Seaghbough Says...

J.M.W. Turner: Rain, Steam, and Speed

2007-02-04T00:23:00.001+01:00

Seaghbough says... "It's impossible to travel faster than the speed of light, and certainly not desirable, as one's hat keeps blowing off."
- Woody Allen

J.M.W. Turner: Rain, Steam, and Speed (1844)

Progressive historians view history as if it is a forward march. History for the progressive historian is a narrative. Thus, history presumably has a beginning, a middle, and an end. However, it is precisely because of this view, that progressive history is roundly criticized. Indeed, every time a historian starts writing about the "end of history" some great upheaval occurs which forces humanity to reconsider where it is and what it is doing.

Such was the case at end of the 1990's when some economic historians were writing that the success of the American stock market (which really only affected about 20% of the U.S. population directly anyway) was representative of the "end of history." That is, the U.S. business community had figured it all out - deregulation and lax corporate governance principles had resulted in an "end state" where companies would just continue to make ever increasing profits.

Obviously this was a total fantasy. First, because it ignored the situation of the vast majority of the country, whose real wages have stagnated or declined since the 1970's. Second, because scandals like WorldCom and Enron showed, in stark detail, just what a fantasy this "end of history" really was. The aftermath of these scandals left corporate America reexamining itself. And, with the passage of the Sarbanes-Oxley Bill of 2003, the movement is now in the opposite direction from the "end state" of the 1990's of deregulation and lax principles towards active government involvement and robust corporate governance standards. In sum, the "end state" of the 1990's was not an "end state" at all, but merely one more period in history which drastically changed. Such is the central fallacy of progressive history. Something always comes along to change the way things are. Indeed, it is one of these moments of great change that is highlighted in Turner's Rain, Steam, and Speed.

The vehicle of change which Turner was depicting was, of course, the steam locomotive. To say that the railroad changed the way people traveled is an understatement. It sped up everything. Trips that once took days, now took hours. Refrigerated rail cars and quick transport allowed meat and dairy suppliers to take over nationwide markets. Military commanders could quickly bring up reinforcements from the countryside and smash city-centered rebellions (like those of mid-19th century in Europe), or turn the tide of battle.

Turner's painting highlights this speed. At first glance, one can barely make out that the central figure in the painting is a locomotive at all. Only upon closer examination does this become apparent, as if the train is moving at such speed that even its identification is difficult. Furthermore, the locomotive stands in stark contrast to the barely visible river vessel off to the lower left of the painting - a form of transportation that is literally being passed over. Moreover, the entire painting has a hazy, ethereal feel to it (as most Turner paintings do). This only adds to the feeling of speed one gets from the painting, as if Turner is capturing the few hazy seconds in which one can even see the locomotive, before it disappears in a puff of smoke.

Turner, therefore, saw the momentous change that the steam locomotive represented. Turner, whose subjects had so often been ships - the sole means of transport in his early life - now, in the last years of his life, witnessed the coming of a historic giant - a machine that would change everything. It is not surprising, then, that we, as Turner must have, sit in awe of its power.

Children of Men

2007-02-03T09:49:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... "Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men."
- Psalm 90:3

It was difficult for me to start working on this blog again. I had a lot of things to do, and I know not many people read it, so I started thinking, what's the point? And, once the creative juices began to dry up (they were only trickling in the first place) it was easy to let them stop altogether.

So it could be said for interests and causes generally. It is always easier to sit back and become hypnotized by routine - snacking on potato chips and watching television - rather than hitting the streets, handing out leaflets or engaging our neighbors. I find it difficult to fault people too strongly for such sloth. First, because I am guilty of it myself, despite the lofty progressive rhetoric which I voice regularly. Second, because it so often feels like we have no power, no ability to change the world. At the end of the day, we have accomplished nothing more than another eight-hour cycle at work, a ball-game or sitcom, and maybe a couple beers. Depression washes over us.

