The stories and thoughts I had during the Picasso Graphics project, naturally rippled through my mind and danced their way to that gently smiling destination. I developed my color scheme for the Harlequin with a Guitar from the impression of the painting seen through the industrial engineering library door every day when I go to school; the failed attempt to recreate that bulky caricature of Igor Stravinsky and the coincidence of having to study the Rite of Spring for the Israel Philharmonic special Hanukkah concert; the Game of Pages as a fun lining practice but also remotely connected to the Arthurian romances I had recently been reading…
I pointed at the Nude with Arms Raised and called her “your favorite girl” and was not met with the least bit attempt of denial. Without even turning to the original drawing, sensei immediately remarked how my girl has her eyes closed. I was imagining her more like bathing in the morning sun than inspecting herself in the mirror. And I admitted though I learned to read the spirit through the fog of stylistic informality, I still did not a hundred percent internalize it, as manifested by not drawing the squiggle hair.
My take on the Nude in Landscape was proclaimed less effective in expressing what I claim to be the Mediterranean laid-backness, chiefly due to the sharp lines and some perceived hesitation in their execution. But those are actually more of a technical issue – I was too impatient to reapply the lines before the gouache dried up so that the black ink on her belly lines bled. And I should have applied gouache after the pen lining to soften it up, which would surely satisfy sensei w.r.t his criticism. We had yet a greater disagreement with regard to the black face. Influenced by the texts, I incline to believe this is a face distorted by the horrifying emergence of a bull out of the vase that signifies an impending war; the ponderous male face beside is also an evidence. And it’s exactly this disturbing element in juxtaposition with the idle air of the Mediterranean seaside composed of a broken wall, a broken table, the summer breeze and the simple, lovely, flower-decorated house that has my mind singly fixed on this particular composition. But sensei believes it’s just a shadow effect and there is nothing extraordinary about the bull head.
The Studio, though simple and plain, caught my eyes again because of the rhythmic breath of zephyr lulling both the nude in the picture and the clouds in the sky to sleep, reminiscent of my sweet napping in those summer afternoonsa. An accident occurred here: pointing at the woman on canvas, I said “I could sleep just like that”, referring to my own moments described abovea, but apparently would be more easily understood as literally like her, namely, naked, and in that specific posture! Well, however much I was innocent in intention, I must accept it as a past event I can not undo; accept it that I was in factuality guilty of verbal seduction, or hinting undressing myself, or whatever it might have been interpreted as ;_; read more …
All the debates are exhausted. I’ve made up my mind long ago. Why do people still throw the same ancient arguments in speeches and opinion pieces? It tires me. Are they not? … So I thought.
Yet sometimes, occasionally, just “poco poco poco“, I would venture beyond skimming the headlines and into the realm of actually reading it. To see if the world has changed since last time I engaged with it? To be, um, informed (not without an eye roll)? Or mere yak shaving?
This time it was that old old UN’s obsession with Israel, that old old settlement obstacle, and oh a new new number 2334. I despise important people’s speeches and I do not appreciate the significance of their subtle wording. That being said, I started this excursion by reading the state secretary’s full text from yesterday’s newsletter. Well, to my delight it proved a waste of time because I agreed with 99% of what he said. Il n’y a de nouveau que ce qui est oublié.
I held on to my view that it’s logical to claim that settlement expansion on the land which is subject to negotiation is harmful to the negotiation, thus an obstacle to peace, though I do not claim it is the only one or even the major one. And that is just a statement derived from logic. What really agonizes me is how the check posts can deprive the other side of human dignity and potentially brutalize the soldiers – more of the latter.
I am not unaware of their incitement problem. Following that line of thought, I may mention the well-known double standard that always subject Israel to harsh criticism and does not hold them accountable for horrifying deeds they did. I was once very indignant about it, too. It harms the peace process, true. But now I’m part of it. I can now somewhat relate to why some friends of Israel would do that to Israel. Because it is Israel with whom I fall in love with (sadly on my own), not the other side. As the internalization process goes, I naturally see myself whole-heartedly desire for her all the good, peace being that most precious jewel for her eternal grace. So in my eyes all I see is her, every motion she does, every word she utters, every glance she casts, every expression she shows, so much so that I don’t have any attention to spare for what the other side is doing. When she takes the course I deem leads her to danger, I cry; when they do whatever, I simply don’t care. That’s my perverted double standard.
