Don Delillo,
I am disappointed. I did not like Falling Man. Most of the writing is rather mundane. There seems to be no story line. The beginning and end of your novel are predictable and the best written out of the entire 246 pages. Most of your characters are flat and do not promote anything remotely stimulating. I hardly felt a connection with them. I do not understand your decision in including the terrorists in your novel. Your "falling man" ironically dies of natural causes. I don't understand the Sex. Your novel does not make sense. Maybe you were trying to give the reader a sense of what it felt like after 9/11...a whole bunch of discombobulation and emptiness....searching for answers. However, I do not like your approach. I think that there are better ways to do what you attempted to do and in my personal opinion, ultimately failed to do. There are some beautiful moments...scattered paragraphs that declare that there is a writer in you somewhere. I just wish that he would have shown himself more.
Some moments in history should be left to be told by the real survivors of these tragedies. That is not to say that there is not some wonderful fictional writing out there that does a beautiful, honorable job in portraying what it may have been like for survivors. Your novel is just not one of them.
That is all.
-Jakob
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Falling Man-I'm Not Really Falling For You
I'm really not...-shrugs-
Often times I feel really conflicted about novels. And maybe this stigma is what is keeping me from thoroughly enjoying Falling Man, but it's just not doing anything for me. It's been a while since I've "been into" fiction and perhaps this has made me biased, as I feel like I am reading a false account of what happened. Yes, I realize that the Twin Towers fell. Yes, I realize that there were people who lived in apartments nearby and had to start their lives over. Yes, I realize that people had to deal with relationship issues and sex and work. I know all these things. But for some reason, I can't help but feel that this book is not about the Towers. And yet, I can't really put my finger on what this story is about. Maybe I am supposed to state the obvious...that it's about people moving on with their lives after 9/11. Or maybe I should say something like: "The novel is actually about humanity as a whole and the healing process and 9/11 is the background story...a prompt." And yeah, I guess all these characters are human, but the novel as a whole seems stiff to me-robotic (as was mentioned in class). Sometimes I just can't help but feel that some stories should be left alone, to be told by those who experienced them and not made into fiction. But, maybe I'm wrong--what do you think?
Or maybe all the above babbling is just my way of trying to sort out whether or not I like this novel. And I don't think I do--do I? I can't help but wonder if I would finish reading this book if I didn't have to read it for a class. I don't put books down all the time, but sometimes there is that one book that really just isn't keeping me interested and down it goes, never to be picked up again...and I can't help but feel that this is one of those books. One thing I do know for certain is that I never would have picked this book up to read had it not been for this class. I was really hoping that we would read the memoir that was mentioned in 1 Dead in Attic or that we could have read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close but that's not what happened. And I am stuck reading another novel by the guy who wrote White Noise and I'm not really enjoying it.
For one-I find the sexual undertones throughout this entire novel to be incredibly distracting. I can't help but feel that it takes away from the story as a whole. I understand what Tom was saying in class about how it possibly ties all the characters together (both the Americans and the Terrorists), but I am not totally convinced. It makes me uncomfortable...all this sex in the midst of healing. But, maybe it's supposed to make us uneasy? It doesn't make me uneasy because it humanizes all the characters...it's just...I mean...sex...really? I can't help but feel that if I had been in NYC on 9/11 I probably wouldn't have had such a vital sex drive...at least for a while! I'd have been too depressed to even think about sex, but maybe that's just me. Maybe it's supposed to be some kind of symbol for showing people healing and moving on in the midst of disaster. I'm glad their sex drives are still intact.
And then there's the characters. The only character I feel like I am getting to know at all is Lianne. All the other characters feel very flat, static, robotic...motionless...they lack growth. I don't really find myself relating with them or sympathizing with them. I don't feel like I am being trusted as a reader to know what is really going on. But, maybe that will change as the book progresses. Maybe all the good climax-ish stuff is further towards the end. I am really nervous to read a section that narrates the terrorists in the midst of flying into the towers. I almost don't want to be there. But maybe that won't happen.
