBM/s320/414vyP%2BTG4L._SL500_AA300_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493514435098417730" />Alfred Russell Wallace</a><br /><br />Where to travel to...? I do not have the time or money to travel to any region in the world. Not many people have that luxury, but I was thinking about where I would like to visit in the future and I just realized how much I've changed. I used to dream about walking through deep jungles, looking for beetles for my bug collection and bird watching, kind of like <a href="http://www.strangescience.net/wallace.htm">Alfred Russell Wallace</a>, not Darwin, but Wallace. Here is a man after my own heart, studying spiritualism and coming up with spectacular theories about the origins of life. Yet, he is not famous the way Darwin was. Why is that? Was it because of his interest in spiritualism? Did the scientific community reject his work because they thought he was just a bit loony? It is as if he were swept under the rug and became a mere footnote in the history of science. But... anyway, I admired Alfred Russell Wallace and thought I should like to travel as he did, through the jungles of the Amazon and through the Malay archipelago, coming up with all-encompassing theories about life. Certainly, I think that is where science fails today. It is completely disjointed and fragmented. No longer are scientists supposed to even think about theories. They are supposed to work on one minute problem for their entire career... for instance, one might spend one's life studying metabolic rates of emperor penguins or tortoises... And, this is problematic in the sense that one cannot see the forest for the trees. But that is exactly what modern man has become, a specialist in the worst sense, completely missing out on the entire problem because he is so focused on one small minute aspect of this entire universe.<br /><br />What was I saying.... yes, I just figured that I no longer have the willingness to go through jungles. Suddenly, I think I can no longer endure such things as mosquitoes or humidity. Suddenly, visiting cities sounds more than attractive and being in a cool place is bliss. And, how in the world did this happen? What is it about getting older that makes me less willing to traipse through a jungle? Theoretically, I would love to visit Thailand or Bali or Vietnam, but every time I look at a map, my mind wanders to the cities of Europe where it is cooler and I can get a cup of coffee in an over-priced cafe in the middle of a busy sidewalk. I dream of walking through manicured gardens, looking at marble statues. But... then, what of the wild places? Have they fallen away to an irretrievable past?Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-37102847441167799422010-06-26T00:17:00.000-07:002010-06-26T01:02:03.551-07:00Wishes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TCWvtZA2Z8I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/_KzbMhkp6J4/s1600/399px-Yoruba_divination_board.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/TCWvtZA2Z8I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/_KzbMhkp6J4/s320/399px-Yoruba_divination_board.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486984915364243394" />Divination board, Yoruba peoples, possibly Owo region, Nigeria, Late 19th to early 20th century, Wood</a><br />According to Wikimedia, "For serious problems, the Yoruba go to an ifa diviner to consult Orunmila, the god of fate. A numerical pattern is obtained and recorded on the divination board. The diviner then recites the verses related to the numerical pattern." Two things. First, that in many cultures, there is the link between numbers and destiny (for example, numerology, birth dates in astrology, certain numbers being cursed or divine, etc.) Second is the pattern. And is that not what physics seeks to find? Patterns? Formulas to <span style="font-style:italic;">predict</span> an action, a mathematical relation to things in the universe. And that is essentially what physics has always sought to predict or <span style="font-style:italic;">divine</span>: the future. I wish someone had put it to me that way years ago. I think I might have chosen to become a physicist. Instead, we were just taught the inane... parts of equations, waves, particles, etc., but never a mention of the real goal, the true reason behind it all. You see, even though we claim to be "modern," and we like to think that what divides us from periods in the past which were fraught with superstitious behavior, the fact is, we are all still searching for the same thing as someone a thousand years ago, asking the same questions. Where does our future lie? Our solution is to go about it in a scientific fashion. We will use those same numbers, but now we plug them into new equations and try to find new patterns. We have not changed all that much, have we? We think that if only we could determine all the variables, then we would finally not be troubled anymore about what lay ahead. But then, where would be the surprise, the fun?