Museum #2: Video Quartet

I was ambling around on the fifth floor of the Tate Modern on Friday, looking at the cubist and pop section, when I came across a dark room entitled "Video Quartet" by Christian Marclay. I entered the room and found a most incredible piece--four screens next to each other, each with a different movie clip playing. The movie clips all had to do with music. I walked in to see four different pianos played by four different people, one of which was Holly Hunter in a scene from The Piano. I sat there entranced as each screen changed periodically to reveal cascades of violins, drums, singing, dance, even marching bands. The installation included scenes from some of my favorite movies and musicals--Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady, Doris Day in The Pajama Game, James Stewart, Ann Miller, Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong, and countless others. The sounds from the different screens blended together to create a delightful combination of sound as well as images. It was simply magical for me to watch it; I felt waves of memories and emotions welling up as the different movies came on the screen. I was surprised and impressed at the emotional response the piece elicited--- how a five second clip of a particular movie has the power to entrance and stir up the memories and feelings I associate with the film.
I then began thinking about how art gets tossed around. The man who made the piece used two different mediums, film and song, to created a symphony of sound and images that is entirely original. It is fascinating to me how a piece of art gets recycled, reused, or manipulated, to produce an entirely new work. Art feeds into itself, and artists feed off each other to develop this splendid world of connection and inspiration. Things get borrowed and stolen, but I think it is acceptable and productive when each time it spawns something new. This realization made me appreciate the intricate nature and complexities of art more; it also made me see that borrowing from another artist does not make one any less original, if the artist creates something fresh and new. After all, Shakespeare borrowed heavily from earlier works when writing his plays, and that fact does not make him any less of a great writer. I would love to go back someday and watch the splendid montage of some of my favorite movie moments played out for me in such an interesting way.

Novel 3: Dorian Gray and "the passion of the spectator"

In The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dorian's reaction to news of Sibyl Vane's death reveals both Dorian's callous nature and the fact that he views his life as a spectator. In chapter VIII, Lord Henry asks Dorian about his meeting with Sibyl, saying, "did you make a scene with her?" (94). Clearly, Dorian and Lord Henry see life as play, something unreal to which they are not directly attached. Also, after Dorian discovers Sibyl's suicide, he tells Lord Henry, "how extraordinarily dramatic life is! If I had read all this in a book, Harry, I think I would have wept over it" (96). This insinuates that Dorian will not cry over Sibyl's death because he did not read it in a book; that Dorian would cry over something distanced from himself but not something in his own life reveals that art impacts Dorian more than his own life. Indeed, Dorian thinks that Sibyl's death is "simply like a wonderful ending to a wonderful play" (98). Even in the face of tragedy, Dorian still sees life in aesthetic terms and is only concerned with the beautiful; it seems as though Dorian must think of life this way in order for life to seem real.

Dorian's reaction also brings up many interesting questions about art and life. The fact that art feels more real than life to Dorian puzzles me. Why does Dorian prefer feeling like a spectator as opposed to a real participant in life? Throughout the novel, he behaves as though he is unattached to the happenings around him with no real emotional investments in them. Perhaps Dorian has been taught to hold aesthetic values over everything else by Lord Henry and can only appreciate happenings in those terms. Also, perhaps being unattached in this manner allows Dorian to carry on with his base pursuits without conscience or implication. Whatever reason, the effect is chilling as Dorian watches tragic events as they unfold with all of the passion and safety of an uninvolved observer.

Street 3: Why I Now Hate Bees

"I would punch every bee in the face! Bees are not taking me out." -Dane Cook

I never expected that coming to England would give me a newfound fear. However, because of the visit to Stowe garden last week, I am positive that I have been traumatized by my interactions with bees. The little pests kept crawling on my hair, my sunglasses, my face, and even my lips over and over again. These bees were brazen, aggressive, and by the third time of feeling a stupid bee's legs on my lips, I wanted to get on the bus and leave the English countryside forever.
And now, the psychological trauma has followed me to Oxford. Every time I see a flying thing, whether it is a bee, fly, butterfly, or piece of fuzz, I jump and emit and embarrassing yelp, a reaction I simply cannot control. When a bee flew into my room today and I ran away
into the hall, I had to ask myself: Did I ever expect to go to England and return with a bee phobia?
Of course not. It is strange---when we travel, many unexpected things occur, some delightful and some horrifying. As a tourist, we spend countless hours packing and planning for all different situations, events, weather, emergencies to avoid being caught off guard when these surprises happen. Indeed, packing is sort of like trying to predict the future, and the more we pack, the more secure we feel. Our luggage and our plans give us a snug sense of protection from the unknown. Therefore, we carry the perfect amount of cash, bandaids, the right kind of clothes, shoes, and extra this or that, just in case. After all, we have heard countless horror stories of lost passports, muggings, being stranded, etc. However, when something strange and quirky occurs while abroad, what do we do with the experiences? Do they make us feel like failures for not predicting them? Of course, bees, spiders, and bedbugs were the last thing on my mind when coming to Oxford. If I did think of that, I would be worried about myself. Trips and life are the same in that one cannot predict the future in either instance. Personally, I have come to the conclusion that horror stories of the road are part of the beauty of travel. Just like life, the unknown can be scary or exciting, and in the end, either one makes a good story. This is what really matters, although I fear that moments of flailing, yelping, and grimacing at random times throughout the day will continue until I leave Oxford.

