So everyone’s all excited about the meeting, well, those who went, well, those who went and posted something about it on their blogs. Strange, I saw a bunch of bloggers there who really aren’t saying anything. I guess if you don’t have anything nice to say…. There are some really nice pictures though. Ah well. I have a couple of nice things to say.
My favorite (or should I say favourite) paper by far was Sarah Hibberd’s Cherubini and the Revolutionary Sublime. In it, she argues that the French were equally pursuing “…a (French) conception of the sublime that complements the German Idealist view that has tended to dominate nineteenth-century studies” (from her abstract) It was a nice discussion although I wish she had looked a little closer at German idealism. The terror created by (and pleasure derived from) an experience of the sublime shifted subtlety in Germany at the beginning of the 19th century-a shift that was complemented in England. Wordsworth in his Preludes describes it quite nicely:
I too exclusively esteemed that love,
And sought that beauty, which as Milton sings
Hath terror in it. Thou didst soften down
This over-sternness; but for thee, sweet friend,
May soul, too reckless of mild grace, had been
Far longer what by Nature it was framed—
Longer retained its countenance severe—
A rock with torrents roaring, with the clouds
Familiar, and a favorite of the stars;
But thou didst plant its crevices with flowers,
Hand it with shrubs that twinkle in the breeze,
And teach the little birds to build their nests
And warble in its chambers…( 224)
That beauty which hath terror in it. The flower among the rocks. The fragile thing in threatening isolation—the prima donna at the precipice. In Cherubini’s opera Lodoiska (the fragile thing) is imprisoned by that evil Count Dourlinski, but her desperate position is not emphasized by the fire and the battle scene. At least not until Weber wrote his great insert aria for the opera that emphasizes her beauty in the wilderness. In the Romantic movement in Germany and England, they sought to amplify the terror of the sublime by mixing it with beauty. As Schilling stated in On the Sublime (1801) “Only if the sublime is wedded to the beautiful and our sensitivity for both has been cultivated in equal measure are we perfect citizens of nature without thereby becoming her slaves and without squandering our citizenship in the intelligible world.” I think I’m going to write a paper on that—see? Hibberd gave an inspiring paper—saved the conference for me and justified the $80 and 5 hour drive. I’d like to tell her personally, but I don’t know how, I suppose I’ll just cite her paper in mine. Zoe’s paper was cancelled. I saw the Rock-Doc lookin’ cool with a Bloody Mary at the Hotel bar (TA in tow). DF was holding court and I actually spoke to S.B.
Outside of the conference it was nice to see Dad’s neighborhood, and stay in Grandpop’s old pad.. I think I saw the music shop where Dad bought me my first guitar. It was just fun and nostalgic for times that I had, or might have had, or wished I had, or could have had, or thought I had, or might still have….yuck. Anyway, here is a little Lodoiska on the YouTube:
Not great quality, but a worthwhile performance.
Finally, the composer of the day is Vanessa Lann. I don’t like to characterize styles, except to say I like her stuff. Especially, check out Illuminating Aleph (although I’d skip the program and just give it a listen…). G’night y’all
The AMS is this weekend—in Philadelphia. Great City, I can’t wait to see a few old friends, and maybe meet new ones. The program is, well, really odd. Of course Weber is not on it anywhere, but neither is Bach. There is no real new study of Beethoven, or Brahms. In fact, Jimi Hendrix gets more coverage than Bach, Beethoven and Brahms combined. Now I am a fan of Hendrix–but really. I can play most of his songs (not with my tongue) but I’m not sure that I am interested in hearing about them (or any more of their cultural context). But that’s just me. I’m not saying that it shouldn’t be there, just that I’m not interested. Frankly, I’d like to hear papers on Bach, Beethoven and Brahms.
But I have to go to it. There are people there that I really want to see, and good things too. There is a Schumann and Mendelssohn session. Good ‘ole Zoe is giving a lecture on Saturday. There seems to be some really interesting Medieval and Renaissance papers too.
In F.N. we are doing Stravinsky, so here is a little cubism to make your night….
Roger-Noël-François de La Fresnaye, Sitzender Mann.
Also, the composer’s website for the day:
I went to Brandeis with Jeremy. Check out his Stratum, (sample on his site), it sounds excellent on my LENOVO SPEAKERS. See ya soon y’all!
This past summer as Alice and I were riding to a concert at the Hatch Shell, she yelled out “Daddy! a Dog!!” I stopped only to find the coolest Art-Deco Dog Fountain I’d ever seen (not that I’ve seen more than one Art-Deco Dog Fountain).
After a little bit of searching around I found out some interesting stuff. The “Lotta Fountain” was built by the bequest of Lotta Crabtree (1847-1924) a millionaire actress who earned her wealth as a late 19th century Shirley Temple.
