Sculpture

So this is probably the only piece from my figurative sculpting class that I'm happy with. (The pics of the piece, I'm not so happy with.) As for the sculpture there are still some lines that are quite "off" and my sense of proportion certainly needs to be improved but overall I'm pleased with how it turned out.

There is an energy in pure concentration that makes participating in art-making worthwhile-- the results, much to my surprise, proved to be of a secondary importance. The state-of-mind I attained while creating-- that sustained level of singular focus and awareness, was so wholly rewarding.

Edm Winte (2010): Flickr Set

"God's greatest gift is a teacher...": Emerson

God's greatest gift is a teacher & when will he send me one, full of truth & boundless benevolence & heroic sentiments. I can describe the man, & have done so already in prose and verse. I know the idea well, but where is its real blood warm counterpart... I may as well set down what our stern experience replies with the tongue of all its days. Son of man, it saith, all giving & receiving is reciprocal; you entertain angels unawares, but they cannot impart more or higher things than you are in a state to receive. But every step of your progress affects the intercourse you hold with others; elevates its tone, deepens its meaning, sanctifies its spirit, and when time & suffering & self-denial shall have transformed and glorified this spotted self, you shall find your fellows also transformed & their faces shall shine upon you with the light of wisdom & the beauty of holiness.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson (Letters, 1, p.376)

thought to word, word to deed, deed to habit, habit to character

The thought manifests as the word;
The word manifests as the deed;
The deed develops into habit;
And habit hardens into character;
So watch the thought and its ways with care,
And let it spring from love
Born out of concern for all beings...

As the shadow follows the body, as we think, so we become.

(from The Dhammapada)

---
One of my favourite teachings from my favourite Buddhist scripture. And yet another example of incredible wisdom within the doctrine of 'dependent arising.'

awake enough...: Henry David Thoreau

 

"The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred million to a poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face? We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical means, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us is our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor."

- Henry David Thoreau (Walden, page 81)

Avatar: Movie Review

So Felix was excited about seeing James Cameron's new movie, Avatar. I wasn't interested. He told me that I had to see it with him and that he'd pay. We went to the midnight showing last night. Super-nerds. I was kind of reluctant to go to a midnight showing because, a) I don't particularly like James Cameron movies, b) I was afraid of being shown in line to a midnight movie should CityTV send one of their city-beat reporters to do a story on Super-nerds/cultural phenomenon, and c) I didn't think there should be any urgency to see this movie, I mean, I could easily wait 3-4 weeks and download it for free and watch it on my TV if I wanted. But nope Felix pressed on. We had to see the midnight show.

Anyway, long story long, the movie's story is about what I expected. The good guys are essentially pure-hearted, connected-to-the-spirit-of-the-land, native indians and the bad guys are heartless, in-it-for-the-money-and-the-power, conquistadors. All of them, “cartoon characters”, or probably more accurately, in this age of Marvel movies, “comic-book characters.” SO, I guess I'm claiming: the story ain't much. Seemed like Disney, full of obvious foreshadowing and the standard, supposed-to-be heart-tugging tricks.

But if you're anything like me you turn down your inner-cynic/movie critic the minute you voluntarily view a “blockbuster”, you understand their purpose: money-spending, money-getting through the usual means of unapologetic escapism. So with that in mind I put on the 3-D glasses and witnessed what I think marks a necessary leap forward in CGI. I'm not sure how to explain it but I think that we're probably now, with the advent of this movie, only a few steps away(prob still a decade though) from the point in cinematic history where computer generated images and graphics become indistinguishable from “real” images. I mean, we're still obviously not there yet; every time I saw an Avatar-character's eyes the falsity of the image was clear--- and not just the eyes, there are many points where you can say, “nope” if you choose to, but I doubt that'll happen because you'll probably be too absorbed in the flood of exotic images properly created; those that push the envelope, that so clearly represent cinematic advancement.

If you can suspend you disbelief and get past the regurgitation of “Hoo-ah” marine-speak, or “let's go get some”-isms you'll be treating yourself to a genuine spectacle, the importance of which doesn't really lie in the manifestation of technological imagery today, but instead lies in the promise of a cinematic future where fantasy and reality blend seamlessly, thereby emboldening the craft of movie making and perhaps more significantly, lending itself to higher-concepts of the now freshly provoked futurists.

Run-on sentences aside--- purposely or not, Hollywood helped out art in a pretty compelling way this week with the release of Avatar.

8.14338/10 (I was gonna put a disclaimer stating that without the visuals this movie would be a 6.76633 at best but I think it's probably wise to take it as a whole so the 8-ish rating will have to stand. I guess I did disclaim, oops.)