As I just woke up from my foolish serenade, let me also put my double standard in a more comprehensible way. It’s reasonable to hold oneself to the standard of doing what one thinks is right to do, regardless of how badly the other party might behave. Since Israel is mentally internalized by me, I naturally hold her to a higher standard, because she is supposed to be that positive, progressive force.
The main objective of this post is not to document my long held belief regarding the two-state solution, though it’s worth documenting for my future reference. The point is, as my blog name indicates, a surprising revelation of how my belief is not essentially different from the school of greater Israel, of annexation, or from the school of status-quo that is vehemently attacked by both two-state and annexation advocates, despite the unseemly quarrels between these groups. The new perspective was gained following clicking into another headline in today’s newsletter. It is written by a settler. read more …
As I was reading about the route Kafka used to take everyday to school accompanied by the family chef, suddenly the strains of HaTikvah was heard. It may not be much of a surprise since Kafka was known to have wanted to make aliya, the strange thing is that barely passing 8 bars, the music deviated from what I know so well. It then became apparent that this is not the Israeli national anthem, or a remix of it.
Recalling that the music of HaTikvah was adapted from some pretty pedestrian folk tune, I went to the Wikipedia page in hope of finding some confirmation that the presently playing piece was also a derivative of the same source. There, the name Smetana struck me familiar. Wasn’t that splendid hall where I listened to that underwhelming concert inside the municipal house called Smetana Hall? – It’s probably not the Prague Symphony Orchestra FOK’s fault, but my insisting in going to the concert after a whole day’s hike to blame. Now as the second movement of Smetana’s symphonic poem set, Vltava, greets me again, my hypothesis is validated. For some time, I enjoyed the discovery of the hidden links between these initially unrelated dots scattered all over my trip. But it seems to be a well known fact domestically.
Now as I think of it, isn’t it most suitable to choose this piece of music for that short film of Kafka’s Prague? On one hand, the HaTikvah-like melody alludes to his Zion heart, on the other, a Czech rendition reflects his cultural identity. By the way, this is not the only occasion where the museum designers show genius choice of music. Firstly I was met with some non-trivial ambient music in the introductory part. And close to the end in the literary analysis section, some spooky metal sounds are heard accompanying Kafka’s hand injury drawings made for his insurance company, creating a creepy absurd space. I would say the museum is quite experimental sonically and visually.
They also offered scholarly and deep interpretations for Kafka’s work, which were difficult to chew. To be honest, when I read Metamorphosis, I hardly saw anything beyond the storyline. But I’ll have plenty of chances to read between the lines now that I bought a set of three books compiling Kafka’s short stories from the museum shop – almost as impressive as the Autechre EP box that I got at the live show!
On a somewhat remotely related note, the nude with arms raised (and armpit hair exposed) by Pablo Picasso actually reminded me of George Samsa’s sister at the end of Metamorphosis, stretching herself to receive the infinite generosity from the sunshine as much as she could; her parents suddenly realize that here is a full fledged young woman ready for the future. This is not to say that I finally start to whole-heartedly appreciate that drawing. Although admittedly, Catherine’s explanation helped a lot towards that end. She says naivism tries to unlearn the academic training and focuses on the essence of what one wants to convey through childish paint strokes. In this particular drawing, I indeed starts to see the innocence, youthfulness and all the signs indicating the fresh positive, instead of singling out the grotesque squiggles supposedly representing her hair and hands. We also agreed that his intentional neglect of making her face pretty and leaving the natural underarm as is were an explicit challenge to typical modern viewers such as us, who are knowingly but irresistibly conditioned to popular media dictation of what is considered to be feminine beauty.
The first half of the book is roughly a documentation of the model being simulated. I didn’t complain because of an early warning that conventional birth control will prove to have little effect on improving the final undesirable equilibrium compared to that without, a method I had imagined as a silver bullet to today’s major world problems.