And then there is the whole deal with the "Falling Man". The title had me under the impression that somehow the photo would be involved with this story, however the "Falling Man" in the novel is an artist who poses as a man falling/jumping from the Towers. I have mixed feelings about this character. I think it's odd that the book got it's title from a character that thus far has yet to seem particularly significant to me. He has showed up twice and although he stays with me throughout the book, I don't quite understand what he is supposed to stand for, aside from as a reminder of the events that took place. And in that way it's almost torturous...who wants to relive that? Even though I find the photo beautiful in many ways, this man's artistic reenactment makes me squirm...almost makes me angry. I could try to make some kind of symbolic interpretation, but I couldn't help researching to see if Delillo's "Falling Man" was real and he isn't...Delillo didn't even know about the photo and had no intention of making that connection when he titled his work.
I dunno.
One thing that I suppose I am enjoying, however, is the conversation we are still managing to have in class, regardless of how static I feel that the novel is thus far. I really enjoyed people's point of views today in regards to "identity" in the novel. I really enjoy our class discussions. And I really appreciated Emmie's insight today-wisdom result of her trip abroad.
Oh, and no, Falling Man...I am not falling for you. It's just not working out. We've had a great run, but once we finish our last chapter, it's over between us. No hard feelings. It's not you. It's me.
Often times I feel really conflicted about novels. And maybe this stigma is what is keeping me from thoroughly enjoying Falling Man, but it's just not doing anything for me. It's been a while since I've "been into" fiction and perhaps this has made me biased, as I feel like I am reading a false account of what happened. Yes, I realize that the Twin Towers fell. Yes, I realize that there were people who lived in apartments nearby and had to start their lives over. Yes, I realize that people had to deal with relationship issues and sex and work. I know all these things. But for some reason, I can't help but feel that this book is not about the Towers. And yet, I can't really put my finger on what this story is about. Maybe I am supposed to state the obvious...that it's about people moving on with their lives after 9/11. Or maybe I should say something like: "The novel is actually about humanity as a whole and the healing process and 9/11 is the background story...a prompt." And yeah, I guess all these characters are human, but the novel as a whole seems stiff to me-robotic (as was mentioned in class). Sometimes I just can't help but feel that some stories should be left alone, to be told by those who experienced them and not made into fiction. But, maybe I'm wrong--what do you think?
Or maybe all the above babbling is just my way of trying to sort out whether or not I like this novel. And I don't think I do--do I? I can't help but wonder if I would finish reading this book if I didn't have to read it for a class. I don't put books down all the time, but sometimes there is that one book that really just isn't keeping me interested and down it goes, never to be picked up again...and I can't help but feel that this is one of those books. One thing I do know for certain is that I never would have picked this book up to read had it not been for this class. I was really hoping that we would read the memoir that was mentioned in 1 Dead in Attic or that we could have read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close but that's not what happened. And I am stuck reading another novel by the guy who wrote White Noise and I'm not really enjoying it.
For one-I find the sexual undertones throughout this entire novel to be incredibly distracting. I can't help but feel that it takes away from the story as a whole. I understand what Tom was saying in class about how it possibly ties all the characters together (both the Americans and the Terrorists), but I am not totally convinced. It makes me uncomfortable...all this sex in the midst of healing. But, maybe it's supposed to make us uneasy? It doesn't make me uneasy because it humanizes all the characters...it's just...I mean...sex...really? I can't help but feel that if I had been in NYC on 9/11 I probably wouldn't have had such a vital sex drive...at least for a while! I'd have been too depressed to even think about sex, but maybe that's just me. Maybe it's supposed to be some kind of symbol for showing people healing and moving on in the midst of disaster. I'm glad their sex drives are still intact.
And then there's the characters. The only character I feel like I am getting to know at all is Lianne. All the other characters feel very flat, static, robotic...motionless...they lack growth. I don't really find myself relating with them or sympathizing with them. I don't feel like I am being trusted as a reader to know what is really going on. But, maybe that will change as the book progresses. Maybe all the good climax-ish stuff is further towards the end. I am really nervous to read a section that narrates the terrorists in the midst of flying into the towers. I almost don't want to be there. But maybe that won't happen.
