good afternoon to all for whom it is in fact morning:
i've had a few flattering requests for a more basic overview of life in italy, so i will try to do that concisely and yet with an eye to the depth of each day in a culture that becomes slightly less strange every day. but if you could truly understand the fearless popularity of the mullet here in italy, you would understand how it remains still quite strange even after more than one month.
my friend lee mazur and i share room number 3 at La Terrazza, (http://www.iltrovavacanze.it/vacanze/album23/B_e_B_la_TERRAZZA_di_Arezzo.htm), and my friend joe bell lives next door. every night, joe and i agree to run the next morning at 07:15, and that happens rougly two thirds of the time. after a shower and a quick breakfast, which consists of coffee we make ourselves on the stove from a mocha and CAKE that Signora Paola makes for us every day, i awkwardly greet the other guests (up to 5, sometimes none), and am on my way.
after my experiences in taizé, which in hindsight were a culmination of previous thoughts and trends and a beginning of new trends, i am pleased to have gotten into the habit of daily silent prayer in a nearby church, San Giuseppe del Chiavello. i find the atmosphere delightful on several levels.
1. San Giuseppe is the italian equivalent of a storefront church - it's on a residential street and has nothing that denotes it as a church other than a modest mass schedule on the double wooden doors. the interior is decorated in baroque finery that seems far too opulent for an iconoclast such as myself, although, speaking somewhat objectively, no more than 50 people could fit in there at a time. much too shiny for only 50 people to see it.
2. there are nuns, for whom i have become a curious fixture in their daily routine. i'm usually there from about 08:40 until 9:00, at which time between 3 and 5 elderly women are entering the church for a prayer service. i don't think these women appreciate my presence very much, as one time i was detained by an interesting flyer in the vestibule on my way out, and as soon as i left, there was many angry italian words exchanged between them. however, since that time i have befriended one of the nuns, who seems to have intervened on my behalf in that social sphere. i don't know her name and now i don't know how to ask, but she gives me a big smile every day and often comes up behind me and startles me by putting both her hands on my face, physically turning my eyes toward the Madonna col Bambino above the altar, and saying 'Gesù ti darà la forza!' and other imperatives towards the priesthood. she also gives me printed prayers to read, which i always do immediately, partly because i am sort of afraid of this 60 year old woman but mostly because i'm moved by her compassion for the samaritan in the temple.
after chillin' with the religious, i'm off to school, although i often stop off for a caffé on the way and scan the headlines of the newspapers. monday, tuesday, and thursday, the academic day starts with italian, and on monday and wednesday that moves into art history. thursdays we have 3 hours of italian, straight until lunch. tuesdays we have 3 hours of italian history, which i enjoy because we look at history through the lens of novels. although i'm frustrated that we are reading them in translation. not that i'm capable at this point of reading long selections in italian with any expediency (or much comprehension, for that matter), but i wish i was spending less time in the english universe and more in the italian.
everyone on this program (all 9 of us) eat luch at 'Bar Centrale,' where i do my best to speak my best italian to the multitude of women who work behind the counter and in the kitchen, with my ultimate goal being to be able to casually flirt with them. the food is delicious.
every other afternoon we have another class taught by visiting u of r professors in their area of interest as it relates to italy. i'll speak more about this when i get the opportunity to write out here my reflections on this weekend's trip to ROME, which was other-worldly. on 'off' afternoons i get together with two italian students, erika and elena, and i help them decode videotaped interviews with american students studying in italy so they can write italian subtitles as part of their work on their final undergraduate thesis. they are both very nice and we have fun, and i am challenged both by the opportunity to provide an explanation of funny english idioms like 'i worship the ground she walks on' and the frequent need to apologize for the behavior and attitudes of the students being interviewed. it is a fascinating and sometimes painful look at how other americans perceive and perceived their time abroad.
currently, we are able to use the internet from 16:00 until 18:00. it's been very interesting to feel just how reliant i am on computers: for communication, for a sense of connection to the events of the world, and for writing. no one else can read my handwriting, so i have to use my time wisely if i want to turn in legible papers.
we eat dinner at santa caterina, a nearby girl's boarding school housing approximately 90 girls ages 14-22. there are 5 guys on this program - it's a little weird. we are definitely on display, a factor which we try to exploit for maximum comic effect. when i'm a little wound up, i sometimes sit down at a table of 4 middle school girls and try and keep up with their conversation. i've found this is the best way to acheive maximum exhaustion in miminal time. on more than one occasion, i have started sweating. the food could be better, but the social interaction is priceless.
after our dinner we head back to la terrazza and make coffee, do some homework, watch some olympics (italian coverage of the games has been CRAZY - italian television itself is often hilarious, but, coming from the athletic dominance of the united states, no self-respecting nation should get that excited about a bronze medal), and crash around 11. sleep like i've never slept before.
in the coming days: ROMA extra, extra, read all about it.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Thursday, February 16, 2006
venice et al
ciao tutti -
it's been a while since i last posted, i apologize for the delay. as always, i'm like a starving man torn between two plates at equal distances: on the one hand, i want to go out and live live live, soak it all up, and on the other hand i want to take time to reflect, to write, to place those experiences in a larger context that could be shared with others, with you. i've been doing a lot of the first, i need to do a better job of the second.
last weekend we went to venice. let me say, venice is beautiful. it's about 4 hours away by train, and after my extensive experience with american rail, i never cease to be amazed by the quality of european rail, notwithstanding odd ideas like having 6 stangers sleep together in a small closet moving at 60 mph. but these were day trains of a more standard and less intimate configuration.
the beauty of italy is at times overwhelming, in two senses: it can reach out and smack you between the eyes in a single moment, but its omnipresence can also be numbing after a while. venezia was the intrusion of a moment of this first type into what had become the surreally everyday. we walked out of the train station and looked out across the grand canal and i was pretty much speechless. i'm very excited to one day spend time in venice with a beautiful woman that i passionately love. it's that kind of city.
aside from the fantastic art (we visited the accademia, la scuola di san rocco, and the peggy guggenheim collection) and getting lost, we had the peculiarly venetian experience of visiting the workshop of Tramontin & Figli (www.tramontingondole.it). Signor Tramontin is the last remaining craftsman of handmade gondolas in all of Venice. His great-grandfather started this business, and while the workshop once was able to turn out 21 handmade gondolas in a single month (only 3 men working together), Signor Tramontin now works alone, making about 1 gondola a year. i must say: they are so choice, if you have the means, i highly recommend picking one up. about 35,000 euros for the basic model, and of course you can opt for extras.
Interesting things about gondolas!
as we left, i made a point to thank Sgr. Tramontin in my best italian and shake his hand. he had the firm grip that i expected, but that final interaction left something to be desired, although it was an appropriate end to our time in the workshop. wrapped up in a conversation with someone else, Sgr. Tramontin looked at my hand long enough to guide his into it, and then back to his discussion. he never looked at me. he saw my hands - saw that they aren't used to long, hard labor, and moved on to more important things. while he generously offered us his time and a look at his workshop, he's not impressed by the tourist market. i'm glad.
it's been a while since i last posted, i apologize for the delay. as always, i'm like a starving man torn between two plates at equal distances: on the one hand, i want to go out and live live live, soak it all up, and on the other hand i want to take time to reflect, to write, to place those experiences in a larger context that could be shared with others, with you. i've been doing a lot of the first, i need to do a better job of the second.
last weekend we went to venice. let me say, venice is beautiful. it's about 4 hours away by train, and after my extensive experience with american rail, i never cease to be amazed by the quality of european rail, notwithstanding odd ideas like having 6 stangers sleep together in a small closet moving at 60 mph. but these were day trains of a more standard and less intimate configuration.
the beauty of italy is at times overwhelming, in two senses: it can reach out and smack you between the eyes in a single moment, but its omnipresence can also be numbing after a while. venezia was the intrusion of a moment of this first type into what had become the surreally everyday. we walked out of the train station and looked out across the grand canal and i was pretty much speechless. i'm very excited to one day spend time in venice with a beautiful woman that i passionately love. it's that kind of city.
aside from the fantastic art (we visited the accademia, la scuola di san rocco, and the peggy guggenheim collection) and getting lost, we had the peculiarly venetian experience of visiting the workshop of Tramontin & Figli (www.tramontingondole.it). Signor Tramontin is the last remaining craftsman of handmade gondolas in all of Venice. His great-grandfather started this business, and while the workshop once was able to turn out 21 handmade gondolas in a single month (only 3 men working together), Signor Tramontin now works alone, making about 1 gondola a year. i must say: they are so choice, if you have the means, i highly recommend picking one up. about 35,000 euros for the basic model, and of course you can opt for extras.
