Representative

Fall                                                     Waxing Harvest Moon

Spent much of the day with stars in my eyes.  Literally.  After those damned dilating drops at the ophthalmologist.  However, my pressures are still below glaucoma level and the photographs of my retina show insignificant change.  The technician photographing my retinas kept saying, “Watch the green dot.  Your eye’s moving.  Watch the green dot.”  Well, geez.  I thought I was doing a damned good job of keeping my eye from doing its normal task, checking out those flashing lights to the left.  Apparently not good enough.  Anyhow.

Over to Cafe Ena, a Latin fusion restaurant, at the intersection of 46th and Grand for lunch with the docent outing crew.  I had mofongoed Yucca.  This involves pounding and cooking it in some way according to our waiter.

After lunch I walked with Allison and Jane MacKenzie from the Cafe to the Weinstein gallery.  Martin Weinstein, the gallery owner, introduced the current show of Robert Mapplethorpe, Alec Sloth and August Sanders portraits.  He represents Alec, a local boy now part of Magnum, and Robert Mapplethorpe’s estate.

Curious about the business side of gallery work, I asked Martin how representing an artist worked.  Turns out he ships art, packing and insuring it, both incoming and outgoing.  He frames all the pieces or arranges for them to be mounted.  He manages the three buildings that constitute his modest, spare gallery space, pays a woman to assist in the complex logistics of the business.  He also collaborates with museums to mount shows of his artists, mostly on his nickel.  In addition he mounts several shows a year with all the attendant costs, including a reception with wine and cheese, plus boarding and expenses for the artist.  This is all sunk cost, paid out long before any commissions come in from sales.

It is, he emphasized, “A very stressful business.  Always this coming, that going.”  Martin is a tall, slightly stooped man with a shock of white hair and round architect type glasses, thick ones.

The photographs were elegant, Martin was entertaining and there was a good turn out.  A fine afternoon.  Thanks, Allison.

Leaving Us, June Cleaver

Fall                                          Waxing Harvest Moon

That ol’ harvest moon has swollen past a half and has Jupiter as a pendant.  The jewelry that adorns our night makes the homogeneous light of day seem dull, unimaginative.

Two more signs of approaching old age:  June Cleaver dies at age 94.  Mr. Cunningham from Happy Days dies at age 83.  Oh, my.  Say it ain’t so, Beav.

Let There Be Lights

Fall                                               Waxing Harvest Moon

Speaking of money, I know about a good sale.  Lights on Broadway in Brooklyn Park is closing and they have really marked down their tremendous diversity of lighting products.  If you need any kind of lamp at all, it’s a good place and time to buy them.  Kate and I spent the morning there, finishing up some lighting choices we had left over from the remodel now some time ago.

After that, lunch at Khan’s Mongolian Barbecue.  Lunch with Kate is a date every time, dinner, too.  Our life together continues to unfold in new and positive ways.

No tour this week so I can hit the Latin hard.  I flagged off Greg last week because I just had too much to do, but I’ve finished Chapter 21 and will work tomorrow on Chapter 22.  Maybe get in a bit of work on the Metamorphosis.

I put this link in an e-mail to friends and I thought I’d add it here, too.  An amazing graphic presentation on scale from sizes below neutrinos all the way to local clusters of galaxies and beyond.  Scale of the Universe.

Weak Tea

Fall                                                   Waxing Harvest Moon

The tea party.  What a change that phrase has experienced from the days of 5 year old girls with their princess themed tea sets and imaginary tea.  Or, maybe not.  These folks seem to have a fantasy going, too, a party in which they serve a tea called small government that has no money, no responsibilities and no Democrats.  Now, I appreciate a good anarchist as much as anyone, but these folks seem to have missed the Bakunin/Kropotkin memo.  When you eliminate the guberment, a sentiment I was known to espouse in my youth, something must replace its function.  The anarchist solution was mutual aid, co-operation, co-operatives.  That is, individuals would band together and create systems that distributed wealth and power and therefore goods and services.  The trick here is that those systems would be run by individuals for the sake of the community.

This is different from the tea party notion of no taxation, ever, under any circumstances so I can continue adding to my bank vault.  Very different.  A libertarian may look like an anarchist and sound like an anarchist, but in fact they are stalking horses for the moneyed elite, eager to eliminate any and all impediments to the rapid and persistent collection of wealth.  Lots of just folks have taken up the tea party banner, also wanting the government out of their lives.  “Keep your hands off my social security and medicare!”  “Don’t mess with what goes in my schools!”  Oh, yeah and fix those damned roads.  And fight the terrorists.  Well, freedom from contradiction has never been a political virtue, no matter what stripe, but at least cover it up a little bit.