And then there is the whole deal with the "Falling Man". The title had me under the impression that somehow the photo would be involved with this story, however the "Falling Man" in the novel is an artist who poses as a man falling/jumping from the Towers. I have mixed feelings about this character. I think it's odd that the book got it's title from a character that thus far has yet to seem particularly significant to me. He has showed up twice and although he stays with me throughout the book, I don't quite understand what he is supposed to stand for, aside from as a reminder of the events that took place. And in that way it's almost torturous...who wants to relive that? Even though I find the photo beautiful in many ways, this man's artistic reenactment makes me squirm...almost makes me angry. I could try to make some kind of symbolic interpretation, but I couldn't help researching to see if Delillo's "Falling Man" was real and he isn't...Delillo didn't even know about the photo and had no intention of making that connection when he titled his work.
I dunno.
One thing that I suppose I am enjoying, however, is the conversation we are still managing to have in class, regardless of how static I feel that the novel is thus far. I really enjoyed people's point of views today in regards to "identity" in the novel. I really enjoy our class discussions. And I really appreciated Emmie's insight today-wisdom result of her trip abroad.
Oh, and no, Falling Man...I am not falling for you. It's just not working out. We've had a great run, but once we finish our last chapter, it's over between us. No hard feelings. It's not you. It's me.
Friday, September 17, 2010
United We Stand-Divided We Fall
Or do we? "The Falling Man" appears to divide us more than it allows us to come together as a nation.
Our class discussion (in addition to the reading) we had yesterday was incredibly intense. As much as I have thought about September 11, I have not THOUGHT about it. At the time it happened, I was in 8th grade. We didn't know that anything had happened until there was an uneasy announcement over the intercom right before we were let out for the afternoon, around 2pm. I had no idea what they were talking about. I had never heard of the World Trade Center. It meant nothing to me. I met my mom in the parking lot outside and got in the car and she asked me if I had heard what happened. I said yes. We drove home in silence. It wasn't until I had gotten home and turned on the TV, that I saw what my principal had mumbled about. On every channel, there were news broadcasts and they all showed the two towers up in flames. They played and re-played the planes flying into the towers, deliberately. I watched the news for hours, unable to process what had happened.
Admittedly, until later in high school I never really tried to analyze what had happened. Eventually there was talk of government conspiracy...talk about how our government had seen signs but hadn't prepared themselves. It was suddenly their fault. I still don't truly understand everything about that day, but I don't think anyone does. I have never had much of an emotional attachment to it, as I didn't know anyone that died that day. I take my moment of silence every year our of respect, but it never really hit me until our discussion yesterday, how big of an impact it truly had, albeit any time is better than never.
Prior to our having to read the controversial article, I had never seen a picture of "The Falling Man". I never thought about the fact that people had to jump out of the building in order to avoid the smoke. It never occurred to me that people were deliberately committing suicide. I never knew that reporters had taken photos of people committing such a "sinful act"...
It truly angers me...how divided our country feels towards the individuals who decided to take their own lives. It seems petty to me. We should remember and honor all the people who died, not judge. We should be more angry at the terrorists than the people who committed suicide, somehow tainting our American Honor. I have never understood the stigma around suicide. I have never seen how it is a less honorable way to die. However, given that the stigma does exist within our society, I can understand how people view this image as "going against" the American Image of Hope and Strength. Instead of facing the predicament head on, they "took the easy was out" and jumped (I guess). Hence, why images of firefighters swarmed newspapers instead.
As much as I can appreciate the way that our country celebrates those who risked their lives to save the people inside, it kills me that there is so much controversy over those who died. It is frustrating to know that the people who decided to stay in the building and suffocate and burn to death, were somehow more honorable than those who decided to jump. Is succumbing to death through choking on smoke and being engulfed in flames, somehow more admirable than jumping out of a window? I don't think there is a necessity to justify which form of death is "more ideal" or "less honorable". That in itself results in a huge debate, which we began to touch on in class.
One person in class mentioned that it could have been their way of claiming freedom for themselves, one last time. It was their way of taking charge of the situation. If anyone was going to take their lives, it was going to be them, not a terrorist. Another mentioned that the mentality of that moment is something we will never know. None of us know what it's like to face certain death.
