Art of Noise (goes East) III

Loos van Cleve

These are great!  Apparently, during a long flight, Nina Katchadourian, went to the loo and over several visits and after performing various feats of origami on the loo paper, as well as other objects to hand, has created these fabulous self portraits in a mock Northern Renaissance style.  Admittedly I did wonder when she said she "spontaneously put a tissue paper toilet cover seat cover over my head and took a picture in the mirror using my cellphone."  Just the sort of thing one does when going to the loo on the plane (!)

She writes:-

"While in the lavatory on a domestic flight in March 2010, I spontaneously put a tissue paper toilet cover seat cover over my head and took a picture in the mirror using my cellphone. The image evoked 15th-century Flemish portraiture. I decided to add more images made in this mode and planned to take advantage of a long-haul flight from San Francisco to Auckland, guessing that there were likely to be long periods of time when no one was using the lavatory on the 14-hour flight. I made several forays to the bathroom from my aisle seat, and by the time we landed I had a large group of new photographs entitled Lavatory Self-Portraits in the Flemish Style. I was wearing a thin black scarf that I sometimes hung up on the wall behind me to create the deep black ground that is typical of these portraits. There is no special illumination in use other than the lavatory's own lights and all the images are shot hand-held with the camera phone."

Eco Echo

Recently, I have been dipping and re-dipping into New Essays on Umberto Eco (ed. Peter Bondanella, Cambridge University Press 2009), in anticipation of eventually picking up and starting to read The Prague Cemetery (the first book, and first work of fiction, I bought in 2012); who's lurid, bright orange spine keeps standing out like a beacon from my other books, almost as it to say "Read me! Read me!" but somehow I hesitate, put it off for another day, tell myself I am too tired, or I simply don't feel the inspiration to read it.  Which seems to be bordering on absurdity to me, for the simple fact that I have read so much Eco previously; his fiction and his essays, as well as his work on semiotics, yet I somehow seem to put up a mental block when it comes to his latest work.

New Essays on Umberto Eco: ed. Peter Bondanella

The collection of essays mentioned above, edited by Eco-scholar Bondanella, is an excellent expansion upon understanding a number of the various themes running through Eco's works.  Ten essays are found in this accessible work. The only (obvious) regrets that any potential purchaser might have are that it was released before The Prague Cemetery, and the hefty price that Cambridge University Press have placed upon it.  Cambridge University Press really should re-release the work, perhaps in paperback, and with a more acceptable price tag, as the work could be appreciated by a greater public than the limited number who will have bought the book in the first place for nearly £60 (!)  Eco is probably one of the most well known and popular, yet mostly unread, authors of our time.  Most everyone has heard of him, not least due to frequent screenings of the cinematic adaptation of The Name of the Rose on television  - not necessarily watched by those interested in Eco's work, nor the excellent cast and direction but probably by a spate of teenage girls and gay men hoping to see a young Christian Slater's posterior on screen.  I first picked up and read The Name of the Rose when I was about 15 years old, before seeing the film, and read the Picador paperback/English translation that my mother had recently read and enjoyed.  It was one of those works of fiction that I especially remember enjoying reading when I was a teenager; others included Perfume by Patrick Suskind, I Claudius and Claudius the God by Robert Graves, and The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood; what a strange teenager I was, not least judging by what I chose to read, and enjoyed reading then.

The Name of the Rose has stayed with me over the years and it is one of those works I enjoy to revisit and read again every five or so years, as I am always able to discover something new within its pages. Each re-reading is rather like revisiting a richly decorated Orthodox church, but each revisit one is able to appreciate (more) the artwork, or the rich smell of incense, or knowing the hagiography of the saints in the murals, etc even though one feels as if one knows the place already, inside and out.  Re-reading The Name of the Rose mirrors this experience for me; as although I know the storyline, I know the murderer and their motivation, I find myself able to discover something new or my understanding is greater, and I feel that though the track is familiar, the pathway has changed.

The cover of the first edition that I read of The Name of the Rose.