(also the rating might be a lil higher because I saw the movie with Felix who was right into it and his gaiety paired with genuine, Ooh-ing and Aah-ing, added excitement to the whole affair.)

The bath after

'Seated Bather Drying Herself' by Edgar Degas, 1899


The bath after

She drains the tub it sounds like thunder
like gargle like gurgle.
My ears ranging in two dimensional
reorient and training
face subtle to the directio
of scraping heels made loud
as the blanket of water balances & disappears
her skin sips and the hair a female form
she with the pair the female forms now
bathed in the air
grey mirror adorned
with reflection
reflection reflection

Christmasy already. Comfort and Joy.

Oh I'm feeling it. The momentum of Christmas isn't sickening this year, I'm not sure why but I feel swept up in it and I'm happy with every facet. The old 'tidings of comfort and joy' really workin'. Even this vibrant, living cold adds something.

Some Dylan crooning Christmas classics never hurts either. This is probably the second best version of "Little Drummer Boy" that I've heard. #1 Bowie and Crosby's version. Anyway, this one will leave you soothed if you make it all the way through. And by 'you', I mean 'me'. Me and the Ghosts of Christmas past, present and future---but mostly present since I've gone all contextually Buddhist. And I mustn't be inappropriate.



Click "HERE" for the Official Video for "Little Drummer Boy" by Bob Dylan

"As long as the dark foundation" : V. Solovyov

"As long as the dark foundation of our nature, grim in its all-encompassing egoism, mad in its drive to make that egoism into reality, to devour everything and to define everything by itself, as long as that foundation is visible, as long as this truly original sin exists within us, we have no business here and there is no logical answer to our existence. Imagine a group of people who are all blind, deaf and slightly demented and suddenly someone in the crowd asks, 'What are we to do?'... The only possible answer is, 'Look for a cure.' Until you are cured, there is nothing you can do. And since you don't believe you are sick, there can be no cure."
-Vladimir Solovyov

Mind as Deer Leaping

(photograph "Deer Leaping" by George Shiras, National Geographic, July 1906)

Understand subjective delusions: the illusion of regression; equally false: the illusion of progress. The news that makes one happy is the news that makes another sad. Neither understands the news. My eyeballs feel slightly deflated, I doubt they are--- maybe they are. Or one is. Just a feeling, I guess. “I guess” is right, I mean, not correct but properly recognized (in the most general sense possible). There we have it, my borrowed philosophy. Basically “Fleeting.” Fleetingly told. Needs an "-ism.” And something 'bout love and compassion. O! Buddha.

Two Poems by Sassoon on Rememberance Day

Survivors

by Siegfried Sassoon

No doubt they'll soon get well; the shock and strain

Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.

Of course they're "longing to go out again,"--

These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk,

They'll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed

Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,--

Their dreams that drip with murder; and they'll be proud

Of glorious war that shatter'd all their pride ...

Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;

Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.

(Craiglockart, October 1917.)

---

The Rear-guard

by Siegfried Sassoon

Groping along the tunnel, step by step,

He winked his prying torch with patching glare

From side to side, and sniffed the unwholesome air.

Tins, boxes, bottles, shapes too vague to know,

A mirror smashed, the mattress from a bed;

And he, exploring fifty feet below

The rosy gloom of battle overhead.

Tripping, he grabbed the wall; saw some one lie

Humped at his feet, half-hidden by a rug,

And stooped to give the sleeper's arm a tug.

"I'm looking for headquarters." No reply.

"God blast your neck!" (For days he'd had no sleep.)

"Get up and guide me through this stinking place."

Savage, he kicked a soft, unanswering heap,

And flashed his beam across the livid face

Terribly glaring up, whose eyes yet wore

Agony dying hard ten days before;

And fists of fingers clutched a blackening wound.

Alone he staggered on until he found

Dawn's ghost that filtered down a shafted stair

To the dazed, muttering creatures underground

Who hear the boom of shells in muffled sound.

At last, with sweat of horror in his hair,

He climbed through darkness to the twilight air,

Unloading hell behind him step by step.

(Hindenburg Line, April 1917.)

Poetry Of Departures

by Philip Larkin

Sometimes you hear, fifth-hand,

As epitaph:

He chucked up everything

And just cleared off,

And always the voice will sound

Certain you approve

This audacious, purifying,

Elemental move.

And they are right, I think.

We all hate home

And having to be there:

I detest my room,

It's specially-chosen junk,

The good books, the good bed,

And my life, in perfect order:

So to hear it said

He walked out on the whole crowd

Leaves me flushed and stirred,

Like Then she undid her dress

Or Take that you bastard;

Surely I can, if he did?

And that helps me to stay

Sober and industrious.