<br /><br />It's a funny thing, in years past, I would imagine something or think, wouldn't it be funny if... and then maybe a little later, that exact thing would happen. It seems strange. When I was about ten, I used to play with the globe in my father's study and I would spin it around and think about the countries in the world. The countries were colored in yellow, pink, purple, and orange. I always thought the smaller countries looked more inviting than the larger ones. They seemed as if they would be more friendly places to visit because you could probably walk around them easily. (In those days, I had also a fantasy of walking everywhere. I even thought it would be fun to be a walking mail person because then I would get to walk in the sunshine and say hello to everyone instead of sitting in an office under florescent lights. I would be outside in the middle of the day while everyone else was locked away at work.) Anyway, the smaller countries seemed more walkable and I wanted to visit these little places and walk around picking wildflowers. One day, I was just spinning the globe and I thought, I'm going to stop the globe and wherever my finger lands, I am going to live there when I grow up. I landed in Hawaii. And, years later, here I am. <br /><br />Then, years and years ago, one odd day, I was talking to my friend R-- and we were talking about what we would do with our lives and I said, if only I could paint, then I wouldn't have to get a real job... (what a goal..!!)<br /><br />So... what I mean is, do we make these things happen? I'm certainly not a planner. I don't plan out my life very well at all. In fact, I would say, life happens, opportunities come up, people... arrive. Is that the way of the world? Or is this at some level one's subconscious driving our decisions, however small, towards some direction that we may have wished for long ago?Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-21555694528248603222010-06-22T19:10:00.000-07:002010-06-22T19:41:23.404-07:00Teaching, A Most Noble Endeavor... or not.A few months ago, I had considered teaching art on the side, to fill the time when things were slow. So, I told J about it. And she said, well, DON'T do it. Just don't do it. O...K.... and why would that be? She said that people just sign up for "art" lessons so they don't have to buy your work. What??? Yes, apparently, our friend G-- used to offer lessons to these older women and they would just copy what he painted. Well, they didn't copy it. They would just sort of copy it and then he would "fix" it and voila, by the end of several lessons, they would have a genuine G-- painting. They would hang it up in their homes, tell their friends about it being a G-- painting, and probably brag that they paid thousands for it at the gallery. What a load of... All this, just $20 a class!! Personally, I think he even undercharged them for the class, but it was a way to keep himself busy while he was trying to establish himself. See how artists are exploited? There is just no justice. I see all the time posts for the "opportunity to build your portfolio" which should read "artists are saps and should give their work away for nothing."Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-86889781397899053762010-05-20T19:26:00.000-07:002010-05-20T20:08:34.416-07:00The Lines of Fate<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S_X5C8_XgsI/AAAAAAAAAJs/7d6I-LvY830/s1600/Destiny_-_John_William_Waterhouse.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 252px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S_X5C8_XgsI/AAAAAAAAAJs/7d6I-LvY830/s320/Destiny_-_John_William_Waterhouse.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473554751265669826" />Destiny by John William Waterhouse</a><br /><br /><br />I have a weakness for things related to the supernatural. Maybe it's not healthy, maybe it's wrong, maybe it's superstitious... or maybe it's because it's real. I was reading Jung the other day and in one of his essays, he told of this "vision" that deeply disturbed him:<br /><br />"In October, while I was alone on a journey, I was suddenly seized by an overpowering vision: I saw a monstrous flood covering all the northern and low lying lands between the north sea and the Alps. When it came up to Switzerland I saw that the mountains grew higher and higher to protect our country. I realised that a frightful catastrophe was in progress. I saw the mighty yellow waves, the floating rubble of civilisation, and the drowned bodies of uncounted thousands. Then the whole sea turned to blood . . . two weeks passed; then the vision recurred . . . even more vividly than before, and the blood was more emphasised. An inner voice spoke. "Look at it well; it is wholly real and it will be so. You cannot doubt it." Soon afterwards [June 1914] I had a thrice repeated dream that in the middle of summer an Arctic cold wave descended and turned the land to ice . . . the entire region totally deserted by human beings. All living things were killed by frost."