Is the decision to jump out of a window of the World Trade Center more honorable than someone committing pre-meditated suicide?
The one thing I can understand is what another classmate mentioned: how we feel the correct way to honor the dead should be. If I had had a relative jump out of the World Trade Center, I would not want that picture to be on the front page of a newspaper, not because of the stigma (although no one wants to deal with that on top of the death of their family member), but because placing a picture of someone dying or seeing a real corpse of someone who has died on the front page of a newspaper, is disrespectful. As our classmate mentioned, death is a very personal thing. If we are in a hospital and our relative has just died, the doctors will give the family time and space alone, with the deceased. If there are public pictures of that person's death, that person becomes a spectacle.
This is what I find dishonorable: the fact that the picture was ever put in the newspaper to begin with. The act of suicide, I don't think was dishonorable. I think that the conscious act to make this man or any person who jumped that day, a spectacle is dishonorable. Who are we to judge?
It is unfortunate that "The Falling Man" seems to somehow separate us, rather than unite us. It's all about the image. It's all about frame. I wish the only thing that upset us as a nation, was the despicable act committed by those who killed so many people. Not the way that some chose to die during that horrific moment in history.
Our class discussion (in addition to the reading) we had yesterday was incredibly intense. As much as I have thought about September 11, I have not THOUGHT about it. At the time it happened, I was in 8th grade. We didn't know that anything had happened until there was an uneasy announcement over the intercom right before we were let out for the afternoon, around 2pm. I had no idea what they were talking about. I had never heard of the World Trade Center. It meant nothing to me. I met my mom in the parking lot outside and got in the car and she asked me if I had heard what happened. I said yes. We drove home in silence. It wasn't until I had gotten home and turned on the TV, that I saw what my principal had mumbled about. On every channel, there were news broadcasts and they all showed the two towers up in flames. They played and re-played the planes flying into the towers, deliberately. I watched the news for hours, unable to process what had happened.
Admittedly, until later in high school I never really tried to analyze what had happened. Eventually there was talk of government conspiracy...talk about how our government had seen signs but hadn't prepared themselves. It was suddenly their fault. I still don't truly understand everything about that day, but I don't think anyone does. I have never had much of an emotional attachment to it, as I didn't know anyone that died that day. I take my moment of silence every year our of respect, but it never really hit me until our discussion yesterday, how big of an impact it truly had, albeit any time is better than never.
Prior to our having to read the controversial article, I had never seen a picture of "The Falling Man". I never thought about the fact that people had to jump out of the building in order to avoid the smoke. It never occurred to me that people were deliberately committing suicide. I never knew that reporters had taken photos of people committing such a "sinful act"...
It truly angers me...how divided our country feels towards the individuals who decided to take their own lives. It seems petty to me. We should remember and honor all the people who died, not judge. We should be more angry at the terrorists than the people who committed suicide, somehow tainting our American Honor. I have never understood the stigma around suicide. I have never seen how it is a less honorable way to die. However, given that the stigma does exist within our society, I can understand how people view this image as "going against" the American Image of Hope and Strength. Instead of facing the predicament head on, they "took the easy was out" and jumped (I guess). Hence, why images of firefighters swarmed newspapers instead.
As much as I can appreciate the way that our country celebrates those who risked their lives to save the people inside, it kills me that there is so much controversy over those who died. It is frustrating to know that the people who decided to stay in the building and suffocate and burn to death, were somehow more honorable than those who decided to jump. Is succumbing to death through choking on smoke and being engulfed in flames, somehow more admirable than jumping out of a window? I don't think there is a necessity to justify which form of death is "more ideal" or "less honorable". That in itself results in a huge debate, which we began to touch on in class.
One person in class mentioned that it could have been their way of claiming freedom for themselves, one last time. It was their way of taking charge of the situation. If anyone was going to take their lives, it was going to be them, not a terrorist. Another mentioned that the mentality of that moment is something we will never know. None of us know what it's like to face certain death.
Is the decision to jump out of a window of the World Trade Center more honorable than someone committing pre-meditated suicide?
