Tag: Annotations

Annotation: Ways of Seeing

Originally published in 1972 as a companion follow-up to his BBC television series, John Berger’s Ways of Seeing is a remarkable and interesting book from start to finish. Even the cover is nontraditional, ignoring the standard need for a cover separate from the rest of the book. Instead, they simply took an excerpt from the book, and used that as the cover. This establishes the sort of book this is from the very get-go: challenging the current deified, over-intellectualized view of art in modern society.

Standards are meant to be a groundwork, a starting point to grow from. They are not meant to be a constraint, a restriction as to the only “proper” methodology, but that is exactly what they have become. To fall back to an art medium I’m more familiar with, in photography one of the most commonly referenced “standards” or “laws” is the law of thirds, which is a guideline for composing your image. There are plenty of reasons to use this guideline, not the least of which is our natural predisposition to “sacred geometry” which a thirds-based image tends to satisfy. That said, photographers can end up trapped by this law, and become incapable of doing anything but this. They become chained to it, and often become incapable of appreciating any image that deviates from it. It is not until these deviations, these abnormalities become accepted by the artistic elite that they become accepted as a worthwhile technique. This has been my sentiment for quite some time, and I found Berger’s essays on this subject both cogent and topical. In particular, I found the statistics provided by Pierre Bourdieu and Alain Darbel on public perceptions of museums and art particularly interesting, as well as his discussion of the historical causes of this shift.

Interestingly, some art students argue that this shift never took place, and that this was always the nature of art. These are also the same art students that declare that “art is dead” so ardently, which I personally feel is the cliché battle cry of those who are afraid to contribute to it. Once again falling back to photography, I can pretty safely argue that this shift from art for art’s sake and as a commercial entity into the deified realm restricted only to the social elite is entirely within the realm of possibility, and with historical context as referenced by Berger, seems a virtual certainty. I have been witnessing the same progression in the field of photography for most of my life, and have discussed the topic with others who have been in the field for well over 40 years. With the advent of inexpensive scanners and printers, it is easier than ever before to accurately reproduce a photographic work, with or without the consent of the photographer. This has forced professional photographers to undergo a shift of their own: they must either shift into charging for their time and creativity rather than on a per-print basis, or face financial extinction through individuals purchasing a single print and duplicating it themselves. In order for this shift to work, however, there must also be a cultural shift in mindset to view hiring a photographer as a service, not as a product: you are purchasing the photographer’s creativity, not the print. This is, in my mind, incredibly similar to the cultural shift that painters underwent when lithographs and other methods to reproduce their art became available. The artists needed a way to justify their profession, and the social elite needed a way to continue to separate themselves from the masses, hence the shift to the importance of having an “original”, and to have the name of artist mean nearly as much (or more) as the painting itself.

I think I may have talked myself into a corner here, so allow me to clarify what I mean: the art community was forced into a paradigm shift in order to survive. This is pragmatic and understandable. While it is unfortunate, I do not consider this shift necessarily a bad thing. What I do consider bad is the way the social elite took this shift and bent it towards their own purposes — namely in further stratifying themselves from the rest of society.

As you can probably guess, the first essay in Ways of Seeing really struck a chord. I’ll let it rest for now, and instead move on to the rest of the book, which decidedly also merits discussion. His second essay, which was a montage of images gathered to form a visual essay was interesting. I found it directly relevant to one of his later essays on depictions of women in art, and I found both essays to be significantly less heavy-handed and accusatory than other essays and articles I’ve read about the topic. (While the objectification of women is a damnable thing, taking an accusatory, hateful tone about it is quite possibly even less effective or useful than simply doing nothing. Demanding reparations does nothing more than encourage resentment.) In particular, the use of female sexuality in commercial art is really rather directly pointed out, and the distinctions he makes between being naked, and being nude, and it explains my own personal choice to prefer the direct earnestness and honesty of an image of someone who is naked versus a picture of a nude. That is not to say that nudes don’t have their own place, and the objectification of the human form (male or female) can be used towards great effect as a method of artistic abstraction, much in the same way that a building can be made a thing of abstract shape and form through perspective, becoming something that is no longer a building (or in the case of nudes, a person). But as far as portraits, or human expression is concerned, I would far prefer to see someone naked because that is the most primitive, honest expression of themselves, than to see someone posed and nude because someone else wishes it.

I’m going to skip over the essay on the nature of art as a method of proving your possession of something else (a ship, a piece of land, a prize animal, a spouse or child, et cetera), because I feel like I’ve already addressed this in my discussion of the first essay, and go on directly to the essay on the use of art in advertising. This brought up some interesting points both in favor and against the ways art is used to sell things other than art, as well as how “corporate art” can still be considered art. Here’s my take on it, after reading his essay: of course it’s still art, and of course the social elite brand it as “selling out”. Use of art in advertising brings art to the masses, countering the whole push to keep art as a tool of social stratification. Whether it is through direct use, or through emulation of a classic piece of art, it allows the masses to have access to works that they might otherwise never see, and never appreciate or be enriched by. There was significantly more use of art in advertising and publicity in the 60s, 70s, and 80s, at which point there was a backlash, when the notion of use of art in advertising was a form of selling out and devalued the merit of the art really gained enough momentum to be noticeable. By the late 90s to now, there has been significantly less use (though it still does happen), and I can’t help but feel that this is part of the over-intellectual stratification, an attempt to retake art as solely the purview of the elite. Looking through the images included in the essay, while dated in composition, it is obvious just how much more direct influence prior art had on advertising compared to modern day.