She had left money in order that a fountain might be built to refresh horses, dogs, men and birds. After years of battling in court over her will, a commission was finally given to Katherine Lane Weems who finished the project in 1939.
Weems was (obviously) a New England Deco sculptor. Here she is at work in her studio:
She’s particularly famous for her Harvard Rhinos:
So, what makes Weems a Deco Sculptor, or the Dog a “Deco-Dog?” As usual, Oxford online is no help, giving articles either too long or too short, but here is a tidbit:
The Art Deco movement encompassed a wide variety of decorative arts that were characterized by a certain sensuousness of curving forms, a lavish employment of luxurious materials and bold combinations of colours and floral patterns.
Okay, so what does that mean? The spire of the Chrysler Building is of a “curving form,” but I’m not really sure about it being sensuous. The Hatch Shell, (just down the way form the Deco Dog) is pretty curvy too, but sensuous?
I think the Wiki article might best describe my impression—an “opulent” and “lavish” style with “use of stepped forms and sweeping curves.” It seems (to me at least) to have a good share of Utopian optimism.
Returning to Lotta’s dog, I’d have to say it is the sharp angles contrasted by the sweeping curves that define it as Deco for me. That, coupled with the naive optimism that someone could create a simple water fountain for people horses and dogs that would last more than a few decades in Boston. Ah well, it was a really nice day.
Hey folks,
My laptop died and I am stuck running linux, but salvation just got shipped.
I recently gave a paper on F. W. J. Schelling’s aesthetics and their expression in early 19th century German culture and art. One of the primary points concerned Schelling’s ideal for the role of extrinsic meaning in an artistic work. In his Philosophy of Art Schelling describes the ideal:
The painting is to fulfill only the inner requirements of being true, beautiful, expressive, and universally significant such that in any case it can do without that accidental attractiveness resulting from the knowledge of the particular empirical event portrayed. It is equally erroneous for the art to flatter either learnedness or the lack of it.
Essentially, while the Romantic artwork was expected to carry extrinsic meaning (meaning to be found in its history or cultural context), the extrinsic meaning that “results from the knowledge” of the painting’s subject is unnecessary. Recently, it has occurred to me that the same ideal seems to play in modern art, it is part of the common modern aesthetic. Take, for example, the following picture:
It is an amazing shot. First, the light is stirring. The picture frame cast in shadow in the left background creates its own powerful metaphor. The whole background, an obvious opportunity for a symmetrical frame, is wisely left askew creating an softly disorienting effect. Next the blurred hand (and its gesture) in the foreground shifts the viewers attention to the woman’s face which, although partially cast in shadow, is sharply in focus, even as the subject is looking away as though in her thoughts she is somewhere else. The shot (and the captured expression) reveal that while the woman’s prime has passed, she still maintains a passion and fierceness.
Further, the art of the shot draws the viewer into two places at once. On the one hand, there is this woman’s world—her photographs and memories, her fears and hopes. On the other there is the intimacy that the photographer feels for this woman. When one considers the photographer, the subject of the shot goes beyond what the woman might be thinking or saying. The furrowed brow and intensity of expression change from an aging woman’s passion to an expression of character as perceived by the photographer.
The fact that this analysis is independently supported by the picture’s historical events brings it within the realm of Schelling’s ideal for art.
The picture is of my grandmother, taken by my cousin. And while, in my experience with her, my grandmother was always soft-spoken and loving, I think that the family realized the potential for her fierceness. It was rooted in the fact that this woman had the chutzpah to open her own business in Northeast Philadelphia long before that was even remotely expected of a wife and mother. Here she is in front of her Deli:
(This picture is not composed, the person taking it is just snapping a shot, but look at the pride in my grandmother’s face.) With her camera, my cousin has managed to capture a character in my grandmother that I’d only heard of and never actually seen.
It strikes me that a portrait seeks a higher purpose than a picture. It not only expresses more about its subject than a mere picture (an expression which, I agree with Schelling, doesn’t require knowledge of the subject’s history or context), but it also imbeds the character of the artist within. But you don’t have to believe me, I am biased, look here. Judge the picture according to the people “in the know.”
The Portrait
by Jane Flanders
What I saw had so little to do with me,
or so I thought. I was the lens,
the clear glass through which all passed,
or was I a mirror, a still, sullen pool?
A delicate instrument? A recording device?
I could have accepted that.
Sometimes, to escape from the brightness
I closed my eyes and felt my way through rocks,
shells, driftwood, seeking that sixth sense
of the blind. Or tasted fruit as if I were nothing
but lips, tongue, gullet. But the gold juice,
the air I sucked up pure, appeared on canvas
tinged with blood. No one had ever seen such
fleshy flowers, such landscapes of bones.