The one thing I can understand is what another classmate mentioned: how we feel the correct way to honor the dead should be. If I had had a relative jump out of the World Trade Center, I would not want that picture to be on the front page of a newspaper, not because of the stigma (although no one wants to deal with that on top of the death of their family member), but because placing a picture of someone dying or seeing a real corpse of someone who has died on the front page of a newspaper, is disrespectful. As our classmate mentioned, death is a very personal thing. If we are in a hospital and our relative has just died, the doctors will give the family time and space alone, with the deceased. If there are public pictures of that person's death, that person becomes a spectacle.
This is what I find dishonorable: the fact that the picture was ever put in the newspaper to begin with. The act of suicide, I don't think was dishonorable. I think that the conscious act to make this man or any person who jumped that day, a spectacle is dishonorable. Who are we to judge?
It is unfortunate that "The Falling Man" seems to somehow separate us, rather than unite us. It's all about the image. It's all about frame. I wish the only thing that upset us as a nation, was the despicable act committed by those who killed so many people. Not the way that some chose to die during that horrific moment in history.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Purple Upside-Down Car
This entire section of the book was heart-warming and heart-breaking at the same time. As I was continuing to read tonight, I found myself smiling as I read about more people who used art to move forward with their lives in New Orleans. I love hearing people's stories where art/music/poerty/etc. has had a profound impact on the way they live their lives. It has an inexplicable amount of healing power. I love being able to feel a connection (on some level) with the people who are trying to rebuild from Katrina. While I have never lost a house...have never witnessed a hurricane or seen a community fall to ruins, I have had my own life experiences where I have needed to rebuild. And had it not been for music and writing, I can truly say that I don't know if I would still be here today. Art is my saving grace. And I love having this in common with other people.
Reading these articles is opening my eyes. I feel that in a strange way I am growing as a person. And in another way I feel guilty for saying that because I have not dealt with anything remotely as devastating as the people of New Orleans have. But having read about all these people's lives, I can't help but feel more wise (in some ways). I have never felt as connected to other people as I seem to feel right now. I mean, I slightly recall feeling some kind of patriotism when September 11th happened nine years ago (thank you to all who risked their lives and best wishes to their families), but at the time, I was in 8th grade and didn't really understand the magnitude of what had happened. All I can recall is seeing people with American flags on their cars, on their lawns, on their front porches, on their shirts, in hand walking down the street, etc. And it made me feel strong and proud. All of us were together in fighting to keep our country strong and resilient. And we were. And I have always had this dire longing to belong to something larger than myself. I love the idea of community working together to build something great, something brighter, for our future. I have always wanted to make a difference. And in reading how these people strived to continue living post-Katrina makes me want to live. It makes me want to love everything I have. It makes me want to work harder. I makes me want to make a difference.
I remember feeling an overwhelming "call to duty" if you will, when the BP Oil Spill happened and I did a ton of research on how I could help, only to find out that donating money was the only way I could help. I longed to fly or drive down and help clean up the mess. All the pictures of animals covered in oil was tearing at my heart. And in that moment, I found myself wishing that I had chosen a different major -- that I had actually truly considered being a biology major or a pre-vet major, my freshman year, because then I might have had something to offer (never mind the fact that the economy of that region was completely ruined!). I checked the news daily, terrified that I would hear news of the oil reaching the Everglades. Even the mere prospect, killed me. Made me feel helpless.
I was a senior in high school when Katrina hit. And reading this text makes me regret not being more aware when the devastation occurred. I can honestly, hardly remember hearing that it had happened. I had always been (and often times still am) ignorant of the news. Often times, I have no idea what is going on in this world. And I hate myself for it because I feel like I am now at an age where I should willingly be aware of everything that is going on around me. Even my fiancee at least takes the time to read Newsweek! But no, not I. And this kind of guilt drives me nuts. The whole "I wish I had been more aware because I would have loved to go down and help rebuild the city during my spring break or over the summer before I started going to school at UNH." But it didn't happen. And I feel ignorant. I feel lazy.