<br /><br />This vision he had was in October of 1913, World War I broke out in August 1914. When war broke out, he finally realized that this dream was a foretelling of this event, of the death of millions of people. He thus conceives of this idea of the "collective unconscious," and that mankind is capable of accessing this connection through dreams. BUT... why does he not then go further and say that these types of dreams are actual <span style="font-style:italic;">prophecies</span>? What I mean is, if people can have prophetic visions, then it follows that future events are already set to occur, that the future is already fated. This, of course, follows a linear view of time, that there exists a past, a present, and a future (as an aside, most language has evolved along this line of thought). However, if we believe in the changeability of the future, then we would have to accept the version of the universe that is split into an infinite number of universes, otherwise known as multiverses or metaverses. By exercising free will and <span style="font-style:italic;">choosing</span> one path over another, there suddenly exists another existence. And, each choice, compounded with millions upon millions of souls... Still, even in this scenario, the existence of prophetic dreams is possible. For instance, what if it were possible to see sometimes these various universes; what if there are people amongst us that possess this gift? The unfortunate thing is that in our modern world, we do not allow for such things. We are comfortable with just one possibility, but alas, one that is not fated. We want to think we are not destined to live out life along a certain path, yet we are also not willing to accept the existence of the multiverse. These dreams and prophecies, even lines of fate inscribed on the hand are deemed the ravings of madmen. Maybe that is why Jung came up with the collective unconscious, because the collective unconscious deals with the present condition of mankind as a whole and not the existence of a predetermined (or completely infinite pre-existing) future... avoiding altogether opening this can of worms.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-20038611880439355112010-03-15T12:49:00.000-07:002010-05-13T20:27:53.800-07:00I'm Not Really a Conspiracist.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S-zDMuEQ_mI/AAAAAAAAAJk/vwwPBQxHL_4/s1600/hifi_1954_00-738160.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S-zDMuEQ_mI/AAAAAAAAAJk/vwwPBQxHL_4/s320/hifi_1954_00-738160.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470962270640078434" /></a><br />One thing that we need to grasp is the duality of this world. What I mean is that as much as we may wish it, we cannot have good without evil....<br /><br />I wrote this sentence about a month ago and I've lost my train of thought, but here it is, here it is... the world as we live it is a bunch of <span style="font-weight:bold;">lies</span>. Like I've said before, I'm not really a conspiracy theorist. I don't really believe that everything is a conspiracy, but if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, well, damn it, then it IS a duck. Take for instance what it means when one says American Dream. One would picture a house, a family consisting of a young couple, 2.5 kids, and a dog, preferably golden retriever (certainly not a pit bull), nice manicured lawn, etc. AND, it is not just any house, but it is a Cape Cod. Now, what the hell is a Cape Cod? Well, let me tell you. It is the house that every single five year old draws when you tell him/her to draw a house. All across this United States, ask ANY child to draw a house and you will get a Cape Cod. So ingrained is this American ideal that all children (city children, country children, California children, Hawaii children, and of course New England children) will draw the same freaking house. If you don't think that is in any way bizarre... It also happens to be the house that was miraculously mass-produced in the late 1940's in New York. Of course, it wasn't invented back then (it was actually brought