Thursday, May 24, 2012

Living in Coldplay's Paradise


When she was just a girl
She expected the world
But it flew away from her reach
So she ran away in her sleep
Dreamed of para- para- paradise                                                 
Para- para- paradise
Para- para- paradise
Every time she closed her eyes
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh

When she was just a girl
She expected the world
But it flew away from her reach
And the bullets catch in her teeth

Life goes on
It gets so heavy
The wheel breaks the butterfly
Every tear, a waterfall
In the night, the stormy night
She closed her eyes                                                                        
In the night, the stormy night
Away she'd fly.

And dreamed of para- para- paradise
Para- para- paradise
Para- para- paradise
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh

She dreamed of para- para- paradise
Para- para- paradise
Para- para- paradise
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.

La la la La
La la la                                                                                    

So lying underneath those stormy skies.
She said oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
I know the sun must set to rise.

This could be para- para- paradise
Para- para- paradise
This could be para- para- paradise
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

"Mother's love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved. " Erich Fromm

A letter to my mother on Mother's Day    

     There are some things no child born into this world should ever be without; access to food, water, shelter often come to mind as the necessities of life, but there is another element fundamental to the development of this precious life, a mother's love. There are a million ways to feel this phenomenon in a human life. It can be biological, yet biology is not requisite, and tragically is not  provided in every child's life. It can also be situational in which mothering and a mother's love is given and experienced in  close-knit friendship. Or it can even be biologically situational in which the heart of a mother can be endowed to someone whom has a deep connection to the recipient of such devotion. For me, I have had the blessing to experience the love and support of a variety of "mothers" in my life and I am forever grateful for that for they have been the moons reflecting the brilliance and power of the sunlight of my own dear mother's love

Mom,

It is just now as I have acknowledged my adulthood that I truly understand how much of who I am I owe to you (and dad...but he already has a blog post dedicated to him...this one's for you.) Your example has taught and guided me my whole life, whether I was aware of it or not. In a few weeks I will finally have accomplished a lifelong goal of graduating from college.  It is because of your brave example I often found the strength to carry on through the depths of emotional and physical exhaustion; to pick myself up and keep moving forward despite any seemingly insurmountable misstep. I constantly think to myself  "how could I dare give up when my mother did this same thing but had 5 kids and a job?" I often think back on the many sacrifices you made and the millions of times you could have given up on such a stubborn kid like me and didn't. I was the world's WORST newspaper deliverer ( and that is no hyberbole!), a bookworm, an introvert, a hippy who wrote all over my new jeans with permanent marker,  a runaway, a dropout,a liar,  a lost soul, and you loved me through all of it. I never told you the hurts I got at school. How hard life as a teenager was for me. But you helped me through the riptide of adolescence by getting up at 5:30 am every morning for 2 years and taking me to early morning seminary classes. My senior year of high school you were my best friend who fell asleep on the couch watching Silence of the Lambs  on a Friday night. You taught me the value of kindness to those who carry heavy burdens and that the best friendships are based on laughter and kindred hearts.

Mom, I have learned to laugh so hard I cry, especially at myself, because you are silly and fun and always making me laugh. Your smile is my smile. Your eyes are my eyes. And when people say to me "you look just like your mother"  it makes me smile because you are the most beautiful woman I know. You have cradled, cajoled, and clapped. You have hugged, hailed, and harangued. You gave me life and then have done everything you knew how to help me make the most out of it. And most importantly you have loved me. No matter what.
Love you mama.....Happy Mother's Day!   

Saturday, February 4, 2012

None knows the weight of another's burden. ~George Herbert

New year. New me. Or so I hope. In reviewing my journals and postings over the past year I attempt to do so with they eye of a most critical reader. A reader who may be yearning to know how this story ends, but is more concerned with if our heroine's growth as a character has been significant or just a meandering thought. And each time I study my life over the past year I see all the little successes and giant failures through the lens of perspective and discover that, however infinitesimal it may seem, I have moved forward and come just that much closer to being the person I have set as my standard of expectation. Another observation I have found myself making is how little we often see beneath the surface of the lives of those we insist we value. Sometimes in the hesitancy to pry we can avoid the meaningful questions that allow us to erode away at the sediment of superficiality and gain the gem of deeper knowledge of the struggles of another. I have lived a lifetime of making this mistake as well as the mistake of sharing thoughts and feelings that would best have been kept someplace safe and warm. But I look forward with  better understanding of myself and a desire to better understand and truly see others as fellow travelers also striving to move forward despite the struggles and challenges life may bring to us. I may not be aware of the burdens a friend may be carrying and vice versa, yet I am hopeful that the me of 2012 will be ever mindful that we are in a constant state of forgiveness, both giving and receiving.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

"Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity." Gilda Radner

2012 has just begun and with the newborn year I look forward to a grand adventure. The last half year was a sextet of ambiguity and prevarication; for me 2012 is a lynch-pin year. With graduation at long last approaching I have struggled with the weight of choosing which direction my journey should head upon completion of what has proven to be not so much a Herculean task but rather a type of 10 year Odysseus-like journey. Paralysis can and has often flooded my brain and heart when contemplating my possibilities. I love New York. It has been my home for 36 years. It has provided me with the most challenging and growth inducing experiences of my life. Equal to that, New York has provided me with a family of dear friends who have enriched my life immeasurably when my immediate family all moved away. It is in New York I have discovered myself and learned to value who I am with all my flaws despite the pain of external rejection and constant change. I have become a person who loves openly and values good company, who embraces and delights in differences of cultural and ideological beliefs. I have committed to my own religious beliefs more deeply while living in New York. In acknowledging all of these wonderful gifts it is little wonder I have been emotionally and psychologically stymied. But the time has come for me to move forward and in order to do so decisions inevitably must be made. And it was just recently that a sense of confidence to do so has crept into my mind and the notion  of how I am to know what it is that will provide me the most growth and happiness on the next stage of my journey........

Thursday, December 1, 2011

"It is such a secret place, the land of tears." Antoine de Saint-Exupery

And so I must confess that my eyes have swollen up once again with the salty familiarity of displaced tears. I am unable to sleep or find rest in my present state of mind. There are so very many thoughts to sift through and so very many heartaches through which to persevere. It seems like a medical miracle that the human heart can break and then mend only to start the whole process over again. For me, there seems to be chunks of happiness missing in being so far from my family and feeling utterly helpless and without control. I bear the burden of a deep sorrow that weighs me down even as I crawl forward. The pain of love is in knowing I have no control over the outcome of events. That is in God's hands. I cannot do that which I long to, I cannot hold my sister's hand, I cannot take care of and be with the family I love and worry over and I cannot look to the arm of flesh for support for it is weak and undependable. I have been blessed and challenged by the friendships in my life and know that while some have caused me a great deal of sadness others have helped me to rekindle my joy and gratitude for God's blessings. And while I may weep in the night I know I am not alone. That there is One who will always hear my cries and soothe my weary soul. And so I sojourn in valley of sorrow but I never do so alone and joy always appears on the horizon, eventually.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Art is the imprint of soul on another soul...