Interesting things about gondolas!
- Tramontin Gondolas are made from 8 different kinds of wood, used very specifically according to their different properties.
- Tramontin Gondolas are custom-made according to the weight of the gondolier.
- Gondolas are asymmetrical, very asymmetrical.
- The paddle stroke used by gondoliers cuts the water 'like salami' (how apropos of Sgr. Tramontin to use this metaphor - his solid and substantial frame suggested that he was as familiar with the intricacies of Venetian cuisine as he was with the tools on his own workbench). This technique, which keeps the paddle blade in the water continuously unlike the English variation (think rowboat), works with the water to minimize turbulence around the blade and thus maximize efficiency. A gondolier paddling at 5 km/h expends no more energy than a tourist strolling across a campo.
as we left, i made a point to thank Sgr. Tramontin in my best italian and shake his hand. he had the firm grip that i expected, but that final interaction left something to be desired, although it was an appropriate end to our time in the workshop. wrapped up in a conversation with someone else, Sgr. Tramontin looked at my hand long enough to guide his into it, and then back to his discussion. he never looked at me. he saw my hands - saw that they aren't used to long, hard labor, and moved on to more important things. while he generously offered us his time and a look at his workshop, he's not impressed by the tourist market. i'm glad.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
my address
if the desire strikes you to write me a real live letter, here's my permanent address in Arezzo.
carl adair
c/o Accademia Brittanica Toscana
Vicolo Pietro da Cortona 10
52100 Arezzo, Italy
working on some spring break plans. tenative itinerary: stockholm, london, paris. just beginning plans, though.
carl adair
c/o Accademia Brittanica Toscana
Vicolo Pietro da Cortona 10
52100 Arezzo, Italy
working on some spring break plans. tenative itinerary: stockholm, london, paris. just beginning plans, though.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
taizé reflection part III (of III)
another journal excerpt:
21.01.2006 Taizé, St. Etienne Gardens, late afternoon.
i went down to the edge of the little pond and i threw in five stones. after i threw in each stone i waited until i became the ripples and then i waited until i could no longer tell which ripples were mine, were i, and which ripples were the ducks', the ducks. then i threw in another stone. the last two stones i looked at, and i brushed off some of the red and yellow french sand off of them - they had come from the middle of the little path and were covered with the path, having been in fact a part of it so soon before. i rubbed off the sand and thought, 'what is a rock but sand?' but i kept on, and i got down to the really hard sand that was pressed in the heat and the weight of the earth that bears my feet and this little pond. i think they were metamorphic rocks, which means they were changed in some moment when they thought they were still only sedimentary, still only sand and little rocks pressed together very tight. then i threw in these last two rocks. i waited for the first rock to become the ripples and for the ripples to become indistinguishable, unintelligible, unknown from the ducks or the wind, but a friendly dog came up and licked my hand so i missed that moment when all was transformed into reflections of itself. then i threw the last stone in after i had rubbed all of the parts of itself that only wished they had been transformed in the heat and the weighing down of the earth, but were only pressed on by the very little weight of my feet and other peoples' feet and glued by the very little rain from the day before.
21.01.2006 Taizé, St. Etienne Gardens, late afternoon.
i went down to the edge of the little pond and i threw in five stones. after i threw in each stone i waited until i became the ripples and then i waited until i could no longer tell which ripples were mine, were i, and which ripples were the ducks', the ducks. then i threw in another stone. the last two stones i looked at, and i brushed off some of the red and yellow french sand off of them - they had come from the middle of the little path and were covered with the path, having been in fact a part of it so soon before. i rubbed off the sand and thought, 'what is a rock but sand?' but i kept on, and i got down to the really hard sand that was pressed in the heat and the weight of the earth that bears my feet and this little pond. i think they were metamorphic rocks, which means they were changed in some moment when they thought they were still only sedimentary, still only sand and little rocks pressed together very tight. then i threw in these last two rocks. i waited for the first rock to become the ripples and for the ripples to become indistinguishable, unintelligible, unknown from the ducks or the wind, but a friendly dog came up and licked my hand so i missed that moment when all was transformed into reflections of itself. then i threw the last stone in after i had rubbed all of the parts of itself that only wished they had been transformed in the heat and the weighing down of the earth, but were only pressed on by the very little weight of my feet and other peoples' feet and glued by the very little rain from the day before.
Monday, January 30, 2006
taize reflection part II (more crying - i am such a WUSS)
journal 22.01.2006 Taizé 11:45
perhaps the most beautiful thing i have ever seen.
today in the morning celebration of the Eucharist i was kind of crouched on the ground not knowing if i should sit all the way back down or what while others were receiving communion. There was some commotion behind me and to my right, where two brothers of taizé were distributing the sacrament. A small girl from town, about 8 years old, was standing between them holding a candle. The commotion had been caused by the boy receiving. He and 3 others are part of a French group of severly mentally and physically handicapped people who have been here since thursday night. they have lent a unique quality to common prayer times, as they often cry out or make noises, trying to communicate, to make their presence felt. or maybe they just do that. i don't know.
when i turned around to look, the action had already happened, and it looked as if the brother had placed the wafer in the boy's mouth, and in attempting to chew it, it had fallen out onto the ground. what i witnessed was the confused moment in which the brothers looked at each other and at the volunteer holding the boy, trying to figure out what to do. another volunteer came around awkwardly from behind (causing even more commotion as several of these in line were in wheelchairs) and picked up the host off of the floor and held it in his palms reverently.
then everyone just stood there for a moment. all of this was sort of obscured in my sight, so maybe the woman who was literally holding this boy upright was simply preparing to move him back to their place. but in that moment of stillness, i saw how the brother who had administered this lost host was looking at this boy. i'm sure that as a Eucharistic minister he was aware of the incredible sacrality of the consecrated host, and the myriad of technicalities that might be required of him to somehow atone for this profanation, but if any of that crossed his mind in that instant, he seemed totally unconcerned about it. in the moment i focused on his face, he was simply pouring out onto this boy a patient and overflowing love that knew nothing of regulations or restrictions, of purity or some sort of externally defined holiness. it was simply the human manifestation of the love symbolized in the body of Christ he was offering.
i was completely overcome in this moment - i feel so often like this boy - unable to move myself without another bearing almost all my weight, crying out into a sacred silence with nonsensical sounds that don't communicate anything, and when i'm allowed to participate in the most sacred of symbolic rites, i somehow manage to screw it up. the odd and unexpected realization of this week has been the power of paul's idea that God loved us 'while we were still sinners.' I haven't by anymeans become preoccupied with sin, and no guilt has been instilled or renewed in me. but i have been so moved by this idea that God's completeness, God's wholeness does not reject our brokenness, does not demand anything at all from us - any purification, any prerequisite understanding. God says yes to us in our human frailty, tempermentality, and even in the cruelty we show to those who preach only the radical extremes of inclusion and love.
and the other complementary realization and charge of this week has been that, like that brother, we must be the face of God's yes to others, to all others in the world. we must say yes, even to the last consequence to our brothers and sisters in brokenness.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
taizé reflection part 1
i don't know exactly how to approach this past week in taize, especially from the angle of writing about it in this blog. i guess i'll start with the facts and, as seems inevitable, reflections will edge their way into the picture. i took the bullet train from london to paris on sunday morning the 15th. that was just freaking cool. we were doing 90 mph easy, the cars on the parallel highways were no match for our razor cut through the northern french countryside. i also couldn't help thinking of mission: impossible. no helicopters in the chunnel, though. as far as i know.