Frankly, I blame the academic institution at large. While there are always exceptions, I find it remarkable and frightening how many schools of “art” I have seen that do nothing more than churn out more embittered, brainwashed pseudo-intellectuals that serve to do nothing more than maintain an entirely unnecessary stratification fostered by their professors (who themselves have been ensnared in this mindset). They obscure this stratification by hiding behind muddy definitions-through-lack-of-definitions of art, trapping their students in the circle of asking “what is art?” Well, here is a definition: art is a method of expression. That is my definition, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s all a definition it needs. That, of course, is not acceptable to those who wish to deify art, because that definition intrinsically makes it accessible to anyone who wishes to express themselves. It returns art to the masses.

Mind you, I am not making a distinction between “good” art and “bad” art. That is a largely subjective arena, and can really only objectively be discussed on the merits of particular techniques, and subjectively on whether you (the individual) like it or not. Really, whether art is good or bad does not matter to the larger definition of art itself — the artist either expresses themselves well, or they don’t. They either have good technique, or they don’t. (I am well aware that nothing is truly binary, which is why I generally place things in three categories, things I like, things I don’t like, and things that I may not like but respect. But for the sake of the discussion, I’m keeping it generalized.)

John Berger has certainly raised some very interesting subjects, in a coherent fashion that are still just as relevant today as it was when it was written 30 years ago. I would gladly recommend this to anyone interested in art (and in fact already have). Considering just how topical this book remains, it really serves to prove just how hard it is to break through the established mindset. I can only hope that at some point, it ceases to be topical, and instead becomes historical.

Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. New York: Penguin Publishing, 1973.

Annotation: The Art of Final Fantasy IX

I love beauty. I think it is a crying shame that the word has become so tied to a fairly vapid, superficial definition for so much of society, since the notion of beauty when boiled down to its most basic principle, is simply a method to name and identify that which draws us to a person, place, thing, or even abstract thought. It is with this in mind that I say I love beauty, and it is this idea that colors everything I strive for in my life. I suppose that is one reason why I tend to prefer the fantastic in art: more often than not, fantasy grows out of taking the beautiful from the mundane. The Art of Final Fantasy IX is an excellent example of this concept, creating an entire world that is beautiful and fantastic.

The Art of Final Fantasy IX is a companion book that was published when the game Final Fantasy IX was originally released, back in 2000. I bought the book at that point, and promptly lost it in a move. It resurfaced at my brother’s apartment this past April, as I was preparing for this semester, and I am extremely grateful for it. With my desire to learn the process of creating a world and characters such as (but not like) this, being able to see the actual original concept art that the game was built upon is invaluable. The majority of the art is by Hiroyuki Ito, Hideo Minaba, Akira Fujii, and Shin Kajitani, with a smattering of Yoshitaka Amano’s work on the lead characters. There is very little in the way of written work on it, though what there is was done by Dan Birlew, hence why the Library of Congress calls him the technical “author”. Interestingly, back when I thought the book was gone, I looked into buying a new copy… it has been out of print for several years now, and used copies are selling for over $85 (it was originally $20). I only wish they would turn this collection into a series, and release the art from some of the other games made by Squaresoft (makers of the Final Fantasy series, of which there are currently eleven released and another two in development. They also developed Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross, as well as the Mana series of games, and Xenogears, all of which were visually stunning in their own right), but I don’t think it made enough money in sales to merit it.

One of the interesting design choices they made for this this game was the use of caricatures, taking character traits of the individual to an extreme to create unique flavor to the environment (for instance, a gluttonous individual looks like a hippo, a set of pompous nobles have horns for noses so that they can “toot their own horn”, et cetera). It all ties into the underlying theatrical theme of the story, because in theater, things are also often exaggerated for the purposes of creating a robust atmosphere out of what could have been a very dull stage.

There are some images that I find particularly appealing or informative that I’d like to mention. Right off the bat, I’d say some of the most fascinating work is the work on the town of Final Fantasy IX. There are three primary cities, each with a very unique flavor: Alexandria, Lindblum, and Burmecia. Alexandria is largely influenced by pre-industrial European, with heavy emphasis on ornate religious symbolism, thatched roofing, and towering castle spires. The central design element of the city is a large (easily over 100 meters tall) crystal obelisk that crowns the center of the castle, which ends up playing a central role in a particularly magnificent scene later in the game.

Lindblum could easily considered a “sister city” to Alexandria, remaining strongly influenced by European architecture, but with a greater emphasis on technology and industry. The entire city is filled with clock towers and massive gates to allow airships to pass through (airships are a central aspect of all the Final Fantasy games… they are a recurring theme). Despite the fact that you are actually only able to explore a portion of the city, the designers do an excellent job of depicting a massive city citadel that has built upward rather than outward, with the entire city contained inside the gargantuan castle walls. (If pressed to choose between the two in preference, I would say I prefer the atmosphere generated in Lindblum, but appreciate the beauty and grandeur of Alexandria more.)

The third major city in Final Fantasy IX is an entirely different culture, and is called Burmecia, the City of Eternal Rain. It has VERY strong Indonesian cultural references, and I would argue that it is the most interesting of all three cities. We never get a chance to explore Burmecia in an undamaged state (it is invaded and decimated very early in the story), but even the ruins are truly beautiful and epic. Giant stone statues guard the gates to the castle, with lesser statues lining the streets. There are three themes to the landscape of Burmecia: that of battle (many warrior statues), that of music (in particular, harmonies and bells), and that of spirituality (especially revering one’s ancestors). It paints a remarkable backdrop for a fascinating culture, without even needing to say a word about it.?

A lesser town but still worth noting is the city of Treno, which is mostly drawn from Victorian era design. The city is mostly stone manors, and is circular, with the nobility living on the lower, inner ring of the town. What really makes this town notable is the overwhelming references to games. Several of the walkways take the form of large playing cards, and the nobles each take their name from chess pieces, playing cards, and the tarot (“King of Wands”, “Bishop of Coins”, “Queen of Hearts”, et cetera). The overall mood created by this design choice is really quite unique in the game. I think it may be my favorite town in the game, at least partially because of the juxtaposition they create in it: it is a two-tiered system. There is no middle class, you are either wealthy, or dirt poor. There is a certain amount of irony in binary socioeconomic classes that is interesting to observe, even in a fictional setting.