over from England in the 17th century), no, but it was the first house that allowed the "masses" (meaning all of the people who really had no chance in hell of ever becoming a home-owner unless through government intervention via FHA or VA) to become homeowners and THUS to BECOME middle class. By the very definition of homeownership, one enters the middle class. Think about this... the government actually <span style="font-style:italic;">created</span> a middle class by allowing mass production of housing. It spawned satellite industries (such as real estate companies, mortgage lenders, home inspectors, pest control companies, etc.) and it created an unsustainable consumer-driven economy. AND, we are ALL supposed to strive towards this ONE goal. Why? I think it is so that we become so preoccupied with the attainment of all of these material things that we cease to think. When one has a house and garden and "toys," there is no anger, no injustice to right, no rebellion, no revolution. We have become mere drones. Then years pass, nothing significant is done with one's life and people only then may wonder, what was it all about anyway? Oh, but wait, the government doesn't want you to think.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-71986198000536762532010-02-17T19:23:00.000-08:002010-02-17T20:03:35.733-08:00The Nature of Man<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S3y7TrdRMUI/AAAAAAAAAI8/DvE_AeGALBY/s1600-h/Michelangelo_Buonarroti_022.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 144px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S3y7TrdRMUI/AAAAAAAAAI8/DvE_AeGALBY/s320/Michelangelo_Buonarroti_022.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439428396714111298" />Michelangelo Buonarroti, The Sin of Adam and Eve, The Fall of Man, Fresco at the Vatican, Sistine Chapel </a><br />But then, what exactly is evil? Is it really so easy and clear to define? Or is it simply a point of view? Evil is intentional. After all, predators kill prey for food, but we could never rightly say they are evil. Are humans inherently good or evil? Is evil made or born? Is good made or born? According to the Chinese philosopher, Wang Yang Ming, man is inherently good. He says, "when it [the mind] sees a child fall into a well it naturally knows what commiseration is. This is intuitive knowledge of good, and is not attained through external investigation. If the thing manifested emanates from the intuitive faculty, it is the more free from the obscuration of selfish purpose. This is what is meant by saying that the mind is filled with commiseration, and that love cannot be exhausted. . . ." <br /><br />But, when we compare this philosophy to Christian theology, it is the complete opposite... man is a sinner because of original sin. Man is corrupt, selfish, and depraved, saved only by divine Grace.<br /><br />What is interesting is that both philosophies (religion, philosophy, so closely linked...can we not call one the other and the other one?) speak of the passions of men. In Eastern thought, man is born whole, good, upright then corrupted by passions (from Wang Yang Ming): <br /><br />"The mind is one. In case it has not been corrupted by the passions of men, it is called an upright mind. If corrupted by human aims and passions, it is called a selfish mind. When a selfish mind is rectified it is an upright mind; and when an upright mind loses its rightness it becomes a selfish mind. Originally there were not two minds. A selfish mind is due to selfish desire; an upright mind is natural law (is true to nature). . . .Someone said "All men have natural endowment (mind), and the mind is the embodiment of heaven-given principles (natural law). Why then do some devote themselves to virtue and others to vice? The mind of the evil man has lost its original nature. . . .There are no crises and problems beyond those of passion and change. Are not pleasure, anger, sorrow, and joy passions of men? Seeing, hearing, talking, working, wealth and honor, poverty and lowliness, sorrow and difficulty, death and life, all are vicissitudes of life. All are included in the passions and feelings of men. These need only to be in a state of perfect equilibrium and harmony, which, in turn, depends upon being watchful over one's self. . . ."<br /><br />So accordingly, evil is the result of not being watchful over one's self, yielding to the temptations that so readily present themselves in life whereas in Christian thought, evil is something we are born with and have to remove from our very souls by divine Grace... divine intervention?... that we will absolutely be doomed to evil... it's such a pessimistic view.