surrealism

The Persistence of Memory (1931)
Salvador Dali

The Enigma is on a quest to peel through the mysteries of Surrealism and the works of Salvador Dali for her Art course. because his melting clocks enrapture her imagination; from the first time she set her eyes on that monumental sculpture downtown one september night to almost 2 years later, as the same imagery encounters her again.

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I was pleasantly surprised to be reminded by the "melting clocks" in The Persistence of Memory that one cool night in 2006 I was roaming Orchard and peering at these sculptures, intrigued by the symbolism which remained thinly veiled to me; it stirred such a curiosity but i lacked the vocabulary to describe it, the language to organize my thoughts, the lens through which i could understand and interpret it as a piece of art. To finally recognize that I was in such close proximity to art that i now know the significance is such a serendipity.

Profile of Time

Alice in Wonderland

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Primarily a French movement in the 1920s, Surrealism is more than an art movement, but an entire philosophical movement; a way of feeling, a way of living, a way of loving. Like all movements, threads break off and branch out into different forms, into artists depicting fetishes and perversions, but the spirit of surrealism at its inception was more basic and less particular:

"Si vous aimez l'amour, vous amierez le surrealism." >- André Breton, 1924

Breton once said thatin love it was not happiness he sought, but love itself. It was a statement that expressed the combination of hope and despair that fuelled the movement's unwavering engagement with the theme of love.

“I think of nothing but love. The continual amusement I derive from intellectual pursuits, for which I am always being reproached as it it were a crime, finds its very justification in this singular and unceasing taste for love. For me there is no idea that is not eclipsed by love. It if were up to me, everything opposed to love would be abolished. That is roughly what I mean when I claimed to be an anarchist.”- Louis Aragon, 1924

I am still in the process of being acquitted with my new love. Surrealism. The name even leaves a satisfying aftertaste on my tongue. It seems to put into concrete being the inner world which i have resided in for most of my life, the way i see the world, the way i feel my dulating emotions, and finally now, the way i choose to live.

If Surrealism were a person, it would be a seeker of dreams, the one hopelessly afflicted with wanderlust, with his redeeming factor the courage to give in to his whims and leaving all else behind, pack his bags and go, leaving the constricting world which he knew all his life with his idealistic paradigm intact. Songs and poems to keep his spirit sweet in the lonely days, the fire against conventionality to keep him warm by night.

If Surrealism were to be represented by a single image, i would choose the "melting clock" for the instrumentality of a clock as a time-keeper in this image can only be contrasted with its more ethereal destiny to highlight the futility of time itself. What you thought was the resolute march of time and memory is more fluid and indecisive than you think.

If Surrealism were a song, it would be a lone piano piece by the moonlight, full of the languid sweetness of undying idealism in one movement, and bursting with the gallop of angst against the constricting "real" world it so deplores in another. The contradictions disrupt the synchronization, but it was meant to be 2 entities anyway.

If Surrealism were a lover, it would be one willing to open up his chest and show his pulsating heart to the doubting lover. Gory yes, but such is the unabashed dreaminess yet boldness of Surrealism.

reckless, careless, thoughtless.

we used the term "dematerialize" alot in art history class to mean moving up into the realm of the spiritual, but its alternative meaning can be lived it out as a degeneration into a state of carelessness, recklessness, thoughtlessness. Feeling responsible and good are no longer burdens, but dematerialized into irritants to a hot and bothered soul. going where the heart dictates and doing what the mind concocts. empty hours creep past and I look on in amazement that I am unfazed. past days blend into a meaningless blur and many faces merging into a moving picture. ceasing to think or to be in tune with higher purposes are such easy endeavours that they suck you in; time starts to trot and gallop. I've no desire to be responsible for anyone's life, and perhaps, not even my own.

and yes, i got my new ipod nanochromatic.

