Discovered this still life in the course of browsing the web; actually, I kind of like it. The artist’s name was Adolph and unfortunately his teachers thought he lacked talent and discouraged him from pursuing a career in art. Thirty Million people may wish they’d been less critical—yes, he was that Adolph. Today people buy his art for reasons that have nothing to do with artistic merit.
A friend got into a discussion with me on the nature of faith and the existence of God. Having had a week to cogitate on the matter I’ll write a few words.
I can think of few better places to begin than the Gospel of John:
John 1:1-5 In the beginning, the Word existed. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. (2) He existed in the beginning with God. (3) Through him all things were made, and apart from him nothing was made that has been made. (4) In him was life, and that life brought light to humanity. (5) And the light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness has never put it out.
“Word” is a good starting place as to talk of this or any other topic we must use words. Word or in Greek logos is the force that creates and sustains the universe. It can be said that God’s Word is Law but Word in this sense is beyond Law. The Word or God wills, thinks or says a thing and it is so. God then is The Word that expresses the force that creates and sustains the universe. We believe or have faith in the existence of God because as part of this universe we acknowledge the existence of some over-arching force that not only lead to its creation but continues to hold it together. The fact that science can in some way explain how these processes work in no way diminishes God; in fact the more we learn the more we come to understand just how complicated the universe is and reinforce the belief that there must be some ultimate power behind it all. That churches and religious authorities throughout the ages have laid claim to the Word and attempted to harness and dispense it, often to their own advantage and in perversion of the true Word, and perpetrated abuses in so doing in no way detracts from the power of God.
In a world that claims to be atheistic and Godless man’s quest for purpose and meaning remains stronger than ever—we just seek it outside the doors of organized religion. The universe and the matter of which it is made exist, it is neither good nor bad; but when it is used for ill we call that act sin and the results of that act evil. Sin and evil have the effect of separating us from the life force; some would quantify this state as a place called Hell and posit an opposing force for evil personified as Satan or the Devil. The Christian Church has personified the force that makes those who have ‘sinned’ right with the universe in the person of God the Son, or Jesus the Christ. We may no longer believe in casting out demons to heal people, but no one can deny the restorative power of being made right with the world—whether it be by losing those 40 extra pounds, an addiction to smoking or drugs, a long-held grudge, or enmity with the world at large.
The search for meaning has led man, as a sentient being to believe in a life force that animates the flesh and molecules of which he is made. Many have called this presence man’s soul and the means by which it communicates with the ultimate being the spirit. Whether they would admit it or not human beings are creatures of habit and in order to become at one with their inner being or soul participate in ritualistic practices. Whether this be meditation, chanting mantras or group exercises the objective is the same. In the Christian Tradition fellow believers gather for corporate worship involving chants, prayers, and music; and since the sense of smell is our most primal and the last we lose in death, incense. Prayer is an expression of our soul’s two-way communication with the divine spirit—the power behind the universe. Whether or not it is efficacious depends on the faith of the believer.
In the Christian tradition these three aspects of the ultimate power or divine being have been expressed as the Triune God—God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit or Ghost. In spite of these three expressions of this ultimate being Christianity claims to be a monotheistic religion that believes in a single God whose dealings with mortals are expressed in different ways. Faith is a sense of a Spiritual presence that can’t be seen or touched, if one does not believe nothing can prove that it exists. Whether faith be superstition depends on the belief of the individual making the decision; however superstition connotes ignorance and most religious faith is undergirded by centuries of wisdom. As with every human endeavour religion can be used for good and evil—more wars have been fought in the name of religion than any other cause. A comic recently stated that since both sides always claim to have God on their side, God always wins; I don’t have a sense that either human side ever wins. The fact that religion can and has been used to motivate or control people in ways that are deleterious to their own good is a reality; however religion as an expression of man’s search for meaning remains a necessity for most thinking beings.
That the writer’s approach comes from a Christian, indeed Lutheran, tradition is obvious. I would, however, in solidarity with Alan Jones, Dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco state that Christianity to me is an approach to living and the questions it poses; not a set of dogma that a practitioner must believe and follow. I believe it an expression of the strength of my own faith that I can encounter those who take differing points of view without feeling forced to convert them to mine and indeed defend their right to hold them; recognizing that their system of beliefs is founded in the sum total of their own life experience and culture. I only ask that they accord me the same respect.