made it to paris gare du nord right on time, only to realize just then that my next train to macon, near taize, left from gare de lyon. i figured it was a beautiful day, i'd make the trip on foot. but after i started out going the wrong way for a few minutes (something i like to do in every city i visit), i realized that i was more crunched for time than i had initially anticipated. add in a stop to take off my sweater which also involved an unintetional leaving-behind of my new glasses, and i was backtracking all over the city. made it onto the train with 2 minutes to spare, and i got strange looks from the well dressed young businessman sitting next to me, as i was pretty much in a full sweat.
in macon i met a man named johan from belgium who was also going to taizé, and he kindly explained to me some of the distant and recent events that have shaped taizé into what it is, most specifically the death of fr. roger, the founding brother in august. he was killed by a mentally disturbed woman from romania during one of the common prayer times. despite his relation of these disturbing events, johan was a very calming presence as i went further into the unknown. we made it to taizé at about 6:30, just in time for dinner and evening prayer. i was bunking down with 3 other guys in a small room, naturally the iron bars that enclosed each top bunk were a little constraining on my fully extended human form, but it was nonetheless comfortable.
there are 3 common prayer times at taizé that take place everyday just before or after meals, and last about 40 minutes, although some people choose to stay longer. the brothers of taizé, who have taken a set of vows to 'abandon themselves in silence and love' (also chastity, the old stand-by), kneel in the middle of the church, while all the 'permanents' (young people who come to live and work at taizé for 3months to a year) sit around the outside of their little area. each prayer time is a mix of beautiful, meditative song and silent prayer. these times were both frustrating and encouraging, as i was faced again and again with the difficulty of quieting my intellect and simply listening. the week as a whole provided many opportunities for me to reexamine my highly intellectual approach to faith.
there is a small medieval chapel in the adjacent town of taize (pop. less than 30) where i often went to pray in the down-time before dinner. i have never experienced such silence. i hesitated even to breathe, as even the slightest sound fairly resounded in this space. it was there on wednesday night that i had what i would call the most important conscious realization of the week.
as i mentioned before, moments of exterior silence througout the week often only highlighted the clamor of my interior. i felt and feel like my mind creates a static that obscures and scrambles any opportunity for supra-intellectual reflection. on wednesday i became, as usual, frustrated by this static and that was compounded by frustration at being unable to communicate with the many young people from Germany in their own language. i hate that english has become a sort of lowest common denominator in the international community. anyway, i said to myself in anger 'i can't understand! - i can't understand german - i cannot understand at all!' in this moment, i got the shivers and immediately started seriously disturbing the silence with the sniffles and even a few choked sobs.
i hesitate to admit this. i feel like i'm stretching this medium and perhaps showboating a bit. but i think it's worth it to make the force of this realization real. i can never understand all of what God is. God is beyond my understanding.
however, far from being a moment of defeat (although in many ways it was a moment of surrender), this was a liberation. first, i think God does want to be understood by us, however imperfectly our brains are able to conceive of God and however broken the language we might use to describe God is. that seems to me to be the true beauty and genius of the incarnation - God reveals Godself to us in human form, in terms comprehensible to us. secondly, our inability to completely understand does not preclude our ability to experience. we are in fact invited to experience 'the peace which passes all understanding.' so my search has been reoriented. more to come, my new friends are itching to see another incarnation of God - this one revealed out of marble by michaelangelo.
made it to paris gare du nord right on time, only to realize just then that my next train to macon, near taize, left from gare de lyon. i figured it was a beautiful day, i'd make the trip on foot. but after i started out going the wrong way for a few minutes (something i like to do in every city i visit), i realized that i was more crunched for time than i had initially anticipated. add in a stop to take off my sweater which also involved an unintetional leaving-behind of my new glasses, and i was backtracking all over the city. made it onto the train with 2 minutes to spare, and i got strange looks from the well dressed young businessman sitting next to me, as i was pretty much in a full sweat.
in macon i met a man named johan from belgium who was also going to taizé, and he kindly explained to me some of the distant and recent events that have shaped taizé into what it is, most specifically the death of fr. roger, the founding brother in august. he was killed by a mentally disturbed woman from romania during one of the common prayer times. despite his relation of these disturbing events, johan was a very calming presence as i went further into the unknown. we made it to taizé at about 6:30, just in time for dinner and evening prayer. i was bunking down with 3 other guys in a small room, naturally the iron bars that enclosed each top bunk were a little constraining on my fully extended human form, but it was nonetheless comfortable.
there are 3 common prayer times at taizé that take place everyday just before or after meals, and last about 40 minutes, although some people choose to stay longer. the brothers of taizé, who have taken a set of vows to 'abandon themselves in silence and love' (also chastity, the old stand-by), kneel in the middle of the church, while all the 'permanents' (young people who come to live and work at taizé for 3months to a year) sit around the outside of their little area. each prayer time is a mix of beautiful, meditative song and silent prayer. these times were both frustrating and encouraging, as i was faced again and again with the difficulty of quieting my intellect and simply listening. the week as a whole provided many opportunities for me to reexamine my highly intellectual approach to faith.
there is a small medieval chapel in the adjacent town of taize (pop. less than 30) where i often went to pray in the down-time before dinner. i have never experienced such silence. i hesitated even to breathe, as even the slightest sound fairly resounded in this space. it was there on wednesday night that i had what i would call the most important conscious realization of the week.
as i mentioned before, moments of exterior silence througout the week often only highlighted the clamor of my interior. i felt and feel like my mind creates a static that obscures and scrambles any opportunity for supra-intellectual reflection. on wednesday i became, as usual, frustrated by this static and that was compounded by frustration at being unable to communicate with the many young people from Germany in their own language. i hate that english has become a sort of lowest common denominator in the international community. anyway, i said to myself in anger 'i can't understand! - i can't understand german - i cannot understand at all!' in this moment, i got the shivers and immediately started seriously disturbing the silence with the sniffles and even a few choked sobs.
i hesitate to admit this. i feel like i'm stretching this medium and perhaps showboating a bit. but i think it's worth it to make the force of this realization real. i can never understand all of what God is. God is beyond my understanding.
however, far from being a moment of defeat (although in many ways it was a moment of surrender), this was a liberation. first, i think God does want to be understood by us, however imperfectly our brains are able to conceive of God and however broken the language we might use to describe God is. that seems to me to be the true beauty and genius of the incarnation - God reveals Godself to us in human form, in terms comprehensible to us. secondly, our inability to completely understand does not preclude our ability to experience. we are in fact invited to experience 'the peace which passes all understanding.' so my search has been reoriented. more to come, my new friends are itching to see another incarnation of God - this one revealed out of marble by michaelangelo.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
notes on taize
i don't know exactly how to approach this past week in taize, especially from the angle of writing about it in this blog. i guess i'll start with the facts and, as seems inevitable, reflections will edge their way into the picture.
i took the bullet train from london to paris on sunday morning the 15th. that was just freaking cool. we were doing 90 mph easy, the cars on the parallel highways were no match for our razor cut through the northern french countryside. i also couldn't help thinking of mission: impossible. no helicopters in the chunnel, though. as far as i know.
made it to paris gare du nord right on time, only to realize just then that my next train to macon, near taize, left from gare de lyon. i figured it was a beautiful day, i'd make the trip on foot. but after i started out going the wrong way for a few minutes (something i like to do in every city i visit), i realized that i was more crunched for time than i had initially anticipated. add in a stop to take off my sweater which also involved an unintetional leaving-behind of my new glasses, and i was backtracking all over the city. made it onto the train with 2 minutes to spare, and i got strange looks from the well dressed young businessman sitting next to me, as i was pretty much in a full sweat.