toeing the line

Just a little detox from technology and email can leave me disorientated and a tad disconnected. It's as if i overslept and awake to find that it's mid-spring and the first dew and first breathe of fresh air has been enjoyed by the world and I've since lost out on that utility. See, a modern woman attempts to return to her rustic roots but is still constrained to think in deep-set utilitarian fashion. why should it matter that i have half the spring left when there is summer to look forward to. rest days are good. I appreciate just drifting into and out of sleep and consciousness on a hot afternoon in the comfort of my abode. human rights and non-violence fill my thoughts these days and i feel fulfilled in learning more about a subject i so instinctively gravitate towards but never found the motivation to know it as more than a familiar silhouette. Now it's taking form and i'm excited of how knowing it better will push me upwards, towards a higher calling as a crusader. in which area and for what issue i don't know. but i know i have to be a voice amidst the chaos.

Other issues dominated my thoughts as well. it was a little shocking to find that my suspicions of my presence evoking averted gazes and stumbling words was true. I was a little afraid that someone else would notice it, but I guess everyone was too frantically taking notes which i should be thankful for. once again, the tempest rages and i am shocked to find myself toeing the line between staying within friendly grounds and venturing into the wild. There is such a wild African lion residing in me that i'm afraid of one day releasing it that it'll be completely untame-able. roars.

Homer, Aristotle, Alexander

Rembrandt,
Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer
Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY

portraying an inner meaning

The idea of rhetoric is that an orator speaks in public to an audience, but with Rembrandt one does not sense that the painting is a highly public statement. When John Stuart Mill wrote in the early 19th century that "eloquence is to be heard, poetry is to be overheard", he might almost have had Rembrandt's paintings in mind. We seem to happen upon an event and eavesdrop a little, observing something private and confidential. The painting has long carried a title that identifies the bearded man in floppy hat with gold chain slung from shoulder to hip, as the Greek philosopher Artistotle, who greatly admired the blind poet Homer. The face on the medallion hanging from his chain is Alexander the Great, Aristotle most famous pupil.

excerpted from Baroque & Rococo, Vernon Hyde Minor

I was first drawn to this painting because of the mystical dialogue between the eyes of Aristotle and the un-seeing Homer. Not to mention the fact that the painting was wrong in every sense of the word, with Aristotle in an ostentatious outfit and gaudy gold chain around him. Undoubtedly, Rembrandt was projecting himself in the image of Aristotle; if Aristotle was the philosopher-teacher who lost the favour of Alexander the Great, Rembrandt was the artist who was estranged from his patrons and contemporaries by the time he painted this.

I've a friend who believes all films are just a selfish production of directors, but i believe the beauty of art laid in the very roots of self absorption in a private world projected to a larger existence, be it films, paintings, writings, sculptures. Art has always been a private love affair of the artist and his creation, and great works of art merely love affairs made public.If you watch a romantic movie and swoon, you are but a voyeur in the literal sense, caught up in the romance that is of someone else's concotion, but it is art, because it appeals to universal emotions that cut across time, space and era. And this painting does precisely that, except that the time, space and era has been laid out literally, so in-your-face that anyone who knows Aristotle, Homer and Alexander will be amused.

rants.

the tension between having things her way and believing in my judgment that it shouldn't have to be that ONLY way characterized the conclusion of a double birthday celebration this evening. We didn't talk over it but I overheard complaining that she was the one ra-raing people and is always frustrated when things don't go according to her plan.

The story goes that I was supposed to lead Part B of a birthday surprise by sneaking into J's apartment to decorate it. Watching the hours go by and with no one being able to confirm whether they will indeed raid J's apartment, I made the decision to call the house party off, so that we might hold the destiny in our hands instead of the whims of the stars, and bring the party to where the birthday girl was.

Although my plan worked out more than fine, I was intensely frustrated by the fact that I was given a task to execute and not the flexibility to alter it for a better and more controllable outcome. Maybe cox both me and her have an overwhelming sense of responsibility to tasks we have to do and in that process inevitably have to step on each other's toes alot.