The real tradgedy, though, is that so often we cannot even recognize the source of our malaise. Even if we do, we are reminded that we are not supposed to be bothered by it. If it feels like work is the source, we are reminded that we're nothing but lazy Americans. If it is loneliness, we are reminded that the way to popularity is through the trendiest fashions, and name brand drinks. If it is politics, we are reminded that we should not "hate America" and that patriotism is the utmost virtue. The source of our depression is hidden beyond our grasp, but the real mind-bending twist is that even if we can grasp it, we are told that we should not. So, we follow instructions and zone-out, hypnotized by fashionable consumption and celebrity gossip. We are left saying,

In sooth I know not why I am so sad, It wearies me: you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne, I am to learne

Such is the ethos of the film Children of Men. The year is 2027. For unknown reasons no children have been conceived since 2009, and our hero, Theo (Clive Owen), along with the rest of Britain, struggles to hold his life together as the world falls apart around his ears. The other major industrial powers have collapsed due (one can only speculate) to nuclear war, or nuclear terror (a news update reports that this is day 1000 of the "Siege of Seattle"). The British government, desperate to cling to its power, has become a quasi-police state, broadcasting over the BBC that while the other great powers have fallen, "only Britain soldiers on." Thousands of refugees, who fled to Britain, are hunted down and rounded up by the British authorities, who place them in cages before shipping them off to foul internment camps.

Theo, a low-level bureaucrat, still mourning the loss of his own son to natural causes some years ago, is kidnapped by a terrorist organization, "The Fishes," only to find that his ex-wife is one of their primary leaders. She charges him with a seemingly simple mission. Theo must use his family political connections to obtain traveling papers and transport to the west coast for a single refugee girl, Kee (Claire-Hope Ashitey). There, Kee is to be contacted by the enigmatic "Human Project" and taken to safety. Kee, as it turns out, is pregnant, making her humanity's last hope for (indefinite) survival.

The film is replete with themes and symbolism. Anyone born into western culture will immediately pick up on the Christian archetypes in the film (indeed, the original book was described as a "Christian fable" by its author). Kee is Mary. Her child is the savior. Thankfully the film's director, Alfonso Cuaron pokes fun at these themes from time to time, and avoids making the film the heavy Christian allegory that the book is. For example, in one scene, Theo asks Kee who the father is, to which she replies, "there isn't a father... no just kidding, but that would be wicked, though." In fact, she does not know who the father is, not because she is so Christian-pure that she was immaculately impregnated, but because she has slept with so many men that she can't even guess who might have fathered the child. Thus, Cuaron's effectively utilizes Christian symbolism, yet simultaneously provides much needed comic relief and momentary breaks from the film's extraordniarily dark subject matter.

In addition to the Christian symbols, the film has many unmistakable references to current events. Indeed, this is where the film is most powerful. In other reviews, critics claim to have been touched by the movie because the events depicted therein seem like a frighteningly plausible future result of current events. However, the film's real power is derived from its provocative depiction of current events. Any scene in the movie could have easily been shot in our present, depending on where one were to film. This is intentional. Cuaron shows us all the sins of the present, using a future dystopia as his vehicle.

For example, when Theo and Kee are captured and being processed into a refugee camp, one can see several refugees being tortured and humiliated in the background; one man even stands in a pose resembling the photo of Satar Jabar taken during the Abu Gharib scandal. It's an overt attempt on Cuaron's part to demonstrate all of the shameful behavior carried out on behalf of the "War on Terror." Another poignant scene occurs when the refugee camp that Theo and Kee have been sent to erupts into violence. Armed men walk the streets, shouting, "Allahu Akbar!," carrying green banners with Arabic lettering, and marching past Arabic graffiti reading, "Intifada." These, of course, are scenes that anyone has seen if they have watched ten minutes of CNN coverage of the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict. However, Cuaron attaches a special meaning to such a scene by actually showing you the destitute conditions in the refugee camp. In so doing, he actually creates some level of sympathy for the Palestinian refugees which he is emulating, and simultaneously damns the Western media for consistently failing to portray this side of the conflict. Finally, in yet another nod to current events, Cuaron's refugee uprising only ends with the leveling of the city with military aircraft, reminiscent of the destruction of Fallujah in 2004.

In all, the film presents a world that is only a shadowy reflection of our own. The upper middle class is depressed, hypnotized by fashionable consumption and celebrity worship (the film begins with crowds mourning the death of "Baby Diego," the youngest person in the world - his life measured out in minutes). They walk around in a dirty, trash filled metropolis, dodging the occasional cafe bombing and wondering whether or not to take "Quietus," a government administered self-euthanasia kit. Not surprisingly, the poor and the helpless are exploited, humiliated, and abused. And, rather than having their plight portrayed as it should be by the news media, they are instead labeled "illegals" and "terrorists" and eventually bombed into obliteration.

