Rediscovery Assignment, Week 4: Art
Aug. 11th, 2002 12:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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rediscovery this week, the assignment was to name the five pieces of art that have most affected your life, and try to explain why/how. This was very difficult for me, because there are so many artistic works I didn't list that I would have loved to. I probably could have named twenty-five.
Here was my submission:
1. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Patterson
I first came across this story in the third grade, when my teacher (Sr. Jenny) read it to my class a few pages a day, after lunch. (If you are not familiar with this book go and get it right now.) Third grade was, oh, 1983-1984. It's a wonderful story about friendship, imagination, and life. I have always felt like Leslie Burke - a nontraditional girl with a whole world inside her head. I think of kids that I knew when I was a child, kids that didn't seem to use their imaginations, and I was sad for them. I was sad for children who had to be taught to think outside the box. At the same time, I learned, through this story, that just because something is good and right and wonderful doesn't mean it is going to last forever. I still read this book about once a year, and I get very emotional every time. I buy a copy of this book for almost every person who significantly touches my life, usually for our first Valentine's Day. I last bought a copy for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kieron.
2. "Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali
When I was in my first year of high school (1989-1990), I joined the Art Club because the Art Club took a trip to New York City every year (sometimes two trips). We would all load up into a big yellow school bus and hit the museums, usually the Met. In 1990, though, we went to the MOMA instead (Museum of Modern Art). I was completely transfixed by this painting. It's small, relatively speaking, compared to some of the giants on the walls, but it hit me like a locomotive. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I had been walking the museum with two school friends, Laurie and Joslyn. We stopped at the painting. They walked off. I couldn't move. I was drawn to every aspect - the clocks, the ants, the colors... I practically leaned forward to smell it, but I knew I would get in trouble. I remember wondering how a person comes up with this sort of thing, where these images come from. I remember realizing how vast the human mind is. I think this is when I became interested in neuroscience - that afternoon, in the MOMA, hiding from the rain, completely enamored. I'm not much of a Dali fan, personally, but to this day, I still love that painting. And I still think about how fortunate I was to be able to go to those museums when I was 14 years old.
3. The Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu
I stumbled upon the Tao because my friend Aaron (bodhimindspirit) and I were on a quest to be as intellectually pretentious as possible. This was in the early part of 1991. He and I would try to learn about a little bit of everything that was big, important, different, or smart. He wasn't much into Eastern thought at that time (but he is now), and neither was I, really, but I remember being in awe of the fact that life was depicted so simply in those verses, and yet it was totally true. This was a big year for me spiritually. Later that year, in 11th grade, I would take a class called "Christology and Ethics" (I went to Catholic school). In this class, Br. Ray would explain ethics to us using the Calvin and Hobbes comic strips. In 1991, I began to realize that the confines of Catholicism were not for me. I began to realize that there was so much more out there than I had been taught at home. I began to realize that questioning one's faith made it stronger. I began to realize that spirituality came from books other than The Bible - including comics. (For the record, Calvin and Hobbes makes for EXCELLENT teaching of ethics.)
4. "Joy" by George Winston
In December of 1992, when I was a senior in high school, Aaron (the best friend listed above) wanted to share one of his favorite things with me. Aaron is a musical genius, and he composes his own works on the piano (guitar too, now, but not then). Piano has always been the one thing that really grounded him, and 1992 was a very difficult year for him. For Christmas, he bought me two albums - the first Enya album and George Winston's "December." He was very excited about playing the latter for me, and asked me to sit on the floor of my bedroom while he placed it into my CD player. We listened in the dark. When the third song came on, I was filled with giddiness in my stomach. It was like butterflies. I don't think I can really put it into words, but I began crying. He asked me why I was crying. I told him, "That song. It's just... it is so..." I struggled to convey my feelings. Finally I said, "There is so much happiness in that song that I can't bear it." He told me that the song was called "Joy." He was blown away. We had a real moment that night. He held my hand, squeezed it, and whispered, "You can hear music." I don't have a lot of gifts in the area of music, but I learned that night that I have a gift for hearing the emotional content of music. After that night, he began sharing his own compositions with me - the way he'd been dealing with his pain. I understood him so much better, for he hadn't been very good at explaining what was going on with him, and this way, I just knew. We would play with this... he would conjure up a feeling, go to the piano, play the feeling, and I would guess. It brought us very close as friends. The only way I can really accurately describe it is to say it was like the secret communal language of twins. From the end of 1992 until January of 1994 when we had an incredible fight, we lived and breathed each other. It started that night, listening to "Joy." I still get choked up when I hear that song.