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-22355984136903479152010-02-14T22:31:00.000-08:002010-02-14T23:08:57.621-08:00Good vs Evil<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S3jy5q6gDOI/AAAAAAAAAI0/-yMX7CXtEmA/s1600-h/Rubens_Medusa.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 159px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S3jy5q6gDOI/AAAAAAAAAI0/-yMX7CXtEmA/s320/Rubens_Medusa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438363622635998434" />Peter Paul Rubens, 1618, Head of Medusa</a><br /><br />Nearly an entire month has passed in the blink of an eye; I did not mean to neglect writing, but some things needed addressing, dotted my i's and crossed my t's, all that good stuff that makes up life. I'm trying not to be sarcastic, though it's difficult not to be. I've been thinking about good versus evil. J has kept two constant friends in her life, through decades of turmoil, through thick and thin. She admits to not being able to philosophize with either, to not really confiding in either, but they've been her friends now for decades. Her oldest friend, let's call her Bambi, is pure innocence, naive today as the day she was born... happy-go-lucky in life, not particularly well-to-do. Then there is her other long-time friend, let's call her Medusa. Medusa has been married at least six times (all for money), was at one point a "madame," and is now quite wealthy from her dead husbands. Based on this, J believes that evil wins out in the end; all the scheming and plotting of Medusa, after all, has netted her a fortune, while the carefree, good-hearted Bambi lives a most ordinary life. But, this is where we disagree. From my point of view, I think Medusa is most miserable. She spent her entire life, deceiving people, telling lie upon lie until she can no longer recognize truth from fiction... certainly there must be some psychosis there? She trusts no one, not even her own children. She <span style="font-style:italic;">desires</span> adoration from the "common people." She <span style="font-style:italic;">desires</span> things and has spent her entire life feeling as if it were never enough... maybe just a little more. Bambi, on the other hand, lives in complete bliss. Life takes care of her; she wants nothing and so never feels that she needs anything. She has spent her entire life... well, happy, I suppose. Most people, of course, are neither extremes. I asked J why she is friends with either one since she confides in neither. She says she keeps Medusa around to remind her who not to be and Bambi... ignorance is bliss.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-43513842497066983552010-01-10T22:53:00.000-08:002010-01-11T10:56:25.826-08:00Silkworms, continued.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S0tyglpU7WI/AAAAAAAAAIE/9TMDnxfxa_E/s1600-h/046.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/S0tyglpU7WI/AAAAAAAAAIE/9TMDnxfxa_E/s320/046.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425556080284724578" />Kitagawa Utamaro, Ukiyo e, silkworm moths</a><br /><br />In this day and age, we take it for granted that we can hop on a plane and be in another country in less than a day. Even with all the hassles of flying, it's really no big deal anymore. But, back in the day... back in the day... (no, I'm not going to talk about walking ten miles to school, through the snow...) I mean, back in the time of Lafcadio Hearn, before there were airplanes, before the famous first flight of the Wright brothers, the only way to really get around the world was by ship. And, it wasn't a pleasant journey. One could be overrun by pirates, the ship could be lost at sea, tossed in storms, sunk; it was a rather dangerous way to travel. So, it's particularly remarkable, I think, when someone from the late 19th century went from Europe to America, and then finally settled in Japan. And, then to top it all off, he learned the language and customs and settled down to write and share it with the Western world. Language is not an easy thing. Learning basic phrases for travel is easy, but actually learning a language and the nuances and cultural references take a lifetime. His thoughts on Buddhism as compared to the Judeo-Christian traditions stemmed from an old Chinese proverb. He writes, "I WAS puzzled by the phrase, " silkworm-moth eyebrow," in an old Japanese, or rather Chinese proverb : — The silkworm-moth eyebrow of a woman is the axe that cuts down the wisdom of man. So I went to my friend Niimi, who keeps silkworms, to ask for an explanation." From here, he goes with his friend to see the silkworms and eventually he comes to his musings:<br /><br />"First of all, I found myself thinking about a <br />delightful revery by M. Anatole France, in which <br />he