In perhaps the most important scene in the movie, Theo visits his cousin, an upper-level bureaucrat, who, as chance would have it, managed to acquire Michelangelo's David from the ruins of Florence. The statue, though missing a leg, is in otherwise pristine condition, and now sits in his front parlor. But, of course, we as the audience realize how absolutely absurd this is. As scholar Slavoj Zizek points out in his commentary on the film, in a world without a useful future, what's the point of having what society considers one of the most beautiful works of art? It means nothing without historic context, and without a future, there is no history. Thus, David, maybe the greatest sculpture ever produced, becomes just another meaningless commodity for Theo's cousin to collect. Theo puts it rather well. In reference to the statue, he says "My mom had a plastic one in the bathroom. It was a lamp." His cousin's is no more valuable.
The world of Children of Men is a world without hope. Is the same true of our world? Are we so far off the rails that our present can only lead to such a reprehensible future? We know not why we are sad. We cannot identify the agent of our depression, just as the characters in Cuaron's film cannot identify the source of their infertility. When we do, we're encouraged to shop our troubles away, or numb our feelings with prozac and alcohol. It wearies us, and if feels like we cannot do anything about it.

Like Cuaron's David, we are standing on one leg.

J.M.W. Turner: The Slave Ship

2007-01-26T01:36:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... Bricktop had it right.

Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying - Typhon Coming On (The Slave Ship), J.M.W. Turner, (1840)

Romantic painting is generally characterized by an emphasis on emotionally intense images, usually connected with nature. Often the Romantic artist will use color or brush stroke to create a dream like atmosphere where the viewer is left more with a sense of an event rather than a "realistic" depiction of it. Indeed, romantic artists often utilize dreams and nightmares as the setting of their works to emphasize just such intangible sensations - a kind of "nightmarish reality," as it were. It is within just such a nightmarish setting that one of J.M.W. Turner's greatest masterpieces, The Slave Ship, is framed.

The slave trade was an immensely profitable business. As a result, slavers often insured their human cargo. Slavers would collect on their insurance policies if the slaves died from drowning, but not if the slaves died due to disease or as a result of other inhuman conditions aboard slave vessels. Consequently, in order to achieve maximum profits, it was common practice to throw dead and dying slaves overboard, drowning them or allowing them to be devoured by the sea's creatures.

Turner depicts just such a scene in The Slave Ship. However, in the Romantic fashion, Turner emphasizes the scene's "nightmarish reality." The slavers have cast overboard the dead and dying to be devoured by sea creatures. However, Turner's creatures are not mere fish, but ravenous, ghastly monsters. Ascended from the deep they seek only to gorge on human flesh in a grisly feeding frenzy. In depicting the sea creatures in this way, Turner emphasizes the horrific nature of the event. [Indeed, one might say that what the slavers have done is so horrible that in a way it is beyond reality - that is, the reality is too nightmarish to be depicted "realistically." The cruelty of the slavers' actions is beyond a normal, moral person's comprehension. Thus, the depth of the slavers' cruelty is only comprehensible by depicting the scene in Turner's nightmarish fashion.]

To add to this horrific effect, Turner angles the painting's horizon in such a way that it is difficult for the viewer to properly orient himself to it. Tilting the horizon is something that would later be emulated in motion pictures through the use of a "Dutch Angle" - a deliberate tilting of the camera that distorts the viewer's perception in order to create a feeling of discomfort and disorientation. Turner's use of just such an angular distortion increases the viewer's discomfort and further enhances the nightmarish qualities of the painting.

Additionally, Turner's use of color and brush stroke convey a feeling of menace as well as foreshadow the coming judgment awaiting the slavers. As the slavers conclude their despicable act and turn their ship towards port and profit, they face the coming storm. With the storm, Turner's sky turns from a hazy white, to a light ochre, to a deep red, and finally to a raven black. Soon the slave ship will be swept up by nature's judgment aganst them. The storm will soon capsize the slave ship itself, and the slavers will suffer the same fate as those they have just condemned to death. Nature's retribution will be complete. The meaning of this message would not have been lost on Turner's contemporaries. Turner is stating that the slavers are criminals. They have not just violated nature's law, but God's law as well. Thus, Turner alludes not only to nature's fury at the slavers' transgressions, but also God's fury. Turner is therefore warning his contemporaries of the vengeance that awaits not only those slavers here portrayed, but also all those who partake in their villainous trade.

I Heart Huckabees: For Aimee

2007-01-25T19:00:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... I heart I Heart Huckabees

The word "existential" makes me cringe. It's one of the favorite terms of the pretentious dilettante who trots out ten cent words (like "dilettante") in order to cover his razor thin knowledge of the subject of discussion. So, when my friend Aimee suggested we watch I Heart Huckabees, an "existential comedy," I was as reluctant to watch it as a prestidigitator is to explicate his legerdemain.