I’m going to address the section on the monsters they designed separately, because I would like to accompany my writing with some attempts of my own based on their work. Suffice it to say, they are well crafted and interesting, doing an excellent job of reasonably depicting what various beasts of legend should look like. Instead, I’m going to close this annotation by talking about airships.

Airships are a central, recurring theme in every Final Fantasy game, one of a very few recurring things. (Others include “chocobos”, large chicken-like birds that you can ride like a horse, and some character in the game named “Cid”.) It should be noted that no two Final Fantasy games take place in the same world… the theory goes that each Final Fantasy is the final world-affecting story of a given story universe. Airships have been in every single Final Fantasy game since the very first back in 1987 on the original Nintendo Entertainment System. That said, they have never been as ornate, detailed, or well thought out as they are in Final Fantasy IX (that includes games after IX).

Put simply, the airships in Final Fantasy IX are beautiful. They are massive and ponderous, and take on attributes of both sailing ships and fish (but not airplanes). In particular, the “Prima Vista”, a theater ship. It is called a theater ship because it in fact houses a stage on the aft of the ship. It is ornate and festive, designed with the need to house (and hide) the band and the various props and set pieces that might be needed during a performance. It is a delight to look at, pure and simple, physics of such a contraption be damned.

Truly, this book is a real treat for anyone interested in the art that goes into game design. The artwork itself is delightful, and the amount of information that can be gleaned from it is remarkable. While I would certainly not suggest purchasing it for the $85 a used edition is currently going for, I would definitely recommend finding a copy to borrow from somewhere to anyone interested in such a field. I said it earlier in this piece, and I’ll say it again: I would LOVE to see them turn this into a series of art collections, for the rest of the Final Fantasy series and other games as well.

Birlew, Dan. The Art of Final Fantasy IX. Indianapolis: Brady Publishing, 2000.

Annotation: Drawing As A Sacred Activity

Trying to find my own balance with the connection between spirituality and art has taken me to a number of books, not the least of which would be The Artist’s Way, and Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, neither of which I am directly talking about here (which is good, because I have not yet finished either of those books). It also introduced me rather directly to a book by Heather C. Williams called Drawing as a Sacred Activity.

It isn’t exactly a new concept: using art as a form of therapy has a lot of history behind it. But then, the issue for me has never been an ignorance of the merits of art. My issue has always been (and continues to be) getting past my internal censor to allow myself to DO the art. I do not have the technical ability right now to be able to create what appears in my mind’s eye, not as I would like it to be. Because of this, I am extremely critical of my own work, and allow myself to become paralyzed by this self deprecation. Which leads me to the blurb on the back of the book:

…many people are not encouraged to embrace their creativity. So they quietly shut down that part of their inner lives. Even people who learn to embrace their creativity may find themselves blocked by past emotions. Heather Williams has developed playful yet profound exercises to teach not only the technical but also the emotional skills that artists and nonartists alike need to create and heal their lives. (Back Cover)

Help me get past my past emotions and help me get back in touch with my creativity? Sounds good to me! It was this blurb on the back cover that got me to check the book out of the library. At worst it would be hokey, and I could lampoon it in my annotation. Instead, I was impressed with the honesty of her writing, and found that her advice genuinely made sense. While I have not managed to put much of it into practice, I have every intention to do so.

A good deal of the book is spent doing exercises, and ways to interpret those exercises. They start out very simply, with drawing basic lines, then moving onto doors and windows, then tables, chairs, and finally moving on to clothing and living things (trees, flowers, et cetera). She also recommends drawing with your non-dominant hand for a while, particularly in free-drawing, because it taps distinctly different parts of the brain, parts that often end up being tied to emotional response and memory. It is through this non-dominant drawing that we can often finally come to terms with things that have been blocking us for years. I definitely plan to work on this more, in the hopes that I can finally get past whatever it is that is keeping me trapped in the sentiment that my artistic ability is no better than a third-graders, no matter how good or bad it actually is. (In some ways it is more annoying to those around me than it is to myself. I merely trash my own work, which is an established routine for me at this point… those around me, though, are left confused and exasperated as to why I’m so hard on my work.)

I found her chapter on drawing animals far more interesting on an intellectual level than I did on a technical level. Her opinion (and I tend to agree) is that animals are an excellent way to learn to draw compassionately, which is more in tune with your own emotional well being. Animals (especially pets like dogs and cats) love unconditionally, and do not hide behind false pretenses. They will behave in exactly the way that most suits them at any given time, regardless of who is watching. This really struck a chord, because that is what I seek in my close relationships: an ability to behave exactly as I choose, without fear of judgment. I can be as goofy or relaxed as I’d like, without fear of reprisal. I can think of nothing that makes me love as absolutely and be as unconditionally happy as having that feeling with someone else. THAT, to me, is one of the core essences of love.

I’d say the biggest thing that I learned from this book is that a drawing doesn’t have to be technically perfect to be good, as long as it is emotionally honest. The corollary to that is that not every piece I draw must be technically good in order to not be a failure. There are some very childish, simplistic drawings in this book (admittedly, most of them were done with the artist’s non-dominant hand), but they still succeed in their goal: to honestly convey the artist’s feelings.

If the spoken and written word is the way that our thinking mind communicates, then the visual image is the way our emotional mind expresses itself. That may be an over generalization (where, for instance, does music fall in that range? It is an imperfect analogy at best), but it does convey what I am trying to say. I look forward to putting this (and what I learn from other books) into practice, and perhaps, finally, become comfortable with my own creativity.