As I sit here contemplating the last few days of a month’s vacation time I’m wondering what happened to all the things I wanted to get done. Take iTunes Podcasts for example. Like a child in a candy shop I’d collected more than I’d time to watch or audition. Well, I’ve spent hours listening to podcasts but, with time on my hands I’ve found more that interest me so I still have a backlog of 56 hours of listening to catch up on and that stockpile keeps growing daily each time I refresh it.
The other day I reassembled my first computer that has sat dormant since September 2002 and booted it up. After three attempts it actually worked. Having been bought in the year 2000 it sports the dreaded Windows Me operating system—it hasn’t improved with age. The old IBM clunker was retired because of unreliability so I haven’t entrusted anything of importance to it; I just wanted to see if it would still work for curiosity’s sake and to engage in a stroll down memory lane. Four years in computer terms and the life of the World Wide Web is two lifetimes. Has anyone heard of the Lycos Browser—it was IBM’s proprietary browser which integrated E-mail, Browsing, Net Clubs and Downloads; one feature I did appreciate was its built-in popup blocker. Alas, we know what happened to IBM and this browser is no longer supported. There are a few games and pieces of software that XP won’t run that I can still enjoy on the old system.
I have managed to catch up on an entire year’s worth of Canadian Geographical Magazines—mainly while I waited for web pages to open or Blogs to upload; though I shudder to think of the depth of the unread back issues, at this point I suppose one could call them history. When I find them, I have copies of MacLean’s Magazine that predate 9/11—not that is history! I never seem to get as many books read as I’d like to but I did finish the Iliad at last and I’m half way through Harry Potter. I’ve watched a number of movies but I’m still behind on the TV series I’ve picked up. At least I won’t be running out of original material to watch anytime soon. I’ve started the 2005-6 Season of Smallville and just picked up One Tree Hill. Managed to work my way through the entire Wagner Ring Cycle but there are still CD’s in my collection that have never been auditioned. Five years ago had someone told me I’d listen to most of my music by means of a computer I’d never have credited it. Online Commercial-Free Radio is a marvel. Being able to stream Pipedreams on American Public Radio and other programmes that are either hard to tune in or broadcast at inconvenient times is a marvel.
I have managed to get caught up on my E-mail and for those of you who visit this Blog you know that I’ve added considerably to its archives. Summer has mellowed into fall outside and air is filled with the calls of blue jays and fog. Nights are getting quite cool and the cloud cover continues to predominate. Trees here near Lake Ontario are just thinking about turning but the cooler temperatures are finally resulting in less swamp water smell from my taps. Now it’s time I go visit my banker and see to financial matters. Guess it’s a pleasant problem to have. At work they joke about raiding the cache under my mattress.
Time was when the well-to-do took the train, a bus, and a boat to a summer retreat and spent a couple months there. Most working stiffs cannot afford such luxuries and the indolent lifestyle having servants to keep house made possible. I count myself lucky to have a job that affords me the extravagance of taking the entire month of September off. It’s pleasant to have an opportunity to unwind, catch up on my reading, peck away at household chores as the mood strikes me, do some shopping, wander Southern Ontario, watch some movies, and forget what time, indeed what day it is. Mind you I may have overdone it in the unwinding department as I’m finding it difficult some days to come up with much to write about in my journal.
This morning I was moved to reassemble my first computer that has sat collecting dust for over 4 years and see if I could get it to boot. At this point the only hardware I’m still using from that original set-up is the speakers. Not surprising for a system that has sat unused for 4 years it took three attempts to get it to start. The first time the hard drive didn’t start, the second time produced a system fault, but on the third attempt it actually booted. Windows Me remains the charming programme it’s always been with its propensity to freeze and lock up the computer. With the benefit of experience I’ve just spent the last few hours getting rid of useless software and trail ware I’d installed at the time and at present have Windows performing maintenance on the drive. For example I now know that having two firewalls installed at once can lead to system instability. I don’t have network access with this computer but I do find it a trip down memory lane to see what I had installed at the time, the way programmes looked 4 years ago and the material I had stored on the drive. Just what I plan to do with a second computer I haven’t quite decided but for the moment it’s an interesting reminiscence. At the moment the old system appears to be remarkably stable, mind you I haven’t attempted to run any specific programmes on it yet.