But, I Heart Huckabees is a great film, precisely because it's anything but pretentious. Its subject matter, the existential crisis, is perhaps one of the most difficult topics in literature to comprehend, yet director David O. Hickman manages to make it understandable while making us laugh along the way.

If you've ever had the pleasure (or misfortune) to delve into existential literature you know that while intriguing and introspective, it can be quite confusing. Often it takes place in a setting alien to us and under circumstances to which we have difficulty relating ("Why did that Gregor guy turn into a bug again?"). It is these unusual idiosyncrasies of the genre that make existential literature so difficult to understand. Indeed, the difficulty can be so profound as to be overwhelming; leading us to question whether or not to go forward with our reading at all, let alone plumb its depths for meaning. It is ironic then, that existentialist literature begets this miniature existentialist crisis of its own - i.e., the literature itself is alienating, and leads us to question the worth of the work itself! (What's the point of plodding through another page of Satre's Nausea, if we aren't going to understand a bit of it anyway?)

It is here that Hickman's I Heart Huckabees comes in. It aids in our own miniature literary crises while positing its own questions and answers to the classic existential one. Jason Schwartzman plays an environmental activist fighting the hostile takeover of his organization by the suave corporate sycophant, Jude Law, and his beautiful, but vapid spokesmodel wife, Naomi Watts. Able to save only a single rock in a large marsh, Schwartzman begins to question his own role in the universe. Will anything he does matter? Can he make a difference? Spurned by these questions and chance encounters with a tall Sudanese bellhop (Ger Duany), Schwartzman seeks out the zen existentialist detectives, Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman, to help him sort out his life. Along his journey of self-discovery Schwartzman meets his "other" (Mark Wahlberg), a man struggling with the same questions, as well as Isabelle Huppert, the nihilist counterpart to the Tomlin/Hoffman team.

While Schwartzman confronts these profound questions, he experiences hope, crushing failure, and betrayal. As he struggles, Schwartzman is pulled between the zen belief in universal interconnectedness of the Tomlin/Hoffman team and the abject nihilism of Huppert. As Schwartzman vacillates, Hickman skillfully explains the bases of both philosophies as well as their appeal and challenges us to reconcile them and find our own bit of truth.

What is truly amazing about the film, however, is not Hickman's confrontation of these deep questions (they've been dealt with before), but his ability to do so in such an efficient and comical fashion.

Hickman rightly eschews excessive cinematic flair. Most of the camera work consists of two shots and otherwise standard framing. The film's only cinematic "tricks," computer generated dream sequences and distortions, productively aid in the film's explication. Indeed, throughout it feels as though not a single frame of film is wasted.

All the performances are first rate. Law and Watts balance their characters perfectly, eliciting both laughs and empathy. Schwartzman, Tomlin, Hoffman, and Wahlberg are equally entertaining. However, Huppert is the real stand-out, imbuing her character with just the right amount of menace, Parisian flair, and comic relief.

All of these elements unite to create an imminently enjoyable film that tackles difficult, complicated questions, but never alienates its audience by becoming overly pretentious. I Heart Huckabees shows that existentialism can be sad, funny, and enlightening and it doesn't take a graduate student to understand its philosophical underpinnings. Hickman succeeds in showing us that we can gain something worthwhile from its study, and the deeper we delve into questions about our own existence, the greater the truth we can discover. In this way, Hickman helps us solve our own miniature literary crisis and simultaneously opens the door for us to confront the larger crises of our everyday lives.

The Propaganda of Protest

2007-01-25T11:42:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... what does it mean to hate hate?

William Lloyd Garrison was one of the most prolific and radical abolitionists of the three decades that preceded the American Civil War. To Garrison, the Constitution was a pro-slavery document. Because the document's institutions (i.e. the Presidency, Congress) were built on immoral foundations, those institutions were illegitimate. For Garrison, it was immoral to participate in them in any form. To hold political office or vote, even in furtherance of the abolitionist cause, was to endorse those institutions, and thus be a part of their wickedness.

Needless to say, Garrison had his detractors. Most notable among them was the gifted young orator, Frederick Douglass. Douglass, who had initially viewed Garrison as a mentor and political ally, broke with Garrison's radical beliefs in 1851, announcing at a meeting in Syracuse that the Constitution could be "wielded in behalf of emancipation." Thus, Douglass was willing to be more pragmatic than his former advisor, seeking immediate gains, not radical idealism. Garrison was unable to forgive his former follower's dissent. A rift developed between the two men that remained for the next twelve years. They would not reconcile until mid-way through the Civil War.