says that if he had been the Demiurge, he <br />would have put youth at the end of life instead <br />of at the beginning, and would have otherwise so <br />ordered matters that every human being should <br />have three stages of development, somewhat cor- <br />responding to those of the lepidoptera. Then it <br />occurred to me that this fantasy was in substance <br />scarcely more than the delicate modification of a <br />most ancient doctrine, common to nearly all the <br />higher forms of religion. <br /><br />Western faiths especially teach that our life on <br />earth is a larval state of greedy helplessness, and <br />that death is a pupa-sleep out of which we should <br />soar into everlasting light. They tell us that <br />during its sentient existence, the outer body <br />should be thought of only as a kind of caterpil- <br />lar, and thereafter as a chrysalis; — and they <br />aver that we lose or gain, according to our be- <br />havior as larvae, the power to develop wings <br />under the mortal wrapping. Also they tell us <br />not to trouble ourselves about the fact that we <br />see no Psyche-imago detach itself from the broken <br />cocoon : this lack of visual evidence signifies <br />nothing, because we have only the purblind vision <br />of grubs. Our eyes are but half-evolved. Do <br />not whole scales of colors invisibly exist above <br />and below the limits of our retinal sensibility? <br />Even so the butterfly-man exists, — although, as <br />a matter of course, we cannot see him. <br /><br />But what would become of this human imago <br />in a state of perfect bliss? From the evolutional <br />point of view the question has interest; and its <br />obvious answer was suggested to me by the history<br />of those silkworms, — which have been <br />domesticated for only a few thousand years. Consider <br />the result of our celestial domestication for — let <br />us say — several millions of years : I mean the <br />final consequence, to the wishers, of being able to <br />gratify every wish at will. <br /><br />Those silkworms have all that they wish for, — <br />even considerably more. Their wants, though <br />very simple, are fundamentally identical with the <br />necessities of mankind, — food, shelter, warmth, <br />safety, and comfort. Our endless social struggle <br />is mainly for these things. Our dream of heaven <br />is the dream of obtaining them free of cost in <br />pain; and the condition of those silkworms is the <br />realization, in a small way, of our imagined <br />Paradise. (I am not considering the fact that a vast <br />majority of the worms are predestined to torment <br />and the second death; for my time is of heaven, <br />not of lost souls. I am speaking of the elect — <br />those worms preordained to salvation and rebirth.) <br />Probably they can feel only very weak sensations: <br />they are certainly incapable of prayer. But if <br />they were able to pray, they could not ask for <br />anything more than they already receive from <br />the youth who feeds and tends them. He is their <br />providence, — a god of whose existence they can <br />be aware in only the vaguest possible way, but <br />just such a god as they require. And we should <br />foolishly deem ourselves fortunate to be equally <br />well cared-for in proportion to our more complex <br />wants. Do not our common forms of prayer <br />prove our desire for like attention?' Is not the <br />assertion of our "need of divine love" an <br />involuntary confession that we wish to be treated <br />like silkworms, — to live without pain by the help <br />of gods? Yet if the gods were to treat us as we <br />want, we should presently afford fresh evidence, <br />— in the way of what is called " the evidence from <br />degeneration," — that the great evolutional law is <br />far above the gods. <br /><br />An early stage of that degeneration would be <br />represented by total incapacity to help ourselves; <br />— then we should begin to lose the use of our <br />higher sense-organs; — later on, the brain would <br />shrink to a vanishing pin-point of matter; — still <br />later we should dwindle into mere amorphous <br />sacs, mere blind stomachs. Such would be the <br />physical consequence of that kind of divine love <br />which we so lazily wish for. The longing for <br />perpetual bliss in perpetual peace might well seem <br />a malevolent inspiration from the Lords of Death <br />and Darkness. All life that feels and thinks has <br />been, and can continue to be, only as the product <br />of struggle and pain, — only as the outcome of <br />endless battle with the Powers of the Universe. <br />And cosmic law is uncompromising. Whatever <br />organ ceases to know pain, — whatever faculty <br />ceases to be used under the stimulus of pain, — <br />must also cease to exist. Let pain and its effort <br />be suspended, and life must shrink back, first <br />into protoplasmic shapelessness, thereafter into <br />dust. <br /><br />Buddhism —which, in its own grand way, is a <br />doctrine of evolution — rationally proclaims its <br />heaven but a higher stage of development through <br />pain, and teaches that even in paradise the <br />cessation of effort produces degradation. With equal <br />reasonableness it declares that the capacity for <br />pain in the superhuman world increases always <br />in proportion to the capacity for pleasure. (There <br />is little fault to be found with this teaching <br />from a scientific standpoint, — since we know <br />that higher evolution must involve an increase <br />of sensitivity to pain.) In the Heavens of <br />Desire, says the Shobo-nen-jo-kyo, the pain of death <br />is so great that all the agonies of all the hells <br />united could equal but one-sixteenth part of such <br />pain. <br /><br />The foregoing comparison is unnecessarily <br />strong; but the Buddhist teaching about heaven <br />is in substance eminently logical. The suppression <br />of pain — mental or physical, — in any conceivable <br />state of sentient existence, would necessarily <br />involve the suppression also of pleasure; — and <br />certainly all progress, whether moral or material, <br />depends upon the power to meet and to master <br />pain. In a silkworm-paradise such as our mundane <br />instincts lead us to desire, the seraph freed from the <br />necessity of toil, and able to satisfy his every want <br />at will, would lose his wings at last, and sink back <br />to the condition of a grub. . . . " <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">In Ghostly Japan</span> by Lafcadio HearnElainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-90991034609397339412010-01-06T10:28:00.000-08:002010-01-06T10:59:40.904-08:00Lafcadio Hearn<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/atV25FRK3vA&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/atV25FRK3vA&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Lafcadio Hearn was an extraordinary man with an extraordinary mind. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lafcadio_Hearn">wikipedia entry</a> briefly summarizes his various endeavors as a journalist, writer, and thinker (I actually did not know about his collection of Creole recipes). However, he is best known for his writings on Japan, dealing mostly with the supernatural and religious aspects of Japan. You may have seen the collection of short stories that was made into the 1965 film Kwaidan. <span style="font-style:italic;">In Ghostly Japan</span>, he writes about myths and legends of Japan, many of which stem from a mixture of Buddhism and Shinto. One particularly curious piece was his own musings on Western and Eastern religion. He conjectures that a belief in heavenly paradise replete with a divine, benevolent being leads human beings to eventually succumb to the fate of the domesticated silkworm whereas a life based on karmic principles seeks to constantly evolve for better or worse. It is a most fitting synopsis.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-53420776872351401732009-12-18T11:25:00.000-08:002009-12-18T12:03:51.717-08:00Fear and Cowardice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/SyvfSJt9X-I/AAAAAAAAAHo/CdCBckpE_ps/s1600-h/327px-Francisco_de_Goya_y_Lucientes_090.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 174px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/SyvfSJt9X-I/AAAAAAAAAHo/CdCBckpE_ps/s320/327px-Francisco_de_Goya_y_Lucientes_090.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416668479782477794" />Francisco de Goya, Saturn Devouring His Son</a><br />J and I have been friends nearly a decade now, and I must say that is rare, at least for me. I had never given it much thought until the other day when she told me I was cowardly. Okay, I'm not good with criticism, but this one made me really think. She and I are quite alike oddly, even though we come from completely different lives. And she is maybe one of two (maybe?) people I trust not to blow smoke up my ass. She critiques my work frequently as well, gives me food for thought. Yes, cowardly.... hmmm... that, I've not heard before, but then again, our perception of ourselves is often different from another person's perception. She said I was cowardly because I often choose to not love people, to keep them at a distance for fear of.... betrayal?; even with her, it took nearly five years before we were good friends, longer to completely trust that she would not... would not abandon me? I just figured I was a tad anti-social. In this era of instant love as portrayed in films and books, she admitted that she did not love her first husband even when she married him, but that it was only years later that she <span style="font-style:italic;">learned</span> to love him. She said love is both a physical and an intellectual endeavor; physical love is obvious, but intellectual love can only come with time.