For one who began blogging with some reticence last May I appear to have embraced it with unbridled enthusiasm, branching out from this original blog which is now approaching 90 entries to scribblings in search of a book and today a foray into movie reviews, nothing new really, just a dedicated blog for my opinions. If I continue to maintain my enthusiasm I expect the next foray will be a book review blog.
The last week has been cool here around Southern Ontario and I’ve had to turn my heat on. This past weekend I looked out at the scudding clouds and wind-driven rain and decided that although visiting Queen St in Toronto to see Word on the Street might be pleasant, I didn’t want to get caught there in the rain.
We all need our guilty pleasures don’t we. I’ve begun watching the fifth season of Smallville. Alfred Goug
h and Miles Millar, the producers of this series, seem to miss no opportunity to have fun with both the Superman tradition and the acting pasts of their actors. Making Annette O’Toole, of Beach Blanket Bingo fame Clark’s very straight-laced Mother, if nothing else, shows that even pinup girls grow up some day. That John Schneider, half the law-breaking good old boy team of Dukes of Hazard fame, is Clark’s rock solid, upstanding Father is just plain irony.
Last night, however in Episode 6 entitled, “Exposed” Tom Wopat, John’s partner in the Dukes, makes a guest appearance as a US Senator. Neither is the sexy hunk they were in those days of youthful delinquency, but Wopat is barely recognizable; except for the souped up hotrod in which he arrives in a four-wheel skid. Gone is the horn that played “Dixie” but in a bow to their past Tom somehow manages to maneuver his ample creaking frame into the passenger seat through the open window.
This series may be about the young man who would be Superman played by the achingly handsome former model Tom Welling and his school mates; but the adults who surround him are no mere props--their characters are fully developed. It is with some bemusement that I admit that occasionally a series I admire manages to survive and in this case is entering its sixth season.
Annapolis is set in the Naval Academy of that name in Maryland. As with the images in the promotional poster above the characters are so air-brushed that they are barely recognizable as the people they represent. It was Jake’s Mother who instilled in him the motivation to assay an appointment to the academy—since this relationship was so instrumental in driving the plot I’d have liked to have met this lady in flash-back. Seeing Jake share a smoke with her as he sits beside her gravestone doesn’t seem enough. I’d have also liked to have seen a bit more interaction between Jake and his union-boss father and older brother.
As with most movies involving military training I get hung up on the brutality, degradation, racism, and verbal and physical abuse that still appear to be part of it. Apparently it’s contrary to his human rights to refuse entry to a grossly overweight plebe but it’s alright to demean and humiliate him because of his lack of physical fitness. As I’ve said before, if this is how the military treats its own; is it any wonder that atrocities get perpetrated against the enemy. Again we run into the honour code and are shown how any law can be perverted to serve the ends of those who manipulate it.
One way or another boxing occupies a majority of this film. As a metaphor for character building I find it a stretch—that learning the discipline to succeed in the ring will carry over into a military career seems overly hopeful to me. But then so does breaking down a man’s dignity to mould him into a member of the unit. Finally, no matter how many candy bars he consumed, Jake doesn’t appear to be in the same class as the massively muscled behemoth he meets in the ring. On the other hand, the buff physique that James Franco displays in this film is almost enough to make one go out and hire a personal trainer. Somehow I don’t think he gained it by eating sugary treats.
I watched two movies yesterday, the first being the illusive Brick. The brick of the title is compacted white powder—cocaine? The target audience for this movie does not include the writer of this commentary; all the characters are either just about to get out of high school or just did so with the exception of a couple high school authority figures—no matter, adults are incidental to this plot anyway. Not being an expert on the film noir I can’t comment on how this movie riffs on the genre; what I can say is that storyline is definitely not linear and plot elements are suggested, not made clear. We are give cryptic glimpses that puts one in mind of attempting to put together a picture puzzle without knowing what scene one is trying to assemble; being given disconnected pieces one at a time. The sparse dialogue which gets spattered at us in often throw-away lines is so au courant that it was probably passé even before the movie was released on screen in California.