The same kind of disagreements permeate radical politics to this day. How pragmatic can one be without sacrificing one's morality? This question is thus doubly appropriate for the producers of radical propaganda. How far can those involved in radical propaganda twist facts and use inflammatory media in order to push their political agenda before losing the moral high ground?

Unfortunately, this is a question that begs the use of the academic escape hatch - i.e "It's a fine line." Considering the extent to which the government and mass media pump out their version of the facts, 24-hours a day, across the airwaves, why should the radical left be concerned about disseminating objective information? On the other hand, the radical left risks being dragged down into a mudslinging campaign which they currently cannot win (they will be out-spent and shouted down), and to which the ultimate result may be that average Americans throw up their hands, declare the "debate" to be a wash and completely tune out, leaving the status quo in power.

A fine line, indeed. In the end, however, no political affiliation seems able to permanently avoid the allure of propaganda, even one that stakes its claim on the moral high-ground. At some point the pragmatist in every person takes control, and the ends are simply too tantalizing to refuse, regardless of the means employed. Consider this, when Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863, despite its political parentage, both Douglass and Garrison wholeheartedly praised the document. The two men reconciled shortly thereafter.

Prototypical Propaganda

2007-01-25T09:14:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... "See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda."

- George W. Bush

This is hardly the most threatening piece of propaganda produced by the Third Reich. Its caption, "giving helps construct youth hostels and homes," does not exactly evoke images of storm troopers marching across Poland or Nazi death camps. However, this one work might be one of the most important propaganda pieces produced by the Nazi regime. It sums up, in one work, several themes that permeate nearly all of Nazi propaganda.

First, the work makes a clear reiteration of the fascist aesthetic. Here we have a beautiful, fit, white, blond youth; the prototypical young Nazi. Her hair is pulled down into braids, evoking traditional German forms of dress. (Traditional dress was greatly honored by the Nazis as creating a connection back to a traditional "Germaness" free from foreign/Jewish taint - See Leni Riefenstahl's, Triumph des Willens [1935].) In addition to her traditional hair style, she is dressed in the uniform of the Bund Deutscher Madel (German Girls' League), emphasizing rank and order. Thus, the work is saying that your change will not only go to construct youth hostels, but also will construct a German, racially pure, ordered state.

Second, the work demonstrates the Reich's ruthless willingness to mobilize its youth. The Nazi regime encouraged all Germans to get involved in strengthening the Reich, but it was particularly aggressive in mobilizing the younger members of society. In 1936, membership in the Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth) was made mandatory for all boys between 15 and 18 (boys between 10 and 14 could join the Jungvolk). Objecting to a child's participation in the organization could be grounds for removal of the child from the home. In the Hitlerjugend, boys learned semaphore, military drills, and took part in grueling cross-country hikes (a 20 mile hike was considered routine). Girls younger than 14 could join the Jungmadel, and at 14 they entered the Bund Deutscher Madel. This organization required a year of farm or domestic service. Though the stated purpose of the organizations, building a greater Germany, etc. was repeated often, but the real purpose behind the organizations was obvious. Boys were to be soldiers, and girls were to be bear as many children as possible to create more boys. The above work effectively evokes the stated purpose of the organizations while evades aunnecessaryary mention of their true purpose.

Third, the work, like much of the contemporary Nazi propaganda, attempts to reconcile one of the patent inconsistencies in Nazi dogma - the role of women. On the one hand, Nazi dogma portrayed women as strong individuals. (See Leni Riefenstahl's Olympia [1938]) Indeed, Riefenstahl herself, one of the Reich's most famous actors and filmmakers, was seen as a possible archetype for the modern German female; an influential, successful, professional woman. Yet, this strength was in direct conflict with the stated Nazi message that women were to stay at home and bear children. This inconsistency was resolved by channeling female strength back into the home. Thus, Nazi propaganda will often portray women as strong individuals, yet taking part in some kind of domestic role - suckling the babe, or smiling along with a racially pure family. The above work is no different. Pictured is an active young girl, but she is only active in so far as she is taking part in the Bund Deutscher Madel. There she will learn no more than how to work on a farm or in the household. Female strength is channeled back into the homestead.

Man, those guns.

2007-01-24T09:17:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says...
"'What? They have bigger dicks? Bomb them!' And of course, the bombs, the rockets, and the bullets are all shaped like penises. Phallic weapons. There's an unconscious need to project the national penis into the affairs of others. It's called fucking with people."

- George Carlin

Ah, the well oiled, muscular body of the United States seaman ramming home his enormous cartridge. And, the U.S. armed forces have a "don't ask don't tell" policy?