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-7328022866440953322009-12-07T17:16:00.000-08:002009-12-07T17:54:40.588-08:00Body Image<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/Sx2xFI96goI/AAAAAAAAAHg/CDUqE-aqqqc/s1600-h/breadinthosethreads500.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/Sx2xFI96goI/AAAAAAAAAHg/CDUqE-aqqqc/s320/breadinthosethreads500.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412677029033837186" />Greg Brady as Johnny Bravo</a><br /><br /><a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.thegregbradyproject.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/breadinthosethreads500.JPG&imgrefurl=http://www.thegregbradyproject.com/2008/05/06/the-brady-six-ready/&usg=__gEbsq66EJ_lZ9vTolCse8PxPEb4=&h=375&w=500&sz=143&hl=en&start=2&sig2=qoqAw8OLbVd1YZ3Z3S2zCQ&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=Y3rXc2t5qUx3PM:&tbnh=98&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3Djohnny%2Bbravo%2Bbrady%26as_st%3Dy%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DG%26um%3D1&ei=8q8dS7T5CqbktAOb6cSpCg">The Greg Brady Project</a><br />I can't seem to get Fumie Sasabuchi's work out of my head at the moment. It's not that it disturbs me, but it made me think of my time living in Los Angeles, before I ever really visited other places in the world (Las Vegas doesn't really count!!!). In my time living in West L.A., I have to tell you that almost everyone I met was in some way connected with the movie industry. For instance, nearly everyone had written a screenplay or was in the process of writing one. During my junior year, Jaleel White (aka Erkel) lived down the hall from me, and I used to pass Mayim Bialik (aka Blossom) on my way to class every day, and Danica McKellar (aka Winnie of the Wonder Years) was taking math classes down on the south campus. Add to this the proximity of the San Fernando Valley with its aspiring "stars" and you can begin to see how one's perspective might be a little skewed... I thought all women were blond skinny sticks with two melons... and faces that didn't move when they smiled or cried. At Starbucks, overheard a conversation between an agent and an aspiring "star":<br /><br />Agent: Your breasts are too small. You're going to have to get them done.<br />Girl: Of course. Yes.<br />Agent: We'll foot the bill. I guess you'll do.<br /><br />I guess she got the job...kinda reminds me of Greg Brady as Johnny Bravo... if the suit fits...Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-28948109753322769452009-12-04T09:02:00.000-08:002009-12-04T11:49:45.949-08:00ChangeExpect not to keep<br />Life unmoved, unscathed through time.<br />The sole constant: change.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6057031113515399108.post-49258787247951318252009-12-01T17:33:00.000-08:002009-12-01T17:50:03.722-08:00Fumie Sasabuchi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/SxXHwTpPJVI/AAAAAAAAAHY/l7HWDGOWWQg/s1600-h/Fumie_Sasabuchi_K_FS01-021.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 236px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IASTgfTWm-A/SxXHwTpPJVI/AAAAAAAAAHY/l7HWDGOWWQg/s320/Fumie_Sasabuchi_K_FS01-021.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410450160076399954" /></a><br />I love the work of Fumie Sasabuchi. She studied at Tama University, located in a suburb of Tokyo called Hachioji. She currently shows at <a href="http://www.galeriezink.de/">Galerie Zink</a> which has three locations (New York, Munich, and Berlin). The reason I'm writing about her is that I greatly admire her work, but that I've stumbled upon other blog posts about her which say that she is a "he." Now, that's just sloppy research... I mean, first and foremost Fumie is a Japanese woman's name (pronounced Fu-mee-ay)... in the way that the name "Mary" is a woman's name without ambiguity, not like the name "Pat" which can be either male or female. She takes images from fashion magazines and reworks them. Death, beauty being skin-deep, the fragility of life itself are issues that she deals with. They are visually stunning pieces and really, I think speak for themselves.Elainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05053148978452594367noreply@blogger.com4