in macon i met a man named johan from belgium who was also going to taize, and he kindly explained to me some of the distant and recent events that have shaped tiaze into what it is. he was also a very calming presence as i went further into the unknown. we made it to taize at about 6:30, just in time for dinner and evening prayer. i was bunking down with 3 other guys in a small room, naturally the iron bars that enclosed each top bunk were a little constraining on my fully extended human form, but it was nonetheless comfortable.
there are 3 common prayer times at taize that take place everyday just before or after meals, and last about 40 minutes, although some people choose to stay longer. the brothers of taize, who have taken a set of vows to 'abandon themselves in silence and love' (also chastity, the old stand-by), kneel in the middle of the church, while all the 'permanents' (young people who come to live and work at taize for 3months to a year) sit around the outside of their little area. each prayer time is a mix of beautiful, meditative song and silent prayer.
these times were both frustrating and encouraging, as i was faced again and again with the difficulty of quieting my intellect and simply listening. the week as a whole provided many opportunities for me to reexamine my highly intellectual approach to faith. there is a small medieval chapel in the adjacent town of taize (pop. <>never understand all of what God is. for God is beyond our understanding.
but far from being a moment of defeat (although in many ways it was a moment of surrender), this was a liberation. first, i think God does want to be understood by us, however imperfectly our brains are able to conceive of God and however broken the language we might use to describe God is. that seems to me to be the true beauty and genius of the incarnation - God reveals Godself to us in human form, in terms comprehensible to us. secondly, our inability to completely understand does not preclude our inability to experience. we are in fact invited to experience 'the peace which passes all understanding.'
so my search has been reoriented. more to come, my new friends are itching to see another incarnation of God - this one revealed out of marble by michaelangelo.
i took the bullet train from london to paris on sunday morning the 15th. that was just freaking cool. we were doing 90 mph easy, the cars on the parallel highways were no match for our razor cut through the northern french countryside. i also couldn't help thinking of mission: impossible. no helicopters in the chunnel, though. as far as i know.
made it to paris gare du nord right on time, only to realize just then that my next train to macon, near taize, left from gare de lyon. i figured it was a beautiful day, i'd make the trip on foot. but after i started out going the wrong way for a few minutes (something i like to do in every city i visit), i realized that i was more crunched for time than i had initially anticipated. add in a stop to take off my sweater which also involved an unintetional leaving-behind of my new glasses, and i was backtracking all over the city. made it onto the train with 2 minutes to spare, and i got strange looks from the well dressed young businessman sitting next to me, as i was pretty much in a full sweat.
in macon i met a man named johan from belgium who was also going to taize, and he kindly explained to me some of the distant and recent events that have shaped tiaze into what it is. he was also a very calming presence as i went further into the unknown. we made it to taize at about 6:30, just in time for dinner and evening prayer. i was bunking down with 3 other guys in a small room, naturally the iron bars that enclosed each top bunk were a little constraining on my fully extended human form, but it was nonetheless comfortable.
there are 3 common prayer times at taize that take place everyday just before or after meals, and last about 40 minutes, although some people choose to stay longer. the brothers of taize, who have taken a set of vows to 'abandon themselves in silence and love' (also chastity, the old stand-by), kneel in the middle of the church, while all the 'permanents' (young people who come to live and work at taize for 3months to a year) sit around the outside of their little area. each prayer time is a mix of beautiful, meditative song and silent prayer.
these times were both frustrating and encouraging, as i was faced again and again with the difficulty of quieting my intellect and simply listening. the week as a whole provided many opportunities for me to reexamine my highly intellectual approach to faith. there is a small medieval chapel in the adjacent town of taize (pop. <>never understand all of what God is. for God is beyond our understanding.
but far from being a moment of defeat (although in many ways it was a moment of surrender), this was a liberation. first, i think God does want to be understood by us, however imperfectly our brains are able to conceive of God and however broken the language we might use to describe God is. that seems to me to be the true beauty and genius of the incarnation - God reveals Godself to us in human form, in terms comprehensible to us. secondly, our inability to completely understand does not preclude our inability to experience. we are in fact invited to experience 'the peace which passes all understanding.'
so my search has been reoriented. more to come, my new friends are itching to see another incarnation of God - this one revealed out of marble by michaelangelo.
Monday, January 23, 2006
florence!
hello friends and family. i arrived in florence this morning at about 7:30. i left dijon last night at 9:45, and spent the night in a 'couchette,' which apparently is french for 6 strangers sleeping together in a small closet.
i will write about my taize experience in a few days, i don't have the time to be faithful to it. in a few words, i realized that there is much that i will never be able to understand. and this is actually alright. also, i realized that there are non-intellectual ways of understanding things. i cried some. i spent a lot of time in silence, and i wrote a poem which i actually like. to be posted.
anyway, i must tell briefly of my adventure this morning. as the train pulled into florence, i heard a young woman speaking to another passenger, and she her accent and demeanor suggested to me that she was a fellow of the american genus, and probably of the collegiate species. i had the most recent issue of newsweek - a friend at taize had given it to me - and i offered it to her. we got to talking, and her name was emily and she was in florence to visit her friend sarah, here on a syracuse university program. they both go to oberlin, and they know my good friend nils's sister (also sarah). so that was a connection. but then it came out that i went to the u of r. emily is from binghamton, ny, and she knows both robert cavanaugh and becky hayes, friends and acquaintances of mine. i was in london with robert, in fact.
to make things only slightly more surreal, i didn't have a plan, and i had lost the information of the hostel where i would be staying, so i decided to walk with them to emily's hostel, hoping to find an internet cafe on the way where i could find again the confirmation from the hostel. we walked to this hostel, which was a hike up to a palatial villa. when we got there, she checked in, and i thought, i've got nothing to lose. so i asked if i had made a reservation. in fact, i had. two complete strangers had not only reconnected me to various friends back home, they had led me to my place of rest for the next two nights. mysterious ways.
i gotta go hang out with these cool girls now, i think we're going to see the david. more on taize next time. i swear. also, i would encourage anyone to make a reservation to spend some time there. silence...i've never been more crazy or more sane. paradox, a theme of the week.
i will write about my taize experience in a few days, i don't have the time to be faithful to it. in a few words, i realized that there is much that i will never be able to understand. and this is actually alright. also, i realized that there are non-intellectual ways of understanding things. i cried some. i spent a lot of time in silence, and i wrote a poem which i actually like. to be posted.
anyway, i must tell briefly of my adventure this morning. as the train pulled into florence, i heard a young woman speaking to another passenger, and she her accent and demeanor suggested to me that she was a fellow of the american genus, and probably of the collegiate species. i had the most recent issue of newsweek - a friend at taize had given it to me - and i offered it to her. we got to talking, and her name was emily and she was in florence to visit her friend sarah, here on a syracuse university program. they both go to oberlin, and they know my good friend nils's sister (also sarah). so that was a connection. but then it came out that i went to the u of r. emily is from binghamton, ny, and she knows both robert cavanaugh and becky hayes, friends and acquaintances of mine. i was in london with robert, in fact.
to make things only slightly more surreal, i didn't have a plan, and i had lost the information of the hostel where i would be staying, so i decided to walk with them to emily's hostel, hoping to find an internet cafe on the way where i could find again the confirmation from the hostel. we walked to this hostel, which was a hike up to a palatial villa. when we got there, she checked in, and i thought, i've got nothing to lose. so i asked if i had made a reservation. in fact, i had. two complete strangers had not only reconnected me to various friends back home, they had led me to my place of rest for the next two nights. mysterious ways.
i gotta go hang out with these cool girls now, i think we're going to see the david. more on taize next time. i swear. also, i would encourage anyone to make a reservation to spend some time there. silence...i've never been more crazy or more sane. paradox, a theme of the week.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
scene change
dear virtual community,
this time in london is winding down and i have very mixed feelings about it. the pace of this program has made me quite ready for it to be over, and i'm ready for a change of scenery, but i will miss dreadfully the intellectual stimulation and more importantly the friendships that have been made and strengthened here.
tomorrow morning i am taking a TGV train (that means i'm going through the CHUNNEL at high speeds - psyched) to paris, where i will have a brief layover and then on to the taize community near dijon. for those looking for more information on this religious community founded in the wake of WWII, check out www.taize.fr.