So maybe, after finishing The Ladies of Grace Adieu, by Susanna Clarke, I will eventually pick up and read the latest work by Umberto Eco.  I tend to leave gaps of time in between the authors I read, unlike my parents who tend to discover an author they like and then devour as many of their works they can.  Moreso my mother than my father, though my father reads so quickly I wonder how he can appreciate the books he reads.  My parents' bookshelves are crammed full of numerous works of fiction but generally by selected authors.  My mother is the main culprit behind this mild (hereditary) form of bibliophilic Asbergers, with numerous copies of books by Dennis Lehane, Michael Connelly, Harlan Coban and Jo Nesbø to name but a few.  My mother has even tried, unsuccessfully I add, to hook me on this passion she has for American crime fiction. And so, amongst the various works of fiction I have, thanks to my mother, in my collection on e will find (in both English and French) a good smattering of paperbacks by Connolly et alia.  Not to devalue nor show a lack of appreciation for the books she has chosen and although they are entertaining reading, they are not necessarily top of my list in terms of reading matter.  I guess the main problem lies in a lack of identification with the subject matter, not that my parents live in a scary suburban ghetto as described in the works of Lehane, but they did watch TV shows like The Wire, which I believe was what sparked off this interest in my mother.

I consider myself to be sufficiently open minded to, at the very least read and appreciate books that other people enjoy and suggest to me, some of which work, others don't.  Ten years ago I was recommended the Harry Potter cycle of books.  However, I gave up midway through the first book, as I felt it was badly written, aimed at children and devoid of charm.  For a long time I didn't understand the need for adults to read what might be seen as children's books; a case in point being the Twilight franchise.  Hence my initial skepticism when approaching Philip Pullman and his Dark Materials works.  How wrong I was...  So once again, if close friends and family - people I trust, recommend something to me I am more likely to give it a go, whether mainstream or not.  As a result of this illumination I have discovered the likes of Walter Moers,  Donna Tartt, Alison Weir, Margaret Barker, Mika Waltari, Marcus Zusak, Paolo Coelho, Karen Maitland, George R. R. Martin, to name but a few...

The Brahmacharya of a Hedonist.

This statement, although seemingly paradoxical, reflects of what seems to be going through my being most of the time of late.  Ascetism is far too strong an expression, hence Brahmacharya seemed more in keeping.  It's a good way to excuse the current repression I am feeling at the moment, and for the most part, keeping to.  This, however is no bad thing, even if at times it leads to insurmountable frustration on my part at times, it is better than simply "making do" and selling oneself short, an easy way out or escape for most.

Despite feeling that my emotional intelligence is somewhat sapped of its lifeblood at the moment, it is not easy to determine whether this is due to external forces bearing down or whether it is internal.  It feels almost like a Trappist existence at times, yet there is little or no need to be loquacious at the moment, or if there is, there has to be some raison d'être behind such a state.  Admittedly, I used to be the first to feel the need to talk to cover up awkward silences rather than sit there contemplation and reflection when in the company of others, or another.  I feel that my mindset has changed, I enjoy conversation with like-minded individuals, verbal foreplay if you will, rather than have to listen and/or reply.  I have become more and more accustomed to my own company, no longer prepared to settle for mere mediocrity to fill in a void.  Abstinence and a Johannite lifestyle admittedly would probably be rather harsh; my skin would be too sensitive for camel hair (I can't even wear black cotton), and I don't feel especially partial to the haute cuisine diet of locusts and honey.  I also need my books around me to escape into, be it to read or to discover something new.  Would I be allowed a library in my desert cave?  Which leads on to the hedonism of my being.