And all this babbling is mainly because I feel like I too have experienced a loss. I am done reading for the night, after having read about the death of Ellen Montgomery. Somehow I came to love and admire that Cat Lady and I sit here typing, feeling an incredible void...feeling like tears should be forming, but they aren't. Chris Rose's entire article dedicated to her memory at the end of this set of articles was overwhelming, to say the least. His own experience compared to "Tuesdays with Morrie" almost did it for me. There are so many wonderful admirable people in this world. So many people that are selfless and full of love for others. I have an incredible amount of love and respect for these people.
And so I say, "Thank You."
I hope I can grow up to be just like you some day.
Reading these articles is opening my eyes. I feel that in a strange way I am growing as a person. And in another way I feel guilty for saying that because I have not dealt with anything remotely as devastating as the people of New Orleans have. But having read about all these people's lives, I can't help but feel more wise (in some ways). I have never felt as connected to other people as I seem to feel right now. I mean, I slightly recall feeling some kind of patriotism when September 11th happened nine years ago (thank you to all who risked their lives and best wishes to their families), but at the time, I was in 8th grade and didn't really understand the magnitude of what had happened. All I can recall is seeing people with American flags on their cars, on their lawns, on their front porches, on their shirts, in hand walking down the street, etc. And it made me feel strong and proud. All of us were together in fighting to keep our country strong and resilient. And we were. And I have always had this dire longing to belong to something larger than myself. I love the idea of community working together to build something great, something brighter, for our future. I have always wanted to make a difference. And in reading how these people strived to continue living post-Katrina makes me want to live. It makes me want to love everything I have. It makes me want to work harder. I makes me want to make a difference.
I remember feeling an overwhelming "call to duty" if you will, when the BP Oil Spill happened and I did a ton of research on how I could help, only to find out that donating money was the only way I could help. I longed to fly or drive down and help clean up the mess. All the pictures of animals covered in oil was tearing at my heart. And in that moment, I found myself wishing that I had chosen a different major -- that I had actually truly considered being a biology major or a pre-vet major, my freshman year, because then I might have had something to offer (never mind the fact that the economy of that region was completely ruined!). I checked the news daily, terrified that I would hear news of the oil reaching the Everglades. Even the mere prospect, killed me. Made me feel helpless.
I was a senior in high school when Katrina hit. And reading this text makes me regret not being more aware when the devastation occurred. I can honestly, hardly remember hearing that it had happened. I had always been (and often times still am) ignorant of the news. Often times, I have no idea what is going on in this world. And I hate myself for it because I feel like I am now at an age where I should willingly be aware of everything that is going on around me. Even my fiancee at least takes the time to read Newsweek! But no, not I. And this kind of guilt drives me nuts. The whole "I wish I had been more aware because I would have loved to go down and help rebuild the city during my spring break or over the summer before I started going to school at UNH." But it didn't happen. And I feel ignorant. I feel lazy.
And all this babbling is mainly because I feel like I too have experienced a loss. I am done reading for the night, after having read about the death of Ellen Montgomery. Somehow I came to love and admire that Cat Lady and I sit here typing, feeling an incredible void...feeling like tears should be forming, but they aren't. Chris Rose's entire article dedicated to her memory at the end of this set of articles was overwhelming, to say the least. His own experience compared to "Tuesdays with Morrie" almost did it for me. There are so many wonderful admirable people in this world. So many people that are selfless and full of love for others. I have an incredible amount of love and respect for these people.
And so I say, "Thank You."
I hope I can grow up to be just like you some day.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Art After Katrina
Two particular articles that caught my attention were those of Ellen Montgomery and Chris Cressionnie, respectively known as "The Cat Lady" and "The Magnet Man". Both of these artistic individuals encompass the soul of New Orleans natives. Both have taken rubble from the ruins and made it their own...redefining what being an artist means post-Katrina.
Ellen Montgomery is a stubborn woman who refused to leave the city when the hurricane hit. Obsessed with painting, her house is filled with thousands of paintings that she has made over the past three decades (at the time of the article). They line the walls throughout her home and those she could not hang, are stacked in piles on the floor. Since the hurricane, she has run out of canvass and has since moved to collecting roof tiles that were scattered into the streets, result of collapsing roofs in the neighborhood. The idea of these sleek beautiful slate tiles being trampled over made her shudder. So she collected them and has since begun to paint scenes drastically different from her once light works (florals, landscapes, etc.) leaning towards something more dark. Her once serene works of art have since become muddied, "work clearly influenced by the monstrous forces that have visited her life this past month (p.111)".