Whatever the nation might be, its leadership never wants to appear weak. These leaders also often want "credibility" abroad (i.e. a tacit understanding that they mean what they say). These desires often lead to a demonstration of national strength and virility, usually in the form of a war. Thus, this national militant ethos, when expressed in war-time propaganda, easily translates into the phallic symbols Carlin speaks of - sweaty soldiers discharging their elongated cartridges into one another, penis shaped bombs being disseminated from tubular airplanes, or, like in the above work, a stiff metal cartridge being rammed home by its ultra-virile proprietor.

But, the above image functions on levels beyond just pointing out the pervasive latent homosexuality of all-male armed conflict. The sailor's nakedness also demonstrates his organic unity with his fellow sailors, as well as the nation-state. His body is a symbol of "what we want." It is the archetype of soldierly perfection - virile, aggressive strength. Stripped of clothing, the subject is naturally at one with his fellow soldiers and his nation. His individuality is broken down and a sense of unity is evoked (i.e. "We work so well together that we're comfortable with our shirts off.").

The sailor's body also acts as a model for the war-time state. His body acts with strength and vitality, as well as with aggression - paradigms of the war-time state. Additionally, the head, like the government, rules the body, compelling the body's individual parts to work as a whole. The body is also in perfect physical condition, free from disease and contamination - just like the ideal body politic is free from all dissent and subversive elements. Thus, the body functions as the model for the war-time state (and for the peace-time state depending on how much you believe fascist ideology pervades U.S. politics).

These works were produced at the height of World War II, the most massive war in history, which created the most efficient war-time economy and most powerful state in history, the United States. This was the period in which the United States was at the pinnacle of its strength and vitality. Thus, it is not surprising that the central image in these pieces of American war propaganda is a giant penis.

Rene Magritte: Les Amants I&II: Love Is a Murder... A Mystery of Sorts

2007-01-24T07:24:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... Southeast Engine was on to something.

Les Amants (The Lovers) I & II, Rene Magritte (1928)

Surrealism ("above reality") has characteristics that make it similar to Romanticism. Artists of both styles seek to give a sensory impression of events not observable with the naked eye. Additionally, both often use dreams and fantasies as their settings and generally avoid adherence to Classic forms of composition (e.g. no "triangular" form to the painting). Turner's, The Slave Ship (1840), a Romantic work, is a good example of the similarity between the two styles. (See also, Henry Fuseli's aptly titled The Nightmare [1781-1782].)

However, there are also differences between the two styles. One difference is their temporal location in history. Romanticism is a product of early 18th and mid-19th century, whereas Surrealism began after the First World War. Additionally, Romanticism is usually considered to be a response to the Neo-Classic emphasis on form and emotional control. Surrealism, however, has its roots in psychology and rebellion against pre-World War I rationalism. For the Surrealist, the subconscious, rather than nature, is the wellspring of unfettered creativity. Thus, whereas Romantic painters will often create a distortion of the natural, observable world (e.g., landscapes, seascapes), Surrealists will often take their subject matter from the mundane, focusing on shocking juxtapositions of everyday objects, rather than on distortions of the observable world. As Andre Breton, publisher of The Surrealist Manifesto, stated, Surrealism was a means of reuniting the everyday world and the world of dreams and fantasies into "an absolute reality, a surreality." These shocking juxtapositions were often used by the Belgian artist, Rene Magritte, and are present in his works Les Amants (The Lovers), I & II (1928).

The setting of the first work is what appears to be a family vacation photo - the couple warmly embraces in front of the sea and rolling hills. The second work shows the couple joining in a tender kiss. Out of this mundanity, Magritte shocks the viewer by shrouding his subjects in white cloth - thwarting the observer's expectation of normalcy. Magritte's use of these shrouds in Les Amants has been interpreted in many different ways.

One interpretation is that the shrouds are symbols for the adage that "love is blind." The truly devoted lover would recognize his soulmate in any form. Therefore, the lovers' facial features are their least important attribute. True love fills in the emptiness of the shroud. Another interpretation is that Magritte was fascinated by FantAmas, the anti-hero of the French novel and cinema series. FantAmas always appeared disguised with a cloth or stocking over his head, like the figures in Les Amants. A third interpretation is that the paintings represent Magritte's mother. When Magritte was fourteen, his mother committed suicide. Following her footsteps to the river Sambre, Magritte found her body which was naked apart from the nightgown which had become wrapped around her face. In Les Amants, the shrouds pull against the figures' faces, possibly indicating suffocation and death. (See also L'historie centrale, below.)