Here’s my read.  This is a populist uprising, one of many over the history of the US.  People are angry.  They’ve lost jobs, wealth, homes and dignity.  Somebody’s gotta pay and it’s gonna be political incumbents in this by-election.  It makes more sense to me to direct this anger at Wall Street, large corporations, bankers in particular, but government always shoulders the blame.

Why?  Because,  The government is our designated problem solver for collective problems.  I understand the angry flailing, since I did a lot of it when the government insisted on fighting in a 3,000 year old civil war in Vietnam, killing  thousands of Americans and Vietnamese.  Government is supposed to find solutions and when it can’t or won’t people get mad.  Democracy, or representative democracy like we have, is the solution to civil war when real problems and solutions divide us.  I can appreciate the desire to tar Washington and its career insiders with the brush of infamy.  It’s great fun and you meet lots of people while engaged in the act.

Yet when the tea party is done ranting and politicing and blustering, we will still have an economy in peril.  It will still be up to somebody to fix it and that somebody will be the Federal Government.  Instead of starving the beast, Reagan’s favorite tactic, we need to demand the government and corporate and financial sectors get serious about upgrading the lives of the former middle class, about finding work for all those for whom college education does not make sense.  The solution to these vexing and real problems:  unemployment, a widening gap between wealthy elite and poor everyone else, a sense there might be a lost generation, lies in a great coming together of us all, recognizing that each of us has a stake in the others success.  That to be strong we must do well by all our citizens.  That to be the beacon on the hill Reagan wanted us to be we must continue to offer hope to those who would immigrate here.  Will the Michele Bachmans of this political climate move us in that direction?  I don’t think so.

Warfarin for Mickey?

Fall                                                 Waxing Harvest Moon

A day made for bulb planting, fall clean up.  Kate worked out front pruning back the roses, spirea and decluttering.  I got started with 24 bulbs, a kaleidoscope mix of various tulip colors.  Tomorrow morning will find me back out there, kneeling in what passes for prayer these days, tucking small living things beneath the earth, feeding them and pulling the blanket back over their pointy little tops.

This is, too, the season when mice, content to feed outdoors during the growing season, return to the warmth and comfort of domestic life.  Kate gets exercised when she sees mouse droppings, so we put out the decon and the ropax.  Seems ornery on our part but spreading disease is on theirs. Wonder if Disney ever included warfarin in a Mickey Mouse cartoon?

Also bought some more half pint jars for honey, bulb food for a our winter sleepers, a snack when they wake up, a 50 pound and a 20 pound bag of dogfood, plus two bags of dog treats.

Saturday sort of stuff.

Grounded

Fall                                    Waxing Harvest Moon

As many readers know, my sister and brother live in Southeast Asia, Mary in Singapore and Mark in Bangkok.  It’s different for me.  Kate and I have lived in Andover, in the same house with potato670050210the same land, for 16 years. I’ve driven the same car for 15 years and Kate’s driven the same truck for 10.  I’ve now been married to Kate much longer than the total of my first two marriages:  22 years versus 15.  I’ve lived in Andover longer than anywhere else:  Oklahoma-2 years, Alexandria-15 years.  I’ve lived in this house far longer than any other residence.

This came up today when Kate and I headed out to lunch.  I feel a part of this land, as if it’s part of me and I of it.  But.  I don’t feel the same about Andover.  There’s no here, here.  I have no memories of school here or my children in school.  My political involvement has been limited, recently to being an election judge.  Andover doesn’t feel like home to me, though 3122 153rd Ave NW does.

You might say I live a grounded life, if not close to the soil, certainly in partnership with it.  Perhaps the uncertainty and turmoil in my late high school and immediate post-high school years lead me to seek some stasis, I don’t know.  What I do know is that with Kate and with this land I have made a home.  And I’m glad.

Weekend Delights

Fall                            Waxing Harvest Moon

Ah, the weekend.  It came just in time for me this week.  Much to do and now some calm, free time in which to do it.

Ray, the Andover senior who mows our yard, raked leaves on Thursday, so I have bags o’ mulch sitting on the patio.  It’s way better than seed-filled hay.  Wish I could find some marsh hay, but the leaves will work well, too.

Bulbs today.  Kate and I plan to discuss bulb placement, then I’m going to go to work.  Also this weekend, writing the future of liberal thought, or Liberalism:  III.  Lots of ideas swirling around, gonna have to corral’em and find homes for them in a structure that makes some kind of sense.  Looking forward to that.

Writing always pulls me in, usually makes me happy.