There are no good guys here; our guide through this maze has a past as a drug peddler and slouches through most of the scenes as if he hadn’t quite come down from the previous evening’s high. Even though Brendan seems thoroughly familiar with the drug scene in his community; he meddles in it and shakes it up as if he personally were invulnerable. He allows himself to be used as a punching bag on numerous occasions but when the ‘muscle’ is finished he just picks himself up and walks away—the lad seems to be able to take a punch; and when he wants to, he takes out one notable bully with a single punch.
The movie ends with cross-piles of bodies of Shakespearian proportions but I’m left wondering what the point was. The dead girl we are shown as the movie begins was once Brendan’s girlfriend and may or may not have died three months pregnant with his child; but he displays no outward expression of that attachment beyond the investigation into the circumstances of her death that drives this movie. There is no one in this movie I can identify with or would want to meet and I was not sufficiently engaged that I would want to spend the time watching it again in an attempt to unravel the plot elements.
Having time on my hands, I’ve been looking for new challenges. For the last couple days I’ve been experimenting with video editing. I’ve come to understand that certain videos will only play on their default software but I’d never really stopped to consider just how many video formats there are.
Within formats there are video and audio compression codices, bit rates, screen sizes and ratios, frames per second, resolution… So far I’ve just been playing with the software but if I get serious I’m going to have to read the directions! So far I’ve figured out that as with most things there are no rights and wrongs; just decisions as to which compromises you want to choose. If you want to produce a movie with no compression you’d better have terabytes of disc space.
I have the software provided by ULead, Nero Vision, and Windows Movie Maker—if the latter is as user-friendly as other Microsoft products I’ll pass. Guess I should have gotten Adobe’s Video programme when I bought Photoshop Elements 4. Any advice out there?
It would seem that I’ve been selling Paul Walker short all these years. In all his movies he’s come across as a soft-spoken huggable teddy bear; not the six-foot-three-inch grandson of a pro boxer who could plausibly be a physical threat to Vin Diesel. Which brings me to Eight Below. Until I did my research the idea of Paul surviving in the brutal Antarctic cold seemed laughable.
But then this is a Walt Disney Movie, (which probably explains the over-inflated price), shot in British Columbia, Greenland, and Norway, written by Japanese authors, and costumed with the latest in hi-tech name-brand arctic-wear in the most brilliant of never-dirty colours. Homage to Paul Walker aside, this movie is about the eight dogs of the title and the devotion they bring forth in their owner—who interestingly is named Shepherd.
These are working dogs, not pets; that sleep outdoors even in Antarctica; must be approached with extreme caution; and run like the wind. Unlike their human masters they don’t wear hi-tech designer ware and they don’t use makeup—they may get their fur coats brushed mind you. In many ways this movie reminds one of March of the Penguins in it’s portrayal of the brutal reality of life on an ice sheet.
Although there is a happy ending here this is not a cuddly bedtime story for children. Some of the heroes die and some are severely injured. The movie makes a point of showing that this is not a hospitable environment and that even with the best that science has to offer—“if you have anything you don’t want to freeze, take it to bed with you.” Even with the latest in hi-tech gadgetry there are times when this place is inaccessible; or even when it is, going back to basics is the best policy. One is reminded of Scott who starved to death because, unlike Amundson who used dogs, he could not eat his gas-powered sleds.
This entry is about my first Grand Niece. This morning I’m feeling extremely avuncular.
Eva was born Sunday, September 17 at 12:42 AM—Liverpool England time I’m assuming. She weighed 8 pounds and 4 ounces. The proud Grandparents are about to go winging across the pond. When I’ve finished my other chores I have some E-mail to write.
I’ve just finished watching the president of the NRA play Moses in the Ten Commandments. I suppose there was at least one commandment he didn’t honour as highly as some of the others.