a week from tomorrow i train overnight to florence, where i'm kicking around and staying at a youth hostel monday and tuesday nights. wednesday the 25th i meet up with the other participants in the arezzo program, and we're off to some villa for a 4 day orientation. the availability of internet will probably be spotty through this next week and a half, but i like nothing better than opening up my inbox to find it full of messages from recognizable and friendly addresses. until then -
this time in london is winding down and i have very mixed feelings about it. the pace of this program has made me quite ready for it to be over, and i'm ready for a change of scenery, but i will miss dreadfully the intellectual stimulation and more importantly the friendships that have been made and strengthened here.
tomorrow morning i am taking a TGV train (that means i'm going through the CHUNNEL at high speeds - psyched) to paris, where i will have a brief layover and then on to the taize community near dijon. for those looking for more information on this religious community founded in the wake of WWII, check out www.taize.fr.
a week from tomorrow i train overnight to florence, where i'm kicking around and staying at a youth hostel monday and tuesday nights. wednesday the 25th i meet up with the other participants in the arezzo program, and we're off to some villa for a 4 day orientation. the availability of internet will probably be spotty through this next week and a half, but i like nothing better than opening up my inbox to find it full of messages from recognizable and friendly addresses. until then -
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
sunday, surreal
ok, so this past sunday was a little weird. it was a great day all around, but i think the polarity of events will be clear.
my roommates tom and ted and i went on our habitual morning run at 7:00 down to the thames, where tom (while runnning himself) took a picture of us running across the waterloo bridge with big ben in the background. we then undertook a discussion of whether or not tom's speed had precisely matched that of ted and i, of whether the picture would turn out, of how sweet it would be if ted and i were in perfect focus while big ben was slightly blurred. we're all very excited to see the print.
then we had our full english breakfasts (FEB's, as they have come to be affectionately known), over which we discussed whether or not we were all addicted to full english breakfasts. as a collective, room 14 is very passionate about transparency. nothing is sacred in our tete-a-tetes. not even our most sacred ritual, the morning FEB.
after our morning class, most of the group went down to westminster abbey for a sung eucharist service. it was fantastic! thanks to professor peck's connections and perseverance in making reservations for our group, we were allowed to sit in the choir in the central chancel. these seats are used during big functions for dignitaries from foreign lands and officials within the anglican church. we were directly between the organ and the choir, both of which were near the top of their game. i sang as loud as possible during the hymns. quite seriously, the service was very moving, and perhaps i'll write about some of my thoughts about the eucharist itself in a few days. i feel like i have had a realization.
professor and mrs. peck, tom, my friend erin, and i went back to the hotel and had a delightful lunch, and after a brief lay-down we went to the playhouse theatre near trafalgar square to see a production of Luigi Pirandello's Come tu mi vuoi ('As You Desire Me'), starring Kristen Scott Thomas, who was phenomenal.
after the play, i walked through the rain with prof. and mrs. peck to conway hall, where we took in a really great chamber music concert by the primrose piano quartet. the violist was playing on an instrument made in 1630, and we were all impressed. what was of even more interest than the brahms piano quartet in c minor was the fact that this conway hall is the local headquarters of the National Secular Society of britain. the hall itself used to be a church, but it's fascinating to see how all religious imagery and ornamentation has been removed, replaced by only the words 'To Thy Own Self Be True' above the stage area. the atmosphere lent a certain pugilistic connotation to these words, as if the people gathered there would feel their very 'selves' under attack from an oppressive external force. which, to take a look at the literature available, seems to be precisely how secularists in britain feel. the issue i picked up was declaring the newly elected 'secularist of the year,' who apparently is particularly skilled at angering the british muslim community. three cheers.
anyway, i'll end things there, with the surreality of worshipping in WESTMINSTER ABBEY and then 5 hours later to be in a militantly secular space, both of which had some pretty swinging music. perhaps this is a bridging element. i hope so.
oh yeah, after the concert i went out with nearly everyone on the trip to a bar called 'revolution,' which had taken on a bolshevik theme, red stars and everything. the subtitle was the very spartanly worded 'vodka and food.' what else would a good comrade need? it was quite humorous to note that even the iconography of communism has been successfully commodified. also reassuring to know that such a trading on principle is happening outside of the united states. apparently other people in the world are also shameless capitalists. ah, thoughts of home. miss you all.
my roommates tom and ted and i went on our habitual morning run at 7:00 down to the thames, where tom (while runnning himself) took a picture of us running across the waterloo bridge with big ben in the background. we then undertook a discussion of whether or not tom's speed had precisely matched that of ted and i, of whether the picture would turn out, of how sweet it would be if ted and i were in perfect focus while big ben was slightly blurred. we're all very excited to see the print.
then we had our full english breakfasts (FEB's, as they have come to be affectionately known), over which we discussed whether or not we were all addicted to full english breakfasts. as a collective, room 14 is very passionate about transparency. nothing is sacred in our tete-a-tetes. not even our most sacred ritual, the morning FEB.
after our morning class, most of the group went down to westminster abbey for a sung eucharist service. it was fantastic! thanks to professor peck's connections and perseverance in making reservations for our group, we were allowed to sit in the choir in the central chancel. these seats are used during big functions for dignitaries from foreign lands and officials within the anglican church. we were directly between the organ and the choir, both of which were near the top of their game. i sang as loud as possible during the hymns. quite seriously, the service was very moving, and perhaps i'll write about some of my thoughts about the eucharist itself in a few days. i feel like i have had a realization.
professor and mrs. peck, tom, my friend erin, and i went back to the hotel and had a delightful lunch, and after a brief lay-down we went to the playhouse theatre near trafalgar square to see a production of Luigi Pirandello's Come tu mi vuoi ('As You Desire Me'), starring Kristen Scott Thomas, who was phenomenal.
after the play, i walked through the rain with prof. and mrs. peck to conway hall, where we took in a really great chamber music concert by the primrose piano quartet. the violist was playing on an instrument made in 1630, and we were all impressed. what was of even more interest than the brahms piano quartet in c minor was the fact that this conway hall is the local headquarters of the National Secular Society of britain. the hall itself used to be a church, but it's fascinating to see how all religious imagery and ornamentation has been removed, replaced by only the words 'To Thy Own Self Be True' above the stage area. the atmosphere lent a certain pugilistic connotation to these words, as if the people gathered there would feel their very 'selves' under attack from an oppressive external force. which, to take a look at the literature available, seems to be precisely how secularists in britain feel. the issue i picked up was declaring the newly elected 'secularist of the year,' who apparently is particularly skilled at angering the british muslim community. three cheers.
anyway, i'll end things there, with the surreality of worshipping in WESTMINSTER ABBEY and then 5 hours later to be in a militantly secular space, both of which had some pretty swinging music. perhaps this is a bridging element. i hope so.
oh yeah, after the concert i went out with nearly everyone on the trip to a bar called 'revolution,' which had taken on a bolshevik theme, red stars and everything. the subtitle was the very spartanly worded 'vodka and food.' what else would a good comrade need? it was quite humorous to note that even the iconography of communism has been successfully commodified. also reassuring to know that such a trading on principle is happening outside of the united states. apparently other people in the world are also shameless capitalists. ah, thoughts of home. miss you all.