I was a bit skeptical when I started the book, but now that it is finished, I am glad I took the time to read it. Anything even brushing up against the spiritual runs a strong risk (in my opinion) of being hokey rubbish, so discovering that I had not wasted my time with this one is really rewarding. I would definitely recommend it to anyone in a similar position to me.

Williams, Heather C. Drawing As A Sacred Activity. Novato: New World Press, 2002.

Annotation: The Dream Hunters

Everyone has someone that they look up to. Someone who so excels in a given field that you can’t help but wish there was a machine that could transfer talent like an infusion of blood. As far as I’m concerned, in the field of drawing and illustration, that person would be Yoshitaka Amano. He has an ethereal yet detailed way of drawing that I envy, creating some of my favorite images. I first became aware of his work from his character design work for Final Fantasy VI (Final Fantasy 3 in the US), which was incorporated into the manual. It immediately drew me in and influenced my perception of the world created within the game in a way that I had not experienced with other games or illustrations. For lack of better description, Amano’s work is like looking through the eyes of an Efreet, Djinn, or Genie: a magical overlay to a very real world. A recent collaboration between Amano and author Neil Gaiman continues this trend, in the most delightful way possible.

The Dream Hunters is a supplementary story that takes place under the aegis of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series of comics and graphic novels. While considered a graphic novel, it is not done in the traditional “comic” style, but rather is written as a prose story, with a full page illustration for each page of text. The story itself is a retelling of an old Japanese myth about a monk and a fox, and the relationship that develops between them. Amano manages to capture the mood and magical, dreamlike nature of the story in a fashion that seems exactly and absolutely the correct way, and the very notion of it being illustrated in any other way would be intrinsically inaccurate and wrong.

That’s not to say that Amano’s style is the answer to everything. Other styles have their own merit of their own accord; it just so happens that in these circumstance, his style works well with the piece. It is a style that is most suited to the fantastic, the mystical, and the spiritual (really, aren’t these the same thing?), which is very much the nature of The Dream Hunters. I suppose what I am trying to say by this is that I am not claiming that Amano is the greatest artist of all time, that I would not elevate him above other masters (such as Da Vinci), but I WOULD place him in that same master category, and his particular style is one that I would like to adopt in my own work. I’m not sure if that notion is in some way silly or hypocritical to my belief that an individuals particular artistic style is at least partially developed through their personality, but I would certainly like to believe that it is not contradictory to include the desire to incorporate a particular style into your own work as well. (There is some credence to this, in my opinion, based on my observation of artists such as Fred Gallagher, who blends japanese manga style with american animation influences to create a style that is uniquely his own. You can see what I mean in his online manga comic, http://www.megatokyo.com.)

While I enjoyed the entire book, there were some pieces that particularly leapt out at me. One that immediately comes to mind is the cover itself. The particular edition I have (there are several variations) is a metallic gold background, with the Sandman (very pale skin, black hair, black clothing, wrapped in a cloak) in the center of the image with a full moon in the background. Flowers are growing out of his cloak, and a raven is perched on his shoulder. Various creatures (a serpent, a fox, and several baku — dream eaters from japanese mythology) are faint in the background. Immediately in front of the Sandman is a beautiful woman, prone, floating/falling in the air (her clothing is draped downward as if she were floating or being carried, but her hair is pulled forward as if she were falling from a great height… the physics of a dream world is a marvelous thing). The overall composition is very direct and appealing.

Another piece I particularly enjoyed was about two thirds of the way through the book, when the monk travels to the King of Dreams (the Sandman), and is stopped at the door by an itsumade, which is a mythical beast loosely akin to a gryphon: “a monstrous bird, with a head like a lion’s, sharp teeth, a snake’s tail, and huge wings.” (90) Amano’s depiction of this creature was remarkable, both in the size and scope of the creature compared to the dimunitive monk, and in the blending of its traits into a believable creature. It literally fills the page with swirling color and shape, evoking wonderment at getting to see such a beast.

The final image I’d like to point out in particular is also somewhat epic in scope. It is when the fox meets the King of Dreams for the first time, where the Sandman takes the form of a giant black fox, who speaks to her from the top of a mountain. The image is very dark, yet still detailed, and does a masterful job at depicting just how much the fox is dwarfed by her surroundings.

Overall, I greatly enjoyed this book, and would happily recommend it to anyone, both for the art and for the story. Neil and Yoshitaka put together a fantastic piece of work, and I look forward to seeing more (in the afterword, Amano mentions that this is just the beginning of his plans with Gaiman… the notion of another collaboration is more than enough to make me giddy with anticipation). I intend to continue to examine Yoshitaka Amano’s work during this semester, in the hopes of learning a bit about how he achieves what he does in his work.

Gaiman, Neil; Amano, Yoshitaka. The Sandman: The Dream Hunters. New York: DC Comics, 1999.

Annotation: Dhalgren

There are some books out there that are uniquely capable of immersing you into their world, in every sense. The number of books that can actually manage to do this is surprisingly small, in my experience, taking up only a small percentage of that selection of books that you might, on any given day, consider “good”, “worthwhile”, or “thought-provoking”. We’re not talking about good books here, we’re not talking about books that make you sit in some coffee shop and ponder the meaning of life. We (by which I mean, “I”) are talking about books that take hold of your entire sense of awareness, and direct it elsewhere. Books that make you abundantly aware and appreciative of the vagaries and nature of being a human. They ignore the romanticized notion of Man and instead shows them as they are, warts, grunts, pains, insecurities and all (and in the process becomes romantic itself). With an opening quote of “You have confused the true and the real.” (George Stanley/In Conversation) before even the table of contents setting the mood for the rest of the book, I would definitely say that Dhalgren is one of these books. For lack of a better term, (bearing in mind that opening comment) it is a remarkably HONEST book.