Laying that issue aside, this is movie-making of another era, when movies began with Entrance Music, had Intermission Music and Exit Music. GONE WITH THE WIND and Doctor Zhivago come to mind. Just as the music that accompanies it the action proceeds at a majestic pace, the cast of thousands is costumed in brilliant colours, and the screen is filled with people. It makes one think what it would cost to produce such a spectacle today. Of course, the crowd scenes would be computer generated.
Among the more spectacular special effects is the parting of the Reed Sea. Some of the other scenes such as the burning bush, the pillar of flame and the mist of death are not cheesy but make one wander how they would have been handled with CGI. I will say that the audio people did a fantastic job of restoring the sound track and the colour is brilliant throughout.
It would seem the hurricane stalled off the east coast is responsible for our weather. What was supposed to have been a sunny day has remained overcast, with mist and fog.
I’m still working my way through the Iliad and have encountered two sections not included in the latter-day Brad Pitt opus. Something about Achilles battling with a river which appears to have a mind and consciousness of its own. More particularly the encounter between Achilles and Hector begins with the latter being chased three times around the walls of Troy. Considering the size of that city it’s a mystery to me how those men had any energy left to fight one another after running that many miles.
I’ve also made some progress reading Harry Potter—the Half-Blood Prince. The innocence is gone. The difference is like onto that between Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience in William Blake. It’s not so much that the world has changed and people and places that were present of old are gone; it’s the loss of positive outlook on events on the part of the teenagers whose lives we are following. There’s a feeling of foreboding and menace that encircles these young people to such a degree that even they can’t slough it off. That the book begins with a revelation that we’ve suspected for the previous 5 books but is only now made known to us and the disclosure that one of his classmates may be out to destroy Harry adds little comfort to the reader. Hanging over all is the prophesy revealed in that last book that ultimately Harry and “he who must not be named” cannot both survive. Taken overall this read is more nightmare than fairytale.
Having spent 15 hours with Richard Wagner’s Ring Cycle I feel compelled to write about it. The challenge mind you is not finding subject matter but attempting to be succinct and focused—not qualities to which Wagner aspired. First off the comparisons between Wagner and JRR Tolkien. Reading the synopsis of the Wagner’s Ring one can clearly see how it influenced Tolkien who also spent a good portion of his life working on an equally monumental work. Both contain a ring of power, creatures obsessed with it, a cast of thousands, wars, great journeys, dragons, monumental battles and death.
Whatever your opinion of his operas even a brief look at his biography makes it clear that Wilhelm Richard Wagner was not a very nice person. Holding views that half a century later endeared him to the Nazi Party; he was also self-indulgent—running off with his best friend’s wife; and a control freak. Despite these flaws in his moral fibre the genius of his operas attracted deep-pocketed, influencial patrons who were willing to aid him in his meglomaniac schemes.
When I say that Wagner was a control freak see the following as evidence that this is an understatement. The creation of Der Ring des Nibelungen took him over twenty-five years. Not only did he compose the score for over 15 hours of opera but also wrote his own libretto. To meet the sonic demands of his score he created three new brass instruments for the orchestra that played his music. Recognizing the strain placed upon singers forced to project their voices over his massive orchestra for up to five hours he decided that nothing would suit but that he build a Festspielhaus specially designed to meet the demands of his plays. Thus at Bayreuth was built a house whose design was adapted by Wagner himself and built under his direct supervision. Both to direct the sound of his orchestra toward his singers first before it reached the audience and to ensure that this audience found nothing to distract them from the action on stage he place a hood over the orchestra pit that guaranteed the audience not see them. To this day the town of Bayreuth and its Festspielhaus play host to performances of Wagner’s Ring Cycle most summers.
There are some who find it impossible to ignore Wagner’s human failings when they approach his music but I can’t resist being drawn into those soaring melodies, whatever I might think of the man who composed them. I don’t have to condone his lifestyle to enjoy his music. Some final comparisons. When Peter Jackson spent three quarters of a billion dollars creating his movie interpretation of Tolkien’s Ring—the prequel, the Hobbit is yet to come—he hired Howard Shore to create the musical score. That Shore has studied Wagner is obvious. His use of melodies associated with every major character—leit motifs; styles of music and singing for each region or group of creatures; unique orchestration and instrumentation for each ‘national’ grouping; and unique instruments to represent certain charcters or groups—all are operetic devices. Finally it is no co-incidence that movie director, Francis Ford Coppola uses the Ride of the Walküres in Apocalypse Now. The similarities between Wagner and Coppola seem obvious.