People probably wouldn't see me as being a hedonist, certainly not in the obtuse manner that is screamingly evident in the conduct of others.  In some ways, I guess, I would be seen as far too sensible for such an attitude.  Yet deep within me there does lurk that inner need and the ribald pleasure one can derive from such moments.  Most of the time, I believe, such pleasure is not obvious nor evident.  For me, trivial though it might seem, simple delights can seem like hedonism when compared to the rest of my rather mundane being.  It can be seeing new books on or in my shelves, it can appreciating the taste of something delicious, or it can lying in bed on a sunny afternoon and touching, caressing, savoring the company and intimacy with someone one can appreciate, enjoy for their company and all that it entails as much as their being.  Yet for me, such hedonism is rare, yet perhaps, when it happens, that is what makes it all the more exquisite.  From time to time the apple of temptation is offered my way, more often than not I do not bite into it, simply because I know that were I to bite into it, it would have a bitter, vile taste, or I would end up munching upon a mouthful of maggots, more than sweet pulpy apple, beneath its shiny surface.  Either that or Temptation simply presents herself in the most undesirable of forms, and either makes my insides feel revulsion, abhorrence, or disdain.
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Temptation: Adam and Eve by Lucas Cranach the Elder.

Boethius has his heroine, Lady Philosophy explain hedonism:- 

"Some men believe that the highest good is to lack nothing, and so they are at pains to possess abundant riches. Others consider the true good to be that which is most worthy of admiration, and so they strive to attain to places of honour, and to be held by their fellow-citizens in honour thereby. Some determine that the highest good lies in the highest power; and so they either desire to reign themselves, or try to cleave to those who do reign. Others think that renown is the greatest good, and they therefore hasten to make a famous name by the arts of peace or of war. But more than all measure the fruit of good by pleasure and enjoyment, and these think that the happiest man is abandoned to pleasure."

Though Lady Philosophy is ultimately condemning such sentiment, one cannot help but turn the condemnation on its head and see the point behind such thoughts.  We are not talking a Utopian ideal here, espoused by Thomas More and which, to the modern man might seem to almost communist in nature.

"There is no reason for giving a denial to any person, since there is such plenty of everything among them; and there is no danger of a man's asking for more than he needs; they have no inducements to do this, since they are sure that they shall always be supplied.  It is the fear of want that makes any of the whole race of animals either greedy or ravenous; but besides fear, there is in man a pride that makes him fancy it a particular glory to excel others in pomp and excess. But by the laws of the Utopians, there is no room for this."

My current and previous frustrations, I guess, lie from a yearning or internal desire to be decadent yet to neither act upon it nor be willing to accept the consequences thereof.  So as a result such thoughts, fantasies and their ilk remain for the most part lodged within my head and tend to mutate and be released as frustration, implicit or explicit, evident or hidden.  These took on many different kinds, shapes, forms - yet generally they remain internalized and I allow them to build up; yet it is the obvious frustrations, mostly over and at the inadequacies or misconduct of others, certainly over and above those of my desires and yearnings, that when they are let loose, take the shape and form of pent up anger and rage.  Fortunately, owing to my pacific personality these displays are rare, but they have been known to surface from time to time when the screaming in my head has got too much.  This was most evident in 2010-11 when my frustration manifested itself as stress and that caused more harm to me than those to blame or those in my immediate environment.  Yet when it did manifest itself as rage, it was greeted with disbelief and/or condemnation by those concerned, for the fact that until then I had not expressed my thoughts and feelings sooner and more vocally!!  

As a result of becoming so internalized in how I feel, it means that most everything else has become remote, seemingly elsewhere and hidden from view.  Not just the negativity, the pain, the angst and the frustration but also most of that which is positive.  Being inherently rather introverted has only accentuated this and made more reluctant, partially out of diplomacy, to express such thoughts and feelings.  These thoughts and feelings include love, desire, affection and in certain cases reflect positive self worth and qualities.  This is not an emotional hijab.  Part of it is fear of being misunderstood and rejection, but, in addition it is because everything has become so entrenched in my being, it feels like pulling a screaming mandrake from the deep soil, each and every time.  So why make my ears, as well as those of others, suffer each and every time?