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On this note, I noticed in a fair number of my friends a certain impervious-ness to comments, suggestions, last-minute flexibility. Set in their mode of thinking of how things to be done, they get easily frustrated when things don't go according to what they envision to be, if only temporally. Yet, they refuse to (or can't) see how what they conceive of as the "best laid plan" is really impractical and exists only in their ideal conception. Why can't they just see that suggestions are really opportunities for positive improvements? Why do they necessarily think that they are just inconvenient impediments to the execution of their grandiose plans? I am not saying I don't have my stubborn episodes. But to have that built-in as an auto-mechanism does test my patience. And like what Therie and I talked about today, patience is something i realise i have to learn as well. we all have our character flaws and as iron sharpens iron, so does one man sharpen another.

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rants aside, today is a fine day.


I love to be giving my presentation on the Renaissance and Baroque, exchanging small talk with the other presenters, standing there on the podium and analyzing the figure of David. I love to satisfy my grandiose love of the arts, to bask in the feeling of being transported to Rome and Greece intellectually. I love to complete a quiz in fractions of minutes and translate what I learn into words and grades. I love to be handed a copy of essay questions as i mentally mark off the various deadlines that i might embark on my assignment early.

I love to be walking through the bazaar and to have someone hand me a free bound book of poetry. I love to be entering the Central Library with the gust of cold dry air greeting an overly zealous me with my too-elevated body temperature. I love to be talking a tad too loudly and a tad too animately as I gush to a friend like a bubbling brook. I love to be bumping into random people as i cruise down the corridors and weave through the mass of lunch crowd.I love to be sitting alone at a table at The Deck with the chattering as my background music as i sat there for an hour reading politics of non-violence.

i love to have time to hangout with various friends over the course of a day, starting with late lunch with Tzing, later lunch with Therie, hanging out with Tim, conspiring with the Nav gang. I treasure these spontaneous moments where i can take charge of my time and attention without the rigidites of worklife that will eventually consume me when I end my undergraduate life. I grew up wanting to be in my 20s and in university. I'm living out my dream. it feels surreal and happy each day to be in school doing what i'm doing.

the question is, what next? but perhaps there's too early a question.
i'd better start dreaming first.

whine.

hedonistic part of me wants a black 16Gb Ipod Nano.

i want more time and undivided attention with family. but it seems like all of us in our busy-ness (of all of us, me most afflicted) are caught in attention-deficit order. i can't hold a conversation with my sisters long enough without my thoughts floating to some readings i have to do for my next class. and the next presentation. and the next paper. terrible way to live i tell you. and it's not even workaholic season yet.

i wanna do more French!!

sigh.

fatiguee

there hasn't been a time when i've felt more purposeful about school, yet yearn more to sleep at home. what a dichotomy of desires raging in me. i seem to have no energy left for trivial pursuits like dramas and enrichment endeavours like French. Establishing alot of new friendships with the advent of year 4 but increasingly lacklustre in attending outings with old pals. honestly tired. seem so much like an excuse but physically i just can't pull myself out of the restful refuge i found at home. i never could sleep more than 8 hours a day, now 8 hours leave me feeling lethargic. O God make me more like Superwoman, with as vibrant a social life as an intellectual one. More friends to jio for outrageous fun, less desire and energy to execute. is it a good thing?

but i confess part of the problem definitely has to do with the fact that the workaholic in me never died. between senseless fun and understanding Roman Rhetoric, you know which i'll choose. it's not that i'm used to being a geek, but knowledge nourishes and refreshes me more than fun. sigh. i hope i don't die of overwork. it wouldn't be a very good testimony.

it is done.

i finally finished my paper on Clausewitz and Sun Tzu satisfactorily. Although at the expense of sleep and health. What a nightmare. I'm glad i persevered though. Thank you Lord that I didn't drop dead. really.

I can't imagine writing a thesis and having to struggle with a paper thrice at long?