For those bored with the thought of Greek Mythology you’ll be glad to hear that I’m nearing the end of the Iliad. My next project will be the Selected Poems of Carl Sandburg.
I did a cursory study of ancient Greek History over 40 years ago so my understanding of the Ancient Greek city-states, their rivalries and strife’s is rudimentary. Whether or not they ever managed to suppress their internal bickering to amass a grand armada to journey 300 miles by water to attack Troy I couldn’t say. What I do find fascinating is the degree to which the various combatants are familiar with one another. Not just their temporary allies but the names of the enemies they meet on the field of battle, their antecedents and ancestry, and even intimate details of their lives. I realize this is a bardic device used by the declaimer of this epic but the suspension of disbelief called for here is immense, particularly since these two peoples probably didn’t even speak the same language. There were numerous dialects even among the Greek Islands and city states; the Trojans would have spoken an ancient form of Turkish.
The weatherman seems to determined to keep things wet around Southern Ontario; I suppose we can just be thankful were not in the path of Hurricanes churning their traditional path up the Eastern Seaboard—Ernesto was quite enough for me.
Today I’ll pick up a copy of Smallville and catch up on last season’s happenings. If anyone can enlighten me as to why Everwood has not put in an appearance on DVD after the first season I’d appreciate an update.
“When you see the flash” it instructs. Half a century later we know for anyone seeing that flash it will probably be the last thing they ever see. Those who survive the immediate blindness will be subjected to the nuclear shockwave, followed by the shockwave of air from the blast, and finally the equivalent of an earthquake caused by tremors set off in the earth and a tidal wave if a body of water is nearby. For those who actually survive all this there will be nuclear burns, radiation sickness, and slow agonizing death. Anyone who still manages to survive will suffer the side-effects of exposure the rest of their lives.
The end is in sight. Having reached book 20 it strikes me that this epic was meant to be declaimed in the Greek equivalent of a Scandinavian Mead Hall around a fireplace by old campaigners deep in their cups. In the present book Achilles has been roused to battle by the death of his lover, Patroclus and meets Aeneas in the thick of battle. While the battle rages around them they stand there and exchange taunts and insults for 4 pages. Aeneas actually recites his entire genealogy tracing all the way back to Zeus. Apparently it took a lot to psych themselves up for battle!
This evening I’ve been watching a movie most have probably never heard of. I acquired a copy when my local video rental outlet sold the only copy they possessed as a previously viewed VHS Tape. It captivated me at the time and still does.
Jeffrey/Ganesh is a teen raised as a vegan Hindu in India by his hippy missionary parents who is suddenly forced to move to Paris on the Grand in Ontario when his parents die, to live with an eccentric maiden aunt he knows only from a faded photograph buried with some money in an old lunch box under the chicken coop.
He arrives at Malton with all he possesses in one small suitcase wearing sandals and a caftan in the middle of winter. His aunt gets there late in a car that she obviously inherited from her father and has failed to maintain since. As they drive home along back country roads the culture shock that will cut both ways sets in immediately.
What is small-town Ontario to make of a tall, blonde self-possessed lad who speaks English with an Indian accent and turn of phrase, practices yoga, and is steeped in the non-violent philosophy of Gandhi? The ensuing conflicts are handled with sensitivity and humour and the kind of quiet understanding possible only in a community where everyone knows everyone else. His new neighbours may find this new kid kind of strange but they can’t fail to respect the tenacity and courage with which he approaches life.
The movie is loosely based upon the book, Ganesh by Malcolm J Bosse published in 1981 and among its novelties is a turn by Paul Anka as a smooth-talking, scheming land developer. Come to think about it this movie reminds me of The Milagaro Beanfield War directed by a famous actor but equally an independent film about the difference one maverick can make in a small town when he wins the backing of the people. If you can find them I’d recommend both.
Having been immersed for the past few months with war either by way of the Trojan Wars in Homer or World War II in Three Day Road I’ve decided to try out lighter fair.
