Article: 553 of alt.etext Path: news.cic.net!magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!math.ohio-state.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!gatech!taco.cc.ncsu.edu!inxs.concert.net!rock.concert.net!ctporter From: ctporter@rock.concert.net (Christopher T Porter -- Personal Account) Newsgroups: rec.arts.books,alt.zines,alt.etext Subject: (news)letter 1:9 Date: 22 Mar 1994 00:12:43 GMT Organization: CONCERT-Connect Public Dial UNIX Lines: 238 Message-ID: <2mld5r$6dv@inxs.concert.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: rock.concert.net Xref: news.cic.net rec.arts.books:88964 alt.zines:3043 alt.etext:553 旼컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� � � � � � _(news)letter_ � � � � � � � � "Say the thing with which you labor." � � � � Thoreau � � � � � � � � from porter micro.press � � � 읕컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� Please send suggestions, submissions and subscription requests to CTPorter 117-A S. Mendenhall St. Greensboro, NC 27403 e-mail ctporter@mercury.interpath.net Your input is appreciated. Occasionally I've found myself in the employ of a museum, contracted for muscle work to help set up an exhibit or two, and what I enjoy most about such work is that it immerses me in art. I experience the paintings from all kinds of angles and in different moods, and so better appreciate them. I realize, then, how staid I am when I visit a museum to see an exhibit, because inevitably I find a place to begin and then carry through to a logical ending. The viewing of the art becomes linear -- I see a piece only in relation to what has come before it and where it is placed in the progression. Working around art upsets that linear aspect. Something I originally pass by might, on the twelfth viewing, surprise me with a suddenly discovered detail that makes all of the difference. Where I was first ambivalent, I might learn to better appreciate an artist's work. This past week I spent a day at Spirit Square in Charlotte, helping to install Fully's exhibit while he scorched the slopes in Colorado. I hadn't been to Spirit Square in a long time because I think they've become somewhat hoity-toity, and consequently I wasn't impressed with the other exhibits. But I found myself thoroughly enjoying the other works after seeing them so many times, lugging Fully's pieces from storage to the exhibit area. The experience made me realize how critical our preconceptions are in viewing something so "easy" as visual art -- you can glance at a piece and convince yourself that you've "seen" it, whereas with a book or a movie you have to make a larger initial investment of time just to understand the work. This investment often is enough to chase away the shallowest of preconceptions, whereas with art in a museum, one can often escape without losing any of those preconceptions -- they're just pictures, after all, and you can see it in a flash. Fully's Three Panels on the Side Wall (Untitled) is a case in point. I had seen the panels in various stages of construction, and I understood some of the thinking that went into the pieces, but I didn't like them -- "Fully's weirding out again!" Assembled and installed in the space for which they were created, though, they were transformed into a coherent work and I was amazed. It was like watching a work grow. I seriously doubt if it would have struck me so powerfully without those earlier judgements and it showed me (again) why I'm not a visual artist like Fully, but a writer of _(news)letter_s. Books, of course, are affected the same way by a reader's preconceptions, as well as setting in which they are read. The first time I read Richard Powers' _The Gold Bug Variations_ was unforgettable: I had the car -- we were visiting Cincinnati -- and I had to pick up Mary and Fully by 0800 so we could have an early start to Charlotte. I was out the night before, cavorting with friends too long unseen, and due to my rather liquidated status, returned to the motel in the very early morning. When Mary called the room at 0815 -- "we're waiting" -- I had just awakened and instead of admitting my plight I dug myself a deeper hole -- "I'm on my way..." I got to the checkpoint closer to 0900 than I thought I would be, and boy were they burning! I spent the rest of the ride as far away from them as I could get in that close car, reading this wonderful novel. It was my salvation: I quit feeling so guilty and repentant, and lost myself. I'm reading it for the third time this week, and though I'm not finished, I thought I'd give it a plug. This has not been an easy novel for this week because all I want to do is to read it and write on my creative projects, forget the _(news)letter_. Books often make me think profound thoughts, but rarely does one so spur the creative writer in me. Powers ties so much together in this one book that it's amazing. Bach's Goldberg Variations, Poe's "Gold Bug," molecular biology, computer programming, art history -- you name it and Powers has probably addressed the subject in some way. What makes it so wonderful to read is the way it creeps up on the reader: in the Introductory Aria, Powers introduces an image which comes to represent both the reader's and the protagonist's journey through the narrative: "fish that track ocean back to first stream" (8). How does a fish get back to the native breeding grounds? How does a bird return to the same nest every year? If they could explain, those animals might agree with Bach: Asked how he made the keyboard perform miracles of interchanging voices when he possessed only the same finger- bound hands as the rest of mankind, he would say: It's simple. Just hit the right notes at the right time, and the thing virtually plays itself. (194) That's how we experience this novel, as a living amidst great ideas that suddenly fit as if a jigsaw puzzle. If we sometimes don't understand how we achieved the clarity of the solution, what does it matter? _"Buffalo Soldier, Dreadlock