I Like It, But Is It Art?
“The ultimate question in the philosophy of art is not only what art is but also what its purpose, function, and importance are in our lives” (Bowie, Michaels, Solomon 614). What deems a collection of words, a visual representation, or concert of sound a work of art? How does individual taste shape how we perceive and thus classify art from non-art? And what role does culture have in regards to artistic schematizing as well as development? In the essays collected by Bowie, Michaels and Solomon in the chapter titled I Like It, but Is It Art? each author or set of authors takes a strong stance on one of these points in an attempt to address the philosophical questions regarding art and its relationship to the human experience.
            In his foundational text What is Art? the famous Russian novelist and philosopher Leo Tolstoy addresses the most basic question that continues to be debated today: how do we know when an object is a work of art and not just another ordinary object of human invention? What sets some creations apart from others as uniquely belonging to the classification of “art”? Tolstoy believed that “art begins when one person, with the object of joining another or others to himself in one and the same feeling, expresses that feeling by certain external indications”( Bowie, Michaels, Solomon 617). Meaning, intention and skill of the creator to externalize a state of mind or feeling through their creation is integral to qualification as artwork. Furthermore, one can delineate “real art from its counterfeit” by the power of its “infectiousness”.  Tolstoy explains it thus, “…however poetic, realistic, effectual, or interesting a work may be, it is not a work of art if it does not evoke that feeling (quite distinct from all other feelings) of joy and of spiritual union with another (the author) and with others (those who are also infected by it)” (Bowie et all 618). This contagion of emotional expression and reception is heightened by three principles put forth by Tolstoy: the more personal the emotion being expressed the more personally it will be felt by those who benefit from the piece being shared; the sharper the clarity of the emotion being expressed the clearer the reception; “the artist should be impelled by an inner need to express his feeling”, meaning that without the authentic desire of the artist to project his internal nature  there is no art. Art must communicate the truth of the artist’s inner being (Bowie 619).  In Tolstoy’s words, “Art is a human activity consisting in this that one man consciously, by means of certain external signs, hands on to others feelings he has lived through, and that other people are infected by these feelings and also experience them…”(Bowie 618). Simply put, art is the capacity of the artist to pass on a genuine expression of emotion and experience to an audience who can emotionally connect to the artist as well as others through the power of the work.
            In The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception, philosophers Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer explain that culture and society with their great advancements in technology have so reshaped the world that the notion of mass media and mass production has created a type of conformity of watered down tools of a cultural conglomerate monopoly.  ”Under monopoly all mass culture is identical, and the lines of its artificial framework begin to bleed through…Movies and radio need no longer pretend to be art. The truth that they are just business is made into an ideology in order to justify the rubbish they deliberately produce” (Bowie et all 621). The machine of rapid fire information and entertainment has created a culture in which critical thinking and hence understanding and appreciation of art in all its forms is practically stifled into nonexistence. And not only does the media machine hurl content at the masses it also prioritizes and categorizes it all for them. As Adorno and Horkheimer explain it the individual “has to accept what the culture manufacturers offer him…industry robs the individual of his function. Its prime service to the customer is to do his schematizing for him” (Bowie 622). The pervasive group think spoon fed dynamic of mass media and the all flash no substance cultural production that results from it deceives its victims into believing what Tolstoy would say was the counterfeit of art; producing no sincere emotional connection between creator and recipients but in fact a large scale cultural disconnect.
            Roger Scruton’s essay “Art, Beauty, and Judgment” focuses on the pervasive “cultural relativism” which he argues is destroying the essence and function of art. Scruton decries:
If anything can count as art, then art ceases to be art. All that is left is the curious but unfounded fact that some people like looking at some things, others like looking at others. As for the suggestion that there is an enterprise of criticism which searches for objective values and lasting monuments to the human spirit, this is dismissed out of hand…. (Bowie 625-626)
He makes the argument that art cannot be defined by subjective experience and terms but by a return to aesthetic principles; that while it has become passé to accept it, taste, like humor, has certain boundaries that differentiate the good from the bad.  Art should be a means by which the best within humanity is explored and celebrated not a tool to mock and demean the human spirit in order to condone a cultural free-for-all. Like Adorno and Horkheimer, Scruton observes that society “has been taken over by a culture that wishes not to educate our perception but to capture it, not to ennoble human life but to trivialize it”(Bowie et all 627). How can there be any notion of what art actually is if there is no standard or even support in the public square for “aesthetic judgment”?
            C.J. Ducasse’s essay “What Has Beauty to Do with Art?” refutes Scruton’s notions of returning the concept of aesthetic beauty to the definition of art. According to Ducasse, while beauty may be “a condition of the social visibility of a work of art… it is not a condition of the existence of one. Ugly art, although easily overlooked or forgotten…exists in vast quantities” (Bowie 628). Ducasse refers to the work of two authors, one of whom is Leo Tolstoy, in establishing an understanding of what art is if beauty is not a requisite characteristic. Art “…is the critically-controlled attempt to give objective expression to, i.e., to embody a feeling. That it is objective expression that art directly aims at, means that in the light of which the artist exercises critical control of his own work is, not the beauty of what he creates, but the adequacy of it as embodiment of his feeling”(Bowie 629). Furthermore, in defining the term beauty in aesthetic terms, Ducasse points out what may be aesthetically pleasing or displeasing to the beholder will vary from individual to individual making a completely objective standard for such a requirement illogical.