There is evidence that undermines all of these interpretations. The first interpretation is undermined by some of Magritte's other works, including L'histoire centrale (The Central Story) (1927) [left] and L'invention de la vie (The Invention of Life) (1927-1928). In both of these works, the subjects are shrouded in white cloth, but neither features the male/female couple that was featured in Les Amants, thus undermining the idea that the shrouds represent that "love is blind." Magritte's dedication of his paintings to the FantAmas character seems unlikely as well. FantAmas is a heinous, criminal madman (FantAmas refills the perfume dispensers at a Parisian department store with sulfuric acid in one story). Thus, FantAmas' violently dark presence in rather warm (though disturbing) scenes like Les Amants seems unlikely. The final interpretation of the painting, though supported by the underlying historical evidence, is undermined by the ideals of Surrealism and Magritte's own statements. While influenced by psychology, the Surrealists viewed the human unconscious as the well of creativity, not a mystery to be deconstructed and solved. Magritte, himself disliked interpretations which detracted from the mystery of his works, and considered his paintings a "defiance of common sense," representing more than the neuroses of the artist. Thus, perhaps as intended, Les Amants I & II manage to deftly avoid any critical deconstructions aimed at either work.

American Football

2007-01-24T01:20:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... Better than watching Brian Bosworth getting pummeled by Bo Jackson.

I've read a couple of the short reviews of American Football that you can find out on the web. Some are concerned that these youthful bleeding hearts might be too quickly labeled as "emo." Believe me, they're emo. In fact, they are about as emo as you can get - singing about high school summer romances that have to end when vacation is over. Does puppy love get any more syrupy-sweet?

American Football is undoubtedly emo, but it's emo at its best. Yes, they trot out all of the cliches - unrequited love, tough breakups, "could have" and "should-have-beens." But, that's what emo is all about, and if it is done right, it can strike a chord with the audience (reminding them of the time they wanted to call up the five-year-ex and talk about giving the most disastrous relationship in history another chance). American Football does it right.

All of the songs on both American Football (the band's one and only full-length) and Five Silent Miles (three-track EP) are nicely layered. All the guitar riffs pleasantly swell and cycle back on one another. The same is true of the vocals, though to a less pleasing effect (the voice alterations occasionally push what are already drippingly sappy songs into uber-cheese). The drumming adds the necessary beats and proper fills. A trumpet is even thrown occasionally for good measure, though it often feels like an attempt to escape the emo label. No individual part of American Football's sound is spectacular. Collectively, however, the sound manages to convey the perfect amount of wistfulness, punctuated by high school angst. As a bonus, their full-length, American Football, is properly organized and crescendos nicely; its emotional power culminating in its last and strongest track, "The One with the Wurlitzer." (I have yet to hear emo done so perfectly as this one song.)

It's emo, yes. That means for some, it is reflexively bad. Normally I wouldn't dispute the point. This planet needs another balding, chest-thumping, intellectual-glasses-wearing, button-sporting, hipster band like it needs another world war. But, in the case of American Football, I'm inclined to disagree. It's emo. But, it's emo done right.

Hey, at least it's not "screamo."

Cage and Gregg Spence

2007-01-24T00:10:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... a gem from the Gem City.

You probably have no idea who Gregg Spence is. That is fine. A lot of people wouldn't recognize the name of the town he was from, let alone the man.

Spence was a longtime resident of Dayton, Ohio, an unassuming mid-western city of roughly 170,000, that also just happens to be the place where the 1995 Bosnia Peace Accords were signed, and powered flight was invented. Spence was an unassuming personality. He was reserved, eschewed widespread fame, and yet, like the city that he was from, was more than he appeared to be. Spence was liked by all who knew him, was a talented singer-songwriter, and was an integral part of at least three Dayton bands, including Cage, The Mulchmen and Real Lulu.

Spence and Co. spent a good deal of time between 1995 and 2000 putting out the mainstream alternative music which during that time was still at the apex of its popularity (though would soon wane following the suicide of Kurt Cobain in 1994, and continuing commercialization of grunge, and the reemergence of bubble-gum pop).

Cage only put out one full-length album, Magnificent Propaganda Opportunity. But, that album arguably captures the ethos of 90's alternative rock better than any other album (outside of the Nirvana collection). The album starts out with "60-watt Sanity," a burst of feedback that seems to foreshadow the short lived "noise-rock" infatuation of the late 90's (with songs like Blur's "Song 2") and simultaneously echoes earlier grunge rock like Nirvana's Bleach. Magnificent Propaganda Opportunity continues with the similar sounding "Refill," but then takes surprising turns with "Edge of the World" and "Return to Cold;" powerful ballads about commercialization and making deals with the devil (how appropriate). The album even dips into the comical with "A Light that Failed" - a one part spoken word, one part physics/philosophy lesson.