Rasta"_ A reference to Bob Marley, the Jamaican reggae great who died of cancer in 1982, had me all set to find out as much as I could about him. I bought a biography, Timothy White's _Catch a Fire: The Life of Bob Marley_, and I wanted to enjoy it, but ended up disappointed. Bob Marley left quite a legacy in Jamaica, both musical and spiritual. He was a fighter who escaped the particularly nasty Jamaican ghettoes and achieved world-wide success, bringing some legitimacy not only to the reggae music style, but also to the Rastafarian spiritual movement. White's biography though, devotes itself more to his musical career than to Bob Marley the man. This may be because he was a deceptive person who didn't like to bare his soul. In fact, White writes that the Jamaicans "esteemed him for his inscrutable nature, for his unfathomable behavior" (23). But he was also difficult, and some needed explanations are never addressed in this narrative. We are given sketchy details about his involvement in a race-fixing scheme that about got him murdered; only in the extensive epilogue do we find out just how rough he could be with even his close friends, or the lengths he would go to get airplay for records produced by the record company that he owned. Besides his status as spiritual successor to Ethiopian King Haile Selassie I (said to be descended from the union of the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon), we're given little of his spiritual import. I was reminded, in my disappointment, of Samuel Johnson's endorsement of the art of biography. No other form could teach a reader so well, he thought, because at their best biographies can show even the great men as sufferers of the same concerns as the reader. The way to accomplish this -- the responsibility of the biographer -- was to give details that showed the subject as a common man: The mischievous consequences of vice and folly, of irregular desires and predominant passions, are best [revealed] by those [narratives] which are leveled with the general surface of life, which tell not how any man became great, but how he was made happy; not how he lost the favor of his prince, but how he became discontented with himself. (_Idler_ 84, 11/24/1759) White's biography gives us Marley's shadow; too rarely do we see the legend as human. "Duh, What's Next, George?" And then there's _Hamlet_! I was told once that I suffered from a Hamlet complex, though until this reading I've never been convinced that Hamlet himself deserved the label. Certainly he acts too late: the sheer number of people who die at the end enforce that idea. But did Hamlet think too much? I was always convinced that he needed proof for his vengeance, that he had to see for himself that his uncle was guilty of killing Hamlet, Sr. Once he's convinced that the ghost tells the truth, that Claudius did indeed kill his father, then Hamlet becomes somewhat determined. This time through the play, though, I noticed a new theme, that of the changing of the guard. This is very much a play of the young vs. the old, and those who are completely controlled by their elders -- Ophelia, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Laertes at the end -- fare badly. The positive example for Hamlet is Fortinbras, a warrior of Norway who acquiesces to the wishes of his uncle the Norwegian king. He profits in obeying that advice by retaining a sense of sovereignty. Hamlet, though, should be king whether his father was murdered or not: he should be spitting fire because his uncle is on the throne. The throne is Hamlet's destiny and he ignores it. Some might argue with that interpretation: indeed Fortinbras is in the same position by not succeeding his father to the throne. But Fortinbras is at least doing something, flexing his muscles, he _will_ be king. Hamlet shows little inclination to the role. Imagine, after reading something so many times, I finally grasp what is an essential ingredient of the play. I was taught early in my readings of the play that it was okay that Hamlet was not king, that he could accept his position. Now I'm convinced that I was taught wrong. _Flopping in the Light_ If you're a Shirley MacLaine fan, you might like _Guarding Tess_, though I can't think of any other reason to see it. This was a total bore, so predictable, and the movie strained too hard for the goopy, feelgood effect. The other two in the theater totally enjoyed it but I think they had crushes on Shirley. Nicholas Cage plays a secret service agent responsible for Tess (MacLaine), and he is totally miscast as the Clint Eastwood wannabe. He's a wonderful personality wasted on a piddling role. Too much of the dialogue between the two -- and this means a large part of the movie -- is incomprehensible because they talk too low to be understood: Cage in his "you'll do as I say" grumble, MacLaine in her "I'll do as I like" insistence. If you have to see it, wait for the video. You won't regret your patience. _Quote of the Week_ Why will I spend many hours over the next few weeks with my eyes glued to the television, watching the college basketball playoffs? I identify with this quote from a _Harper's_ article (August 1993) on the lure of the big cultural event. In this case, the subject was the world's largest mall in Minneapolis, MN: The media encourage us to visit our megamall in the obligatory fashion we flock to _Jurassic Park_ -- because it is there, all glitter and glow, a piece of the terrain, a season's diversion, an assumption on the cultural landscape. All of us want to be in on the conversation and, despite ourselves, we will go. (54) I know that, all told, these games don't matter. Still, I will watch every play of the games which concern my favorite teams, and I will not feel ashamed (well, just a little bit). I feel a need to be a part of this "cultural dialogue," because this is televised sports at their best. Forget the pros, watch the kids play! Condolences go out to Anna and Janet on the loss of a friend, Murray C.