Astrological Chart

Having recently read P.G. Maxwell-Stuart's Astrology: From Ancient Babylon to the Present, as well as having a few other books on the subject (the history not the actual practice), and placing some degree of credence in the science, I decided to go online and draw up a astrological chart and see what it said about me and my personality.  I have always expressed a degree of belief and fascination in this science, not to reading the horoscopes in tabloids (except for fun in the company of friends) nor to the wild predictions made on commercial television regarding winners of the lottery.  For it to have been considered important by so many minds over the centuries, well, there has to be some truth there.  Above is my chart, and below is an interpretation.  Those who know me best will be able to make up their own minds as to whether this is an accurate portrait of me, or not:-

Rising Sign is in 02 Degrees Virgo
You tend to be very shy and not very self-assertive. You are supercritical about how you appear to others. Even though you may think you are uninteresting and dull, you are actually quite soft- spoken, orderly, neat and very likable. You are a perfectionist with high standards, and at times you can be quite tactless in pointing out the faults of others. Very practical, efficient and purposeful, your appearance and bearing reflect your need to appear graceful, sensible and reserved. You have a crisp, no-nonsense approach to dealing with others. Never lazy or self-indulgent, you tend to be dedicated to the work ethic.

Sun is in 03 Degrees Libra.
Very sociable, you enjoy being with others and definitely prefer not be alone. Warm and affectionate, you go out of your way to make others like you. You despise ugliness, for you being surrounded by beauty and harmony is a necessity of life. You prefer fine clothing, an attractive home and pleasant surroundings wherever you are. Your refined tastes apply to music and to art as well. At times, you are very indecisive you waver and falter when forced to make a choice because you have the ability to see both sides of any question. The positive part of this is that you are very fair-minded and can be trusted to settle disputes. Your greatest challenge is to take any one- on-one encounter and make the most of it.

Moon is in 10 Degrees Libra.
Affectionate, warm and friendly, life must be a "beautiful" experience for you. Unpleasantness should be avoided at all costs. You tend to overlook other people's faults and you would rather give in than fight. You are uncomfortable with strangers, but at ease and sociable with friends and associates. Indeed, you would rather socialize than work -- you can use your prodigious charm to avoid unpleasant tasks. You need the support and assistance of another in order to get you started on any new project -- you are not a self-starter. Be careful of a tendency to be overly self-indulgent (i.e., lazy). Your refined aesthetic sensibilities attract you to music, dance, art and any other cultured activity.

Mercury is in 21 Degrees Libra.
You are known for not jumping to conclusions about things. You tend to weigh all possible choices very carefully before making a decision. When in the slightest amount of doubt, you will compromise rather than ruffle any feathers. You are a true raconteur of culture and taste -- your ideas and opinions are neat, elegant and refined. A born diplomat, you dislike discord so much that you will go out of your way to make others feel comfortable and at ease. You speak softly and pleasantly.

Venus is in 16 Degrees Scorpio.
Your feelings about others are deep, powerful, intense and complex. When you like someone, you do so totally and obsessively if you do not like someone, they do not exist. Your faithfulness and loyalty to your lover is unquestioned, indeed at times it is too much so -- you get so possessive that you almost smother your partner. At times, your feelings are kept deep within you and, because they are so complex and intense, they frighten you -- this is the way that you try to ignore them. But the more you try to do this, the more explosive things get when you eventually do express them.

Mars is in 08 Degrees Taurus.
Careful, slow and thorough about all that you do, at times you are also willful and stubborn when others try to alter your course. You are definitely not a quitter -- you will work long and hard to get what you want. Your possessions are very important to you. One of your continuing problems is that you tend to regard the significant people in your life much the same way as you do your possessions -- you become overly attached and much too jealous. You repress your anger when you get upset and that is not healthy. Try to learn to show your anger immediately in order to avoid painful explosions later.

Jupiter is in 02 Degrees Aquarius.
Your personal growth occurs when you have the freedom to do things in new and interesting ways -- this brings out your natural inventiveness. You are an individualist, but you are also attracted to mass movements that emphasize social betterment and you will devote much time and energy to their efforts. Very fair- minded and objective, you have extraordinary skills at organization and administration.