The Limits of Rationality

Fall                                           Waxing Harvest Moon

Gave Liberal II this morning.  Lot of conversation, a little consternation.  Best piece was a conversation with Ian Boswell, the music director.  We discussed the limits of rationality and the integration of reason and soulfulness that great music represents.  He pointed to the late sonatas of Beethoven.  This has given me food for thought for Liberal III:  The Future.

The Tao of Liberal Thought

Fall                                        Waxing Harvest Moon

Art to me is an anecdote of the spirit, and the only means of making concrete the purpose of its varied quickness and stillness.
Mark Rothko

Another brush stroke about contemporary art and the future of liberal thought.  Given Mark Rothko as the exemplar of the link between liberal thought’s future and the radical rethinking of Western art he represents for me I will extend the metaphor one large leap further.  The future of liberal thought has a cathedral.  It is in Houston, Texas and the photo at right is of its exterior.  I’ve not visited it, but it is on my list and it stays in my imagination as a sacred place of the always contemporary spirit.

The interior is a quiet space, reserved as the website says, “as an intimate sanctuary available to people of every belief.”    Funded by Houston philanthropists its interior contains multiple canvases painted by Mark Rothko, hence its designation, the Rothko Chapel.  It is not its dedication to people of every belief that makes it a cathedral to the future of liberal, rather it is Rothko’s commitment to seeking truth through a leveling of old forms and the bravery to rethink and rexperience something so fundamental as art.  This chapel gives form to a new way of finding the future, a way, a tao, that does not flinch at change, takes nothing for granted, perceives no one, no institution, no book as a final authority save the open and always unfolding book of our universe.

Imagine your inner cathedral lined with the somber, blue paintings.  Imagine a small black tiled floor and a simple leather cushion set on a metal plate.  Now go and sit upon the cushion, clear your mind and your heart and allow your Self to speak to you through the painting.  Whatever it says to you is the path you need to follow.

Here’s another way of thinking about this.  Each progenitor of a new faith tradition, from the Buddha to Lao Tse, Jesus to Mohammed, each had a liberal approach to the questions of human spiritual longing.  Each one.  They were in their historical moment, raised in a particular faith tradition, taught its comprehensiveness, its completeness, its sufficiency.  They each went deep into their faith tradition and found it wanting.  They did not step back and say, no, these are thoughts that must not be; they did not say, no, our tradition will reveal itself to me if I only wait longer.  No.  They did not leave on their shoulders a cloak that no longer fit, a cloak that had, in fact, come to chafe.  Each of them, from Abraham to Zoroaster, stepped out from beneath the overhang of the past and dared commit themselves to an alternative, an uncertain future.

This is our responsibility, the great possibility that lies before as liberals approaching the holy wells of human understanding.  We, too, can throw off the cloak of former beliefs that has come to chafe and replace it with a walking staff for the way is long.  In the old Celtic Christian faith, the Christianity that preceded Rome in the British Isles, the monks had a form of spirituality called peregrenatio, literally wandering around.  The walking staff of personal responsibility will keep you company as you wander on the way, traveling from hut to hut, open to the hospitality available where ever you come to rest.  This is the future of liberal thought and it may be your future.

Questioning the Questioners

Fall                                          Waxing Harvest Moon

An idea keeps nudging its way forward and I want to get just a bit of it on paper, or in print, or bytes.

The Future of Liberal Thought.  Is equivalent to the struggle over the last century and especially since WWII to define what art is.  That is, a shaking of the foundation, eliminating beauty and traditional forms like painting and sculpture, at least as they had been perceived, to run out in the desert of unknowing.  Saving art by killing it.  If you meet the artist on the road, kill him.

The paintings that capture this notion for me are those of Mark Rothko.  Compare this piece to the Mannerist, Baroque and Neo-Classical works.  Is it of the same tradition?  Does it have the same aim, the same desire?  What of the artist?  What was he thinking?  Or, was he thinking at all?

Just so.  Consider.  The Holocaust.  The Armenian genocide.  WWI.  WWII.  Korea.  Vietnam.  The Great Depression.  Mass starvation, drought, despair.  The cold war.  The rise and fall of the United Soviet Socialist Republic.  Quantum mechanics.  Relativity.  Godel.  Wittgenstein.  The decoding of the human genome.  The discovery of planets in other solar systems.  Manned flight to the moon.  Men and women shuttling regularly between earth and the heavens.

The death of God.

Well.  How do we approach the questions of meaning, the questions often called religious questions?  How do we approach them in light of scientific, cultural, political and economic changes?  Are these changes so momentous that they demand a break with our religious past, a break similar (the same?) in kind to the radical artistic movements of the 20th century?  I think so.

Anyhow, this is where I’m headed.  More.  Later.