5. On the Road by Jack Kerouac
It's funny that this one is last chronologically, because this book is the thing that has affected my life more than anything. Its title instantly rolls off my tongue as that of my favorite book. It's the book I recommend to everyone. It is the second (of two) books I usually give my SOs on our first Valentine's Day. The penned lives of Jack Kerouac and Neil Cassady have sent me across the country, ruined relationships, kept me from drinking too much, and so many other things since I was given this book in June of 1993 - a gift from my brother for my high school graduation. He wrote this inside: This is my favorite book in the whole literary world. As you read it, remember that you, too are on the road, and that one person can make a difference. Jack Kerouac helped drag this country kicking and screaming from the complacency of the 1950's into the modern world. It can show that it's possible to find one's self and truth in a way unique to that individual. I hope this happens to you... you deserve it. Never give up on your dreams, because they're indicative of who you are, and who you are is never stupid or not worthwhile. The world is yours, so take it... it's there for you.
Is there no wonder this book has impacted me so profoundly, with an introduction like this? Soon after, my brother found a new favorite book in the whole literary world, but I set off on the road - leaving for college. College (and the Internet) granted me the freedom to explore possibilities and travel the country, and I took every opportunity placed remotely near me. For 4 years of college, this book, this particular copy, sat in the front pocket of my backpack and I took it everywhere. Passages are highlighted and underlined like it is a bible. The book is worn, beaten, traveled, loved. I fell in love with the spirit of a dead man while reading this book the first time, and every time I read it, we become more and more intertwined. Am I an asshole? Only as much as Dean Moriarty is, only as asshole as being unable to stay still causes. And sometimes assholes are so damned appealing, aren't they?
I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered, stabilized-within-the-photo lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, out actual night, the hell of it, the senseless nightmare road.
rediscovery this week, the assignment was to name the five pieces of art that have most affected your life, and try to explain why/how. This was very difficult for me, because there are so many artistic works I didn't list that I would have loved to. I probably could have named twenty-five.Here was my submission:
1. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Patterson
I first came across this story in the third grade, when my teacher (Sr. Jenny) read it to my class a few pages a day, after lunch. (If you are not familiar with this book go and get it right now.) Third grade was, oh, 1983-1984. It's a wonderful story about friendship, imagination, and life. I have always felt like Leslie Burke - a nontraditional girl with a whole world inside her head. I think of kids that I knew when I was a child, kids that didn't seem to use their imaginations, and I was sad for them. I was sad for children who had to be taught to think outside the box. At the same time, I learned, through this story, that just because something is good and right and wonderful doesn't mean it is going to last forever. I still read this book about once a year, and I get very emotional every time. I buy a copy of this book for almost every person who significantly touches my life, usually for our first Valentine's Day. I last bought a copy for
kieron.2. "Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali
When I was in my first year of high school (1989-1990), I joined the Art Club because the Art Club took a trip to New York City every year (sometimes two trips). We would all load up into a big yellow school bus and hit the museums, usually the Met. In 1990, though, we went to the MOMA instead (Museum of Modern Art). I was completely transfixed by this painting. It's small, relatively speaking, compared to some of the giants on the walls, but it hit me like a locomotive. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I had been walking the museum with two school friends, Laurie and Joslyn. We stopped at the painting. They walked off. I couldn't move. I was drawn to every aspect - the clocks, the ants, the colors... I practically leaned forward to smell it, but I knew I would get in trouble. I remember wondering how a person comes up with this sort of thing, where these images come from. I remember realizing how vast the human mind is. I think this is when I became interested in neuroscience - that afternoon, in the MOMA, hiding from the rain, completely enamored. I'm not much of a Dali fan, personally, but to this day, I still love that painting. And I still think about how fortunate I was to be able to go to those museums when I was 14 years old.