Saturn is in 04 Degrees Cancer.
The most important issue for you is emotional security. You have a deep and gnawing fear that those on whom you depend for emotional support will prove to be unreliable in the long run. When you are unloved and insecure, you distrust others and tend to feel isolated and lonely. Very cool, detached and objective, you can be counted on -- in situations that are inherently stressful or full of tension -- not to lose your self- control. That is a great and welcome gift at such times.

Uranus is in 22 Degrees Libra.
You, as well as your entire peer group, have a very free, unstable and unconventional approach to relationships and emotional commitments. You will be attracted to experiments in marriage and shared lifestyles. Personal freedom is more important to you than entangling emotional bonds. In the realm of art and aesthetics, you are attracted to the bizarre, shocking and unusual.

Neptune is in 05 Degrees Sagittarius.
You, and your entire generation, are heavily involved in investigating and idealizing foreign and exotic intellectual systems and religious philosophies. The most extreme ideals will be pursued with gusto. You will be at the forefront of humanitarian attempts to improve the lot of those who are in need of assistance. You will be comfortable with the concept of the "global village."

Pluto is in 04 Degrees Libra.
For your entire generation, this is a time of radical changes in society's attitude toward marriage and interpersonal relationships. There is a general fear and awe at the power inherent in making emotional or contractual commitments -- they will not be entered into lightly.

N. Node is in 03 Degrees Capricorn.
You rarely get involved closely with anyone unless he or she has something specific and practical to offer you. You tend to be "all business" when it comes to dealing with others. You're usually so intently focused on a particular goal that you rarely have time for social niceties or casual fellowship. But you can definitely be counted on by others to get things done. When you say that you'll do something, you do it. As such, you're a valuable member of any team situation and will probably rise to a position of leadership within the group. Your trustworthiness and sense of responsibility are unquestioned. But do try to avoid the temptation to "use" others to reach your goals -- they might come to resent you.

Pauline

This week has been rather an uphill emotional one for me.  The weather hasn't helped, prone as I am to SAD, although today, looking out the window, it's bright, sunny and blue skied, though whether or not it is warm is a different matter.  Probably not.  That said, there was and is something magical about hearing birdsong in the mornings, especially sunny ones, that allows the spirits to be lifted somewhat.

Also, this week, I have been remembering a dear friend of mine.  A very dear friend of mine.  She died a few days ago, four years ago, and on Saturday, she would have been celebrating her 90th birthday, were she alive.  I always remember her birthday, it is the same day as Queen Elizabeth II.  I think and thought of Pauline a second mother to me; I knew her for over 25 years, and enjoyed her friendship and confidence for pretty much the same amount of time.  She was a wonderful, genuine, kindly woman from Kent and English to the core.  She was a delight to be around, generally always happy, smiling and enthusiastic to hear stories and to put the world to rights.  She was kind, warm and generous in so many ways but most of all in her spirit.  She loved nature and animals, she loved art and music and she was a good warm and generous spirit.

It may seem strange but I never saw Pauline as being a little old lady towards the end of my knowing her (despite being 4' 11 and 85 years old), and well, to neither of us, it didn't make the slightest bit of difference that she was slightly over five decades older than me.  It simply didn't matter.  I sat next to her at my brother's wedding, where the photo above was taken, and remember the pleasure she took when my cousins husband took her by the hand and whisked her around the dance floor.  After which, she told us all how she used to go dancing during her time as a Wren (Women's Royal Naval Service) after the war, I think it was accompanied by a tall chap who went by the name of Ed. 

