Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘aesthetics’

In college, I began as a nursing major, which lasted one year. The great benefit of having been in the School of Nursing was getting all of my science requirements out of the way; in addition, I clepped out of English 101 so that when I switched to “undecided,” I was able to take a slew of Art and Liberal Arts classes. I switched in my junior year to a double French/English major, and finally, just majored in English.

I took four philosophy classes, mostly because I liked the professor, a dynamic, intelligent, charismatic Greek man, Dr. Nenos Georgopolis. 4 classes with the same teacher; how crazy was I?

In any case, when I took Aesthetics, I wondered if beauty, you know, Beauty, was something that made one cry. Beauty defined as what makes me cry.

Of course, my professor dismissed my question, not in a condescending way, but in the way a professor of philosophy must. That is, that everything has an intellectual explanation and can be teased out into its reasons. I think we were reading Kant, but that means little to nothing to me now. I can’t remember any of what I might have read, only some of the people and the interactions in the classroom and the passion of my teacher.

I finally know that while not everything that makes me cry is beautiful, almost everything that makes me cry is beautiful. 29 fucking years after that class to figure this out?

I look for it everywhere and maybe I could give myself a break and stop worrying about my failings as a parent or whether my children have been instilled with good (enough) habits. I am not looking for rationalizations for being irresponsible, but if I could stop wasting mental energy on things I haven’t done or things I think I should be doing, ah, what a different life I could live.

Beauty, all my all.

I know that my current undying love for all things Tweedy might be a bit sickening to the lot of my readers, but I keep finding yummy stuff on youtube. It’s slowly dawning on me that my blog writing is basically just for me, another masturbatory activity, but for those of you who like to watch, I hope you keep showing up and telling me your stories.

Otherwise, fair warning to bow out about now if you haven’t already on yet another l-o-n-g post.

Here’s another couple for good songs, good solid songs and good solid singing and guitar playing. Tweedy, who ranks with the best of them, who is obviously in it for the long haul and isn’t just fucking around, who I think knows he’s been ignited with whatever it is that keeps pouring the light of beauty in and out of himself.

2 videos and then the lyrics to the second song, which are simple but lovely and interesting

This makes me sort of wish I could play the guitar:

I’m the Man Who Loves You

All I can see is black and white
And white and pink with blades of blue
That lay between the words I think on a page
I was meaning to send to
You I couldn’t tell if it’d bring my heart
The way I wanted when I started
Writing this letter to you

But if I could you know I would
Just hold your hand and you’d understand
I’m the man who loves you

All I can be is a busy sea
Of spinning wheels and hands that feel for
Stones to throw and feet that run but
Come back home
It made no difference
Ever known, it made no difference
Ever known to me

But if I could you know I would
Just hold your hand and you’d understand
I’m the man who loves you

All I can see is black and white
And white and pink with blades of blue
That lay between the words I think on a page
I was meaning to send to
You I couldn’t tell if it’d bring my heart
The way I wanted when I started
Writing this letter to you

But if I could you know I would
Just hold your hand and you’d understand

If I could you know I would
Just hold your hand and you’d understand

If I could you know I would
Just hold your hand and you’d understand

I’m the man who loves you
I’m the man who loves you
I’m the man who loves you
I’m the man who loves you

Read Full Post »

I took my mother to the Dutch and Flemish masters exhibit at the Peabody Essex Museum yesterday. She loved it and was reminded of many things from her life as a young girl in Germany.

I visited the exhibit in a hurry last week but yesterday I was able to spend a relaxed series of breaths with the paintings and I could love the ones I love for a wee bit more time. The rooms were more crowded, too, and it was fun to listen to people talk about the paintings. I liked observing and participating in this little expression of human nature. What struck me as funny was how people have a lot to say about art and what they are seeing, have lots of ideas and feelings and impressions; but as there seems to be an unspoken pressure to be right about art (as if there is some objective truth beyond each person’s interpretation), a lot of folks tended to clam up. Then again, to give the patrons the benefit of the doubt, maybe silence helps most people take in the visual, and verbal commentary detracts from this pleasure–?. Being on the verbose side myself, I thought the funnest folks were the ones who were willing to say things out loud, to ask silly questions, and to engage with their fellows and fellowines (okay I know that’s not a word, but shouldn’t it be?).

My mom and I ate lunch out, ate dinner out, walked on the beach in Gloucester, and drove around in circles at various points on our journey because I no longer use a map (thanks GPS) and because the British-voiced GPS Lady is sort of !@#$ ed sometimes in her satellite-induced calculations. I used to be a champion map-reader, but not any more, and what does it matter because, map or GPS, when you get lost in a place and come back again some day, you’ve got a better lay of the land than if you hadn’t gotten lost at all.

Thankful for yesterday with mum, then.

Thankful for this beautiful herb drying rack which I ordered on etsy a few days ago (first ever etsy purchase):

You can see that I’ve been gathering lavender and bundling it to dry; cutting a few other herbs as well to see how they’ll fare. This is something I love–the flowers and herbs in my garden. I imagine how wonderful it would be to make those lavender bundles like you see in France or in fancy, expensive gift shops all over small WASPy and affluent towns in America. How do they get the lavender to stay darkly-colored and fresh for years? I think it has something to do with boric acid and that’s a step too far for me, so my lavender eventually dries out and sort of shreds away. Like the motif of fleeting time and mortality one finds in paintings from the Golden Age of Dutch art.

Here are a few of my fave paintings, at least ones of which I could find images:

Here’s one which didn’t have any commentary attached to it, as many of the pieces did. I love it. Of all of the paintings, I think it is the most pornographic in nature (there was one other, too, a dandy man in the early stages of disrobing in his dressing room, painted in shades of ochre). It is called “Young Girl Eating Sweets.” And so she is and wouldn’t I like some of what she has? But I don’t think she plans on sharing.

And this:

Isn’t she beautiful? I think I am in love with her.

Read Full Post »