The album brings together the distorted melodies of the Nirvana generation, off-key, proto-Rainer Maria vocals, and some light-hearted fun - summing up an era of musical rebellion and good feelings that the upper 20% of the population enjoyed during the so-called "Clinton Recovery" of the late 90's. It was a time when the problems of the nation did appear to extend beyond an occasional tomahawk cruise missile strike, or psychotic post-man. It was a time before every subject was politicized and colored by the threat of terrorism. Magnificent Propaganda Opportunity somehow manages to capture this 90's zeitgeist and spin it out again in a compact 14 tracks.

Surprisingly, following the creative success of Magnificent Propaganda Opportunity, Cage never put out another full-length album. However, Cage, like Spence and like Dayton, was more than the sum of its parts. The band never gained widespread notoriety, and as the homegrown alternative movement was increasingly stolen, packaged, and resold to America's youth, Cage's importance in the musical community became increasingly marginalized. Yet, Cage managed to capture, in one album, the feeling of a movement at its apex - mainstream alternative rock at its best.

It is just so disappointing that like the artistic movement which it represented, Cage can never be again. On Friday, January 21, 2000, Gregg Spence died after a nine-month fight with stomach cancer.

Albrecht Altdorfer: The Battle of Issus

2007-01-18T07:34:00.000+01:00

Seaghbough says... "If you look close enough you can't tell where my nose ends and space begins."

- Bernard Jaffe

The Battle of Issus, Albrecht Altdorfer, (1529)

Heroes have always been larger than life. In Babylonian mythology, Marduk slay Tiamat, and stretched her body out to create the earth and heavens. In Greek mythology, Jason bested fire-breathing bulls and a dragon in order to capture the golden fleece. In American mythology, Washington was so honest that he could not but admit that he had chopped down the cherry tree. Thus, this larger than life status is all the more prevalent in a legend like Alexander the Great; a man who, when confronted with the breadth of his domain, "wept, because there were no more worlds to conquer."

Of all of his legendary victories that were reported, one of Alexander's greatest occurred at the Battle of Issus, in 333 B.C.E. There, Alexander struck a decisive blow against the Persian King, Darius III. Alexander's men, crushed on the left flank, and barely holding in the center, rallied when Alexander and his cavalry charged Darius directly, decimating Darius' guard and almost capturing the King himself. Darius narrowly escaped only after his brother Oxyathres sacrificed himself, giving the King the necessary time to escape. When the Persians saw their King flee, they were quickly routed. Many great Persian princes were slain, and Persian casualties were likely five-fold that of the Macdeonians. It is this great victory that is the setting of Albrecht Altdorfer's work, The Battle of Issus.

There are several striking aspects to Altdorfer's work. First, despite the enormity of his legend, Alexander is a mere spec in the painting. This is an interesting choice of emphasis for one of the greatest military leaders of all time. Second, it is difficult to tell where the foreground ends and the background begins. The converging armies seem to be swept up into the mountainous background which, in turn, leads to the sea and the heavens beyond. Thus, the background envelopes the great armies; another seemingly odd depiction considering the epic scale of the battle. Third, the background ends in dark swirling clouds, punctuated by a fiery burst from the setting sun. Nature seems to have a character all its own.

These aspects take on special meaning when one considers that Altdorfer was perhaps the first pure European landscape artist. His painting, Landscape With a Footbridge (1518-1520), may be the first landscape in European history free from human figures, or religious symbols. (A second landscape done by Altdorfer around the same time is of a similar style.) Thus, Altdorfer is certainly one of, if not the first European artists interested in landscapes as an independent genre. Indeed, considering those aspects listed above, one might hypothesize that Altdorfer was one of the first European painters to appreciate the power of nature as an artistic expression.

Consider again the The Battle of Issus. Alexander is a mere spec within the great number of men that surround him. His men are, in turn, dwarfed by the enormity of the mountains and ocean beyond. However, even the mountains and ocean are subjects to the heavens even further beyond. In this way, Altdorfer demonstrates the importance of nature in and of itself. The great human battle taking place in the foreground, even with its legendary figures, is quickly swept up into the enormity of the background. In the end, therefore, it is nothing when compared to the great cosmic battle between light and darkness that has taken place for eons, and is taking place yet again.