I used to be able to pick up the telephone and call her and we would speak for twenty or so minutes at a time; however the real magic was in her company.  I would be able to go around to her home near Cambridge and the side door would always be open.  Invariably I would find Pauline in the end room, if it was in the mid afternoon she might well have dozed off or if she was around when I called her name you would hear her singing voice saying "I'm upstairs", and soon enough would come down and join you.  She would always be nicely dressed, though she would describe herself as looking like a mucky pup as there might be a small splash of tea or the like on the front.  The radio would be playing, normally "the third programme" i.e. Radio 3.  Depending upon the time, we would normally have a cup of tea, and either a biscuit or better still some homemade cake, sit in the end room and put the world to rights once again.  We pent many hours in each others company, talking and listening.  I could never drink tea on my own, and to this day I still never think of making myself a cup of tea and drinking it on my own.  The same isn't true of coffee however.  Yet whenever I am in good company, I can and will drink a cup of two of slightly milky Assam, no sugar, and it tastes all the better.

I can't help but reflect and think of my wonderful friend; her ways, her manner and her interests.  These ranged from her keenness for collecting dolls houses and miniatures, as well as bisque or porcelain figures; she loved flowers and plants, especially beautifully scented roses, and of course her two little Yorkies, named Jolyon (after Jolyon Soames in The Forsyte Saga) and Meryon, or simply Joly and Mery for short.  She loved beautiful, pretty things.  She liked romantic stories and enjoyed quality drama on television like Jane Austin and Charles Dickens adaptations, as she felt there was too much sex and violence on TV.  Yet, whenever it was on, she would mutter "Why do they have to show this?!?" yet still watch on.  Her politics always amused me, holding coffee mornings to raise money either for the RSPB or for the Conservative Party, depending on whichever she felt was in greater need at that time.  Up until she was 80 she used to take "meals on wheels" to the "old dears" in and around the town where she lived never thinking she might possibly be seen as one.  She used to spend every Wednesday at the "Con Club" having lunch with "the girls", four of her friends, all in their 80s.  I guess she was reminded that she was getting old when one of them died, yet Pauline never saw herself as being old, other than when she complained of gout, from stubbing her toes on the stairs every now and then.  I used to call her from Rome on my mobile asking her if she wanted some Pleasures by Estée Lauder, and she used to ponder and remark how amazing it was that I could be calling all that distance yet sound next door.  In the end, the answer was invariably a yes.

I have attached a piece of music I know Pauline loved, and I agree, it is a beautiful piece.  It is typically English and conjures up images of the sweeping English countryside, a country which Pauline loved and was proud to be a subject of.  I have had her in my thoughts especially over the last two days.  Yesterday, as I was writing my article for my other "blog", I was reminded that I had never managed to finish reading the book 381 AD by Charles Freeman, which I had started to read a few days before she died, and I was due to come down and see her once again.  Somehow I still cannot pick it up and start to read it once again .  Since her passing, and especially in recent times, I have truly missed my friend.  Of the few photos I have framed, I have one framed of her in a silver frame.  She deserves that I feel. 

Rood Awakening

Syllic wæs se sigebēam, ond ic synnum fāh,  

forwunded mid wommum.  Geseah ic wuldres trēow,

wædum geweorðod wynnum scīnan,

gegyred mid golde; gimmas hæfdon

bewrigen weorðlīce wealdendes trēow.

Hwæðre ic þurh þæt gold ongytan meahte

earmra ærgewin, þæt hit ærest ongan 

swætan on þā swīðran healfe.

Sublime, the tree was, and I was foul with sin,
wounded and filthy. I saw the wondrous tree
become more beautiful, bound with streamers,
wound with gold; gems gathered
nobly covering the King's tree.
But through the gold I could glimpse,
though buried by sinfulness, that it began
to bleed on its right side.

Currently, I am working on article on an eighth century Saxon poem for my other "blog", Echoes from the Gnosis, and just wanted to share a brief quote here from "The Dream of the Rood"; both in translation and in Anglo-Saxon.  I do admit to enjoying this poem, which has somehow survived, partially inscribed on a broken stone cross in Scotland, and in a tenth century Italian book.  The wording and imagery is powerful, strong, and spellbinding.  I felt the need to share some of it here, short of going into the lengthy academic-esque discussion I tend to explore and entertain on my other blog.

MAY 2012 (Update):  Since posting this, I have posted an article which can be found here.