But I'd go today,

Yes, swagger the nut-strewn roads,

Crouch in the fo'c'sle

Stubbly with goodness, if

It weren't so artificial,

Such a deliberate step backwards

To create an object:

Books; china; a life

Reprehensibly perfect.

Leonard Cohen at The Isle of Wight Festival 1970

Story goes that the 'Isle of Wight Festival' was supposed to be an English music fest in 1970 for 100000 paying concert goers. Instead 600000 people attended, 500000 of'em crashers --- so, rather quickly, the scene turned chaotic. On the last night of the tumultuous festival, after Jimmie Hendrix performed and a part of the stage was burned down. A dowdy looking Cohen took the stage at 2:00am wearing an overcoat and some dirty jeans over his pj's. The video above is an excerpt from the concert.

Even though, I must admit, his voice and performance aren't really the strongest here and the transition from mayhem to peace isn't obvious, I like to imagine that the kindness of his artistry; the essential genius of Cohen, radiated outward towards the audience and doused their flames, drew them in, captured them entirely... Really Love this guy.

Night Shoot: Fog & No Fog

My actions...: Buddha

I am of the nature to grow old.

There is no way to escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill-health.

There is no way to escape having ill-health.

I am of the nature to die.

There is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love

are of the nature to change.

There is no way to escape being separated from them.

My actions are my only true belongings.

I cannot escape the consequences of my actions.

My actions are the ground on which I stand.

- Buddha

tributary

tributary

sulphur leaked out from under his knee caps.

the insects busy chewing ligaments.

The version of himself, by anomalous intersection,

that carefully folded some clothes beside the trail, took off some ugly shoes,

looked behind one last time and turned off into loss, into the woods.

To be nearer the fallen, the previous,

the after,

returning to the living, the many.

Closer, hopefully, to the larger jaws. Full predators.

red grizzly and the peppery, puppy-dog breath in wolf.

The sound against sounds!

Then a brief reprieve,

no shudder, no flock joining the air.

Just the concern of many

eyes looking left then right, left then right.

And like a Swift, the return of normalcy.

The son of a deadman. The son of the dead.

Carefully, expecting pain, his foot sank into the folding forest floor,

the wonder of the cushion, the comfort, the deadwood as living down.

orange moss soothed the bottoms of his feet;

kindness of nature--- his last relief.

The largest rocks were held with lichen, with the texture of a puzzle.

The pines watched silently, the bark still sharp, sapping

at that moment

beyond the obvious clumsy subtraction---

AH! the recoil! the abruptick-ick-ick

and the momentum seemed to slow and be the most injurious.

Reflexive motion: the Rifle-butt scraped his poor shin.

It beat him by force back down to the earth.

Restrained, the Sky above never skipped, no,

with tranquility it hung everywhere, noticing

the hirsute core, the length of the limbs, the spidery legs, the arms of poplar

improbably, perfectly, crossing his trunk.

The moment didn't urgently approach,

it came with a (new) calm and by (old) sorrow both.

a slow collection of embers, just.

on the leaves, in the trees.

The autumn bed filtered the litres clear

until further along, down the hill,

the glacial stream, two feet wide and two feet still,

until almost 5:30, had a fresh tricklin'.

ritualized water flowed in.

seventeen minnows congregated amongst the new water,

somehow eager in the warm diffusion.

Art and Indulgence

(Nude, Edward Weston, 1936 --- surely one of the most beautiful
photographs I've ever seen --- denoting innocence and sensuality at once)

Perhaps the only acceptable indulgence is the indulge that is tempered by abstraction. When indulgences are expressed through specifics (willful ignorance, drink, lust, materialism, etc...) the avaricious nature only strengthens the concepts of self and separateness, which lie in these hollow victories that reinforce the ego; which in turn leads to degradation and shame.

Whereas Art, a form of abstract indulgence ---whether it's realism, expressionism, or literal 'abstract art'... it doesn't matter--- expresses and exposes that which never seems to define and promote separation but rather is initiates and fulfills a sort of personal connectivity to something larger than 'the self'. And when our concern is not with selfishness and self-aggrandizement (which innately comes at the expense of everything or anyone else), we can finally come to know and appreciate more virtuous concepts like sharing, sincerity, grace, compassion and connection.

True Art is indulgence expressing the essential quality of reality: it's abstract and paradoxical but summing it up would look something like this: we (plural) are one (singular).

On seeing the Dalai Lama Live

Me, I went to see the Dalai Lama in Calgary yesterday. J and I. I was extremely impressed. Much more so than I expected I would be. He had four bruises on his arms, maybe from the firm-gripped entourage ensuring that “his eminence” never takes a tumble. Anyway, he emanated three of the greatest attributes I can think of: sincerity, confidence and innocence.