Friday, January 06, 2006
i have been going to plays
i have been going to many interesting plays in the past week. most notably, tonight i saw the play 'paul,' which dramatizes the strengths, weaknesses, and even the psychosis of the apostle Paul. in this creation, yeshua did not in fact die on the cross, nor was he resurrected. joseph of aramithea bribed the centurion to let yeshua down, and he survived the crucifixion. he then appeared to paul in the flesh on the road to damascus as a political trick by james and peter to free the early christian movement from saul's vicious persecution. paul then used his unprecedented and unparalleled fervor for the risen Christ to not only raise congregations throughout the mediterranean, but also to persuade even those apostles who knew yeshua to accept and believe in his own mythologized Jesus Christ. anyway, it was really interesting. and that's all i have to say about that.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
liminal spaces
in my first post i had meant to offer some explanation of this title - 'in the middle of the journey of our life.' this is the first line of dante's divine comedy, the inferno cantica.
i was having a discussion with my friend tom about 'liminal spaces' - an idea that was imparted to me from the golden tongue of one patrick o'brien. it came up after we saw a plaque in hyde park that referenced lewis carroll, author of 'alice in wonderland.' a liminal space is a sort of boundary area, an amorphous threshold between the known realm and that which lies beyond our capacity to anticipate - the otherworldly, the creepy.
the opening of dante's divine comedy finds the poem's main character - dante himself - in such a space, at the foot of a mountain he cannot climb. his path is blocked by a variety of threatening obstacles, and he is paralyzed with an awareness of his own helplessness and lack of direction in 'the dark wood' he finds himself in. what's interesting is that he writes with all the emphasis inherent in the very first line of a 3 volume epic poem encompassing politics, history, literature, philosophy, and theology that he finds himself there in the journey of OUR life. this is not just a personal journey. his reader is invited along as he himself is guided 'by another way' at the heels of his guide, the poet vergil.
now, i destest melodrama, but to an extent i can empathize with the sentiments of that high poet and humble pilgrim. mainly, i'm aware that the challenges of this trip are insurmountable by my own power and wits alone. and whatever mountain of virtue or wisdom that demands my ascent may need be approached by a circuitous, unknown route. and right now, that knowledge is creeping me out. i'm trying to keep my eyes open for white rabbits.
i was having a discussion with my friend tom about 'liminal spaces' - an idea that was imparted to me from the golden tongue of one patrick o'brien. it came up after we saw a plaque in hyde park that referenced lewis carroll, author of 'alice in wonderland.' a liminal space is a sort of boundary area, an amorphous threshold between the known realm and that which lies beyond our capacity to anticipate - the otherworldly, the creepy.
the opening of dante's divine comedy finds the poem's main character - dante himself - in such a space, at the foot of a mountain he cannot climb. his path is blocked by a variety of threatening obstacles, and he is paralyzed with an awareness of his own helplessness and lack of direction in 'the dark wood' he finds himself in. what's interesting is that he writes with all the emphasis inherent in the very first line of a 3 volume epic poem encompassing politics, history, literature, philosophy, and theology that he finds himself there in the journey of OUR life. this is not just a personal journey. his reader is invited along as he himself is guided 'by another way' at the heels of his guide, the poet vergil.
now, i destest melodrama, but to an extent i can empathize with the sentiments of that high poet and humble pilgrim. mainly, i'm aware that the challenges of this trip are insurmountable by my own power and wits alone. and whatever mountain of virtue or wisdom that demands my ascent may need be approached by a circuitous, unknown route. and right now, that knowledge is creeping me out. i'm trying to keep my eyes open for white rabbits.
Monday, January 02, 2006
new year's revelry
i must first note that whoever last logged into 'blogspot.com' on this computer changed all the language settings to some eastern characters that i don't recognize. so i'm flying blind here. but aren't we all.
i'm frustrated by this medium - i've got 20 minutes to write something i hope you all might find relatively interesting, and i'm not sure if you want specific discourse on topics i've been reflecting on, or if a play by play of my activities is more appropriate. i'd like it to be more towards the former, because being abroad is stimulating my thinking on a number of issues i felt more or less blocked up in while in rochester. but, considering that it was just new years (and new year's eve just before that), i do feel obligated to relate to you my very sweet evening.
we all saw a production of Thomas Middleton's 'A New Way to Please You' in the afternoon of the 31st, and then after dinner we moved to Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night' - it was a fantastic production that I enjoyed immensely. the music in particular was somewhat entrancing - it lent a 3-dimensional pathos to the whole play, but especially to the character Feste - the fool - that was entirely absent in the literal text.
after the play a group of 12 of us headed down to the 'food mart: express' to buy beer or wine, each according to his or her taste, and walked slowly over the waterloo bridge towards the national theatre. we took our time because london at night is beautiful and the city was especially dolled up for the holiday - images were projected on buildings, lights were shone into the sky - it was breathtaking. while people around us were setting up camp for the evening as this would be an ideal spot to see the fireworks set off over the thames by the london eye, we moved on and walked along the thames, eventually ending up at big ben, where we experienced the ritual rebirth of time with about 50,000 other people. it was great.
after midnight we quickly decided to head towards trafalgar square, another population center for the evening, but the street was blocked. at this juncture, we were packed in together as tightly as possible, and moved only by the whim of the crowd. because i am tall and visible, most people in the general area seemed to blame me for being shoved this way and that. i felt bad that they weren't in control of their own movement, but hey - we were all in the same boat and i had some girl's deceptively pointy purse shoved up under my ribs for 20 minutes. give me a break.
we ended up moving across the westminster bridge (away from our hotel, to the wrong side of the thames), being swept into these currents of people that moved seemingly without any individual volition. it was an interesting commentary on collective action, and exhilarating as it was unnerving. the downside of these powerfully pumping arteries of personhood was that half our group was in an instant shunted off into another branch of the social body and were ultimately turned around. we were separated and would not be rejoined until 2 hours later at the hotel. my group, now of four, took a round about route back to the hotel, as i, apparently the leader, forgot we were now on the wrong side of the thames and headed west when east should have been our heading. but we made it back.
however when we did arrive back at the hotel and were rejoined shortly after by our diverted fellows, we were 2 short of our original 12. my good friend tom and i immediately set out to look for them. so we scoured every place we had been that evening for the next hour and a half, returning to the hotel around 4am, only to learn that our lost lambs had gotten back of their own accord about 15 minutes after we had left. but such is the stuff of stories. about new year's.
i close this entry with an invitation to you all. check out this website: www.earthfromtheair.com
this is a virtual version of an exhibit on display near the tower bridge - the artist/photographer yannthus bertrand, in partnership with UNESCO is in the midst of an extensive series of aerial photographs of natural and human phenomena. the pictures are stunning, and the captions are poignantly conscious of the complex interrelationship between human and natural forces of beauty and destruction. the most intriguing and moving pictures are those in which the two interact in a single frame. i love the one of the man on the bales of cotton, but it's hard to pick a favorite.
i don't miss the states much right now, but i do miss you that populate them. peace to you all and happy new year.
i'm frustrated by this medium - i've got 20 minutes to write something i hope you all might find relatively interesting, and i'm not sure if you want specific discourse on topics i've been reflecting on, or if a play by play of my activities is more appropriate. i'd like it to be more towards the former, because being abroad is stimulating my thinking on a number of issues i felt more or less blocked up in while in rochester. but, considering that it was just new years (and new year's eve just before that), i do feel obligated to relate to you my very sweet evening.
we all saw a production of Thomas Middleton's 'A New Way to Please You' in the afternoon of the 31st, and then after dinner we moved to Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night' - it was a fantastic production that I enjoyed immensely. the music in particular was somewhat entrancing - it lent a 3-dimensional pathos to the whole play, but especially to the character Feste - the fool - that was entirely absent in the literal text.
after the play a group of 12 of us headed down to the 'food mart: express' to buy beer or wine, each according to his or her taste, and walked slowly over the waterloo bridge towards the national theatre. we took our time because london at night is beautiful and the city was especially dolled up for the holiday - images were projected on buildings, lights were shone into the sky - it was breathtaking. while people around us were setting up camp for the evening as this would be an ideal spot to see the fireworks set off over the thames by the london eye, we moved on and walked along the thames, eventually ending up at big ben, where we experienced the ritual rebirth of time with about 50,000 other people. it was great.
after midnight we quickly decided to head towards trafalgar square, another population center for the evening, but the street was blocked. at this juncture, we were packed in together as tightly as possible, and moved only by the whim of the crowd. because i am tall and visible, most people in the general area seemed to blame me for being shoved this way and that. i felt bad that they weren't in control of their own movement, but hey - we were all in the same boat and i had some girl's deceptively pointy purse shoved up under my ribs for 20 minutes. give me a break.