Arthur Slade’s Ghost Hotel is a book for young adults set in Saskatoon, Sask. with young sleuths not yet in their teens and a venerable hotel taken over by a ghostly child. Maybe not everyone’s light reading, but not to be taken seriously either. I’ve just finished it.
For all it’s weaknesses I just can’t resist Harry. As I’ve said before, as with Conan Doyle, J.K. Rowling will not be able to escape her hero unless she kills him off; therefore it will not surprise me if that’s the wizard’s ultimate end. Do you really see this series stretching on for decades with Harry becoming a Hogwart’s Professor and ultimately Headmaster?
I suppose you’ve heard that Edvard Munch’s The Scream has been found. There’s some irony in all that, but this is just one of thousands of works of art that are missing from their rightful places. It has been claimed that virtually every great art collection on earth has at least one work of art pilfered by the Nazi’s during WW # 2. In Iraq 1000’s of year of antiquities were stolen from museum vaults when the Americans were too busy liberating Iraq to protect it. Owning great works of art has gotten to the point that it has become a liability. Keeping it in vaults is self-defeatist but the cost of security for public display is getting prohibitive. Most of the great collections are uninsurable as they are considered priceless and no one will underwrite them nor could even governments afford the premiums.
Getting back to The Scream; the work that has just been restored is one of several copies produced by Munch himself which begs the question of what is an original work of art. Today many artists produce 10’s and even 100’s of thousands of “limited editon” prints of their works so that ordinary people such as you and I can afford them. In this age of computers art can be produced electronically so that the original exists only in binary form. The issue is further clouded by art restoration—for example, the controversy surrounding the Sistine Chapel—what about those famous figleafs? Furthermore the painting you’re looking at in many galleries today is often a faithful reproduction, the original being considered too valuable to be put on public display. As well do you really think the great masters actually painted every square inch of the vast catogues of art attributed to them. Putting aside the issue of fakes and forgeries most great artists have had students and it was their task and assignment to finish the master’s work by putting in the background details. In a similar vein, is it any less a Wagner Opera if the orchestration of the various parts in the score was left to underlings. It would seem that little has changed through the ages except the techniques.
Alas I can only add my perspective to the questions; I don’t think there are any true answers. If a work of art pleases you and you can afford it, buy it. I wouldn’t have the Scream on my walls even if I could afford it.
This one is too good to pass up.
Beware the dangers of Dihydrogen Monoxide! Sounds dangerous doesn't it, just like its cousin Carbon Monoxide, or Hydrogen Sulphide, Hydrogen Cyanide, and Carbon Tetra-Hydrogen? Dihydrogen Monoxide is colorless, odourless, and tasteless and results in thousands of deaths every year. There are so many perils associated with this substance that one is advised to stay as far away as possible from it.
However, the kicker is that unlike the other chemicals listed here:
CO
H2S
HCN
CH4
Dihydrogen Monoxide is actually:
H20
Or Water.
I’ve just gotten around to making the rounds to change my wall calendars—I’ve got seven of them. It’s not so much that I’m obsessed with what day it is—after 34 years the mail does that for me—but their decorative value.
Today is Labour Day, the day that typically marks the end of the summer season and the beginning of the school year. In Toronto Unionists will be marching in the Labour Day Parade along with the Veterans in a procession that ends in the CNE—it’s one way to get in free. Expect to hear about how severely the weather impacted that venerable institution’s bottom line. The cold weather, several inches of rain from Ernesto, and the foggy glowering skies will have kept people away in droves just as the low ceiling will have kept most of the high performance jets out of the skies. The only people relieved by that happenstance will be the air-traffic controllers at Malton who have to sort out all that extra traffic. In past Air Shows they’ve had to contend with the Anglo-French Concorde, the “so-called” flying cloud from Colorado –that flew in direct, did a fly past, and returned—harrier jets, and some infamous crashes.
The news tomorrow will be filled with the number of people killed in the carnage on our highways—traffic jams are no longer news; who drowned or injured themselves in and on the water; along with statistics about dare-devils injured sky-diving, rock climbing, off-roading, or being just-plain stupid. Me? The closest I expect to come to adventure today is a trip to the garbage chute. If I don’t take it out soon my next adventure will be the battle of the fruit flies.