Street Entry #2: Maps and Sightseeing

I have visited London three times now, and the city still is not any less intimidating than it first was. The layout of the streets is arbitrary and confusing, and the direction of the traffic confuses me even more. This last Tuesday, I set out with a group of people, my map in tow, and we tried to make sense of the little numbers on the page and the enormous buildings all around us. My eyes switched from map to building, and then from map to street sign over and over again, looking for what we were supposed to be looking at. Oh look, we found the Savoy, take a picture, so let's turn here and wait, is this right? Should we wait for the next block and then turn left? This is how the majority of the conversation sounded during the Wilde walk.
It was extremely hard to reconcile time spent reading a map and appreciating what we saw. It took much effort and collaboration within the group to find our bearings, navigate through the people, streets, and traffic. However, we finally stumbled upon a generic building where J.M. Barrie happened to live. The little numbers definitely proved worth seeing in the end. However, I know I missed many interesting buildings along the way and looked like a major buffoon stopping at every intersection to bury my face in my map. On the other hand, if I had no map and simply walked around the city, I would have seen everything, but walked past the window of the room where J. M. Barrie lived, never knowing this interesting piece of history. On the next London excursion, I will either figure out how to reconcile the map and sightseeing or follow around someone else willing to do so.

Novel 2: Does Lady Dedlock Have to Die?

As I read about Bucket and Esther's frantic attempts to discover Lady Dedlock's whereabouts, I felt relatively relaxed and unconcerned because I knew they would find her alive. I was so sure that Dickens would create a happy ending involving Lady Dedlock and use her and Sir Leicester to make a statement on the merits of forgiveness for past sins. I also thought that he would create a happy ending with her and Esther by having Lady Dedlock fulfill the motherly role that Esther longed for her whole life. After all, Esther not having a mother and the mystery surrounding her birth play a large role in the book. Therefore, when they found Lady Dedlock dead, I was obviously shocked. I am very curious why Dickens "killed her off," so to speak. Perhaps Dickens could not imagine a happy ending involving Lady Dedlock that would be plausible in Victorian society. After all, in most novels written during the Victorian period that involved (to them) sexually immoral women, the unwed mother or unfaithful wife are always punished in a sense, whether by death or shunning by society. Maybe he was afraid that readers simply would not accept an ending where Lady Dedlock ends up happy because they were accustomed to characters like her being drastically punished for their actions.
I think that it is perfectly plausible for Lady Dedlock to have lived and Esther still be happy with Mr. Woodcourt. Though the prophesy about the sins of the mother passed on to the daughter sort of foreshadows a tragedy, it would have been the ultimate redemption had Lady Dedlock returned alive. She had a whole crowd of forgiving people waiting for her, and Dickens could have used the opportunity to show the merits of forgiveness. I also suppose I am kind of biased because I was quite fond of Lady Dedlock.
In conclusion, I simply had Dickens wrong. In the future, I will hesitate before trying to predict plot twists and endings.

Every Picture Tells A Story

My love for portraits began when my mother took me to a portrait exhibition at the Kimball Art Museum in Fort Worth, Texas when I was in high school. I was fascinated and impressed by how much a portrait says about the subject's personality, the artist's feelings toward the subject, or, if it is a self portrait, the artist's feelings about himself. So, when my parents wanted to visit the National Portrait Gallery last weekend, I was thrilled. Thus far, it is my favorite museum/gallery that I have seen in London. As I walked from portrait to portrait, I found it absolutely incredible, unforgettable, to look at people like Catherine Parr and Fanny Burney. I gazed at the contemplative face of William Wordsworth and the austere face of Elizabeth I. It was all so personal, like I was actually meeting these people, brought back to life and forever captured in the paintings.
"Hey, over here," my mom said. I followed her into a room of Romantic poets, and I saw what she meant. There, on the left side of the room, hanging in its own special place at the National Portrait Gallery, was a portrait of Robert Burns. Robert Burns, whose poetry I have spent a fair chunk of my summer studying in order to write my thesis in the spring. Robert Burns, who baffles me by his Scottish lingo. I looked at the Scottish bard, with his rakish features and handsome face, and my heart skipped a beat. Here we were, in what seemed like an opening through time, meeting face to face and shaking hands. That's how I felt when I saw his portrait, at least. How strange, I thought--by seeing a person's face, facial expression, manner of dress, a portrait can elicit such an emotional response. A picture can hold so much information about a person that we sometimes feel we know the person better just by having seen his or her picture. I must admit I took a photo of Burns, even though that is strictly prohibited at the Gallery (but luckily no one saw me). Now, once I print the picture of the picture of Robert Burns, I can always remember the first day I truly laid eyes on him.