I’ve read two editions of Dhalgren. The first contained a fascinating if dry introduction by Frederick Pohl, whose name has also been attached to a writing award for which Dhalgren is a recipient. Alas, I lent that copy to a friend back in 1998, and have yet to see it again. Rather than go without, I went out and picked up a new copy of the rereleased novel. This one contains a rather interesting introduction by William Gibson of Neuromancer fame. What particularly struck me about his introduction is that it felt very much as if the introduction was written immediately after reading the book again, leaving Gibson still immersed in that peculiar outlook and train of thought that Dhalgren seems so eminently good at creating. This was rather gratifying, as it made it more apparent that it is NOT just me that becomes so affected by this book.

At the risk of letting my metaphor careen out of control and butcher my train of thought, these introductions act very much like an appetizer before a substantial meal. The type and flavor of the appetizer very much influences what nuances you pull out of the subsequent main course. I certainly find this to hold true very much in this case: I pull significantly different parts out of the first chapter especially, depending on which introduction preceded it. Mind you, this is entirely separate from the various aspects of the story (and structure of the story) that I continue to pick up each time I reread it. My interpretations of the nature of the relationships between different characters (the protagonist, Kid, and his interactions with the surrounding people, as well as the nature of relationships between these peripheral characters themselves) shift wildly between readings, with some relationships becoming more vivid in my mind while others become vague, hazy.

The first few times I read Dhalgren, I felt that it had no real structure, that its structure was as amorphous and chaotic as the city the story takes place in. I then came to the conclusion that perhaps it is not so chaotic, so much as an elliptical spiral, coming back to things that have happened before in unexpected ways, continuing to go farther and farther out. I’m beginning to think that the true nature of the story structure is in fact something in between. That it IS elliptical, but not as precise as a smooth orbit, but rather tumult in a pattern, like the arms of a hurricane. Further, the city’s landscape changes according to the acts of the observer. On Kid’s first night in town, he comes off the bridge and proceeds to meet someone on the roof a building. Despite having walked for no more than 15 minutes, he can no longer see the bridge or the waterfront from the roof. Later on in the book, on that same rooftop, the bridge looms nearby. This discrepancy (if you wanted to call it that) is by intent, however. The bridge symbolizes the exit leading to the outside world, and as previously stated, the landscape adjusts according to the acts or needs of the observer.

What acts or needs would cause Kid to need to leave? Especially since he doesn’t leave, nor even really considers it for more than half a second? One of his friends is leaving at that point, but the importance of that particular action is largely irrelevant, and could have just as easily been avoided. In my eyes from this latest reading, I would say the bridge serves as a metaphor at that point of bringing himself back to reality if only for a moment, and the city itself is a metaphor for the descent into madness. Kid had just lost several days, and the trip to the bridge serves as a re-acknowledgment of reality. While he continues to lose time and remains in the city, it is at this point that he accepts it and no longer lets it bother him.

The writing style for Dhalgren changes for each major “chapter” of the book (there are seven of these chapters). Sometimes the changes are subtle (for instance chapters 3, 4, and 5 are all very similar, and really only change in narrative emphasis), and in others the changes are significant and jarring (in the first chapter, each section opens with a narrative dialogue that leads into Kid’s next action, but has no relation to what else is happening in the story). The most jarring and unique chapter is the final chapter: “The Anathemata: a plague journal.” Over the course of the book, Kid discovers a notebook that is someone’s journal, and uses the unused pages for his own writing. The last chapter of the book is written as if it were a portion of that journal. It is decidedly nonlinear: true to character, he writes where there is space, not necessarily where it makes sense, so an entry might start on one page, and get continued four pages further along. There are even little blurbs of writing in the margins — wherever he could find to write. There are misspellings, crossed out words (crossed out paragraphs!). It is blunt and honest and disturbing in subject matter in a way that makes you realize just how refined and separated the rest of the book is in comparison (the rest of the book in comparison to other literature already was pushing boundaries).

The first time I read Dhalgren, I hated the last chapter. I found it a disappointment, I found it a pain in the ass to read, and it simply made no sense. The second time I read the book, I didn’t even bother with the final chapter. It wasn’t until the third or fourth time I read it that I began to appreciate what was being done with the final chapter (my own writing having grown in that intervening time). It continues to be an extremely disturbing piece of writing. Possibly the most disturbing I’ve ever read, anywhere. Thinking about it as I write this, I think that perhaps the reason I like the book so much, and the reason the book has so much effect on me, is BECAUSE it challenges me at every level. I like it because it is disturbing.

Delany, Samuel R. Dhalgren. Wesleyan University Press.

Annotation: The Art of Happiness

When my wife found out that I was going to be reading a book by the Dalai Lama, she remarked “I think if you ever met the Dalai Lama, you’d get along with him really well.” After reading through The Art of Happiness, I think I can see why: though I am not technically a Buddhist, I share a great deal of the same philosophy and perspective on existence as the Dalai Lama. That said, a shared outlook does not necessarily make for a good book — in may ways (especially in scholastic or intellectual capacities), the sign of a good book is one that makes you want to argue with the author, to sit down and point out all the reasons why they are wrong. But that isn’t the only criteria for a good book, and The Art of Happiness manages to succeed in other ways.

The format of the book is fairly straightforward: it is a collection of talks between Howard Cutler (the co-author and narrator of the book, also a licensed and practicing psychiatrist), and the Dalai Lama, both in his residence in Dharmsala, India, and various locations in Arizona. This collection is then broken down first into sections (“The Purpose of Life”, “Human Warmth and Compassion”, “Transforming Suffering”, and “Overcoming Obstacles”), then into chapters, closing with some final reflection on the nature of spirituality and basic spiritual values. Cutler augments the conversations with anecdotes and corroborating scientific evidence concerning various points that the Dalai Lama made in his talks. I found his writing in the beginning to be a little forced, but it feels like he came into his own as he got further into the material (concordantly, I was also getting more into the material), leading to this being a fairly quick read, even weighing in at 300+ pages.