In a similar light, Chris has also found beauty amongst the rubble (if you can even call it beauty). While at one time he was a painter who waited tables for a living, he has since become fond of collecting magnets off of the discarded refrigerators that line the streets, using them to cover his car. Unlike Ellen, his passion for painting withered away with the last gusts of the storm. Having skipped the prospect of morbid paintings entirely, he found a passion for magnet collecting. He walks the ruined streets daily, in search of new magnets to add to his masterpiece. "They're like little trophies of people's lives. Keepsakes (p.117)". Whereas Ellen shuddered at the idea of the slate tiles being trampled, Chris seems to shudder at the idea of these magnets, these identities, becoming lost.
Both artists have been re-defined by what has happened. Katrina has molded them, an artist on her own terms. She titles her work "Destruction". They are no longer the artists they once were, now haunted by the aftermath, in search of sanity. They have found solace in a new art. In a city where they refuse to believe that all is lost. "Destruction" has become their muse.
And so I wonder - what does it mean to be an artist post-Katrina?
Ellen Montgomery is a stubborn woman who refused to leave the city when the hurricane hit. Obsessed with painting, her house is filled with thousands of paintings that she has made over the past three decades (at the time of the article). They line the walls throughout her home and those she could not hang, are stacked in piles on the floor. Since the hurricane, she has run out of canvass and has since moved to collecting roof tiles that were scattered into the streets, result of collapsing roofs in the neighborhood. The idea of these sleek beautiful slate tiles being trampled over made her shudder. So she collected them and has since begun to paint scenes drastically different from her once light works (florals, landscapes, etc.) leaning towards something more dark. Her once serene works of art have since become muddied, "work clearly influenced by the monstrous forces that have visited her life this past month (p.111)".
In a similar light, Chris has also found beauty amongst the rubble (if you can even call it beauty). While at one time he was a painter who waited tables for a living, he has since become fond of collecting magnets off of the discarded refrigerators that line the streets, using them to cover his car. Unlike Ellen, his passion for painting withered away with the last gusts of the storm. Having skipped the prospect of morbid paintings entirely, he found a passion for magnet collecting. He walks the ruined streets daily, in search of new magnets to add to his masterpiece. "They're like little trophies of people's lives. Keepsakes (p.117)". Whereas Ellen shuddered at the idea of the slate tiles being trampled, Chris seems to shudder at the idea of these magnets, these identities, becoming lost.
Both artists have been re-defined by what has happened. Katrina has molded them, an artist on her own terms. She titles her work "Destruction". They are no longer the artists they once were, now haunted by the aftermath, in search of sanity. They have found solace in a new art. In a city where they refuse to believe that all is lost. "Destruction" has become their muse.
And so I wonder - what does it mean to be an artist post-Katrina?
Friday, September 3, 2010
Wham!
I know we aren't due to write a formal blog yet, but after having read and brewed over the reading we had for Thursday's class, I can't help but feel the overwhelming need to write about it. Have you ever read something that suddenly makes you feel like you have been sleeping for years and you're just now, finally waking up? Well, now I'm awake and afraid to fall back asleep for the sake of avoiding nightmares...so-to-speak.
For years, I've considered myself to be aware of current societal constructs. I've been involved with Safe Zones on campus and with OMSA (Office of Multicultural Student Affairs) and it has been very eye-opening. But, over the past year or so, classes and life kinda took me away from those things. I lost sight of the "activist" in me...the person who strongly believes that there is SO much that needs to be changed in the society we live in. Not just in regards to the way we view race, but also gender, sexual orientation, religion, identity, etc. There are so many things that need to change...so many doors that need to be opened.
