That which is Sublime.

I have great respect for language.  I worship at the altars of great writers who craft each sentence as part of an assemblage --- which when we step back, takes our breath away. How do they know which words belong?  It is my intention when writing my little blog, to respect my readers and give them something worth reading both in thought and deed.  Whatever the subject, I try to provide my readers with honest and comfortably digestible copy.  I’ve written about the power of music, the joys of theatre, the engagement of movies, becoming a Mother, honoring friends, celebrating artists and even the weather. I’ll write about almost anything that strikes my fancy in the moment.  Writing a blog is like exercising. It keeps my skills sharp for the big projects.  But I’m not kidding myself. These little vignettes are not great literature. I’d like to produce great literature someday and I’m working on that, slowly.

JMW Turner's Snowstorm at Sea

When I was in college, I took a class entitled “The Philosophy of Painting”.  It was an introduction to the philosophies of Aesthetics. My professor, whose name I cannot recall, was a rather round Danish fellow who obsessively paced the floor and never made eye contact with any of his students.  I have a vivid memory of his pastel scarves, long blonde hair, fierce blue eyes and rather sweaty forehead. He spoke with flourishes and passion while his ten students raised their eyebrows. He was absolutely bonkers and Ludwig Wittgenstein was required reading.  If you are unfamiliar with Ludwig, I would certainly understand. While he is considered one of the great philosophers of this century, most of us don’t have the time or inclination to include Philosophy in our Must Dos.  But I include him in this blog because what he said provides a framework for talking about The Tree of Life, the actual subject of this blog.

Here are three of his gems:

 1. A picture is a fact.

How can we deny that which we see?  Wittgenstein talks about vision as a personal experience. He famously asked, if I see (the color) Red and you see Red, how can we ever be sure we are seeing the same color?  Does my vision of Red look the same as your vision of Red?  Is the actual color relevant?

JMW Turner's Sunset

2. What can be shown cannot be said.

One might consider this a more profound consideration of a picture being worth a 1000 words. Wittgenstein considers that what we see is unconstrained by the limitations of language, that there is a distinct visual vocabulary.

3. The limits of my language means the limits of my world.

This is my personal favorite because it helps me to recognize the limitations of a single culture as constrained by its vocabulary. If a particular phenomenon does not occur within a culture, does it even require a name or if there is something that has a profound impact or presence in a culture, is just one name for it enough? One example, Greenland has 38 words for snow.

Sean says little

So here’s my dilemma – I don’t want to diminish the experience of The Tree of Life by reducing it to words.  I cannot possess the vocabulary to do it justice. As I sat in the theatre I so wanted to capture my experience of seeing with my words, to be in the moment, to be present.  It’s not often that a word like beatitude or transcendent are experiential or even appropriate. Yet there they were on the screen in front of me. There is Commerce and there is Art and the difference was never so apparent to me as it was    witnessing this film, a haunting and melancholy and largely narrative-free depiction of the selective nature of memory, of the profundity of loss, of the complexities of love, of the scars of disappointment, and the miracle that is creation. Yes, I’m talking about a movie.

It’s not a film for everyone. It’s two and a half hours long and will not make for a great social exchange at its conclusion. I would never call it a date movie. It speaks to each viewer intimately. It is more like standing in front of a Van Gogh or JMW Turner or walking into a Cathedral or witnessing the landscape of Yosemite and your breath is taken away and you want to hold on to that feeling in silent solitude.

Brad the Dad  -- unlimited by words 

They are those few moments in life when what we witness fills us with a sense of wonderment, and demonstrates the presence of a higher being or power, an intelligence which surpasses our expectations of understanding. We bask in that profundity and recognize genius.

There are very limited moments when we can take the marvelous word sublime off of its special mantel and apply it. The Tree of Life is one of those moments. It is that which is sublime.

Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language.   – Ludwig Wittgenstein

The Spice of Life

It is almost 11am on a glorious Saturday morning after a brutal early evening thunderstorm that knocked out power to much of the neighborhood.  I’ve been up for hours, having just returned from Janet’s house.  She’s a dear friend and is relocating to California at the end of the month. I will miss her terribly but I am happy for her too. This is something we’ve been talking about for years and is her dream realized.  It’s hard not to dwell on the sorrow of saying goodbye but I understand that friendship is never limited by geography in this most miraculous age where high tech facilitates high touch. 

This is most evidenced by my time spent on Facebook, so often instant chatting long distance with friends in distant places. It helps that I’m fast on the keyboard but I try not to hijack the conversation. The back and forth nature of it actually captures more of my intent than a typical in-person polite conversation does, where spoken language is more linear. You know how when you’re talking to someone, you have to listen to what they have to say before responding or changing the subject?  The automaticity of these written instant zings back and forth enables both parties to “speak” at once, to share any thoughts ---however unrelated ---in real time, and to refer back to what someone has said just in case you weren’t “listening” or your mind strayed off as you were trying to remember whatever it was you wanted to say at some point later in the conversation. I find I value this more as I grow older.  This electronic process enables me to refer back to my “notes” and theirs.  Ironically, many of my far-flung friends know more about me and how I think, than many of my physically closer ones.  The spontaneity of this format of exchange appeals to me.  Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.

So Janet is soon to be a “distant” friend, but only geographically.  In preparation for this departure I was there this morning helping her empty out her kitchen cabinets. We pulled out all of the spices and seasoning treasures and in doing so shared another dimension of our friendship – Cooking.  Janet is originally from the Midwest – Ann Arbor, she’s Black and she’s an awesome cook, just one of her many talents.  I’m a Jew from New Jersey, love to cook and over the years we have swapped foods and dishes like other friends share books.  Her repertoire and mine are different but we have a great appreciation of what tastes good.  Her fried avocado slices and chili dishes are to die for. She practically purred over my plum pies and homemade soups.

She’s lived in her condo for years and amassed, as we do, years of stuff – including said spices.  She had two cabinets full to be discarded.  As the countertop became littered with pretty little bottles and jars, I pointed out her 6 jars of chili powders, 4 jars of red peppers flakes and in the way way back, long forgotten, packages of things that were older than this century.  How often have we purchased new things, shoved older things to the back of our cabinets and forgotten about what we already had? What life lesson might be learned from this, I wonder.   

We sorted out food for the local food bank, tossed out faded passions and she passed on the “bought with the best of intentions practically brand new” goods to me.  I now have a variety of rubs and spices and chocolate powders that will keep Janet here in my kitchen and always in my heart.    

In commemoration of her move, I prepared a special gift for her, a CD of songs each of which has a special meaning as a reflection of our friendship and the magic she has added to my life.  Just like that in person conversation, the words I might say or write were not enough to convey what was in my heart. Language is limited no matter our eloquence or intent.  It is the sumptuous soundtrack of our lives that adds the spice.  

To see more of Janet's fabulous art visit her website:

www.janettaylorpickett.com

Kandinsky and the Evil Laugh

Picking up on my looking at Art theme, and all that comes with looking, yesterday I went to the Guggenheim Museum with my 15 year old and met up with my friend Jeff who appreciates 15 year olds; well at least my 15 year old, an important factor to consider when bringing your teen to excursions really meant for adults.  It's not that some of my friends don't have children, they do, but their children are beginning to have their own children, if you know what I mean.  My husband and I kind of waited until the last possible moment and said,  "Ok, how bout now?"  


But, that being said, I do find the unexpected joys of parenthood are limitless and never found where you look for them.  My attitude is throw enough poop against the kid and something is bound to stick, with a resounding plop, so while he was the only one under 40 at the matinee for Freud's Last Session and certainly the only visitor I noticed under 21 at the Francis Bacon show at the Met -- (see my earlier Blog entitled: Life's Shutter, for just how well that went but be prepared, it meanders purposefully to that moment, but I think it's worth it.) the ability to have a conversation about Theatre, God and Art with my child was well worth it. 