The overtone of the entire book was one of compassion, and the development and nurturing of that trait. The Dalai Lama comments several times throughout the book of the necessity for compassion for all things, and that it is through this compassion that we connect both with other people and with our own spirituality. Distilled into one phrase, his statement was “Compassion is the key to genuine happiness.” My initial response to this realization was “Well, of course.” I’ve long held the belief that it is through helping others that we really begin to know ourselves and our true nature.

I definitely became more interested as the book went along: the subjects became far more topical to me on a personal level when they began to discuss suffering, self-image, anxiety, and spirituality. Concerning anxiety and worry, I found this quote particularly interesting:

If the situation or problem can be remedied, then there is no need to worry about it… Alternatively, if there is no way out, no solution, no possibility of resolution, then there is also no point in being worried about it, because you can’t do anything about it anyway. (Dalai Lama, 268)

The thing that I found most interesting about this quote isn’t just the quote, but how much it reminded me of my own philosophy for a long time. I used to see people stressing about things unnecessarily, and would try to convince them that it would all work out as it needed to work out, that it wasn’t worth injuring your mind or health about. It is a bit frustrating to realize that I’ve become so wrapped up in worrying and rushing, myself. A change in outlook is definitely in order.

On the subject of spirituality, the Dalai Lama really helped to give a clear working definition that I think I can really get along with. “True Spirituality is a mental attitude that you can practice at any time.” (Dalai Lama, 299) This really helped calm me down a great deal; I was becoming increasingly agitated by my perceived lack of current spirituality, and increasingly more anxious about finding a formal time to set aside for things of a spiritual or religious nature. This one phrase really helped me snap out of it, to realize that I’d been making mountains out of molehills, adding a level of formality that had at no point actually been required or even asked of me.

Instead, I need to work towards slowing myself down, organizing my time better so that I’m not constantly trying to do too many things at once. Simplify, and regain my former sense of composure and appreciation for all things. It isn’t a matter of setting aside time to do so, it’s a matter of BEING. Just be who I want to be. Work hard to achieve the things I want to achieve, yes, but stop beating myself up over the things I fail to do in time. I need to learn to let go and be myself, whoever that is. My mind is turbulent and muddy: it is time to clear the waters.

The Dalai Lama; Cutler, Howard C. The Art of Happiness. Riverhead Books.

Annotation: Baha’i Prayers

Perhaps this isn’t true for others, but I have discovered that after one hundred and fifty pages of prayers expounding on the glories of the Almighty, my eyes just started to glaze over. By the end of the 267 page collection, I was frankly beginning to think that if God is so damn great, then maybe He could afford to be a bit more modest. I realize that is a bit unfair: prayers are meant to be taken in relatively small doses, not read through as a book.

The particular version I read through is the one I was given in 1989 by my parents. Despite having read specific prayers out of it on many occasions, I’d never actually read through the entire thing. Though not immediately relevant to the topic, I would like to say I was quite impressed with the binding and typography in this book: it is significantly more readable than many other more modern books, in my opinion. I think typography is to some degree a lost art, form taking precedence over function in recently published novels and magazines.

Baha’i Prayers is a collection of prayers from the three major individuals from the Faith: Baha’u’llah, The Bab, and Abdu’l-Baha. It’s organized first by type of prayer (obligatory, general, or occasional), and then by topic. The topic categories are somewhat arbitrary (“Forgiveness” discusses God forgiving you for the sins you’ve done, for instance, rather than supplicating to find the strength to forgive), but beyond trying to figure out whether the category was talking about what you were asking for or asking for more of, it actually was pretty reasonably arranged.

There are a few prayers that I am particularly fond of. First and foremost is one that is called the Remover of Difficulties: “Is there any Remover of difficulties save God? Say: Praised be God! He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!” (The Bab 28). I’ve found this to be particularly useful as a litany or mantra, because of how short it is. It provides something to focus on rather than whatever it is that is troubling you. Frankly, I think it is the prayer that I most identify with (in an ideal world, anyway). The general sentiment I get out of this prayer is that sometimes you just need to let go and let things work out on their own (let God handle it). It’s a philosophy I find I agree with pretty strongly: we free up far more time for things we WANT to do, if we stop stressing over the things that we DON’T want to do. (That is not to say that you can choose to not do them: the point of a prayer like this is to help put you in the right mindset to get through something, not to just avoid it with the belief that someone else will do it.)

Another prayer that I found interesting (and had not realized had been included) was the Tablet of the Holy Mariner, which is considered to be the primary writing on mysticism in the Baha’i Faith. It has a different arrangement than the other prayers and writings I’ve seen, done more as a form of epic poem or parable. The story it tells is broken up, however, as each line is separated by the phrase, “Glorified be my Lord, the All-Glorious!” I found the story interesting, though convoluted at the end (I reread the passage three times, and I’m still having a bit of trouble following it). Particular passages leave me intrigued as to what exactly Baha’u’llah meant when he wrote it. It is a topic better devoted to its own essay, however, so I’ll only point out one in particular, before I move on:

They have desired to ascend unto that state which the Lord hath ordained to be above their stations.
Glorified be my Lord, the All-Glorious!
Whereupon the burning meteor cast them out from that abide in the Kingdom of His Presence,
Glorified be my Lord, the All-Glorious! (Baha’u’llah 224)

Given my penchant for science fiction and extrapolative history, this passage (and the rest of the piece) really just fascinates the hell out of me. It suggests a far more robust past than we currently give our ancestors credit for (despite the monumental amount of information that we lost in the destruction of the Library of Alexandria, and the numerous book burnings that have occurred over the past two thousand years in both eastern and western civilizations).