we ended up moving across the westminster bridge (away from our hotel, to the wrong side of the thames), being swept into these currents of people that moved seemingly without any individual volition. it was an interesting commentary on collective action, and exhilarating as it was unnerving. the downside of these powerfully pumping arteries of personhood was that half our group was in an instant shunted off into another branch of the social body and were ultimately turned around. we were separated and would not be rejoined until 2 hours later at the hotel. my group, now of four, took a round about route back to the hotel, as i, apparently the leader, forgot we were now on the wrong side of the thames and headed west when east should have been our heading. but we made it back.
however when we did arrive back at the hotel and were rejoined shortly after by our diverted fellows, we were 2 short of our original 12. my good friend tom and i immediately set out to look for them. so we scoured every place we had been that evening for the next hour and a half, returning to the hotel around 4am, only to learn that our lost lambs had gotten back of their own accord about 15 minutes after we had left. but such is the stuff of stories. about new year's.
i close this entry with an invitation to you all. check out this website: www.earthfromtheair.com
this is a virtual version of an exhibit on display near the tower bridge - the artist/photographer yannthus bertrand, in partnership with UNESCO is in the midst of an extensive series of aerial photographs of natural and human phenomena. the pictures are stunning, and the captions are poignantly conscious of the complex interrelationship between human and natural forces of beauty and destruction. the most intriguing and moving pictures are those in which the two interact in a single frame. i love the one of the man on the bales of cotton, but it's hard to pick a favorite.
i don't miss the states much right now, but i do miss you that populate them. peace to you all and happy new year.
Friday, December 30, 2005
The National Gallery
Quick Run through of yesterday's (thursday's) activities: morning run that took me past most of the theatres we'll be visiting during this program, Waterloo Bridge and Station, the National Theatre, the place the London Phil plays (can't recall the name), the London Eye, the Dali Museum, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey (nice anti-war display there - moving), Parliament, Trafalgar Square, the National Gallery, St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Strand, back to the Harlingford. Good run and most efficient sightseeing trip of my life
(juggling and fire are cool). Back to the National Gallery - spent some good time looking at Turner, Britain's prize impressionist. I enjoyed his paintings a lot, they put me in a sort of plaintive mood. Monet/Manet/Seurat. Pointillism blows my mind. Special exhibit of a local photographer from Hackney who quotes directly from Old Master paintings in his pictures of marginal populations (squatters, the homeless) and marginal events (bodies found in river, etc.). Very interesting, often disturbing.
Back to the hotel for a quick nap. Got together with Prof. Peck, his wife Ruth, and cellist from Eastman named Erin - we went up to Hackney for sis kabobs and then a production of Aristophanes's Lysistrata. 'True' to the tradition of Greek drama, the male characters wore 4 foot phalluses (phalli?), in a variety of neon colors. Very funny. Bed.
In the 15 minutes I have left on this computer, I want to talk a little bit about a recurring image from the 1500-1600 division at the National. Needless to say, much of the art from this period and in this section of the Museum was devotional in nature - religious subjects and imagery were dominant. In 5 or 6 of the paintings which featured a representation of Christ (Madonna and Child, preaching, crucifixion, piet'a, etc.) there was a figure standing off to the side looking at Christ and pointing heavenward. Often times this was John the Baptist, but not always. The note on the side of each painting commented that this pointing signified the final destination and ultimate purpose of Christ - to return to heaven, having flung wide the doors of salvation by his sacrificial death and resurrection. In the interest of time, I'll say this was trope was infused with the most pathos in scenes of the infant Christ in the stable, with one of the wise men or the infant John the Baptist pointing toward heaven.
I am amazed by the inclusiveness of the Christian narrative, and this inclusiveness has interesting consequences for the Christian understanding of time. Christ's birth is inseparable in the Christian mind from his miraculous rebirth at Easter, which of course brings in the horror of the Crucifixion. It's all tied together, a unified whole. And of course the narrative of Christ's earthly life and the Gospel authors' interpretation of purpose in that life - to redeem the world - is the lynchpin for all of history in the Christian meta-narrative. Interestingly enough,
(juggling and fire are cool). Back to the National Gallery - spent some good time looking at Turner, Britain's prize impressionist. I enjoyed his paintings a lot, they put me in a sort of plaintive mood. Monet/Manet/Seurat. Pointillism blows my mind. Special exhibit of a local photographer from Hackney who quotes directly from Old Master paintings in his pictures of marginal populations (squatters, the homeless) and marginal events (bodies found in river, etc.). Very interesting, often disturbing.
Back to the hotel for a quick nap. Got together with Prof. Peck, his wife Ruth, and cellist from Eastman named Erin - we went up to Hackney for sis kabobs and then a production of Aristophanes's Lysistrata. 'True' to the tradition of Greek drama, the male characters wore 4 foot phalluses (phalli?), in a variety of neon colors. Very funny. Bed.
In the 15 minutes I have left on this computer, I want to talk a little bit about a recurring image from the 1500-1600 division at the National. Needless to say, much of the art from this period and in this section of the Museum was devotional in nature - religious subjects and imagery were dominant. In 5 or 6 of the paintings which featured a representation of Christ (Madonna and Child, preaching, crucifixion, piet'a, etc.) there was a figure standing off to the side looking at Christ and pointing heavenward. Often times this was John the Baptist, but not always. The note on the side of each painting commented that this pointing signified the final destination and ultimate purpose of Christ - to return to heaven, having flung wide the doors of salvation by his sacrificial death and resurrection. In the interest of time, I'll say this was trope was infused with the most pathos in scenes of the infant Christ in the stable, with one of the wise men or the infant John the Baptist pointing toward heaven.
I am amazed by the inclusiveness of the Christian narrative, and this inclusiveness has interesting consequences for the Christian understanding of time. Christ's birth is inseparable in the Christian mind from his miraculous rebirth at Easter, which of course brings in the horror of the Crucifixion. It's all tied together, a unified whole. And of course the narrative of Christ's earthly life and the Gospel authors' interpretation of purpose in that life - to redeem the world - is the lynchpin for all of history in the Christian meta-narrative. Interestingly enough,
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
journey to london via new york
Well let's get this underway. I'm writing from the appropriately and succinctly named 'Internet Cafe' on Euston in Bloomsbury, London. I have been in London for about 15 hours, although I have been *not* in line (queue) or awake for only about 5 of those. Alas, I'm beginning in medias res. Odysseus before the Phaiacians, Aeneas before the Carthaginians, let me relate to you the story of my journey. To speak of it is to renew my pain. not really. at all.
I flew out of Rochester at 6am on Tuesday, Dec. 27th. I was all psyched up the night before and going through unnecessary mental machinations regarding departure and my general absence from the US for 6 months, so I boarded this plane running on about 2 hours of sleep. Got into JFK around 7:15, and walked to the baggage claim with Matt Owens, an old friend of mine from high school who happened to be on the same flight. We caught up a bit and talked about the Boston and NY jazz scenes, which Matt knows about because he is a Berkeley jazz trumpet grad, and which I pretend to know about because I'm currently reading the autobiography of Miles Davis.
We parted ways and I took the airtrain and then the subway into Manhattan. I got off around Times Square because, what the hell, I've got a 40 pound pack on my back - better act the tourist as much as possible. Plus I'd never been. So I looked around, got my news off that wavy scrolling light thing at ABC studios, strained my neck looking up at tall buildings. It was nice. Walked uptown to Central Park, where I spent most of the day reading about the endearingly arrogant Miles and writing down some thoughts in the old journal, trying to get my head together about what's gone down the past few months, figure out where I stand going into the next few. As Martha Stewart says, it's a good thing. I nodded off for about 15 minutes on my 3rd bench of the afternoon. I kept getting cold so I'd walk around for a bit and find another bench with more sunshine.