His response to Freud, an imagined conversation between Sigmund F, an 80 something-year-old atheist dying of mouth cancer and C.S. Lewis, a once avowed atheist who at 33, decided he was a Christian and is now a 40 year old Oxford Don, was one of those joyous moments. The actors are meeting at Freud's apartment in 1939 London on the eve of Chamberlain's Declaration of War against Germany and what my son found most interesting; after acknowledging the debate over God's Existence was a draw, was that the younger character was the believer and older one, the atheist, since he thought it was usually the other way around.  As his Mom, I love having this kind of conversation with my child.  It allows me to demonstrate that Art and Music and Theatre are important. 


I don't believe in limiting his exposure, as long as it's not violent or sexual in nature.  The sexual thing is primarily because he gets embarrassed. As a matter of fact, when my husband had "The Conversation"* with my son in his bedroom several years ago, while I giggled in the kitchen, like the immature person that I am, my son came tearing down the hallway, hands over his ears, protesting that he had heard enough.Violence, on the other hand, is should be seen by no one, as far as I am concerned. 


* Not the be confused with "The Conversation", a very fine film from 1974 by Francis Ford Coppola. 


Did I mention that Jeff worked at the Metropolitan Museum for over 15 years? He is so much fun to talk to about Art.  Today's excursion was no exception.  Beginning at the top of the famous Guggenheim spiral was a video installation, part of a show on contemporary imagery - both photography and video.  The show, entitled: Haunted: Contemporary Photography/Video/Performance, has been described as examining contemporary photography and and video that possesses "a melancholic longing for an otherwise irrecuperable past."  Nicely written. (For more visit: http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/haunted-contemporary-photography-video-performance.)


The first piece was a six screen looped film installation of Merce Cunningham sitting in a traditional mirrored dance studio on a metal folding chair. The machines showing the films were quite delicate and soundless and the museum had gone so far as to cover the dome and lower the lights to ensure the film would be clearly seen. Each of the cameras were projected at the walls at different angles, were varying sizes, and showed either a close-up or mid-range shot of this incredible choreographer sitting quietly, barely moving.  The label described the piece as the video artist capturing Merce Cunningham's choreography to John Cage's Silent Symphony with Three Movements in six parts.  I defy you to explain that to a a 15 year old.  I suggested to him that we look for the invisible Score. 


So, there we were, what we actually came for, The Geometry of Kandinsky and Malevich, a lovely little exhibit, seated in front of the canvas Conversation 8, which is just glorious. 

Vasily Kandinsky
Conversation 8, July 1923
Oil on Canvas, 140x201cm

My son has had some exposure to working in different mediums and we all listened to our audio headsets describing the canvas, how it looks like it was painted with watercolors in certain areas as Kandinsky explored the relationship of colors and the nature of transparency and how other parts of the canvas looks to have be done with pastels.  My son understands this and we talk about why he agrees. I am delighted that he understands. 

Kasimir Malevich
Mystic. Suprematism
1920-1922
Oil on Canvas, 100.5x60 cm

Then Jeff and I move over to a Malevich, and begin discussing how the influence of the religious iconography of the Orthodox Christian Church shows up so clearly in Malevich's Canvases.  My son moves on, eyes rolling.  This is Mommy going on with her friend time. 


He returned a few moments later to ask about Kandinsky and his evil laugh.  Huh?


Jeff and I exchange looks.  


My son has been reading a label on the wall which says in bold print, Kandinsky and the Bauhaus.  My son is not at all familiar with Bauhaus, so he has twisted the word to fit his frame of reference and reflect his wit with words. To him, he tells us, this reads Bwa-Ha's, as in the cartoon villian who maniacally cackles -- Bwa - ha - ha.


And there is it, another one of moments, the unexpected joy of parenthood.