A sweet and almost child-like humour also found it's way into his dialogue. He was telling the kids in front of him how some people think he's a “healer” but that the greatest proof he could offer to counter such a ridiculous claim is that he recently had his gall-bladder removed and well...the pain, so think about it--- only he said it much better than that. Apologies to all.. On a related note but semi-non-sequiturishly, I kinda wanted to hug him at this point, everyone was laughing and he looked very pleased, he put us all at ease early on--- a fabulous strategy, and I sorta felt like I was gonna cry. Can't be sure why. Something like Greatness.

So through yellow-tinted, rectangular shaped lenses he talked about smiling at people, really smiling at them, the necessity of seeing faces, looking into eyes, connection and recognition, regardless of personal history or status. He endearingly, almost shyly, related how sometimes he might see girls in nearby cars while being chauffeured about in different cities and their eyes would meet, he told how his first response, a smile, is sometimes greeted with a frown, the girls come to see his smile as a symbol of, as he playfully put it, his “desire to exploit them”, so uncomfortably he quickly smiles again at the humour in the situation and perhaps, a little red-faced, abruptly looks away, to deny any further misunderstanding.

Another surprise was just how rational he seemed to be; denying the existence of miracle-workers, evil, and the relative rarity of malice.

Pausing from time to time, mid-sentence, he would blurt out a Tibetan word to a translator on his right, and wait eagerly as his translator satisfied his duty and the Dalai Lama would repeat, usually in a mangled, yet charismatic sort of way, the offered english version, and quickly move on. He talked about the differing levels of ignorance and how these levels, in their varying degrees cause dependent degrees of bad karma and dukkha, usually translated as “suffering.” Whether known or unknown (the more ignorant you are, apparently the less likely you are to suffer, 'ignorance is bliss' kind of thing, but eventually your karmic signature will catch up to you and unfortunately, those around you. As one Buddhist truism states: “Human actions vectored in ignorant desire tend to yield only more of the same. Conversely, however, actions vectored towards progression yield their kin.”)

Moving his hand over his heart with his clenching and unclenching fist he passionately spoke about motive as being a very important distinguishing feature of 'acceptable violence' or 'unacceptable violence'. He gave the example of 'acceptable violence' being the standard parental kind, where spanking a child might seem harsh but if it's done out of love and concern it should rather be seen in a loving light (obviously, within reason--- although, the be clear, he never said within reason, but one can only assume he meant within reason, uh?) The more impressive example he gave highlighted how motive is also crucial in recognizing that that which seems loving can sometimes be just the opposite; a sort of unseen violence or wronging, if you will. He told how unscrupulous people will often act exclusively in their own best interests, perhaps even purposely fooling others with smarm, effluent praise, their empty charms, all the while the compliments and seemingly beneficent behaviours are actually negatively charged (aka: bad karma) by the motivation's impurity and self-seeking nature.

He talked about feeling the same towards every human he meets; how at the same level, the first level of being: Human, we are nearly identical, and how this sameness will, through pertinacious compassion, result in mutual care and respect for one another. With intensity he talked of later levels too, levels devoted to distinguishing labels, whether they're based on race, education level, wealth, political beliefs, etc... as being hindrances if we see these contrasting features before our shared, common humanity. Our shrinking world with it's ever increasing interconnectedness is one in which our progress and very survival depends on recognizing the sameness of us all and how the level of compassion and concern that we usually reserve for ourselves or for our close inner-circle needs to be expanded to include all of humanity. Reiterating the basic Buddhist belief that we need to be “as concerned that no one go hungry as that our own family be fed... as concerned that the standard of living for the entire world rise as that our own salary be raised.”

Anyway, I feel like this is becoming one of those fucking grade 7 essays I've been poppin' our with too much regularity these days.

I guess the gist is this: the man was enchanting. He was wise, wise, wise. And I feel very fortunate to have been in the presence of one such as he--- about as Holy a man can get, I mean, well, as Holy as my rationality will allow. Bless him--- I'll allow that too, sans-sneeze.

One became right from the crimson

One became right from the crimson,
past the poison: love's engine,
alive from the river,
apart from connection.

One became wanton from the amber,
such style and such fevers,
sunk from erections,
unloved and unmetered.

Association of Truth-winners

If you find no one to support you on the
spiritual path, walk alone.
If you see a wise person
who steers you away from the wrong path,
follow him.
The company of the wise is joyful, like reunion
with one's family.
Therefore, live among the wise,
who are understanding, patient, responsible and noble.
Keep their company like the moon moving among the stars.
-Buddha