Walked around some more - down 5th avenue just checking it out. that was distinctively zoo-like. Crazed animals dressed like humans dressed in the skins of animals. Stopped at a post office to mail home the car keys I found in my pocket (could be useful to someone else in my family) and on my way back to the subway I ran into, out of whatever hundreds of thousands of people milling around in New York on that day, Joanna Reynolds, a friend from the U of R. She was shopping with her mother, and I must say, looked very much in her element. Her ever fashionable dress had been taken to the next level - she was clearly a native. I enjoyed talking to her and her mother was very nice and asked if I'd like to join them for coffee, but I needed to get going.
Made it back to JFK, did the check-in thing, had quiet time in the chapel. I must interject that there are 4 distinct and CLEARLY labelled 'chapels' right next to eachother in Terminal 4. On each, the wall facing the terminal was all glass, which struck me as very shopfront. Now, of course I'm impressed that airports are providing quiet areas for prayer and reflection, and was myself eager to take advantage of that space, but it was a little too surreally American on the whole. I think back to the meditation room in the Amsterdam airport en route to Kenya 3 years ago - that seemed a much more sacred space to me, probably because there was no differentiation between faith traditions. On the other hand, there were only 2 other people in that room in Amsterdam (although the architecture alone was a reflection of the divine). When I was walking to the non-denominational Protestant Chapel (which oddly enough had the word 'crusade' somewhere in the name - also right next to 'Our Lady of the Skies') our Muslim brothers and sisters were packed into their storefront like sardines. Then almost all of them left at the same time and went to the same gate to board their plane to Cairo. I thought that was very nice, I wish that a good one-third of my Virgin Atlantic flight had been shoulder to shoulder in one of the other chapels before we went down en mass to cross the Atlantic. Out of Egypt.
One more thing on the chapel note - can someone send me or post the text of the 'Every Valley' section of Handel's Messiah? I think it's the 3rd section - tenor solo. Good things to be thinking about in the midst of adjustment - 'and the rough places made plain.'
Couldn't sleep on the flight because I am 6'4" and my knees were right up against the tray table the whole way. Not the most comfortable I've ever been. Very very pretty stewardesses ahem flight attendents. So it wasn't wasted time.
Deboarded, stood in a passport control line for an hour and half, got my bags and headed for the Underground. Had some money trouble, got nervous, but it's all resolved now. Made it to the Harlingford Hotel in Bloomsbury where I'll be staying until the 15th without incident. meant to 'just try out the bed' for an hour or two - right. you see where this is going. woke up at 8pm local time - a nice 10 hour nap. no matter what, though, I'm getting up at 7:30 tomorrow for breakfast and a full day of gallery hopping. Tate and Tate Modern, definitely.
I will close by saying that over break I recorded some songs with my friend Dan Gocek. This project explores the degree to which one can really produce anything novel - or if that's even a desireable aim. I think it's more interesting to see ourselves in a dialogue with what's come before and what else is happening now. In that spirit, I recorded some of my friends at school reading something they thought was interesting, moving, quirky, or fun. I then tried to incorporate those ideas and their very voices into the music. In retrospect, I wish I had taken more time to work the very words into lyrical material, etc., but I'm pretty pleased with how the whole thing turned out. Basically, if you want to hear what this sounds like, email my distribution co-ordinator, sister, and future NYU freshman - Ellie.
let me hear your voices - give me a shout at cadair@mail.rochester.edu. peace.
I flew out of Rochester at 6am on Tuesday, Dec. 27th. I was all psyched up the night before and going through unnecessary mental machinations regarding departure and my general absence from the US for 6 months, so I boarded this plane running on about 2 hours of sleep. Got into JFK around 7:15, and walked to the baggage claim with Matt Owens, an old friend of mine from high school who happened to be on the same flight. We caught up a bit and talked about the Boston and NY jazz scenes, which Matt knows about because he is a Berkeley jazz trumpet grad, and which I pretend to know about because I'm currently reading the autobiography of Miles Davis.
We parted ways and I took the airtrain and then the subway into Manhattan. I got off around Times Square because, what the hell, I've got a 40 pound pack on my back - better act the tourist as much as possible. Plus I'd never been. So I looked around, got my news off that wavy scrolling light thing at ABC studios, strained my neck looking up at tall buildings. It was nice. Walked uptown to Central Park, where I spent most of the day reading about the endearingly arrogant Miles and writing down some thoughts in the old journal, trying to get my head together about what's gone down the past few months, figure out where I stand going into the next few. As Martha Stewart says, it's a good thing. I nodded off for about 15 minutes on my 3rd bench of the afternoon. I kept getting cold so I'd walk around for a bit and find another bench with more sunshine.
Walked around some more - down 5th avenue just checking it out. that was distinctively zoo-like. Crazed animals dressed like humans dressed in the skins of animals. Stopped at a post office to mail home the car keys I found in my pocket (could be useful to someone else in my family) and on my way back to the subway I ran into, out of whatever hundreds of thousands of people milling around in New York on that day, Joanna Reynolds, a friend from the U of R. She was shopping with her mother, and I must say, looked very much in her element. Her ever fashionable dress had been taken to the next level - she was clearly a native. I enjoyed talking to her and her mother was very nice and asked if I'd like to join them for coffee, but I needed to get going.
Made it back to JFK, did the check-in thing, had quiet time in the chapel. I must interject that there are 4 distinct and CLEARLY labelled 'chapels' right next to eachother in Terminal 4. On each, the wall facing the terminal was all glass, which struck me as very shopfront. Now, of course I'm impressed that airports are providing quiet areas for prayer and reflection, and was myself eager to take advantage of that space, but it was a little too surreally American on the whole. I think back to the meditation room in the Amsterdam airport en route to Kenya 3 years ago - that seemed a much more sacred space to me, probably because there was no differentiation between faith traditions. On the other hand, there were only 2 other people in that room in Amsterdam (although the architecture alone was a reflection of the divine). When I was walking to the non-denominational Protestant Chapel (which oddly enough had the word 'crusade' somewhere in the name - also right next to 'Our Lady of the Skies') our Muslim brothers and sisters were packed into their storefront like sardines. Then almost all of them left at the same time and went to the same gate to board their plane to Cairo. I thought that was very nice, I wish that a good one-third of my Virgin Atlantic flight had been shoulder to shoulder in one of the other chapels before we went down en mass to cross the Atlantic. Out of Egypt.
One more thing on the chapel note - can someone send me or post the text of the 'Every Valley' section of Handel's Messiah? I think it's the 3rd section - tenor solo. Good things to be thinking about in the midst of adjustment - 'and the rough places made plain.'
Couldn't sleep on the flight because I am 6'4" and my knees were right up against the tray table the whole way. Not the most comfortable I've ever been. Very very pretty stewardesses ahem flight attendents. So it wasn't wasted time.
Deboarded, stood in a passport control line for an hour and half, got my bags and headed for the Underground. Had some money trouble, got nervous, but it's all resolved now. Made it to the Harlingford Hotel in Bloomsbury where I'll be staying until the 15th without incident. meant to 'just try out the bed' for an hour or two - right. you see where this is going. woke up at 8pm local time - a nice 10 hour nap. no matter what, though, I'm getting up at 7:30 tomorrow for breakfast and a full day of gallery hopping. Tate and Tate Modern, definitely.
I will close by saying that over break I recorded some songs with my friend Dan Gocek. This project explores the degree to which one can really produce anything novel - or if that's even a desireable aim. I think it's more interesting to see ourselves in a dialogue with what's come before and what else is happening now. In that spirit, I recorded some of my friends at school reading something they thought was interesting, moving, quirky, or fun. I then tried to incorporate those ideas and their very voices into the music. In retrospect, I wish I had taken more time to work the very words into lyrical material, etc., but I'm pretty pleased with how the whole thing turned out. Basically, if you want to hear what this sounds like, email my distribution co-ordinator, sister, and future NYU freshman - Ellie.
let me hear your voices - give me a shout at cadair@mail.rochester.edu. peace.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Longest web address...ever
Hello and welcome to the unfolding and incomplete record of my travels over the 6 months to come. I hope I can keep your interest.
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