            In “Art, Practice, and Narrative” professor Noel Carrol puts forth the theory that classifying something as artwork would be directly tied to its whether or not as well as how it fits in to “the evolving tradition of art…That is, whether an object (or performance) is identified as art is a question internal to the practice or practices of art” (Bowie 631). If something is to be categorized as a product of artistic creation its relationship to its predecessor’s characteristics plays a key role. In the definition of what may or may not be art art history and culture are integral.  As Carrol explains, “Art is a cultural practice. A cultural practice is an arena of activity that governs itself such that it reproduces itself over time…However this replication cannot be absolutely rote…the practice must readjust itself and evolve, in order to adapt to new circumstances” (Bowie 632). The output of the creative process is always viewed in reference to the history from which it evolves. Carrol would suggest we understand the relationship of this new object to be classified with the contemporary as well as historical art scene by looking for one of these three determining factors: repetition, amplification, and/or repudiation. The key to categorizing any work as art, according to Carrol, we must find its place in the evolutionary pattern either by its adoption, expansion, or rejection of artistic principles already universally understood.
            In the last two pieces, both authors use the discussion of art to engage in a study of either how art can enhance the human experience as in Kathleen M. Higgins’, “The Music of Our Lives” or how art reflects the perspective of the society from which it is born, as in Mary Devereaux’s, ”The Male Gaze”. Higgin’s begins her appeal for a more intensive study of music on the human experience by looking to Plato who taught that “musical training is a more potent instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way into the inward places of the soul…making the soul of him who is rightly educated graceful, or of him who is ill- educated ungraceful” (Bowie et all 637).  For an element of our daily lives that seeps in by means of every possible outlet music has been vastly undervalued in its connection and power to shape our ethical values. What music we have exposure to, beyond that of the traditionally accepted purity of the classical genre can allow for a larger world view in that when we determine to diversify our listening choices we are shaping our minds to be more receptive and expansive in appreciating diversity; a philosophy that can easily diffuse from our musical interactions to our interactions with a variety of other people and cultures; and as Higgin’s points out, “By so developing our potential to understand others, music serves a role of decided ethical significance” (Bowie et all 639).
            Mary Devereaux, however, looks not at how the art we produce can change our cultural perspective but how our cultural perspective shapes what we produce. Starting with the premise that “Observation is always conditioned by perspective and expectation” and that art reflects some form of individual human observation ”...feminist claims that our representations inscribe a male gaze” because “Both men and women have learned to see the world through male eyes” (Bowie et all 640). Why do women spend years and thousands of dollars in the Quixote-like quest for beauty? Because culturally there is a perception of what “beauty” looks like and that is a product of the domination of the male perspective throughout society and the socialization of females to accept that standard. At the heart of this problem lays, what Devereaux calls “male institutional control” meaning while women participate in the creative process in many forms there are very few women who are involved at the level of authority and power brokering. The creative process is thus not only disproportionately managed by the male perspective but it becomes the acceptable and expected paradigm in the cultural practice we call art as a result.
            These pieces each offer a nuanced insight into the complexity of any conversation to be had about what art is and how it affects and is affected by the human experience. In reading Tolstoy’s description of how we can know what art is I reflected on the first time I saw Van Gogh’s Starry Night up close and in person. It was certainly a transporting experience for me. There was an instant recognition of this moment when Tolstoy wrote “the receiver of a true artistic impression is so united to the artist that he feels as if the work were his own and not someone else’s as if what it expresses were just what he had long been wishing to express” (Bowie et all 618). There does seem to be a unifying spirit between artist and receiver through the masterful works of art, however there is an element Tolstoy does not address in depth what role aesthetic beauty plays regarding how we are to qualify objects as “art”. It was Ducasse’s essay, written in the historical context of post WWI modernism, a world defined by chaos and uncertainty of the state of humanity, that struck me in its belief that art could not be simply relegated to the category of visually or aesthetically pleasing. For if  “…the work of art is essentially an attempt by the artist to express objectively what he feels” our concern in categorizing art should not primarily be the “beauty” of the creation but of its power to “transmit to [us] the feeling objectified in it” (Bowie et all 629).

Saturday, September 10, 2011

I sat down and cried....



I will never forget where I was and what I saw on September 11, 2001 and the days following. These two songs wrench my heart to this day. All those who lost their lives that day and have given their lives for our freedom since are on my mind this weekend. And I pray with all my heart that I can be more mindful of all the blessings I have been given and take nothing for granted.