Novel Entry #1: Mrs. Pardiggle's Visit, or How Not to Help the Poor

When writing anything about Mrs. Pardiggle and Mrs. Jellyby, Dickens usually relies on satire to drive his point home about the middle class's futile efforts to help the poor. However, Dickens' narrative takes a serious turn when Mrs. Pardiggle visits Jenny and her family. Dickens reveals Mrs. Pardiggle's condescending judgment of the poor when she disdainfully blames the people's "untidy habits" for their dreadful living conditions. Esther, the paradigm of goodness and compassion, immediately questions Mrs. Pardiggle's critical attitude by thinking, "I doubted if the best of us could have been tidy in such a place." Esther also thinks that Mrs. Pardiggle's manner is "too business-like and systematic" when talking to the family and not appropriate for the circumstances. Indeed, Mrs. Pardiggle seems to be talking at the family instead of to them, and her visit only increases the antagonism and negativity in the room, as seen in the husband's response to Mrs. Pardiggle. His retort is effective because he gives details about his life that prove Mrs. Pardiggle's efforts to put everything in black and white wrong and unfair. For instance, the husband reveals that the family is illiterate, have lost many children, and drink filthy water. Truly, Mrs. Pardiggle's lack of understanding and sympathy directly interfere with her efforts to help the family.
Not only that, but after Mrs. Pardiggle leaves, Esther and Ada discover that Jenny's baby has died. This detail is truly shocking and morbid, especially after imagining Mrs. Pardiggle's coldness to the poor wife. This coupled with the detail of Jenny's "black eye" serve to increase the reader's emotion and sympathy for the poor woman and reveal to the reader the truly heartbreaking conditions in which the poor might live. Dickens then directly contrasts Mrs. Pardiggle's condescending judgment with Esther's kind and compassionate actions, such as when Esther puts her handkerchief over the infant's face. Jenny truly appreciates Esther, as seen how Jenny keeps Esther's handkerchief. Though Dickens does not give a straightforward solution to the problems of the poor, he shows that patronizing judgment is not the correct way to aid the poor effectively.

Street entry #1: Muslim Women in Hyde Park

Before coming to London, I've always thought of myself as exceptionally well-rounded and open-minded in terms of other religions and cultures. I've made it a point to be so, and was proud of this facet of myself. While Arlington, TX, is not exactly the culture capital of the world, I felt like I at least had the right attitude about different cultures--I regarded them with respect and understanding. One of the things I was looking forward to most about London was seeing all of the incredible diversity. However, once in London, I had to second guess myself during the visit to Hyde Park. There, the group saw many Muslim women. Of course, I've seen Muslim women in the U.S., but these women were wearing the full hijab, head to toe of black flowing material with a slit revealing the eyes. I had never seen a woman dressed like that in person. I found myself openly staring, staring, at these women. At once they conjured up many different associations for me--newspaper articles about the Taliban in Afghanistan, women's rights stories in magazines, tales of marital violence and honor killings, all about women living on the other side of the world in places as vaguely exotic to me as Bora Bora, New Guinea, Siberia. Whenever people talked about women's rights, stories named something like "Behind the Burqa" were always included. I felt a small tinge of sadness for these women in the park, women who couldn't dress how they want or have as much freedom as me.
Wait a second. Wait just a minute, I told myself. It occurred to me: what right have I to feel sorry for these women? And what right have I to judge the culture? I had to come to terms with the fact that I find it difficult to respect the way women dress in this particular culture. I think this issue with women's garb is especially dicey for me and many others because many people in the U.S. look at the hijab as a symbol of subservience, even oppression, going against basic freedoms of expression. Of course, I'm not ignoring the women's issues mentioned above. However, I never thought that many women want to wear the hijab and appreciate the modesty it offers. This is quite admirable to me, especially living in America where scantily dressed women can be seen easily in movies and advertising. Western and Middle Eastern culture are extremely different in many cases, and how women dress in each culture definitely fuels misunderstanding and disdain. This issue will continue to challenge me, but I will try to move more toward appreciating and respecting the ideology behind the hijab.