This is an excellent collection of Baha’i prayers. It is not all of them, but it is a fairly respectable number, and successfully captures the breadth of topics and the style of Baha’i prayers. There is a capacity for spiritual exploration here found by reflecting on various prayers, but I will say again: it is far better in small doses than it is read straight through.

Baha’u’llah, et al. Baha’i Prayers. Baha’i Publishing Trust.

Annotation: The Secret of Divine Civilization

Before I get into the details of this book, I thought I’d start by giving a bit of background on Abdu’l-Baha. He was born in 1844, and spent most of his life in exile or imprisonment beside his father, Baha’u’llah. Baha’u’llah was first thrown into prison when Abdu’l-Baha was 8; a few months later, he was released and forced into exile to Baghdad. This was when Abdu’l-Baha began sharing the same fate as his father, continuing in a state of exile or imprisonment until he was finally released in 1908. That’s 56 years of imprisonment or forced exile, including after the death of Baha’u’llah, after which Abdu’l-Baha took over Guardianship of the Faith. Despite this extended period of exile and imprisonment, Abdu’l-Baha was extremely well read and intelligent, and spoke at length about a great many topics with rather remarkable precision. One of the topics he wrote about was a diatribe about the steps necessary to establish an effective, long lasting, healthy civilization.

The Secret of Divine Civilization feels to a certain extent like the culmination of years of Abdu’l-Baha’s frustration at the idiocy and ignorance being practiced in Persia at the time. Frankly, I can’t blame him. His calls for reform have still not been heeded, even though they seem to make eminent sense on every count. He calls for at least basic education in every town (compulsory if needs be), he urges the Muslim population to re-embrace science and technology, pointing out with a variety of scriptures from the Qu’ran exactly why these are not bad things simply because they have been already embraced by other cultures. Several times through the book, he pauses to readdress one particular passage that the Imams and other religious leaders have latched onto and propagandized to the masses. One of the last times he brings it up really sums it up best:

The Source of Divine wisdom, that Manifestation of Universal Prophethood (Muhammad), encouraging mankind to acquire sciences and arts and similar advantages has commanded them to seek these even in the furthermost reaches of China; yet the incompetent and caviling doctors forbid this, offering as their justification the saying, ‘He who imitates a people is one of them.’ They have not even grasped what is meant by the ‘imitation’ referred to, nor do they know that the Divine religions enjoin upon and encourage all the faithful to adopt such principles as will conduce to continuous improvements, and to acquire from other peoples sciences and arts. (99)

This really grasps the overall mood of the writing in this piece. It is pretty clear that he loved Persia, and was frustrated at just how much it had fallen into ignorance and disrepair.

Something that I find particularly interesting is the emphasis on Persia. His commentary is pretty directly aimed at the Middle East, with an expectation that once Persia gets its act together, that civilization will revive and sweep the world as the dominant unifying force in the world. Assuming the entire region isn’t glassed over in the not-too-distant future, this isn’t that far outside the realm of possibility. If they merely reclaimed their heritage and instituted social reforms (health, education, technology), they could easily become a major force to be reckoned with on both a cultural and a political front. I’m not entirely sure how this change could be implemented, considering the stranglehold the current leaders in the region have over the populace, but I do strongly feel that it is a change that NEEDS to happen, for both regional and global benefit.

One of the other things that I found interesting about this book was the random, seemingly esoteric bits of information that were included. For instance, though soap has been around for millennia, modern soap is credited as an invention by Abdu’llah Buni, a Muslim. He also goes into the history of the nation of Israel (which had not yet reformed at the time of his writing), commenting on the multiple times they were invaded by various cultures, including by Nebuchadnezzar, and that these invasions and dispersals had been foretold as inevitable as they became too prideful and veered from the true intent of their religious teachings. Though he never said it bluntly, it was fairly apparent that he was casting the same aspersions on the Islamic culture. Of course, the first random thing that I noticed in the work was an Islamic parable about a king who decreed “a day of death” where any who came before him on that day would be put to death. The parable continues as the king goes hunting, and becomes separated from his retinue, and is taken in by a desert family. The king promises them aid should they ever need it, and a few years later, the head of the family shows up coincidentally on the day of the dead. The king didn’t want to kill him, and the man asked for a foregoance for a period of one year (until the next day of death) to set his affairs in order. The king agreed, assuming this would be the last time he saw the man. A year later to the day, the man showed up. The king was surprised, and asked him why he would willingly go to his death. The man’s reply was that he would not refute an oath, and that he had faith in his God. He then explained about his God and Christianity, which so moved the king that he abolished the day of death and became a Christian that day.

The parable makes sense within the context of the writing, as Abdu’l-Baha is using it as an example of how living an upright and proper life can do far more to spread the Word of God than living as a “Prophet of the Sword.” It just surprised me a little, because I’d never seen or heard of Abdu’l-Baha using parable in his writings. I really don’t think this says much other than that the majority of what I’ve read up to this point has not been source material (as this is), so much as consolidations of various passages and writings, collected for “ease”. Though I see the benefit and merits of the collections, there is a certain something to be said for reading the source material in its entirety, instead.

Considering the current state of world affairs, I found this book extremely topical, with a lot of very worthwhile information and ideas. If even some of the advice given in this book were followed, I think we would all be better off. I would definitely recommend this book to anyone seeking further insight into the ideals and philosophy of the Baha’i Faith.

Abdu’l-Baha. The Secret of Divine Civilization. Wilmette: Baha’i Publishing Trust, 1990.