In the result discussion chapter, I found out I wasn’t entirely wrong about my favorite method. The usual birth control programs do not set a constant birth rate, but which is subject to influences from other variables such as material standard of living, pollutions etc, manifested by their corresponding multipliers. That’s why the simulations faithfully report that with a transient rise of standard of living following a birth control policy, the incentives for increasing birth rate becomes even stronger. This result forces me to clarify myself that what I actually mean by birth control is to set a rigid birth rate independent of other system variables, which might require something like the womb system in Ergo Proxy on the implementation side, as my totalitarian nature quietly creeps up1.
Another thing I shall bear in mind is that there are other modes of disasters that cannot be suppressed by reduced population alone. In fact, the author views capital investment and pollution as primary leverage points and birth control the secondary tool – not the other way around as is my belief. I never really understand what capital investment means as I never comprehended money and its movement. Let’s say that it’s directly associated with industrialization. Then based on the assumptions of this model, the simulation result indicates that fewer people does not lead to hampered capital investment. Consequently pollution comes out to be the destroying force. Therefore birth control even in my stricter definition is not the silver bullet. A comprehensive program exercising self-restraint on multiple fronts including not only reproduction but also economic development, emerge as an attractive idea.
Recall that this is the state-of-the-art in 1970, it amazes me to see that people today are still spouting the ugly idea that technology is the savior of mankind. And I’m more ashamed of myself than amazed at them that I didn’t see the fallacy until the book clearly spells it out. In contrast to this indifference that new insights were received with, ancient ideas such as self-discipline have never been adopted by the mainstream either. I see traces of environmentalism in Greek mythology already, as the Greeks were temporarily confined in a small world centered around Greece so the transition from golden to bronze ages mostly as a result of human multiplication were perceived; certainly there were a couple of great Chinese thinkers who ages ago saw through the vanity of the rushing and blindly excited expansionists, tech-enthusiasts, growthists2… Oh yeah, there certainly is a possibility that we can escape from the confinement of the earth and continue to grow in some other earth-like planets. But it’s exactly those who insist in letting expansion go unchecked and willingly accept the consequential rising violence and danger of war as fated – some of whom by the way I personally know (!) – that are diminishing this possibility of space exploration by diverting huge funds to the defense causes. read more …
Finished On the Road by Kerouac*. Throughout the majority part of the book, I wasn’t particularly interested. Rundown shacks, ragged lives and beaten souls everywhere. My skin turns greasy automatically when imagining walking in their shoes. On top of that was a not-so-friendly language wielded only by college dropouts – I’m not referring to the tech nerds – a bizarre consequence of street talk coming from a mind drenched in years of literary activities. On the other hand, I didn’t get particularly bored either because, as it was my book on the road as well, I only turned a few pages while waiting at a bus station.
But towards the end, somewhere before the Mexico trip, I had become fascinated by Dean’s madness. He “digs” whatever he sees with attention of monstrous intensity like laser beams; every trifle that is going on around him warrants his equal devotion; only he could see and let the godsent revelation flood through him and eventually reach us like a torrent. The outward manifestations are constantly sweaty face, bulbed eyes, throbbing veins, rubbing of his belly and a finely selected vocabulary of “Yass, yass! Wow! Man! Phew!” ranging from howling to moaning. It would have seemed pretty dumb in the beginning, but now that his contagious spirit makes sense to me… Yes, only Dean can “dig” the way beyond what the word itself intends to mean.
Just as I thought by now I was fairly used to the gross ways of life they are leading, the tropical bug T-shirt episode pushed it to a newer level. But the Mexico trip really had me hooked – it’s really not at all about those drug and sex thingies, but the thoughts that emerged from a fierce spring that never runs dry: how they make of the landscape and various people they met – something that never happens to me when I am traveling**. At the height of it, I was informed that the awful Dean left the fever stricken Sal. And shortly after was their last meeting. Friends that had done so many crazy things together could just part forever like that without a warning. In contrast to the frantic rushing, the final few words sound markedly quiet, poignant as though they were written down after days of meditation. And then, profound sadness engulfed me.
* James Zabiela was the one who introduced this book to me.
** Because after all, I am of an entirely different breed