Harris and Carbado are right...the societal norms ("frames") that structure the way our society functions have more of an effect on our daily lives than facts ever could. While statistics are helpful in making a point, mere data is not enough to make people change their ways. Beliefs are ingrained in people through social cues, family, friends, teachers, classmates, religion...the list is endless. It would be easy to think that all of the frames that surround us are the "natural" order of things. That when a person is born they are simply male or female, etc. But centuries ago, hell, even decades ago, things were different. Yet, there are still an unbelievable number of dichotomies that cloud our society. Something has to be A or B. A white man finds, but a black man loots. There is no in-between. Black people break the law. And racism doesn't exist. Anyone else see something wrong with this picture?
In addition to this course, I am taking a course on John Milton. Recently, we have been discussing his philosophy that one should never stop. By this, he means, one should never stop questioning, growing, learning, educating, thinking. If you sit still for too long, the frames around you could sway you to think like everyone else...you just jump on the bandwagon and you're set. Milton believes this is dangerous. And I do admit, that people's ability to just "go with the flow" scares me at times.
And often times I can't help but feel that our society is lazy. We'd rather drive than walk, we're always in a rush...relaxation is a mere dream. People are too focused on weight, on outer appearances, on superficial things that don't define a person. And all the while, this is going on: GLBT people are being harassed, killed, denied rights. Racism is being ignored. Rape "isn't an issue". Women and men alike are in abusive relationships. Young girls are getting pregnant. Public education systems are falling apart. Obesity is another huge issue. So often, this all goes on the back burner. And feminism has been given a bad name.
And so I wonder...my burning question(s) of the day (since I wasn't in class on Thursday) is this:
What do you think about these "frames"? Why do they exist? Do you agree with them? Why or why not? And if not, what are you prepared to do about it?
Peace and Love,
Jake
For years, I've considered myself to be aware of current societal constructs. I've been involved with Safe Zones on campus and with OMSA (Office of Multicultural Student Affairs) and it has been very eye-opening. But, over the past year or so, classes and life kinda took me away from those things. I lost sight of the "activist" in me...the person who strongly believes that there is SO much that needs to be changed in the society we live in. Not just in regards to the way we view race, but also gender, sexual orientation, religion, identity, etc. There are so many things that need to change...so many doors that need to be opened.
Harris and Carbado are right...the societal norms ("frames") that structure the way our society functions have more of an effect on our daily lives than facts ever could. While statistics are helpful in making a point, mere data is not enough to make people change their ways. Beliefs are ingrained in people through social cues, family, friends, teachers, classmates, religion...the list is endless. It would be easy to think that all of the frames that surround us are the "natural" order of things. That when a person is born they are simply male or female, etc. But centuries ago, hell, even decades ago, things were different. Yet, there are still an unbelievable number of dichotomies that cloud our society. Something has to be A or B. A white man finds, but a black man loots. There is no in-between. Black people break the law. And racism doesn't exist. Anyone else see something wrong with this picture?
In addition to this course, I am taking a course on John Milton. Recently, we have been discussing his philosophy that one should never stop. By this, he means, one should never stop questioning, growing, learning, educating, thinking. If you sit still for too long, the frames around you could sway you to think like everyone else...you just jump on the bandwagon and you're set. Milton believes this is dangerous. And I do admit, that people's ability to just "go with the flow" scares me at times.
And often times I can't help but feel that our society is lazy. We'd rather drive than walk, we're always in a rush...relaxation is a mere dream. People are too focused on weight, on outer appearances, on superficial things that don't define a person. And all the while, this is going on: GLBT people are being harassed, killed, denied rights. Racism is being ignored. Rape "isn't an issue". Women and men alike are in abusive relationships. Young girls are getting pregnant. Public education systems are falling apart. Obesity is another huge issue. So often, this all goes on the back burner. And feminism has been given a bad name.
And so I wonder...my burning question(s) of the day (since I wasn't in class on Thursday) is this:
What do you think about these "frames"? Why do they exist? Do you agree with them? Why or why not? And if not, what are you prepared to do about it?
Peace and Love,
Jake
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Like O.M.G.
Yes, that's right--I am trying to be creative in the way I express the fact that: I am finally entering yet another dimension of the technological world. Just like with Facebook, I have yet again to find myself in a position where there doesn't seem to be any other choice but to join! And so, alas, I am here...! Blog with me fellow classmates! I'm sure the journey will be a rewarding one!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)