Annotation: The Hidden Words

I’m not exactly sure how to define The Hidden Words. They aren’t prayers (though you could use them as such), nor are they stories, or rules (per se — some feel like they come close). I suppose they could be considered meditations or explorations, and that would come closest to defining where they fit as a collection of writing.

I’m going to have to do some digging to see if this is the complete “Hidden Words,” or if it’s a selection from them: the title is a little ambiguous, in my opinion. The book is fairly small, with a small but readable typeface, and really trims away anything extraneous: the introduction/preface is one page, most of which is taken up by explaining how the book is arranged, and it doesn’t bother with an actual table of contents. The first half is a collection of Hidden Words translated from Arabic. The second half is a collection of Hidden Words translated from Persian. A few pages at the end discuss the basic principles of the Baha’i Faith and the rules we live by, and a brief biography of who Baha’u’llah was.

Of the two collections, I far prefer the Persian translations. The Arabic seems more terse, and almost accusatory compared to the Persian Words. I am not sure if this is because they were written at different times, or if it is just part of the nature of the differences between the two languages. Despite the Persian Writings being longer and more complex, I found them easier to read and understand by a significant margin. While I suppose part of this is perhaps the quality of translation, I think there is something more to it as well. I felt less like I was getting admonished and more like I was getting informed, which is a pretty significant difference, in my opinion.

Allusions to the past seem to interest me in particular, so it should be no surprise that the selection that most caught my eye was one Baha’u’llah wrote reflecting in the covenant made on Mount Paran when Muhammad gathered his army of 10,000 men to take back Mecca. It reads:

O MY FRIENDS!
Call ye to mind that covenant ye have entered into with Me upon Mount Paran, situate within the hallowed precincts of Zaman. I have taken to witness the concourse on high and the dwellers in the city of eternity, yet now none do I find faithful unto the covenant. Of a certainty pride and rebellion have effaced it from the hearts, in such wise that no trace thereof remaineth. Yet knowing this, I waited and disclosed it not. (Baha’u’llah, 71)

After reading this passage, I became curious as to what exactly he was talking about, finally managing to track down that Mount Paran is a mountain in Pakistan, and is a key holy place in Islamic scripture (though they are not necessarily the same mountains… it is a source of great debate, according to http://www.google.com). The gist of the quoted passage, as far as I can tell, is a rather directed indictment of the Imams and other religious leaders of Islam, stating that the true intent and nature of Islam has become corrupted and changed. I am definitely intrigued by the concept of searching through other comments such as these and discovering more and more back story as to what exactly Baha’u’llah was referencing.

I may be jumping the gun in saying this, but I do expect that I’ll be returning to the Hidden Words on more than one occasion, as my depth of understanding grows, reassessing what I’ve already read. I do strongly suspect that there is a lot more buried under the surface of these writings that is worth examining.

Baha’u’llah. The Hidden Words: Selected Writings of Baha’u’llah. Baha’i Publishing Trust.

Annotation: Abdul-Baha, Einstein, and Ether

While not directly relating to spirituality or mysticism, I recently came across a small book about the Faith’s take on modern science, in particular the 19th century concept of Ether. It interested me, and seemed topical enough to read and comment on. The book is short, and consists of a great deal of reiterating the same point over and over again, the entire piece written as a counterpoint to some scientists’ refutation of Abdu’l-Baha’s infallibility (and by inference, Baha’u’llah’s infallibility), based on some statements Abdu’l-Baha made in reference to Ether around the turn of the century. Even the brevity of this book still felt too long to the point of irrelevance: it makes a valid point combined with defensive spin doctoring, which frankly I think could have been addressed with a single page containing Abdu’l-Baha’s actual commentary and an explanation thereof.

The whole hullabaloo is silly. The concept of Ether (the mechanical, physical medium found in space which facilitates the passage of light, not the chemical) has been largely discredited for years, disproved shortly after the turn of the century by Einstein with a specialized application of the Theory of Relativity. Unfortunately, Abdu’l-Baha made several references to Ether over the course of his Guardianship (along with a variety of other scientific breakthroughs that have all since proven to be true), and this has been apparently an arguing point for scientists to disprove the claims of Baha’u’llah’s divinity (since Abdu’l-Baha was Baha’u’llah’s son and the Guardian of the Faith after Baha’u’llah passed on, he was theoretically infallible).

It’s true, he comments on Ether on several occasions. The only issue here is that the scientists who are arguing against the Baha’i Faith are ignoring the fact that he also explicitly qualified the use of the term as an intellectual concept, not a mechanical medium. Much in the same way that there is a current push to return to using the term ether (or aether) as a conceptual terminology for the space-time “fabric.” Abdu’l-Baha applied precisely the same attributes to Ether as Einstein did to his Space-Time fabric: it is a difference in terminology, not in idea.

That’s all. It’s really that simple. What I just explained in two paragraphs is really all that Matthews says. He just says it over the course of a few pages (albeit with a bit more background, explanation, and quotes from relevant sources), and then reiterates the exact same information again, repeating this process for a good 40 pages (as I said, this was not a very long book). He comments on the independent conclusions found by a group of scholars examining the subject down in Australia. He adds quotes from the Universal House of Justice’s take on the matter, which is just another reiteration of the same information, namely that Abdu’l-Baha was talking about a concept, not the physical medium known as Ether. He adds quotes of various prominent scientists, Einstein included, who use the term Ether in exactly the same way.

I understand that he really wanted to hammer his point home, but to a certain extent it felt like he was just padding the length in order to justify the cost of the book. Not only was it lengthened by the heavy use of quotes and citations, but the references list of where he got his information was easily an extra 6 pages. I will admit that I have a certain bias in favor of brevity, thus I do think that sometimes you just need to know where to stop.

Matthews, Gary L. Abdu’l-Baha, Einstein, and Ether. Stonehaven Press.