3. The Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu
I stumbled upon the Tao because my friend Aaron (
bodhimindspirit) and I were on a quest to be as intellectually pretentious as possible. This was in the early part of 1991. He and I would try to learn about a little bit of everything that was big, important, different, or smart. He wasn't much into Eastern thought at that time (but he is now), and neither was I, really, but I remember being in awe of the fact that life was depicted so simply in those verses, and yet it was totally true. This was a big year for me spiritually. Later that year, in 11th grade, I would take a class called "Christology and Ethics" (I went to Catholic school). In this class, Br. Ray would explain ethics to us using the Calvin and Hobbes comic strips. In 1991, I began to realize that the confines of Catholicism were not for me. I began to realize that there was so much more out there than I had been taught at home. I began to realize that questioning one's faith made it stronger. I began to realize that spirituality came from books other than The Bible - including comics. (For the record, Calvin and Hobbes makes for EXCELLENT teaching of ethics.)4. "Joy" by George Winston
In December of 1992, when I was a senior in high school, Aaron (the best friend listed above) wanted to share one of his favorite things with me. Aaron is a musical genius, and he composes his own works on the piano (guitar too, now, but not then). Piano has always been the one thing that really grounded him, and 1992 was a very difficult year for him. For Christmas, he bought me two albums - the first Enya album and George Winston's "December." He was very excited about playing the latter for me, and asked me to sit on the floor of my bedroom while he placed it into my CD player. We listened in the dark. When the third song came on, I was filled with giddiness in my stomach. It was like butterflies. I don't think I can really put it into words, but I began crying. He asked me why I was crying. I told him, "That song. It's just... it is so..." I struggled to convey my feelings. Finally I said, "There is so much happiness in that song that I can't bear it." He told me that the song was called "Joy." He was blown away. We had a real moment that night. He held my hand, squeezed it, and whispered, "You can hear music." I don't have a lot of gifts in the area of music, but I learned that night that I have a gift for hearing the emotional content of music. After that night, he began sharing his own compositions with me - the way he'd been dealing with his pain. I understood him so much better, for he hadn't been very good at explaining what was going on with him, and this way, I just knew. We would play with this... he would conjure up a feeling, go to the piano, play the feeling, and I would guess. It brought us very close as friends. The only way I can really accurately describe it is to say it was like the secret communal language of twins. From the end of 1992 until January of 1994 when we had an incredible fight, we lived and breathed each other. It started that night, listening to "Joy." I still get choked up when I hear that song.
5. On the Road by Jack Kerouac
It's funny that this one is last chronologically, because this book is the thing that has affected my life more than anything. Its title instantly rolls off my tongue as that of my favorite book. It's the book I recommend to everyone. It is the second (of two) books I usually give my SOs on our first Valentine's Day. The penned lives of Jack Kerouac and Neil Cassady have sent me across the country, ruined relationships, kept me from drinking too much, and so many other things since I was given this book in June of 1993 - a gift from my brother for my high school graduation. He wrote this inside: This is my favorite book in the whole literary world. As you read it, remember that you, too are on the road, and that one person can make a difference. Jack Kerouac helped drag this country kicking and screaming from the complacency of the 1950's into the modern world. It can show that it's possible to find one's self and truth in a way unique to that individual. I hope this happens to you... you deserve it. Never give up on your dreams, because they're indicative of who you are, and who you are is never stupid or not worthwhile. The world is yours, so take it... it's there for you.
Is there no wonder this book has impacted me so profoundly, with an introduction like this? Soon after, my brother found a new favorite book in the whole literary world, but I set off on the road - leaving for college. College (and the Internet) granted me the freedom to explore possibilities and travel the country, and I took every opportunity placed remotely near me. For 4 years of college, this book, this particular copy, sat in the front pocket of my backpack and I took it everywhere. Passages are highlighted and underlined like it is a bible. The book is worn, beaten, traveled, loved. I fell in love with the spirit of a dead man while reading this book the first time, and every time I read it, we become more and more intertwined. Am I an asshole? Only as much as Dean Moriarty is, only as asshole as being unable to stay still causes. And sometimes assholes are so damned appealing, aren't they?
I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered, stabilized-within-the-photo lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, out actual night, the hell of it, the senseless nightmare road.