So how did you spend your weekend? I tinkered with a few photographs, did some browsing on the web, caught up with my E-mail, did some reading, listened to music and podcasts, plus caught up on some computer maintenance. Tomorrow I have to set to work at housekeeping in earnest.
I’ve also watched the movie Troy to check out, now that I’ve read most of it, how it compares with the epic upon which it is based—The Iliad. Given that there’s no historical record that the Trojan Wars ever took place Hollywood can hardly be accused of playing fast and loose with the facts. Allowing for some minor tinkering with events for dramatic effect the movie is reasonably true to the spirit of the piece. Whereas Homer’s audience obviously gloried in the minutia of battle the cinematographers spared us the gory details of disembowelments, immolations, and beheadings; choosing instead to concentrate on the spectacle of wide-angle shots of massive troop engagements. Who, for example could resist portraying the panorama of a thousand ships as launched by that famous face. As with so many charismatic movie stars—seeing her on film on a small screen obviously doesn’t do her justice. The vista of those ships along with the equally famous Trojan Horse, the death of Achilles, the heel, and the sack of Troy are all derived from traditional sources and have no counterpart in the actual poem.
Seems it’s time for my yearly bath so I guess I’d better go attend to that and find something else to write of later.
The algae bloom on Lake Ontario just reached critical mass overnight and this morning the water out of my tap smelled like a scum-covered quagmire in the muskeg of Northern Ontario. The four gallons of fresh water I’ve been keeping in my fridge against the arrival of this day will supply me with decent morning coffee for a couple weeks but after that I’m doomed until the colder weather of October finally cools the lake. Guess I’ll have to get out my essence of peppermint for tomorrow’s soak in the tub.
Arrived home from work today to get a taste of what the beginning of the new school term will presage for those of us mature enough to have troubles remembering what that was like. The antipathy those of us who have owned our condominium apartments for decades feel toward absentee owners who rent their investment properties to community college students goes way beyond prejudice. If you think about it, the expectations of a retired couple in their late seventies and that of a student still not out of his teens, who has left home for the first time in his life don’t really jibe. When I got home today my neighbour was seated in our second basement garage with steam blowing out of her ears because some incompetent agent had managed to put both our elevators on service making it impossible for her to make it to her apartment 4 stories and eight flights of stairs on the third floor. This weekend, it would seem, is moving day. One can only rail about the real estate agent who complains that his investment properties here are under-valued and fails to realize that one of the contributing factors is the wear and tear, vandalism, and noise caused by the students to whom he rents as an absentee owner. One can only fantasize about the judge who sentenced a slum landlord to house arrest in one of his creaky tenements.
Thus I begin a month’s holidays and to mark the occasion Mother Nature is sending me the remnants of Hurricane Ernesto to drive monsoons of water sluicing down my balcony windows. Doesn’t sound like weather for camping somehow. I suppose it’s a sign that I should curl up with my books and work at completing Homer’s Iliad. I’ve just reached the point at which Achilles’ lover, Patroclus is killed, or ¾ of the way through the book. One of the details of the epic that has taken me by surprise is the heaving of stones at the enemy, by hand not catapult on the field of battle. I can’t say why that would seem more incongruous than lobbing a grenade at one’s opponents, it just does. It would seem that Homer’s listeners hung on the gory details of heads and limbs lopped off, torsos skewered by spears and bodies disemboweled by swords—the poem is crammed with such details. I do find it remarkable, nevertheless, that for most casualties death comes quickly; very few are described as dying slowly in excruciating pain as their life-blood drains slowly from their bodies over agonizing hours of torment. I suppose the reality of such realism does not lend itself to this romanticized view of warfare. The other surprise awaiting anyone familiar with the story of the Trojan Horse and how it led to the fall of Troy, is the fact that the Iliad ends before we arrive at that point in the story. In the end the hero of the Iliad is Achilles and even then, the fatal injury involving his famous heel is not part of the epic either.
One of the projects ahead of me in the next week is the editing and printing of the photograph of my fellow workers I was commissioned to produce as a gift to a departing supervisor. As you can see, I have some work ahead of me:
