tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81519668466685665602024-03-22T11:06:01.692+00:00favereysfavereys is my personal collection of favorite webarticles on arts and culture. Interspersed with some personal souvenirs and confessions. The name is a homage to the Dutch poet Hans Faverey. [ English pronunciation as favery. [
F - Fabulous | A - Adventurous | V - Victorious | E - Emphatic | R - Reassuring | Y - Yummy] & add the S]
favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.comBlogger670125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-65590962856268505392024-03-22T11:04:00.003+00:002024-03-22T11:05:28.677+00:00Victoria Benedictsson, Ernst Ahlgren, Miss Julie<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8dOxB21A-BQUUeK_GndA93cYVGawPRXMMUtDNfMGaB5vTjIbF0-EsPyTV6nxpG6dtXmpEXdvB86X6quaLEAtTcLfnR4rmNa0IswdE3zC3cnBmaYYCliiFywlP1cjUzVKjEazag_wONB7LWY3m_xITbp0_sQxiBS6zWSqaL6VUoLmDlozGmjzFCKHuWWE/s600/test-essay-alvin-record_88694-attachment-0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8dOxB21A-BQUUeK_GndA93cYVGawPRXMMUtDNfMGaB5vTjIbF0-EsPyTV6nxpG6dtXmpEXdvB86X6quaLEAtTcLfnR4rmNa0IswdE3zC3cnBmaYYCliiFywlP1cjUzVKjEazag_wONB7LWY3m_xITbp0_sQxiBS6zWSqaL6VUoLmDlozGmjzFCKHuWWE/s16000/test-essay-alvin-record_88694-attachment-0001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Victoria
Benedictsson assumed a male identity, achieved literary stardom, and took her
own life. Then Strindberg stole it<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sunday 22
July 1888 was a glorious day in Copenhagen, warm and sunny. The city was
celebrating an outdoor exhibition of the latest architectural ideas, thousands
of people had filled the narrow cobblestone streets, all sweaty and waving the
Danish red-and-white flag. The world seemed as beautiful as the future was
promising. But for the Swedish author Victoria Benedictsson neither the world,
nor the future, registered any more. She had rented a small room in the Leopold
Hotel, just by Kongens Nytorv, and bought herself a razor knife and a handheld
mirror. She’d spent the previous evening writing goodbye letters, then waited
for the unbearably slow flow of time to pass midnight. Only then, with the
mirror in one hand and the knife in the other, she cut her own throat. The
hotel maid found her body in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Details of
Benedictsson’s death detonated through the Nordic cultural bourgeoisie. The air
was full of fragments of her life; one knew this, and the other that. Famous
friends published obituaries in the Scandinavian newspapers, and her portrait
was on display in bookstore windows. Speculations as to the cause of her death
crossed each other like arrows of gossip. Bad finances was one theory, unhappy
love another. In the scandalous newspaper Aftenbladet, the owner of the Leopold
Hotel declared that Mrs Benedictsson was undeniably tense and hysterical. There
were two beings in her, he claimed, that fought each other: her father had
cultivated a wildness in her nature, while her mother taught her only to pray.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meanwhile,
her friend August Strindberg was almost starving. His marriage to Siri von
Essen was falling apart, and he lacked a home as well as a steady income after
having sunk himself in scandal with his sexually explicit essays. Accused and
tried for blasphemy, he’d fled Sweden. Now, exonerated from the charges, he had
a hard time finding publishers. He feared for his state of mind, but no one
seemed to want him, not even the psychiatrists he consulted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Strindberg
and Benedictsson had become friends in Copenhagen. At first, Strindberg had
reluctantly admired her, but when she turned out to be more successful than him
(only the fourth woman ever to receive a sizeable grant from the Swedish
Academy), his friendliness turned into fierce envy. As soon as he heard about
her suicide, he began writing the play of his life, out of, as one friend put
it, ‘an unrelenting and cruel cannibalism without the slightest hint of
compassion’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She was
born Victoria Maria Bruzelius in the south of Sweden in 1850, at a time when
women lacked human rights and the Western world was undergoing relentless
change – a time Friedrich Nietzsche later compressed into three words: ‘God is
dead.’ With industrialisation came capitalism. The creation of banks and
factories followed, amid the birth pangs of communism and liberalism,
constantly fighting over people’s minds. As The Communist Manifesto (1848) states
with poetic clear sight:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with
their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away,
all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Frightening
times – and strangely polarising, for, if God is dead, what takes God’s place?
Science, research, rationality, some answered triumphantly. Loneliness and
rootlessness, said others. Or, immorality and capitalism. God is dead, long
live modernity!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OAGmFPVVfMynBVfYDmbqip_WfjtLOE5_5ZrVHjgTKbh1h7L98Ya8c2lgo_vbHeG9vboztgxBmsS6HjY4n_QWQu-pzijcJEIfGeDXH-f9HwGID3sA2C0-d3BdrJ_pAsXn_wMn2pRqDUFALjzNR_D0x4m83yD8O0aX5R3K9fBlcrGQ1v4thUj5BuQi8O0/s988/insert-young-Victoria-88691.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="988" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OAGmFPVVfMynBVfYDmbqip_WfjtLOE5_5ZrVHjgTKbh1h7L98Ya8c2lgo_vbHeG9vboztgxBmsS6HjY4n_QWQu-pzijcJEIfGeDXH-f9HwGID3sA2C0-d3BdrJ_pAsXn_wMn2pRqDUFALjzNR_D0x4m83yD8O0aX5R3K9fBlcrGQ1v4thUj5BuQi8O0/s16000/insert-young-Victoria-88691.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Victoria
grew up in a village so small one could blink and miss it on passing though.
Her parents were well educated but lacked money. On top of that, they were old.
An awkward, lonely child, her mother taught her most of the skills a girl of
the bourgeoisie had to know – French, piano, sewing, embroidery – plus all
there was to know about God’s truth and punishment. Her father, on the other
hand, seemed to be the king of freedom. The two of them would ride over the
open fields and he’d teach her to wrestle, whistle and shoot. Galloping to keep
up, Victoria duly wrestled, whistled and shot, doing her best to be the son her
father longed for.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For a time,
both were happy, before a singular moment when everything changed. The
sensitive young girl watched her father realise – she literally saw it happen –
that, indeed, she was not a son. She registered the change of expression in his
eyes and interpreted it as rejection and contempt. From that moment, she not
only hated being a girl, she despised the characteristics within herself that
she identified as feminine, and couldn’t stand women in general.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She grew
tall (183 centimetres, or just over 6 feet) and strongwilled, determined to be
a painter. Twice she asked for her father’s permission to study art and was
twice denied. The second rejection broke her down. Now 20, she deplored the
options ahead of her: working as a governess or staying at home as an unmarried
daughter. So, when an old suitor turned up – Christian Benedictsson, 30 years
her senior, a widower and father of five – she married him. With a postmaster
for a husband, she saw opportunity; being a married woman would grant her a
certain amount of freedom. Yet it took just months for her to realise that
she’d merely exchanged one dependency for another. Later, she described the
marital institution as state-sanctioned prostitution; her husband was obliged
to support her for the rest of her life, while she, in turn, was obliged to
provide her body.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEW1rA6I2XzuVSLZYUI-b-zMOcFJDqSyjOffYTIaXmNb7Fb8kSboyk0ra6GSV8eVRzrwhaMjlumJTDlSlpSkkEKHE_jd5GmQqtg7_o0F0njziWzmX3dU2ThKcT8e3UOZOhO6neRQjYj1i45dp-FxQa1pCSjhZHp5jue1wf_j-DxJZpQRWH6doKJFyNQhs/s951/insert-marriage_80922.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="951" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEW1rA6I2XzuVSLZYUI-b-zMOcFJDqSyjOffYTIaXmNb7Fb8kSboyk0ra6GSV8eVRzrwhaMjlumJTDlSlpSkkEKHE_jd5GmQqtg7_o0F0njziWzmX3dU2ThKcT8e3UOZOhO6neRQjYj1i45dp-FxQa1pCSjhZHp5jue1wf_j-DxJZpQRWH6doKJFyNQhs/s16000/insert-marriage_80922.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Victoria
Benedictsson proved an excellent stepmother, but when she had a daughter of her
own, there was no affection. The baby girl was the fruit of an old man’s lust.
When she became pregnant a second time, a dark mood took hold of her; for
several weeks of the pregnancy, she wouldn’t eat. Born on 22 July 1876, her
daughter was christened, named Ellen, then died. Benedictsson’s diary notes at
the time went silent. But there are clues to her state of mind, to the guilt
and relief that consumed her. From that time on, she identified with Lady
Macbeth, a woman who had committed the worst of crimes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Benedictsson’s
private notes were often made in a cipher of her own invention, to ward off
prying eyes. They reveal that village life bored her. That she found people
narrowminded, unintelligent and gossipy. In secret, she started to write short
stories inspired by Charles Dickens, sending them to newspapers under male
pen-names. Although rejected, she received good advice along the way: study
your surroundings, young man. Get to know your world and the people in it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skåne was
her landscape: the windy fields, muddy village streets and forest groves where
lily-of-the-valley grows and where people go hunting for rooks, those metallic
black birds that obscure the sky when they take off in flocks. In response to a
world transforming at steam-engine speed, people were nostalgic for premodern
society: the countryside untouched by time, which they perceived as authentic
(much like now). Benedictsson’s short stories about the people of Skåne and
their ways, published under the pen name Ernst Ahlgren, were an immediate hit.
‘Ahlgren is the future and hope of Swedish literature,’ the critics cried, not
knowing that Ahlgren was a 33-year-old married woman with six children. An
unexpected star was born.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For much of
the 1880s, Scandinavia was engaged in a heated cross-border literary debate
about male and female sexuality, power and subordination, set off by the
Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen’s play A Doll’s House (1879) – and fuelled by
the book The Elements of Social Science (1861) by the British doctor George
Drysdale. Ibsen questioned the gilded cage of bourgeoise women, lacking all
rights but the one to please others, while Drysdale argued that men’s and
women’s genitals were muscles that needed regular exercise in order not to
atrophy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scandinavian
intellectuals began asking if women should be allowed to have sex before
marriage, learn about their bodies, masturbate? Should men stay chaste until
their wedding night, or would they die if their urges were held back? (A thesis
that Strindberg supported, by the way.) At the centre of it all stood the
Danish literary critic Georg Brandes, the man whom Benedictsson would come to
love in the last two years of her life. He’d risen to fame translating John
Stuart Mills’s The Subjection of Women (1869), to which he added a preface,
pleading between the lines for women’s erotic rights, as a complement to
Mills’s advocacy of women’s economical, legal and social rights. Brandes’s
translation swept like a firestorm through Scandinavia, as tens of thousands of
women found in it words for describing their predicament. He became their
unofficial leader, and a role model for working-class reformers and students
who yearned for a less rigid society.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicgSJD3a4XbOaQBjkr87qkIHPBoGx1vYOHbrAVSYl_2-us5Inc1YLAML3B0_BZNyoLaE0wbSffFwU0UyjfsQOJz8ds47U1zMkRJYZ-KXJxeen4uKl8pKzdZpAQJ38t_rsifk-X02oYNi09_wB6Sa_YPHjyZjaB-WvfRmremWOGhqOAjYI0fvKyrNGh8fY/s711/Insert-Brandes-88701.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicgSJD3a4XbOaQBjkr87qkIHPBoGx1vYOHbrAVSYl_2-us5Inc1YLAML3B0_BZNyoLaE0wbSffFwU0UyjfsQOJz8ds47U1zMkRJYZ-KXJxeen4uKl8pKzdZpAQJ38t_rsifk-X02oYNi09_wB6Sa_YPHjyZjaB-WvfRmremWOGhqOAjYI0fvKyrNGh8fY/s16000/Insert-Brandes-88701.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Brandes
became the most important critic in northern Europe. He introduced Fyodor
Dostoyevsky to the Nordic countries and discovered Nietzsche. (As proof of his
central position in European culture, Brandes’s daughter kept a ‘friend book’
where admirers left greetings. There are signatures by Otto von Bismarck,
Maurice Ravel, Claude Monet, Albert Einstein, Henry James, Thomas Mann, Auguste
Rodin, Rainer Maria Rilke, Igor Stravinsky, Leo Tolstoy, H G Wells, Émile Zola
and Stefan Zweig. Sigmund Freud personally sent his book on dream
interpretation to Brandes.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">During
Benedictsson’s lonely years of writing in the attic of the postmaster’s house,
she read every word Brandes wrote. He was a beacon of light in the intellectual
backwaters of the Swedish countryside – a guide to the higher education she
coveted, but was denied because of her gender. ‘I have a man’s brain in a
woman’s body,’ she noted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When she
published her first novel, Money (1885), she found instant celebrity, never
mind that a jealous neighbour denounced her, revealing her true identity to the
press. Having gained confidence and prestige as Ernst Ahlgren, she decided to
transform herself into him altogether. After all, Ahlgren wasn’t obliged to
kiss Postmaster Benedictsson. Ahlgren could sit up all night smoking, eating
grapes and discussing literature with his newfound literary friends.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31br1zQ50kA9u6yOdNE0jfz11oPn2Cvdx59ge-7QGhUJL5UE-Kc_UbtTHJkNbs3zJ1_wbdvuJ24sMfi51yRxH7pNQJ2opKk169rm3pz4JsNQSNTLyCfNPUGdyjSxMR2hx2EIGqpQW2kFuS4mVL2p3lwHrNSVrIZ1qI6P6TFEdm42DpOyDNrHgfiOGpbQ/s975/insert-writers-geroup-81505.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31br1zQ50kA9u6yOdNE0jfz11oPn2Cvdx59ge-7QGhUJL5UE-Kc_UbtTHJkNbs3zJ1_wbdvuJ24sMfi51yRxH7pNQJ2opKk169rm3pz4JsNQSNTLyCfNPUGdyjSxMR2hx2EIGqpQW2kFuS4mVL2p3lwHrNSVrIZ1qI6P6TFEdm42DpOyDNrHgfiOGpbQ/s16000/insert-writers-geroup-81505.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Benedictsson’s
transformation wasn’t so much about becoming a man, as becoming free. Like a
female Houdini, she started breaking out of the corseted cage of womanhood: the
stepchildren could take care of themselves, her young daughter was left to her
grandmother. The old postmaster found himself forced into a deal he didn’t
want: freed from the obligation to support her, he lost his right to have sex
with her. Finally, the village where they lived, with all its small-town
busybodies, was so sharply dissected in a short story by Ahlgren, that the male
villagers clubbed together to threaten her with physical violence. Step by
step, the old ties were cut. Victoria became Ernst. She – or he – set off to
Stockholm and was celebrated by the cultural elite. Unusually tall, dark-haired
and always dressed in black silk, maybe to conceal the fact that she hardly had
any money to keep up with fashion, Ahlgren even flirted. At 35, she discovered
what turned her on; only the intellectual connection between equal minds awoke
her sensuality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ahlgren
seems to have moved back and forth along the gender line seamlessly. Her male
friends called her ‘brother Ernst’ and she frequently signed her letters with
the cross-gender ‘mother Ernst’. One friend described her as:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “… a woman without anything on the outside
revealing what goes on inside. He takes pride in hiding it and the whole world
thinks Mrs Benedictsson is a lovely person. But to himself, Ernst Ahlgren
laughs at them all – and portrays them in his books.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Note the
fluid pronouns. But Stockholm ultimately proved to be as petty bourgeois as
Benedictsson’s home village. She was free, but incredibly lonely. In a bid to
find others as ‘free and wild’ as herself, she left for Copenhagen, hometown of
Brandes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In October
1886, Ahlgren invited Brandes to her room at the Leopold Hotel and, politely,
he came to visit. He had heard of her, after all, and knew that they shared
literary ideals. They discussed literature, the current debate on sexuality and
marriage; he confided in her about his mistresses and marriage. She proved a
good listener. He told her he liked her. Imagine that! The postmaster’s wife
had turned herself into a progressive, celebrated writer, and was now in an
intimate, face-to-face conversation with her idol. She tried to stay cool but
fell in love. As soon as Brandes left, she jotted down every word and every
pause, like sheet music. All must be documented. They soon met again. Then they
kissed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her private
notes, which had consisted of quotes, outbursts of anger or joy, or anecdotes
to use in her writing, now shifted into the purest autofiction, before the
genre was coined. Narrating in the past tense, with pace and with structure,
she tells the story of a great man who comes to visit an intelligent woman in a
hotel room. They talk, they kiss and then something more happens. Ahlgren fell
in love, to be sure. But it’s equally true that she was in search of working
material. She saw herself as an eater of other peoples’ lives, and she had
stumbled upon a treasure. Meeting by meeting, she created a story about
manipulation and subordination, about sexuality, hatred, lust and fear. She
extracted every ounce of their relationship, and turned it into literature.
Karl Over Knausgård couldn’t have done it better.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One painful
twist to the story appeared early on. The very reason their meeting took place
was that Ahlgren had made it as an author, and Brandes was curious. But while
she’d found success by breaking out of the gender cage, it became apparent that
Brandes hadn’t the slightest interest in a woman who had dismantled her
femininity. To keep his attention, she must turn herself back into a woman. She
cursed herself for betraying herself, nevertheless she changed her hair to
please him, and stayed in her room just in case he might show up. She also
started keeping a record of his friends and mistresses, then tried to befriend
them. Was she a woman in love? A writer who used herself to make art? An
intellectual stalker? The answer to all these questions is yes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
almost a year of talking and kissing, Brandes seemed to lose interest. He had
repeatedly asked for sex – he would never seduce her, he said, he wanted sex
only if she wanted it just as much – but she’d declined. Now, she panicked and
offered him the last thing she had left to give, or so she saw it. They had sex
a couple of times, and then he truly lost interest. Still the real blow came
when her second novel was published and he called it a ‘ladies-book’. Ahlgren,
whose mark of pride lay in writing matter-of-factly and without sentiment,
‘like a man’, was devastated. On top of that, Brandes’s brother Edvard, unaware
of their relationship, slaughtered the book in a review in the daily Politiken.
Now, it all stood clear to Benedictsson. She wasn’t enough of a woman to be
loved by Georg Brandes, nor a good enough artist to be respected by him. She
sought out her father’s revolver and made sure it worked.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meanwhile,
Strindberg watched her closely. They both stayed for extended periods at the
Leopold Hotel, shared friends, and spent time together. He was intrigued by
her, unsure what kind of creature she really was. A woman? No. But not a man
either.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghgzg8E7fWu4O7FT69kThnVXbj779nNhQakTyQWRmp6TLf9Lk0uW0GvfleXBLZbTW_EjtacNABUb9zEEOifQU-Zwr4oZE2Xce-649PUYxSHoyDY_Ot0NHz4Hqr8uEA3-ey-IP0IodOFp3Voh30yT0-iogWnm3BVfNYF5fPzv6Tp9dI43kbKxc5fWNqGbI/s762/Insert-strindberg_121669.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="762" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghgzg8E7fWu4O7FT69kThnVXbj779nNhQakTyQWRmp6TLf9Lk0uW0GvfleXBLZbTW_EjtacNABUb9zEEOifQU-Zwr4oZE2Xce-649PUYxSHoyDY_Ot0NHz4Hqr8uEA3-ey-IP0IodOFp3Voh30yT0-iogWnm3BVfNYF5fPzv6Tp9dI43kbKxc5fWNqGbI/s16000/Insert-strindberg_121669.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ahlgren
dismissed the idea of suicide by gun, worrying that she’d only end up hurt, not
dead. Instead, she got a hold of morphine. She informed a close friend of her
plans and asked him to be there, as she waited for death. Not surprisingly, the
poor bloke couldn’t handle the situation, so he knocked on Strindberg’s door
and told him of the goings-on down the hotel corridor. Strindberg was suddenly
wide awake and intensely curious. It turned out that Benedictsson threw up and,
this time, failed to die. Condemned to survive, she took off for Paris, visited
friends, even published a book of short stories (which Brandes quite liked).
She also had a huge success with a play in Stockholm, but nothing seemed to
help. In the summer of 1888, she booked a room at the Leopold once more, bought
a razor and a handheld mirror, and patiently awaited 22 July – the birthday of
her baby girl who died – turning it into the last day of her life. Strindberg
immediately got down to work on the play Miss Julie:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“ Someone
commits suicide. ‘Business worries,’ says the business man. ‘Unrequited love,’
say the ladies. ‘Physical illness,’ says the sick man. ‘Shattered hopes,’ says
the failure. But it may well be that the motive lay in all of these things, or
in none of them, and that the dead man concealed his real motive by emphasising
quite a different one that shed the best possible light on his memory.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In his
play, Strindberg underlines the upbringing of the drama’s unfortunate female
protagonist, raised as a boy and thus become half-woman, half-man. The
emancipated woman, he continues, is not a ‘good species’ but must self-destroy.
Subsequently, he indicates a suicide by the female lead – with a razor. Just 19
days after Benedictsson’s death, Strindberg sent the finished manuscript to his
publisher. The dead Victoria Benedictsson had become Miss Julie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Beyond the
fact that he stole Benedictsson’s gender-ambivalent childhood, the combination
of both sexes in her grown-up identity, and the details of her gruesome
suicide, she doesn’t seem at first glance to have much in common with the
fictional Miss Julie. The protagonist of Miss Julie is an upper-class woman who
manipulates the valet Jean into sex, and then takes her own life. Nevertheless,
the core of Strindberg’s drama, and of both the real and the fictional woman’s
fate, is the lifelong struggle between strength and weakness that inevitably
leads to her downfall.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxQBKQ5vNADUJFlqvz1e9nKRSSSBDqFy_w2fO7lzwApZ_gCDjkcfZiecPZG-9T3ezPXBdTV-xb9mfMANz0WsWuAbDbHqp-fZvgS3N3M7ewUtk9oK2CQk1BTh3_qwRhyphenhyphenCt090SJrBXSAarEKZUThyphenhyphenZuVQ2OFB6SfuWxJFtQNszkoQVxibk76KvkhjU4XI/s923/insert-POSTER-alvin-record_184938-ATTACHMENT-0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="923" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxQBKQ5vNADUJFlqvz1e9nKRSSSBDqFy_w2fO7lzwApZ_gCDjkcfZiecPZG-9T3ezPXBdTV-xb9mfMANz0WsWuAbDbHqp-fZvgS3N3M7ewUtk9oK2CQk1BTh3_qwRhyphenhyphenCt090SJrBXSAarEKZUThyphenhyphenZuVQ2OFB6SfuWxJFtQNszkoQVxibk76KvkhjU4XI/s16000/insert-POSTER-alvin-record_184938-ATTACHMENT-0001.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Benedictsson
would probably have approved, even applauded Strindberg’s theft. After all,
she’d trained herself to become an almost scientific consumer of other people’s
fates. She admired an objective eye, and always tried to ‘dissect’ her feelings
and thoughts in order to become a better writer. This was the creed of
modernity. Artists were to stay true to reality and shun the sentimental or
false, according to its leading apostles – Ibsen and Brandes. But, above all,
Benedictsson had fed on her own fate like the ouroboros forever swallowing its
own tail. Over the last two years of her life, her diary transformed into the
novel of her life as she was living it, with a delay of only a few days.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The hatred
and euphoria she experienced transformed into text so fresh it steamed like the
meat of a recently slaughtered animal, as she herself put it. This was
literature quite inappropriate for a woman to express, and unthinkable to
publish at the time. Only by leaving it to a male friend, who published it in
portions over the next 30 years, would it become a bestseller, as forceful as
Strindberg’s novel The Defence of a Fool (1893) would be. Only Benedictsson’s
fool was a woman – her own being, her curse and her prison. Taking her own life
was the final escape.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The real
Miss Julie. By Elisabeth Åsbrink. <a href="https://aeon.co/essays/the-woman-behind-strindbergs-miss-julie-and-her-male-alter-ego">Aeon</a>, March 14, 2024. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDq8qq9plKrwv0hE4JNspdS826p4HmBqjtvYwIpafaMUrZYTSqlN1cURZWskNQ-190-6-rXyIUG4Q5Dqqd5Z9goN4_Nrx4QSHjFkkpZ33jyBvllGtRYTIoyh0zhM1YzYCaMbKlI9JufbiYhl3UoRF5jfgAohh9SvLfugAEoRfzg_AsUcBkwiOF5KrvlKk/s826/Victoria-1888-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDq8qq9plKrwv0hE4JNspdS826p4HmBqjtvYwIpafaMUrZYTSqlN1cURZWskNQ-190-6-rXyIUG4Q5Dqqd5Z9goN4_Nrx4QSHjFkkpZ33jyBvllGtRYTIoyh0zhM1YzYCaMbKlI9JufbiYhl3UoRF5jfgAohh9SvLfugAEoRfzg_AsUcBkwiOF5KrvlKk/s16000/Victoria-1888-2.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the time
of her death, in 1888, Victoria Benedictsson was a celebrated author. She was the
first of the literary group ‘Det unga Sverige’ (Young Sweden) to receive a
grant from the Swedish Academy. This signified her having been admitted to the
cultural establishment that she had for so long believed herself to be excluded
from as a woman and “a pariah, a mangy dog”. Before Victoria Benedictsson
settled on the pseudonym Ernst Ahlgren, she had long vacillated between the
alternatives ‘Tardif’, the tardy, and ‘O. Twist’, the unwelcome. To Victoria
Benedictsson, writing is just as symbolically loaded as her choice of a
signature appears to be; it is an analysis of the problems associated with
female identity, with being a gender and not a human being. “I am a woman. But
I am an author – am I not, then, something of a man as well?” she wonders in January
1888.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her own
life was short and ended tragically. Thirty-eight years old, she took her life
in a hotel room in Copenhagen. For a period of a few years in the middle of the
1880s she was astonishingly productive. Her career as an author falls between
1884 and 1888, in which period she published two novels and two collections of
short stories as well as several plays and newspaper articles. Simultaneously,
she kept an extensive diary and corresponded energetically with many of her
colleagues. Her intellectual vitality during this short period stands in
contrast to the image of a sickly, doomed person, which has dominated her
posthumous reputation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the last
part of her life, Victoria Benedictsson worked as though possessed on many
different literary drafts. In her diary she exclaims: “I want to write about
women. And if – after having written the most daring and honest things I know –
I still feel as I do now, then I want to die.” Common to these texts is that
they deal exclusively with the relationship between the sexes, and especially
with the woman’s possibilities for both self-realisation and love.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Voice
From The Dark<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Victoria
Benedictsson’s extensive literary estate includes a number of drafts that are
of great interest both as regards their plots and their aesthetics. The female
figures are driven towards disaster, while the style becomes increasingly
modern in its pitch black, piercing brevity. Was Victoria Benedictsson’s last
insight that the woman can only be described as a tragic subject? The
posthumously published prose piece “Ur mörkret” (Eng. tr. From the Darkness) is
conceived as a confession. The situation is surprisingly similar to a
psychoanalysis, with a male analyst listening to a female patient stretched out
on the couch. According to Freud, who around the same time developed his method
with the aid of middle-class Viennese women, the role of the analyst is to try
to render meaning and coherence to the patient’s fragmented life story. Axel
Lundegård, the colleague and friend who ‘inherited’ Victoria Benedictsson’s
unpublished manuscript, took that role upon himself when he reconstructed “Ur
mörkret” on the basis of the various drafts that existed at the time of her
death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The bitter,
languishing Nina of the story confides her wasted woman’s life to a silently
listening male friend. “Everything is shameful for a woman because she is
nothing in herself; she is only part of her sex.” Nina can be seen as a double
victim of the patriarchal ideology that Victoria Benedictsson compliantly noted
down after having listened captivated to Georg Brandes lecturing on the
different natures of man and woman, in Copenhagen in the winter of 1886:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “A real man primarily possesses power,
power in everything he does, power to bend others to fit into his plans, and to
use them as tools, power to hold a woman fast!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And what
is ‘the womanly’? The ability to love completely and without conventional
considerations: warmly, fully, vigorously. To be brave, sacrificing, strong;
everything through love, without jealousy, without any ulterior motive; simply
because it is her nature to love.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Nina
figure is provided with a history that confirms the fact that this ideology is
very much in force. She has been exposed in turn to the contempt of her father,
her husband, and her lover, and she turns their misogyny both inwards, towards
herself, and outwards, towards other women. A modern reader might easily
interpret “Ur mörkret” as a paradigmatic account of a typical woman’s lot in
the shadow of the patriarchy. But that is not an exhaustive reading. The story
is in fact full of contradictions in its investigation of the inner logic of
the patriarchal ideology. It turns out to be Nina, and not the men in her life,
who possesses the ‘male’ virtues of competence, industry, veracity, and
honesty, and this makes the text ambiguous and ambivalent. The insight of the
text is greater than that of the plaintive Nina.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WiKI_LoplN7BPuMtd7YuP6fw9YQuF7BR6Rn_L4GCBYM8y7Lm5XM8brItLPG1YujrN5oiwC9JfbsqKKk1Br9GelwCAHpYB5tess8KM_XsCAFJBd5DgsNssFccR7SMQwEGofU5rLbJgBAWpHZgPXqpKYoLBYNVtLcXpo1TnlJFhGpzMJA_wJPwnCJrSGE/s600/faderhuset-bind-2-256.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WiKI_LoplN7BPuMtd7YuP6fw9YQuF7BR6Rn_L4GCBYM8y7Lm5XM8brItLPG1YujrN5oiwC9JfbsqKKk1Br9GelwCAHpYB5tess8KM_XsCAFJBd5DgsNssFccR7SMQwEGofU5rLbJgBAWpHZgPXqpKYoLBYNVtLcXpo1TnlJFhGpzMJA_wJPwnCJrSGE/s16000/faderhuset-bind-2-256.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In her
self-analysis, Nina appears a prisoner of ideology, crushed between the
inherent polarities of language: masculinity = good, “everything”; and
femininity = bad, “nothing”. In despair she searches, in her language, for a
third, utopian alternative, “neither man nor woman, merely a living being”.
This construct recurs almost obsessively throughout the story. But to reside in
a “merely” – to be a neuter – is an impossibility. All that remains for the
woman who does not want to be ‘woman’ and cannot be ‘man’, which is the highly
desired condition, is, with a triple negation, a “watered-down, bloodless nothingness”.
And this is where Nina finds herself during her long confession. Her body on
the couch is literally devoured by a “nothingness”, a “hollow-eyed” darkness,
out of which her monotone and tormented voice is heard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But from
this empty position, a resistance is built up, against all odds, when Nina
insists on absence. Her refusal to be a woman in the sense of being an object
for the man makes her an anti-subject, a “merely”, an empty form to reside in.
And gradually the darkness turns out to be the real protagonist of the story,
the site of the unconscious, the enigmatic, the utopian, the very hollowness of
the language. “Ur mörkret” can be read as Victoria Benedictsson’s literary
testament.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nina’s
self-understanding in Victoria Benedictsson’s novel “Ur mörkret” (1888; Eng.
tr. From the Dark):<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I had
learned to see with my father’s eyes; I saw from a man’s point of view what it
means to be a woman – repulsive, repulsive, one great misfortune from our very
birth! I felt like a mangy dog. This is when the humility emerged that is my
character’s brand and incurable flaw. Oh, the spot in my brain! How soft and
sensitive it grew so that each barb could penetrate! How much I understood when
it came to this single thing: to comprehend something that was as incomprehensible
to other women as the twittering of the birds.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two years
earlier, she had proudly and full of contempt dissociated herself from what she
saw as Alfhild Agrell’s “hollow”, “dreary”, and “sickly affected pessimism”, in
order to write instead “so that people get happier and better from reading”. If
this were to fail, it would be better, Victoria Benedictsson thought, not to
write at all. It may seem as if she, with “Ur mörkret”, had ended up in an
aesthetic impasse. And then again! The fact that she did not destroy the
manuscript fragments indicates that she had a feeling that it was this kind of
contradictory literary texts, which defied unambiguous interpretations, that
would ensure her a place in literary history.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first
scholar to take Victoria Benedictsson seriously as a female artist is Jette
Lundbo Levy. She sheds light on Benedictsson’s grandiose attempt at presenting
a third point of view, distinct from the men’s message of free love, but also
from the women’s movement’s puritan reply to this message (with the demand
that, before marriage, men had to be just as sexually inexperienced, just as
‘pure’, as women). Lundbo Levy reads Benedictsson at several different levels,
compares her private diary entries and letters with published material, and
asks herself why Benedictsson did not entirely succeed in describing, in an
elaborated literary form, her complex feelings with regard to the dilemma of
femininity. What determines Benedictsson’s writing is rather what Lundbo Levy
calls “the aesthetics of the double gaze”, the tension between a ‘male’ gaze
that creates one literary form and a ‘female’ gaze that creates another. “Ur
mörkret” (Eng. tr. From the Dark) is a clear example of this aesthetics and its
inherent tension.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Programme<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Victoria Benedictsson’s
conscious aesthetics embraces three different writing projects. Firstly, she
wanted to write for ordinary people, “for those who work”. Secondly, she wanted
to “submit problems to debate”, and, as Georg Brandes advocated, present the
great contemporary questions in a realistic, engaged prose. And thirdly, she
wanted to describe her own inner development, her ever more trying struggle to
make the woman, the human being, and the author hang together. She made her
debut as an author in 1884 with the favourably received collection of short
stories Från Skåne (From Scania) by ‘Ernst Ahlgren’. In addition to romantic
stories about being an artist and being the chosen one, the collection includes
a number of descriptions of the lives of common people, with sharply drawn
portraits of people from the Swedish province of Scania. In varying ways, the
Danish-Norwegian Magdalene Thoresen, the Dane Henrik Pontoppidan, and the
Norwegian Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson had already created a tradition of portraying
‘the people’, but Victoria Benedictsson renews the genre by focusing instead on
the observer. She lets traditional patterns of life be reflected in the eyes of
an outsider, and her sense of humour shoots down every attempt at idyllising.
Instead, it is the repetition, the stagnation, and the sluggishness that
dominate in her description of country life. A recurring image is the clay that
clings to the wooden shoes, holding you back and making your gait heavy and
clumsy. “– The road is one big puddle, and the feet get stuck in the clayey
soil, which is so sticky that it ties you down […].”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The soil
ties you down and holds you back. The feelings of security and homeliness
easily turn into the feeling of being cooped up. This was what Victoria
Benedictsson increasingly experienced in her own life. Gradually, the life as
the wife of a postmaster in an ill-matched marriage in the small community of
Hörby became too restricted for her; she longed for wider horizons, new
contacts and impulses. The newly opened railway made it easier for the author,
who had a bad leg, to travel to Stockholm, Malmö, or Copenhagen. And she
grasped the opportunity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A part of
her luggage was her unique literary friendship with the writer Axel Lundegård,
ten years her junior, whom she had met at the home of his parents in Hörby.
“Complete openness!” was the watchword between the two colleagues, who read
each other’s manuscripts and offered each other criticism and praise. It was an
unusual, intense, but by no means conflict-free friendship that developed. In
their correspondence, which grew extensive in the autumn of 1884, they
discussed the craft of writing and the ideas of the time. Both understand that
unprejudiced communication with someone of the opposite sex is important, but
to Victoria Benedictsson it was invaluable. She writes to Axel Lundegård:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “This is what interests me most in the
world: the equality of the sexes, not only in a social context but first and
foremost in their own consciousness, for that is what matters. And now I’ve
come to something in your letter: ‘If we are to benefit at all from our knowing
each other, we have to talk about everything without reservation.’ Yes, yes,
yes! There’s nothing I want more than that. Haven’t I, ever since I was a
child, been waiting for these words, and no one has said them to me until now!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
possibilities offered by the period’s patriarchal marriage for “equality of the
sexes” is what she examined in the two novels she completed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Less on
account of her writing than of her personal fate, Victoria Benedictsson has
become the female fixed star in the literary sky of the Swedish 1880s. As such,
she often eclipsed the period’s other female authors. However, it is the image
of tragic femininity that emerges in literary history, a frigid, plain, and
strained heroic figure, who committed suicide as a result of unrequited love.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
interpretation is based on the comprehensive biographical source material
formed by the handwritten volumes of Stora boken (The Big Book). Select parts
of this unequalled ‘self-confession’ were published, under the name of the
editor, Fredrik Böök, as the ‘love novel’ Victoria Benedictsson och Georg
Brandes (1948; Victoria Benedictsson and Georg Brandes). That book has fixed
the image of Victoria Benedictsson as the tragic heroine of the 1880s, a
mixture of Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler and August Strindberg’s Miss Julie. She
is, in fact, considered to be the model for both these characters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">To this
should be added that, in contrast to most of her contemporary female
colleagues, Victoria Benedictsson adopted a rather humble attitude with regard
to the question of the relationship between man and woman. In a letter of 1886,
she confides the following theory to her friend Ellen Key:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If men
want to regard us as small, clever pals, then we should be pleased, for this
is, I believe, nature’s intent. That a few women – one or two in each century –
rise above the crowd, does not change anything for all the rest of us average
human beings.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
(Im)possibility Of Marriage<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The novel
Pengar (1885; Eng. tr. Money) opens with young Selma being persuaded to ‘sell’
herself to the rich country squire Kristersson. Their intimate life is a
torment that soon makes her realise that marriage without love and
companionship is not much better than prostitution. Unlike the protagonist of
Amalie Skram’s novel Constance Ring (Constance Ring), which appeared in the
same year, Selma succeeds in breaking out of her marriage. Pengar is a typical novel
of the 1880s, a well-written plea against early marriage and marriages of
convenience, but above all against the sexual ignorance that was considered the
young middle-class girl’s finest dowry. Victoria Benedictsson does not shy away
from describing the sexual life of the spouses. The wedding night is
experienced as a rape, and the tale about King Lindworm, who exacted the
promise from his queen that she would never enter his chamber when he is
asleep, is woven together with Selma’s thoughts about what is most forbidden.
For through her marriage she has had the same experience as the queen, who,
defying the prohibition, discovered a coiled, “scaly monster” in the king’s
bed: “Now her curiosity was satisfied. But she could never forget that sight,
and each time King Lindworm took her in his arms, it was as if he resumed the
form of the scaly monster, so slithery and cold that his embrace made her
writhe in agony.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_tyX53fjCKX9c-NuIsc5_ykWiw6WVtjlg_ceRSndc4eLJJoVcMLG1ienpipzayQZIEfiD3AeHI_9E2tvp7O_rI11dj93nMLRkvYPM3EkvKmJXg_5b0TKP-cvKa8GKoXwPcVq4xg00J9C0lymVFymEBaP0hVroVqDq-6s7NIUO34buyLy9651zGVVqo4/s589/Pengar_bok.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="589" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_tyX53fjCKX9c-NuIsc5_ykWiw6WVtjlg_ceRSndc4eLJJoVcMLG1ienpipzayQZIEfiD3AeHI_9E2tvp7O_rI11dj93nMLRkvYPM3EkvKmJXg_5b0TKP-cvKa8GKoXwPcVq4xg00J9C0lymVFymEBaP0hVroVqDq-6s7NIUO34buyLy9651zGVVqo4/s16000/Pengar_bok.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fru
Marianne (1887; Mrs Marianne) was Victoria Benedictsson’s great venture. It was
to prove to everybody that she was a great author and not just one among the
group of emancipated writing ‘ladies’ who were somewhat looked down upon. But
to her great disappointment it was received precisely as a ‘ladies’ novel’. Fru
Marianne is, on the surface, a Madame Bovary story with a happy ending. The
spoiled middle-class daughter Marianne is purified by her marriage with Börje,
the upright son of a farmer; she is put to the test in a “flirtation”, as it is
called, with Börje’s best friend, Pål; and she eventually finds her true self
in motherhood and marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Marianne’s
transformation is illustrated in a dramatic manner: when the novel begins, she
lies stretched out on her sofa, indolently reading French novels, “suck[ing]
the eroticism of the novels as a child sucks its thumb: if it was not
nourishing, at least it offered a kind of consolation”. She is described as a
narcissistic sexual being, an object of beauty for men. Three hundred pages
later she strides around in rough, striped aprons, energetically occupied in
the weaving room and in the vegetable garden. As the mother of a young son, she
possesses an insight into herself that is diametrically opposed to the insight
she had as a young girl:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There
would be alternating periods of happiness and sorrow, the serenity of
happiness, and hard times. She knew that now. Her life would look like other
people’s lives: not romantic or like a fairy tale, but prosaic and ordinary.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fru
Marianne has been read as a conservative contribution to the ‘morality controversy’
of the 1880s – or as a regressive utopia. The same longing gaze back towards a
more meaningful and coherent female life in the country household is found in
such varied authors as Selma Lagerlöf, Elin Wägner, Agnes von Krusenstjerna,
and Moa Martinson, as well as in the, even nowadays, extremely popular novels
set in country houses. However, in Victoria Benedictsson’s time, the most
closely related author was August Strindberg who, in the preface to Giftas I
(Eng. tr. Getting Married), proclaims the peasant marriage to be an ideal. But
any reading that stops there is going to ignore the inner resistance of the
novel, Fru Marianne, to its own project. Firstly, the comradely marriage
between Marianne and Börje is rather an attempt at a more radical version of
Ibsen’s modern, idealistic view of marriage – played out on a realistic and
historically relevant backdrop: at the end of the nineteenth century, ninety
per cent of Sweden’s population still supported themselves as farmers.
Secondly, the character of Pål is crucial, and not only to the plot. In the
‘unconscious’ of the text, his refined, ‘female’ eroticism is a disquieting and
triggering element, which aestheticises the writing and casts a double gaze
upon the plot, the figures, and the motifs. He is an aspect of Börje, of
Marianne, and of the yearning that is the driving force of the text. Pål is the
erotic and the aesthetic in one figure, who has to be banned at the level of
the plot in order for Benedictsson’s realistic project to be carried out. The
reader feels the ambivalence, and it is also reflected in the superficial
reception of the novel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A Great
Variety Of Women<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite the
fact that Victoria Benedictsson regarded Georg Brandes’s rejection of Fru
Marianne as a “death sentence” to her writing, she is very productive in the
autumn of 1887. She writes stories about the lives of common people, begins
writing the novel Modern (The Mother), and finishes the recently discovered
comedy Teorier (Theories).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In Teorier
we meet a type of woman who, in line with the message of Fru Marianne,
represents an alternative to the middle-class ideal of the young girl. In the
1880s, which the Swedish historian of literature Gunnar Ahlström has so aptly
called “the gloomy hey-day of the antimacassars”, Benedictsson’s mouthpiece,
the young, spirited Hortense, favours occupations completely different from
embroidery, piano-playing, and novel reading. She keeps both feet planted
firmly on the ground and does not take any interest in the interminable
discussions of morality, but rather in cookery and housekeeping.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The comedy
Teorier (Theories), which was never performed in Victoria Benedictsson’s
lifetime, may be her attempt at leaving “Some words to my dear daughter”
(“Några ord till min kära dotter”). But unlike in Anna Maria Lenngren’s
(1754-1817) famous poem bearing this title and written a hundred years earlier,
there is only the slightest bit of irony to be found in Teorier. Here,
Benedictsson has her young heroine plainly declare that she prefers Hagdahl’s
cookery book to Max Nordau’s social analyses.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RAAK31zGjc5D8yAMt7SYCT_UdcyImF0hkSClx686At6VrVBj7b4ROqPPY1G_udyG3ZD9wFKirxz1AbaurpJoCvGTSiF5PyfSgPpDzUKxLsg-LcHGO4z11rsIuhS_N3sw0wUOMAxd5qiTLeohzdLS9_khuumYhgKASmXQQ2r2u2_ffWD81vLvDYlziMo/s600/2430251_0_1000x1000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RAAK31zGjc5D8yAMt7SYCT_UdcyImF0hkSClx686At6VrVBj7b4ROqPPY1G_udyG3ZD9wFKirxz1AbaurpJoCvGTSiF5PyfSgPpDzUKxLsg-LcHGO4z11rsIuhS_N3sw0wUOMAxd5qiTLeohzdLS9_khuumYhgKASmXQQ2r2u2_ffWD81vLvDYlziMo/s16000/2430251_0_1000x1000.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Teorier was
performed for the first time in 1988 by Stockholms Studentteater (The Stockholm
Student Theatre).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hortense,
Marianne, and Selma are figures that go against the stream of female portraits
of a determinist stamp, which are characteristic of the 1880s. Their positive
air and the happy endings of the works are important parts of Benedictsson’s
‘programme’. Also in the fragmentary manuscript of the novel Modern, which was
completed by Axel Lundegård and published in 1888 in both his and
Benedictsson’s name, it is a vigorous and self-confident woman, albeit of an
intellectual kind, who is described. In the words of her son, she is “a
barbarian woman”, who competes with her son’s dollish-pretty and bland fiancée –
and loses. For she cannot bring herself to recognise her own identity conflict
in that of the other woman: “She was not able to hear that a lack as deep as
her own was hiding in that over-excited laugh.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is
thus an impressive range of female characters in Victoria Benedictsson’s
writings. The woman as a sexual object for the man, “the ennobled animal”, is
found at the one extreme, and the dream of the woman as a human being rather
than a sexual being at the other. However, she never succeeded in portraying a
‘free’ woman who had full access to both intellect and sexuality. Instead, the
future image of the woman can be discerned in the tension between the different
types of women, representing different life alternatives. As a female author
Victoria Benedictsson invests her own divided self and allows her masochistic
self-hatred, which is in constant and violent strife with her equally strong,
rebellious ambition, to manifest itself in the texts and develop into
characters as incompatible as Mrs Victoria and ‘Ernst’. In her repeated
attempts to bridge the two antagonistic views of life, Victoria Benedictsson
asks: is it possible to survive as a thinking woman, as a female subject with
both head and heart intact?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Bewitched<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">‘No!’, one
is tempted to say upon reading the unfinished prose piece “Den bergtagna”
(1888; The Bewitched), written towards the end of Victoria Benedictsson’s life.
Concurrently she was working on a play with the same theme, a fragment that was
completed by Axel Lundegård and printed in 1890 (Den bergtagna; Eng. tr. The
Enchantment). Yet, the manuscript of the play is quite different from the prose
version and deals primarily with different ways of handling a love affair and
of living with one. In the prose piece, on the other hand, the inherent tragedy
of the love affair is described. Step by step, the text records the various
stages of the love affair and how the pliant and devoted woman is inevitably
entangled in the cunning seducer’s net and driven towards destruction. It is
the papers left by a deceased woman that are presented in the frame story, and
the note is struck already in the opening words: “I am not defending my life; I
am defending my death.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
bewitched woman’s background is that of an ordinary middle-class Swedish woman,
but during a sojourn in Paris she comes into contact with a renowned sculptor,
who seduces her. The love affair inspires him to make a new group of
sculptures, the completion of which means that she has to make room for a new
admiring mistress who is to inspire him to make his next masterpiece. These are
conditions that the bewitched woman accepts, with open eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But the
text contains disruptions and questions that are troubling. At a visit to a
museum, the Swedish woman is captured by a challenging self-portrait in which a
diametrically opposed type of woman makes her entry: an artist who holds her
own! As a contrasting picture to this vigorous woman, the reader is offered a
glimpse of the bewitched woman, who in this context – in contrast to the previous
first-person narrative – is described in the third person. It is a picture seen
from a male perspective, and it shows a content sexual object, a happy woman
enjoying the approaching summer – but just like the summer, she is doomed.
“What radiated from this face was happiness – a quiet and secret, a deep and
mysterious happiness, like the sea in which everything can drown, sink, and
disappear, while on the surface the sun is shining and all is calm.” The
external, male, gaze can depict her in a bright painting. The inner, female,
gaze knows that it is impossible for the bewitched woman to be redeemed once
she has stepped into the forbidden, free love, which she knows will end with
the man abandoning her: “[…] to me neither happiness nor beauty existed, there
was only a desolate emptiness, boundless and deep as the sea I was looking at.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In “Den
bergtagna”, the complex and contradictory aspects of femininity are concisely
expressed in the central group of sculptures, “Ödet” (Destiny), in which an “enormous
female figure with strong limbs” climbs across the “discarded” body of a
drowned young woman, who has the features of the bewitched woman. Apparently
totally unaffected by the peacefully resting female corpse, the surreal figure
gazes “ahead, strongly and coldly – out into the distance, towards an object
that is invisible to others”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
vigorous ‘over-woman’ can be interpreted as a personification of the
masculinity that Brandes applauded, an ideal that possessed the “power to bend
others to fit into his plans, and to use them as tools”. But the group of
sculptures may just as well be seen as a fixed image of the artistic conflict
that Victoria Benedictsson struggled with and never managed to solve.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In “Ur
mörkret”, the analysis of the masculine principle was taken to its purest and
most deadly logical conclusion. The final image in “Den bergtagna” seems to
point to something further still and to suggest that this can go on only as
long as the feminine principle allows itself to be trampled down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwhbkN_XJ78Q9hQEIzBKAno8-s7-Fo3DcqoFL7KBSuVkZ7zL9Lh5PcY1ptv1PfLWG9Dm3FGtcz88AtaRmmaW1edR1PDqA1lHimEMrQxCAYbiQ-VXa0Y-SdxCmKE-KNvN_r8j9h4fC5HBYhPGx882UDDonYlWLu9ZuOmFKENhQZ9IUbPsh6hZwNFzEMnA/s600/august-rodin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="537" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwhbkN_XJ78Q9hQEIzBKAno8-s7-Fo3DcqoFL7KBSuVkZ7zL9Lh5PcY1ptv1PfLWG9Dm3FGtcz88AtaRmmaW1edR1PDqA1lHimEMrQxCAYbiQ-VXa0Y-SdxCmKE-KNvN_r8j9h4fC5HBYhPGx882UDDonYlWLu9ZuOmFKENhQZ9IUbPsh6hZwNFzEMnA/s16000/august-rodin.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“‘Free
love’ has poisoned my life – love? – what a name for such a thing! I have to
die, for I cannot live. But I shall not be hanged in silence. Shame and
ignominy shall cling to my death as they have clung to my life, but that shame
shall be lifted up on a scaffold, high above the heads of the crowd; there, a
pillory shall stand as a warning, and I shall impudently bite my teeth together
during the disgrace, for my destruction shall be a blow to the doctrine that
you are preaching, the doctrine that I have always loathed, the doctrine I did
not dare to stand up against, because you were stronger than I, because you
tied me with the tendons that you had drawn out of my own body, because my
thought saw clearly, but my physical nature, like a famished assailant, put its
hands in front of its eyes in order to steal a crumb or two in the meantime.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I hate
your doctrine, I hate it – hate it! It has nothing to do with free love.
Nothing!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I have
known you for a long time. I have no esteem of you – and yet I love you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I have
drunk the mountain troll’s potion; I cannot live among my people. But I want to
breathe, breathe, breathe before I die – I want to speak my own language and
cry out his name, the name that is going to cost me my life!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The
mountain troll – the mountain king. The king of vice – the great, intoxicating,
bewitching king of vice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“But not a
human being.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From Stora
boken III (The Big Book), 14 January 1888.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC88Kz099NHLva-Go6wwKKroD-JkwVJ0KR45GvewRaN2YUHGWnZ65hEhlzF8pc8xqUSg_zmu2pHtlkAIWDGHvLyNlJ2V0xA3YxVIGkiPn5-eKkYcueK8xCMdxP7j7UzceVxjnvRQbMUDJEiHJu2sGc3K63PY-Q0SN3NX45gIwHCaUZolh23JbVwGH3J9k/s600/6435107837335.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC88Kz099NHLva-Go6wwKKroD-JkwVJ0KR45GvewRaN2YUHGWnZ65hEhlzF8pc8xqUSg_zmu2pHtlkAIWDGHvLyNlJ2V0xA3YxVIGkiPn5-eKkYcueK8xCMdxP7j7UzceVxjnvRQbMUDJEiHJu2sGc3K63PY-Q0SN3NX45gIwHCaUZolh23JbVwGH3J9k/s16000/6435107837335.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Diaries<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From 1882
until a month before her death in July 1888, Victoria Benedictsson kept a
diary, the so-called Stora boken (The Big Book), published in three volumes in
1978-84. Supplemented with calendar notes and correspondence with her closest
friends, Axel Lundegård, Ellen Key, Gustaf af Geijerstam, her stepdaughter
Matti, and others, it provides an exceptionally rich source of biographical
material. The diary can be read as a moral chronicle of the 1880s in the Nordic
countries. Benedictsson is adamant that nothing human should be alien to her.
Everything that has to do with love or sexuality, with the relationship between
the sexes, interests her and is noted down in Stora boken. Often she uses a
code in order to be able to inform her “Ernst” or “Old book” about her secret
thoughts on abstinence, birth control, syphilis, and prostitution, all the
things that women were not supposed to know anything about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Good
night, old Ernst! I am glad that you are not abandoning me. Sleep well, you
sceptical old fogey. You and I, we are some couple! Ernst and Victoria.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From Stora
boken (The Big Book).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In Stora
boken the parties, the gossip, and the scandals of family life in the small
town of Hörby are described as well as her encounter with the big city:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Stockholm, 5 November 1885. I still feel so
terribly lost and a stranger. And then my foot really hurts. But there is
something else. My whole being is tormented by a suppressed, brewing hatred.
All these people are the enemies of my innermost aspiration. They think of life
as a game, and to me it is serious. Everywhere I am met by a haze of lies and
falseness; it is as if it is going to choke me, and at the same time my muscles
tighten in powerless fury. What are these people rambling on about! Women’s
rights, the workers’ cause. Idle talk. Oh, it is all idle talk! […]<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I wish I
were in a big city where nobody knew me, where I were thrown out like a small
stone and able to hide on the bottom, able to feel life rubbing against me on
all sides but not being upset by it, only being shaped, slowly being shaped
into something perfect […].”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">A telling
example of the difficulty involved in portraying a complex woman is the novel
about Lady Macbeth and the artist’s calling that Ellen Key, in her book about
her friend, says that Victoria Benedictsson dreamed of writing. Already in
1880, Victoria Benedictsson writes in Stora boken (The Big Book) about her
fascination with this female figure, and in 1885 she tells Axel Lundegård that
“[e]verything will come to life in my long novel Lady Macbeth, unless I lose my
touch or die before then. What a childhood! A goldmine. And what a phenomenal
memory I have for facts!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
strength of her identification with the figure emerges from these lines written
a couple of months before her suicide: “I understand Lady Macbeth, for my hand
also seems to me to have got a stain that cannot be washed away; it is the
feeling that someone else is looking down upon me. I am so proud that I cannot
bear that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In Victoria
Benedictsson’s imagination, Lady Macbeth is the active and proud woman who
accepts the consequences of her ambition – a woman whom it is nearly impossible
to describe in sympathetic terms, especially if she is also to personify the
artist’s calling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here are
offered keen-eyed psychological portraits of many of the period’s young
authors, such as Ola Hansson, Oscar Levertin, Stella Kleve, Anne Charlotte
Edgren Leffler, Alfhild Agrell, and Ellen Key. And above all Georg Brandes, who
turns her into the bewitched woman. Before Victoria Benedictsson is dragged
into the magic circle of the Mountain King, she sees herself more as an author
than as a human being. This is also how she wants to present herself at
encounters with her colleagues in Stockholm or Copenhagen. The big question is
how a simple, ascetic attire can be combined with supreme elegance. “A shadow
of Catherine of Medici, and there you have the style […]. An ‘intellectual
aristocrat’, an old, tyrannical, hard, cunning woman: there you see what I can
signal with my dress and what I should signal. Above all: old. Otherwise all
the other things will lack effect. Black plush in the light, black satin during
the day; jets in daylight and black pearls in lamplight; on my head black
velvet or black spangle. Heavy, expensive, indifferent. Voilà.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Victoria
Benedictsson’s conscious staging of herself as an older, sexually neutral
artist is an important part of her identity as an author. It is against this
background that it becomes clear why her relationship to Brandes was so
disastrous. When he looks down upon her both as an author and as a woman, the
studied attire falls off, and she stands completely naked, bereft of her armour
and thus, in her own eyes, bereft of the possibilities of life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDx_TccjaFzM2umACXDNzXHIqKXI0dBn0yNopjGygkRjl_eSdmHpw-PYz7xg6GBDtPUBg1uHXkOSZsOVgB4ZmZhFS7-NxAWa7GcDXlNf70D15Ez8LF7dLlLHVMo4Qu_mEq5wSh1hRp9vSYP-ZTA3VSY7e1fg_b14Mwc2d0-EvNUz3vTWzCXIyj_ybnTgI/s952/faderhuset-bind-2-259-0.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="952" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDx_TccjaFzM2umACXDNzXHIqKXI0dBn0yNopjGygkRjl_eSdmHpw-PYz7xg6GBDtPUBg1uHXkOSZsOVgB4ZmZhFS7-NxAWa7GcDXlNf70D15Ez8LF7dLlLHVMo4Qu_mEq5wSh1hRp9vSYP-ZTA3VSY7e1fg_b14Mwc2d0-EvNUz3vTWzCXIyj_ybnTgI/s16000/faderhuset-bind-2-259-0.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The diary
begins in a harmless way as an author’s ‘storehouse’ with anecdotes, folktales,
copies of letters, fragments of conversations, and observations, but before
long it changes character and becomes an instrument of self-analysis. At an
early stage, Victoria Benedictsson realised that her diary might be published,
and, starting in 1885, her editing efforts become obvious. Her demand for truth
involved her having to appear in all her complexity and also exposing her less
appealing sides. Gossip, indiscreet speculations, and above all a drawn-out
analysis of her own feelings slowly gain prominence in the pages. She sees
herself most clearly in her relationship with men, above all with her ‘comrade’
Axel Lundegård – their emotionally loaded intellectual relationship dominates
Part Two – and with Georg Brandes – who dominates Part Three.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In her
diaries Victoria Benedictsson takes the step into modern times. It is a
contemporary of ours who is speaking here and who, thanks to her unswerving
loyalty to her own experiences, makes a Virginia Woolf or an Anaïs Nin seem
tame. After Victoria Benedictsson nobody else has, in an equally ruthless way,
tested introspection as a method to uncover the contradictions of the female
sexual being. Read closely, the diary, with its increasingly detailed analysis
of a woman’s state of mind, leaves the impression of a stubborn refusal to play
the men’s game. It also conveys a persistent striving for truth in the erotic
as well as in the intellectual power struggle between the sexes. Victoria
Benedictsson fearlessly treats her own experiences as raw material for
literature. Thus, for example, her relationship to Brandes is gradually given
the character of a self-fulfilling prophecy. For Victoria Benedictsson had at a
much earlier stage noted down the outline of the dramatised rendering of the
tragic love story, which took place in 1886-88. Scenes from other close
relationships to men, such as her love interest in the Swedish-American Charles
Quillfeldt at the end of the 1870s, or her friendship with the young Axel
Lundegård in the middle of the 1880s, are written into the Copenhagen tale
about Georg Brandes, with some lines rendered verbatim.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The diaries
follow very closely the divergent curves described by Victoria Benedictsson’s
writing career and life experiences up to her final suicide. “My diaries are
not to be destroyed […]”, she wrote, well aware that it is with her diaries
that she takes the step into modern times.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Many female
authors used the Modern Breakthrough to discuss the question of how the woman
was to develop a certain independence in the context of marriage, often through
paid or creative work. Others, as for example Agrell and Edgren Leffler, took a
step further in their criticism of the patriarchal institution of marriage. But
only few, apart from Stella Kleve and Victoria Benedictsson, ventured to
address the burning question as to how the power structure leaves its traces on
female sexuality; or the question as to how female desire could be realised in
a society with an institutionalised double standard of morality. It was
considered inappropriate for women to openly express their opinion on the issue
of sexuality. It was bad enough, the establishment thought, when the male
authors did so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I Want To
Write About Women. By Christina Sjöblad. <a href="https://nordicwomensliterature.net/2011/07/14/i-want-to-write-about-women/">The History of Nordic Women’sLiterature</a>, July 14, 2011. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLGcjAaqLZMzdddzq3Zda4rfN0J5XvpJY6KF3pGpE37gY6L2ui_pUvfMqQg1_qPFMpyj7QuepankQgBiT9-OjODF7s4aW_f2jRGNhi7SmioVz6To6TntuHnNiMjEECS-7wLCANri-QfoogE21gI1ipNLRCmHFdZLIQX_AEJLlXJAncarenGtN0FVOsXg/s639/8234453326_50c4c8409c_z.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLGcjAaqLZMzdddzq3Zda4rfN0J5XvpJY6KF3pGpE37gY6L2ui_pUvfMqQg1_qPFMpyj7QuepankQgBiT9-OjODF7s4aW_f2jRGNhi7SmioVz6To6TntuHnNiMjEECS-7wLCANri-QfoogE21gI1ipNLRCmHFdZLIQX_AEJLlXJAncarenGtN0FVOsXg/s16000/8234453326_50c4c8409c_z.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Victoria
Benedictsson has been called the model for Hedda Gabler. As her play premieres
here, it prompts harsh questions about her suicide - and that of other women
artists, says Germaine Greer<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In Zola's
L'Oeuvre, the artist Claude Lantier, having sacrificed all his relationships
for his work, hangs himself in front of the masterpiece he knows he can never
finish. Though suicide may be considered an occupational risk for any ordinary
mortal who sacrifices all for his or her art, historically only a tiny
proportion of male artists have ended their own lives. A much higher proportion
of the much lower number of women artists have crowned their achievement with
suicide. Swedish writer Victoria Benedictsson, better known in her own time by
the pseudonym Ernst Ahlgren, killed herself in 1888 using the same method as
French painter Constance Mayer did in 1821, by cutting her throat with a razor.
Both deaths are usually ascribed to unrequited love. Mayer was distraught when
Prud'hon failed to marry her after his wife died; Benedictsson was rejected by
the critic Georg Brandes, the Danish Harold Bloom of those days.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This week,
the National Theatre premieres Benedictsson's play Den Bergtagna as The
Enchantment in a version by Clare Bayley, based on a literal translation from
the Swedish by Ben Anderman. (In Venne Moberg's translation, the play is called
Spellbound.) Benedictsson has been called, on very slender grounds, the Swedish
George Eliot, and identified as Ibsen's model for Hedda Gabler. Ibsen was a
friend of Brandes and may have heard the story of his dalliance with
Benedictsson, but there is nothing to suggest a connection between Benedictsson
and Hedda beyond the simple fact that in the play Hedda, too, commits suicide.
Strindberg is supposed to have drawn the idea of Miss Julie from Benedictsson,
but again they have little in common beyond the fact that Miss Julie, too, cut
her own throat, and the play was written within a year of Benedictsson's death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Georg
Brandes was the most influential critic of his day, best known in Britain for
his four-volume work, Main Currents in the Literature of the Nineteenth Century
(1872-1875). Widely travelled, more widely read in half a dozen languages and a
brilliant lecturer, he was appointed reader in belles lettres at Copenhagen
University in 1871. Because he was a Jew, a radical and suspected of atheism,
he was not awarded a chair for 30 years. Though, in 1872, he translated John
Stuart Mill's The Subjection of Women, he was more of a libertarian than a
feminist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Seduction
of Benedictsson would certainly have been in character. By her own account,
Benedictsson seems to have been revolted by his sexual directness when he was
with her and desperate for his return when he stayed away. Brandes appears
never to have concealed his philandering or promised her anything more than she
got; part of her desperation seems to have been caused by her own inability to
resist a seduction so cold-blooded and specific. There are some who think no
actual sexual relations eventuated. Brandes may well have recoiled before
consummating the relationship, but as far as Benedictsson was concerned, the
damage was done. Her fatal susceptibility was probably only to be expected in a
woman who had lived all her life without love. Brandes should have known better
than to mess with her; in his biography, she is not even a footnote.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">British
ignorance about all things Scandinavian has led to a series of mistaken
assumptions about the magnitude of Benedictsson's achievement. In 1871, when
21-year-old Victoria Bruzelius became the second wife of 49-year-old Christian
Benedictsson, the Swedish women's movement pioneered by prizewinning novelist
Fredrika Bremer had already achieved notable successes. The Swedish art
academy, conservatory and medical schools were open to women, and women were
attending university lectures. Even so, public attitudes, especially in the
provinces, were still narrow and conservative. Victoria bore her husband a
daughter, his sixth child, in 1873, and in 1876 another daughter, who lived for
three weeks. In 1881, she was injured in a riding accident and remained
bedridden for two years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was then
that she began to write. As she was to say herself, this was the happiest time
of her life. In 1884, her novel Money was published (under the name Ernst
Ahlgren), an extraordinary success for a writer with no qualification beyond
time on her hands. Money deals with the struggle of a young woman who wishes to
train as an animal painter and finds herself married off to the local squire
instead. As so often happens with female artists, Benedictsson's heroine
appears to be herself, married off as she was to the middle-aged postmaster of
a provincial town. Ernst Ahlgren soon made contact with leading feminists;
Ellen Key became her best friend.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1883, a
21-year-old Danish author called Adda Ravnkilde committed suicide in
Copenhagen. At that point, none of her work had been published. The next year,
her novel Judith Furste was ushered into the world with a foreword by Brandes,
and it may have been this that encouraged Benedictsson to think of him as the
best possible mentor for herself. Benedictsson was on a trip to Copenhagen to
catch up on culture and shopping, when her friend Axel Lundegard, knowing how
much she admired Brandes, suggested to him that he visit her in her hotel room.
Benedictsson told the story of her seduction by Brandes, ploy by ploy, first in
her diary, then in a short story in which the events are transposed to Paris
and Brandes becomes a Rodin-figure called Gustave Alland, and finally in her
play.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The short
story begins, "Upon investigation of the papers of the deceased, the following
was found." "The following" is a lengthy suicide note, which
might as well be Benedictsson's own. The nameless woman in the story does not
accuse her married lover; rather she commits suicide because anyone who has
been spellbound, as it were in the thrall of the Mountain King of Scandinavian
legend, can never return to live among ordinary people. In the original
Swedish, the clue is given by the title of the story, Den Bergtagna, which is
also the title of the play. In the play, as not in the story, the seducer is
present when the heroine's body is brought into the house, and is told:
"Look. Look what you've done." In Bayley's version Alland does not
answer; in Moberg's version, he appears to agree that the heroine's death is
his work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Suicide is
never the fault of anyone but the perpetrator. Prud'hon did not kill Mayer and
Brandes did not kill Benedictsson, but the stigma remains. In both cases, the
woman's doomed relationship involved another major creative ego. Male artists
seldom make the mistake of falling in love with other artists, and almost never
with artists more successful than they. One megalo- maniac per household would
seem to be more than enough, but so many women artists cast themselves beneath
the chariot wheels of male artists with egos bigger and tougher than theirs
that a pattern seems to emerge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
rollcall of women artist suicides begins slowly at the beginning of the 19th
century with Karolina von Günderrode (1806) and Laetitia Elizabeth Landon
(1838), and gathers momentum with Ravnkilde and Benedictsson, Amy Levy and
Veronica Micle (1889), Eleanor Marx (1898), Elisaveta Aleksandrovna Diakonova
(1902), Laurence Hope (1904), Georgette Agutte (1922), Gertrude Bell (1926),
Charlotte Mew (1928), Dora Carrington (1932), Sara Teasdale (1933), Antonia
Pozzi (1938), Alfonsina Storni (1938), Robin Hyde (1938), Virginia Woolf,
Penelope Delta, Karin Boye and Marina Tsvetayeva (1941), Julia Acker (1942),
Anna Wickham (1943), Frida Kahlo (1954), Elise Cowen (1962), Sylvia Plath and
Kay Sage (1963), Ingrid Jonker (1965), Charmian Clift (1969), Diane Arbus
(1971), Anne Sexton (1974), Eva Bezwoda (1976), Danielle Collobert (1978), Ana
Cristina Cesar (1983). There was a lull, when the trend seemed to have worked
itself out, until in 2001 brilliant young playwright Sarah Kane hanged herself
with a shoelace, and in 2004 Iris Chang shot herself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The saddest
reflection is that Benedictsson's obsession with Brandes caused a rift between
her and the feminists who could have helped her to survive it. In a doomed
effort to secure Brandes's love and esteem by engaging in the approved manner
with current issues, she wrote Fru Marianne, which he declined to read, and
within six months she was lying with her throat cut in the same Copenhagen
hotel room where he had seduced her. Her papers were given by her favourite
stepdaughter to Axel Lundegard, who had collaborated with Benedictsson on an
earlier play called Final. He published various compilations of these and, as
well as completing the play of Den Bergtagna, completed her novel Modern (The
Mother).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
play, the heroine is repeatedly warned off by Erna Wallden, an earlier victim
of Alland. She is a painter whom the experience of being debauched and
abandoned by Alland has made into an unhappy woman, but a better artist. For
Benedictsson to have written Erna into Den Bergtagna has the contradictory
effect of exonerating Alland for the heroine's death, which seems after all to
be a consequence of her own weakness. It is as if Benedictsson is admitting that
the only perpetrator of the crime against her is, after all, herself. Audiences
of The Enchantment will have much to disagree about - which is, according to
Brandes, exactly as it should be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">· The
Enchantment is at the Cottlesloe, London until November 1. Box office: 020-7452
3000.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Death and
the maiden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By Germaine Greer. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2007/jul/26/theatre3">The Guardian</a>, July 26, 2007.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtR-7es3xyv81-Urd4q-QbYRd1K-_ybd_44E-hBEFpo9faWW6ZmfxWKZ_29RehqnG4jOWydH0PVVv_-j0-wOMLFthetQ8VYanmYTrseQt69Z7MxsuIC_m3G-wO4x29AlCLcsIqJ19X2uqYk9srQ_sC4DuA2-1NXiTRrsjZpjDK2PRmDHQ0INoeIfa4S20/s600/Stenen_domme_001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtR-7es3xyv81-Urd4q-QbYRd1K-_ybd_44E-hBEFpo9faWW6ZmfxWKZ_29RehqnG4jOWydH0PVVv_-j0-wOMLFthetQ8VYanmYTrseQt69Z7MxsuIC_m3G-wO4x29AlCLcsIqJ19X2uqYk9srQ_sC4DuA2-1NXiTRrsjZpjDK2PRmDHQ0INoeIfa4S20/s16000/Stenen_domme_001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-26045511988660729472024-03-17T11:31:00.004+00:002024-03-17T11:31:50.696+00:00Andrea Long Chu on Freedom Of Sex<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQTjdbWGNqU_P3Ey-7l9lIvSot2FH4Zx0A57FJG3OSyUF_7UBZRVDFcz2C7AGYEX0xbg0f4LmAR_dPqrN1cvRgmMp1q2ZyB2Tv50eMdqiZw6-efH3cKPkscmToYhL7DU-JKI3ss0yB33cmmkiBoqxbOWi01xqy6ddCTXTa_EoFGJE7h5fm_m4_j5nlV0/s600/lu1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQTjdbWGNqU_P3Ey-7l9lIvSot2FH4Zx0A57FJG3OSyUF_7UBZRVDFcz2C7AGYEX0xbg0f4LmAR_dPqrN1cvRgmMp1q2ZyB2Tv50eMdqiZw6-efH3cKPkscmToYhL7DU-JKI3ss0yB33cmmkiBoqxbOWi01xqy6ddCTXTa_EoFGJE7h5fm_m4_j5nlV0/s16000/lu1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One often
hears today that gender is a social construct. The idea is sometimes credited
to the book Gender Trouble, published in 1990 by a handsome young philosopher
named Judith Butler. In fact, sociologists began thinking of gender as a social
achievement distinct from sex as early as the 1960s. What Butler proposed was
more radical: that the repeated citation of gender norms — things like wearing
heels or drinking Scotch — produced the illusion of a biological sex just
waiting to be infused with meaning. For Butler, gender was performative, a term
they borrowed from the philosophy of language, where it referred to sentences
that seem to do things: “I promise,” for instance, a phrase that literally
makes a promise. Gender, too, was a kind of promise — “It’s a girl” — one that,
because it was not anchored in biological sex, had to be constantly reaffirmed
through performative acts, thus allowing the dominant norms to be renegotiated
or even subverted. Butler’s example was drag performance, which, by
exaggerating the normal rules of gender, acted as an allegory for the way
everyone performed gender every day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">These ideas
were tremendously influential in the formation of gender studies. But two
principal criticisms of Butler soon arose. The first was that they had
effectively denied the reality of biological sex; after all, there was a big
difference between a drag queen and your average woman. The second was that
Butler had made gender sound like something you could voluntarily opt into.
Butler would spend the better part of their career trying to acknowledge the
materiality of sex — even as they downplayed its relevance — while fending off
the idea that gender could be assumed through a spontaneous act of will. It was
not as if, they wrote, one simply “woke in the morning, perused the closet or
some more open space for the gender of choice, donned that gender for the day,
and then restored the garment to its place at night.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What Butler
could not have anticipated is that, some 30 years later, people really would be
waking up one morning and choosing a new gender. At least this is the
impression one gets from the “debate” now raging in this country over the
rights of transgender youth — a rapidly accelerating campaign that has united
the far right, the liberal center, and certain feminists on the left. Last year
— the worst so far — Republicans introduced hundreds of bills that would ban
gender-affirming health care for minors, restrict the participation of trans
kids in sports, and force schools to out students to their parents. (They are
increasingly turning their sights on adults.) Around half of all transgender
youth — some 140,000 kids and teens — now live in a state where minors have, or
may soon have, no legal access to gender-affirming care. To whom should they
turn? The New York Times regularly runs stories playing up the perils of youth
gender medicine; the author of Harry Potter is anxiously projecting her fears
of sexual assault onto them from across the sea. The public increasingly
believes that what the kids call gender is really just trouble: depression,
anxiety, autism, family dysfunction, peer pressure, or social media, any of
which — not to mention the universal awkwardness of puberty itself — are better
explanations for why a child might question their identity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The left
must reckon with its part in this. It has hung trans rights on the thin peg of
gender identity, a concept clumsily adapted from psychiatry and strongly
influenced by both gender studies and the born-this-way tactics of the campaign
for marriage equality. This has won us modest gains at the level of social
acceptance. But we have largely failed to form a coherent moral account of why
someone’s gender identity should justify the actual biological interventions
that make up gender-affirming care. If gender really is an all-encompassing
structure of social norms that produces the illusion of sex, critics ask, why
would the affirmation of someone’s gender identity entail a change to their
biology? As a result, advocates have fallen back on the clinical diagnosis of
gender dysphoria, known until about a decade ago as gender identity disorder,
defined as the distress felt at the incongruence of gender identity and
biological sex. The idea that trans people fundamentally suffer from a mental
illness has long been used by psychiatrists to decide who “qualifies” for
transition-related care and who does not. By insisting on the medical validity
of the diagnosis, progressives have reduced the question of justice to a
question of who has the appropriate disease. In so doing, they have given the
anti-trans movement a powerful tool for systematically pathologizing trans
kids.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How to
respond to all this? Butler’s new book, Who’s Afraid of Gender?, is one
attempt, and it promises to ignite another round of public conversation about
trans rights when published later this month. They write well of the global
panic over “gender ideology” and acknowledge that the theory of gender
performativity seems “questionable” in light of subsequent criticisms. But they
continue to treat gender as the more promising terrain for political struggle.
One suspects that, even after all these years, Butler is still afraid of sex.
They are not alone: Many trans advocates worry that if they concede the
significance of biological sex — as opponents of trans rights demand they do —
this will thwart their political claims. The focus on gender, given its
substantial psychic and social components, appears to be a more plausible
ground for self-determination. But this fear has left a vast swath of political
territory open to the anti-trans movement, which now hides its repressive goals
behind the rhetoric of neutral biological fact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It seems to
me that this is a fear we can no longer afford. To confront the reality of
biological sex is not, by definition, to swear fealty to that reality; no one
knows this better than a child who wishes to have their biological sex changed.
We must be able to defend this desire clearly, directly, and — crucially —
without depending on the idea of gender. Back in the 1970s, sociologists
hypothesized that the withering away of gender roles in a liberal society would
lead to a decline in the number of people who wanted to change their sex. We
may now say this hypothesis was wrong: An increase in gender freedom has
coincided with a rise in the number of people wishing to change their sex. For
these people, sex itself is becoming a site of freedom. This freedom is not
unprecedented: Many Americans, though they may not realize it, already enjoy a
limited version of the freedom to alter their sexual biology. What is new is
the idea that this freedom can be asserted as a universal right by a group as
politically disenfranchised as the young. This is why the anti-trans movement
is so desperate: It is afraid of what sex might become.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5wZ_JdAK7qTXTdN5eleLlvoTMrBWlTThuLoFRxE9H52u_rRE2BKmDu8Dx_ZynohwWd6hG32o8EBlPSEGrsbiQJIGSkCu9H5HAAJZ64sZrbF2nvhBhdWsEiKB7OLY_4axk0-sFi1F7yJTYrcKkwRhIvQRSIRR0BPlWDWgUf6R6hF2hpnzhbdQB91lDnM/s749/lu2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5wZ_JdAK7qTXTdN5eleLlvoTMrBWlTThuLoFRxE9H52u_rRE2BKmDu8Dx_ZynohwWd6hG32o8EBlPSEGrsbiQJIGSkCu9H5HAAJZ64sZrbF2nvhBhdWsEiKB7OLY_4axk0-sFi1F7yJTYrcKkwRhIvQRSIRR0BPlWDWgUf6R6hF2hpnzhbdQB91lDnM/s16000/lu2.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A decade
ago, when Time magazine memorably declared the arrival of the “transgender
tipping point,” the public was dimly prepared to accept that trans people were
like gay people — that is, safe, legal, and rare. The successful corporate
boycott of North Carolina over its 2016 law restricting trans people’s use of
public restrooms seemed to bear this out; even candidate Trump considered
bathroom bills a losing issue. But the nation’s first pangs of dutiful charity
have rapidly subsided — in no small part because the focus has shifted from adults
to children. In 2018, The Atlantic published a long cover story by the reporter
Jesse Singal called “When Children Say They’re Trans,” focusing on the clinical
disagreements over how to treat gender-questioning youth. The story provided a
template for the coverage that would follow it. First, it took what was
threatening to become a social issue, hence a question of rights, and turned it
back into a medical issue, hence a question of evidence; it then quietly
suggested that since the evidence was debatable, so were the rights. This
tactic has been successful: The political center has moved significantly on
trans issues. The public now appears to favor protections for trans people from
discrimination in employment, housing, and public spaces in line with the
Supreme Court’s 2020 ruling in Bostock v. Clayton County. But a growing
majority of Americans also believe gender is determined by sex at birth, and
even more (almost 70 percent) oppose puberty blockers for trans kids.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three main
tendencies compose the anti-trans bloc in America today. The first, and most
obvious, is the religious right, a principally Christian movement that holds
that trans people are an abomination and that “gender ideology” is part of a
broader leftist conspiracy to corrupt the youth. The second tendency is also
obvious, if smaller: gender-critical feminists, better known as TERFs. This
group has its roots in the lesbian feminism of the ’70s; today, the polemical
acronym, which originally stood for “trans-exclusionary radical feminist,” is
used to describe any feminist who justifies her anti-trans views by citing
women’s rights. These views include the idea that gender must be smashed rather
than affirmed; that women constitute a “sex class” on the basis of their shared
biology; and that the trans-rights framework exposes natal women to sexual
violence at the hands of trans women, who are imagined as predatory males.
(Most TERFism in the U.S. is imported: TERFs have their strongest foothold in
the U.K.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But the
most insidious source of the anti-trans movement in this country is, quite
simply, liberals. Butler, in their survey of the political landscape, misses
the liberal faction altogether. I suspect this is because the anti-trans
liberal sees himself as a concerned citizen, not an ideologue. He is neither
radical nor a feminist; he is not so much trans-exclusionary as he is broadly
skeptical of all social-justice movements. He is a trans-agnostic reactionary
liberal — a TARL. The TARL’s primary concern, to hear him tell it, lies in
protecting free speech and civil society from the illiberal forces of the woke
left, which, by forcing the orthodoxy of gender down the public’s throat and
viciously attacking anyone who dares to ask questions, is trafficking in
censorship, intimidation, and quasi-religious fanaticism. On trans people
themselves, the TARL claims to take no position other than to voice his general
empathy for anyone suffering from psychological distress or civil-rights
violations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The leading
voice for such ideas in the United States is the Times. In the past several
years, the paper has vigorously normalized the idea that sustained public
debate over the rights of trans kids is not only justified but urgent. In 2022
alone, it devoted more than 28,000 words to the topic of trans youth, including
a lengthy New York Times Magazine piece by staff writer Emily Bazelon on the
“unexplained rise in trans-identified teenagers.” The paper paints a consistent
picture. Genuine transgender people, its reporters suggest, are a very small
clinical population of adults with a verified mental illness whose persistent
distress entitles them to gender-affirming care like hormone therapy and
transition-related surgeries. Trans-identified youth — whose numbers, we are
told, are “small but growing” — are beset by comorbidities like depression or
autism spectrum disorder that stymie clear diagnosis, yet they are being rushed
into life-changing treatments that many of them may later regret, as evidenced
by the cautionary tales of people who detransition later in life. To make
matters worse, the “overheated political moment,” inflamed by both right-wing
backlash and the strident tactics of trans activists, is preventing the medical
Establishment, which is trusted implicitly, from coming to a sober consensus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the same
time, the paper consistently refuses to treat transition-related care the way
it would any other health-care matter. Last year, the Times ran a story on a
small Missouri gender clinic that had been overwhelmed by an “unrelenting surge
in demand.” But the paper did not present this as an issue of access, as it has
done with the national shortage in affordable home care or the inundation of
abortion clinics with out-of-state patients post-Dobbs. Rather, the demand
itself was suspect, a result of poorly explained psychological and social
forces that had “bewildered” experts, whose warnings were as usual being
drowned out by activists. Indeed, the average Times-reading liberal is left
with the impression that, because politics obstructs the slow work of
scientific consensus-building, trans people’s best shot at receiving health
care is to stop asking for it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Times
is not alone; it is one of many respectable publications, including The
Atlantic and The Economist, engaged in sanitizing the ideas promoted by TARLs
in the more reactionary corners of the media landscape. Here one finds
journalists like Singal, Matthew Yglesias, Matt Taibbi, Andrew Sullivan, Helen
Lewis, Meghan Daum, and, of course, former Times staffer Bari Weiss. Many of
these writers live in self-imposed exile on Substack, the newsletter platform,
where they present themselves as brave survivors of cancellation by the woke
elites. But they are not a marginal force. (It was Weiss’s media company that
first broke the story about the clinic in Missouri.) These writers are far more
likely to be militants than their counterparts at the Times; they are
especially preoccupied with the “science denial” of radical activists, who have
put wokeness before rational standards of care. In the words of one TARL,
“Biology has been canceled.” Of particular note here is Singal, who has often
accused trans activists of mounting an Orwellian campaign to discount “the
relevance of biological sex.” It would be “profoundly unfair,” he wrote last
year, if a “large male” like himself were to suddenly demand that others see
him as a woman. (It did not occur to him that this is precisely why trans
girls, who are well aware of their biology, are asking for puberty blockers: so
that they do not grow up to look like Jesse Singal.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Trans
skeptics have seized on the idea of “rapid-onset gender dysphoria,” a term
proposed by the public-health researcher Lisa Littman in 2018 to describe
children with no history of gender variance who suddenly developed gender
dysphoria as a result of “social influences and maladaptive coping mechanisms.”
The study was a sham. It surveyed parents, not kids, whom it recruited from
trans-skeptical communities online, and it assumed that clusters of trans kids
were proof of social contagion as opposed to, say, self-selection. The idea
that children were being unduly influenced by the internet was especially rich
coming from participants harvested from a private Facebook group. But the
general notion that trans kids have confounding diagnoses and high rates of
desistance (the natural fading of symptoms with age) has proliferated
throughout the anti-trans movement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, to be
clear, the TARL will typically acknowledge the existence of a group of fully
developed adults whose medically verified gender dysphoria is so persistent and
distressing that the argument for compassionate care outweighs the Hippocratic
prohibition on harming a perfectly healthy body. The basic strategy here is to
create a kind of intake form with exactly two boxes on it. Every
trans-identified person is either a participant in a craze or certifiably
crazy. (Checking both boxes is permitted.) There is a touch of genius to this
approach. It draws a bright line between the kids who say they are trans and
the kids who really are while pathologizing all of them as either delusional or
dysphoric. This line is as old as gender medicine itself, which for decades was
careful to distinguish impersonators and fetishists from the “true
transsexual.” So in most cases of gender variance, the TARL informs parents
that it is perfectly healthy for boys to wear dresses and for girls to climb
trees regardless of their biological sex, which need not be altered after all.
He reassures them that the risk of suicide among trans-identified youth has
been inflated by cynical activists trying to blackmail the public; what he
means by this is that he does not think most kids are suicidal enough to be
trans. In those rare instances of true misery, he advises the practice of
“watchful waiting,” preferring to see the patient through the
often-irreversible changes of puberty to adulthood, when her childhood
experience of gender incongruence will finally acquire the weight of medical
evidence. If only she had said something sooner!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is
obviously not a vision of justice; it is a response plan for an epidemic. This
should not surprise us. The very simple fact is that many people believe
transgender is something no one in their right mind would ever want to be. The
anti-trans bloc has in general targeted children because Americans tend to
imagine children both as a font of pure, unadulterated humanity and as ignorant
dependents incapable of rational thought or political agency. This has allowed
the movement to infantilize not just kids but all trans people, whom it only
wishes to shepherd through the ravages of mental illness and the recklessness
of youth. If the liberal skeptic will not assert in mixed company that there
should be fewer trans people, he still expects us to agree on basic
humanitarian grounds that at least there should not be more. It is quite
possible, for instance, to believe that cancer patients should have access to
aggressive treatments with potentially life-altering effects while also
sincerely believing that, in a perfect world, no one would have cancer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We will
never be able to defend the rights of transgender kids until we understand them
purely on their own terms: as full members of society who would like to change
their sex. It does not matter where this desire comes from. When the TARL
insinuates again and again that the sudden increase of trans-identified youth
is “unexplained,” he is trying to bait us into thinking trans rights lie just
on the other side of a good explanation. But any model of where trans people
“come from” — any at all — is a model that by default calls into question the
care of anyone who does not meet its etiological profile. This is as true of
the old psychiatric hypothesis that transsexuality resulted from in utero
exposure to maternal sex hormones as it is of the well-meaning but misguided
search for the genes that “cause” gender incongruence. It is most certainly
true of the current model of gender identity as “consistent, insistent, and
persistent,” as LGBTQ+ advocates like to say. At best, these theories give us a
brief respite from the hail of delegitimizing attacks; they will never save us.
We must be prepared to defend the idea that, in principle, everyone should have
access to sex-changing medical care, regardless of age, gender identity, social
environment, or psychiatric history. This may strike you as a vertiginous task.
The good news is that millions of people already believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoFS_hCFy_hJUmFQaMZ8MUPp6yjYzCtK_6S0e4EXM7FC8ZWZMDgyV6d-HaH2vKW9ofnPWPRFx9LRIv8Jx0Oxutsz4io3CxgJW1jAM4ilJHaQUkUlZG5CcF_ZjfvVgIHokIsACJWBy_6oLEUeaW6YSv8Jga0QYkystrTlgNUGfY751irQ-s4SRsWfzc4A/s751/lu3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoFS_hCFy_hJUmFQaMZ8MUPp6yjYzCtK_6S0e4EXM7FC8ZWZMDgyV6d-HaH2vKW9ofnPWPRFx9LRIv8Jx0Oxutsz4io3CxgJW1jAM4ilJHaQUkUlZG5CcF_ZjfvVgIHokIsACJWBy_6oLEUeaW6YSv8Jga0QYkystrTlgNUGfY751irQ-s4SRsWfzc4A/s16000/lu3.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In October
1958, a young woman appeared at the UCLA department of psychiatry with an unusual
complaint. Agnes, as she is known today, had supple breasts, smooth skin, and a
narrow waist. She also had, much to the consternation of her boyfriend, a
typical set of male genitalia. In interviews with the psychiatrist Robert J.
Stoller, Agnes related how she had been raised as a boy but had always believed
she was a girl — a belief confirmed at puberty, when she naturally began
developing breasts. Testing showed that Agnes lacked a uterus or ovaries but
that her testes were producing high levels of estrogen. Satisfied, the doctors
surgically replaced her genitals with a vagina constructed from penile and
scrotal tissue. Stoller, who had become quite fond of Agnes, saw evidence for
his theory that the endocrine system had a strong determining role in a
person’s conscious or unconscious awareness of their biological sex. (He and
his colleagues in Los Angeles had taken to calling this “gender identity.”)
Years later, Agnes casually divulged the truth: At age 12, disturbed by the
onset of perfectly typical male puberty, she had begun taking her mother’s
estrogen pills. “She is not an example of a ‘biological force’ that subtly and
inevitably influences gender identity, as I had reported,” Stoller admitted in
his 1967 book, Sex and Gender. “She is a transsexual.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Agnes had
simply told the doctors what they wanted to hear. But why did her mother have
estrogen pills in the first place? In passing, Stoller noted that the latter
had been prescribed a synthetic estrogen following a total hysterectomy that
included her ovaries; in other words, she was one of the millions of
20th-century women who would be prescribed estrogen for treating symptoms of
menopause. In his 1966 best seller Feminine Forever, the gynecologist Robert A.
Wilson argued that menopause was basically a hormone deficiency, like diabetes,
that could safely be treated through estrogen therapy. He claimed his patients
were part of a new sexual revolution: They had supple breasts, smooth skin, and
legs that looked good in a tennis skirt. After Wilson’s death, it would come
out that he had been receiving payments from the makers of Premarin, an
estrogen medication derived from the urine of pregnant mares. Nevertheless,
many women really did find hormone therapy effective for a wide range of
menopausal symptoms, from hot flashes to vaginal atrophy, and in 1992, Premarin
was the most prescribed drug in America. “Women, after all, have the right to
remain women,” Wilson had written. “They should not have to live as sexual
neuters for half their lives.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So when
Agnes visited UCLA, she did not need to prove that a right to female biology
existed. She was simply trying to convince the doctors that this right also
applied to her. In fact, the vast majority of Americans have long believed
everyone has a right to keep their biological sex. The prospect of forcible sex
change is the stuff of horror movies. In 1997, the Times ran a front-page story
about an anonymous man, later identified as David Reimer, who was raised as a
girl after a botched circumcision destroyed his genitals. His care was overseen
by controversial psychologist John Money, Stoller’s colleague, who gave Reimer
estrogen to induce breast growth and allegedly had him perform sex acts with
his twin brother. After learning the truth as a teenager, Reimer started
testosterone, had his breasts removed, and received phalloplasty. That this was
something of a small national tragedy went without saying. The Times compared
his struggle to the travails of Oedipus or King Lear; when he committed suicide
in 2004, the paper ran his obituary. Reimer’s story is popular in the
anti-trans literature because, alongside the general depravity of the affair,
it appears to prove that gender has an inescapable basis in biological sex:
Reimer knew he wasn’t a girl, no matter what the doctors did to him. He told
Oprah Winfrey he had never fit in as a girl, preferring to climb trees and play
with trucks even as his mother tried to convince him that he was simply a
“tomboy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSe8IywoPewR6WtW3Hf1u-1dKEL8Pgw3R8rVHR65RnngTG1soX2OaUVOAAKAvboLOv72IP0BTFcnkQhLQgKv0uKX_34nhZ8Fp_n6O2Zxnzfjm-4vdfc5B1NSpYcqOsbnDQyX5khX7HBeJsnZSfy_EWkKELa35RhKCN_aBuN4sMUQeBVR5dCYghUOPFXc/s600/david-reimer-and-his-wife-jane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSe8IywoPewR6WtW3Hf1u-1dKEL8Pgw3R8rVHR65RnngTG1soX2OaUVOAAKAvboLOv72IP0BTFcnkQhLQgKv0uKX_34nhZ8Fp_n6O2Zxnzfjm-4vdfc5B1NSpYcqOsbnDQyX5khX7HBeJsnZSfy_EWkKELa35RhKCN_aBuN4sMUQeBVR5dCYghUOPFXc/s16000/david-reimer-and-his-wife-jane.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is, of
course, the exact conversation many trans kids are having with their parents
today. What Reimer’s story actually illustrates is that we are perfectly
comfortable with sex changing when we understand it as changing back. This
happens more often than one might think. The historian Jules Gill-Peterson has
shown that the earliest treatments in the field of gender medicine were
developed to “correct” intersex children by bringing their ambiguous biology
within the range of what society considered normal. Even when these treatments
were later charily extended to “transsexuals,” it was often on the assumption
that some original biological sex, perhaps endocrine in nature, was being
excavated. (This was why Stoller was so excited by the idea that Agnes’s testes
were producing so much estrogen.) But as the medical understanding of sex
ballooned to include things like gonad development and hormone activity, so did
the risk of losing one’s sex as a result of age, heredity, disease, physical
trauma, or the side effects of medical treatment. This was the cleverness of
Agnes’s plan. She presented herself as a person who, just like her mother,
needed to become female again. In fact, following the removal of her testes,
she cannily discontinued her secret estrogen pills, leading to mood swings and
hot flashes. The doctors promptly diagnosed her with — what else? — menopause
and placed her on the same estrogen therapy that would be enjoyed by millions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So what we
today call gender-affirming care is part of a larger history of sex-affirming
care governed by strong normative ideas of health, productivity, and moral
worth. Many of the treatments in this field are broadly uncontroversial today:
breast reconstruction following cancer, vasodilators for erectile dysfunction,
antiandrogens for hair loss and hirsutism. In 2023, The New York Times Magazine
ran a long, sympathetic essay on the “reassuring” evidence base for menopausal
hormone therapy, which the writer called “a lost opportunity to improve women’s
lives.” A few years earlier, the Times hailed the first successful transplant
of a penis, scrotum, and the surrounding abdominal wall — the result of
Pentagon-funded research aimed at restoring the dignity of soldiers whose
genitals were damaged or destroyed by improvised explosives. (The donor’s
family sent the patient a message: “We are all very proud that our loved one
was able to help a young man that served this country.”) Even the recent rush
on the part of the Alabama GOP to enshrine the legality of IVF treatments
endangered by a surprise state supreme court ruling is an excellent reminder
that many religious conservatives support significant medical interventions in
biological sex — gonadotropins to stimulate follicle production, GnRH agonists
to prevent the unplanned release of eggs, not to mention the whole business
with the test tube — when the payoff is a human infant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The real
question is which sex can be affirmed — and why. It so happens, for instance,
that GnRH agonists like those used in fertility treatments are also used to
delay puberty in trans kids. This means your average Alabama Republican now
ostensibly believes it should be a felony to give a child the same hormone
blockers his mother may have used to conceive him. Our politician may rightly
protest that the same drug is being used for very different purposes. But this
is the point: It is the purpose of sex change, and not the change itself, which
determines its acceptability. This is why sex-affirming care has historically
entailed both the withholding of sex change from some and enforcement of it for
others. Like most fields of medicine, it has a bloody underbelly of coercion:
the vaginal surgeries tested on enslaved women in 1840s Alabama; the testicular
transplants performed on gay men in Nazi Germany; and the surgical modification
of infants with atypical genitalia, which continues today. Even Wilson was clearly
preoccupied with keeping women perky and lubricated for their husbands. In
Feminine Forever, he drolly recalled a man who laid his .32 automatic on the
desk and declared that if the doctor could not “cure” his wife of her harridan
ways, he would surely kill her himself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most people
are not being made to change their sex at gunpoint. But it should be clear by
now that when members of the anti-trans movement argue that sex cannot change,
what they really mean is that sex shouldn’t change except in accordance with
social norms. Butler has written a great deal on this subject; a robust theory
of normativity is arguably their life’s work. For Butler, a social norm is not
a belief or a cultural attitude. It is a deep structure of power that makes
one’s sense of self possible. Norms precede us, form us, and act as our
“constitutive constraints”; at the same time, since they depend on being
constantly reiterated, they never capture us fully and can be reinterpreted.
(They have called this “working the weakness in the norm.”) Butler tends to
think of gender norms in terms of meaning; in fact, they often assume that
gender itself is the symbolic structure through which sex comes to matter at
all. This is part of their broader political strategy: to show first that
something is saturated with social meaning in order to make it politically
questionable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But it is
not enough to know what sex means; we will have to understand what it does.
Obviously, gender norms do not issue directly from the organs. One imagines that,
even after her hysterectomy, Agnes’s mother was still expected to be nurturing
and emotionally available. Yet to speak only of norms is to lose sight of the
role of biological sex within a larger system of material relations. It is
difficult to explain why the above gender norm would exist in the first place
if it were not for the actual fact of reproduction, which at this point in the
descent of man still requires very specific biological conditions in order to
occur, including the presence of at least one of each gamete type (sperm and
ova), a well-functioning uterus, and a reasonably sound endocrine system. This
is sex as biological capacity; in this sense, it is no less of a material
resource than water or wheat. Every human society invested in perpetuating
itself — which is to say, every society — has regulated the production,
distribution, and use of biological sex. This is more than the sex-based
division of labor (hunter-gatherers and all that). It is the actual division of
sex.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It may
sound as if I am saying sex is more real than gender — a proposition gender
studies has abhorred since its inception. I do not think that sex is more real.
But I am not terribly bothered by saying that the division of sex determines
gender norms, so long as we remember that it never remotely finishes
determining them. There is always a wide, shifting, and irregular gap between
the two. One finds a brutal example of this in the antebellum South. As
Hortense Spillers has written, the genteel system of southern patrimony was
bluntly waived when it came to the rape of enslaved Black women by white slave
owners, who could effectively produce new assets — that is, new enslaved people
— in the form of their own disavowed children. Gender alone cannot explain such
an arrangement; it cannot speak to how sex functions as a kind of material
base, as the Marxist feminists might put it: a source of labor, wealth, and
power from which the elaborate superstructure of gender continually emerges,
breaks off, and reforms in unintended ways. (An old-fashioned name for such an
arrangement is sex-gender system, coined by the anthropologist Gayle Rubin in
1975.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No wonder
“gender identity,” understood by well-meaning LGBTQ+ advocates as an abstract
feeling, has done such a poor job of justifying sex change. If biological sex
is part of a material structure of value, then society has a concrete interest
in any potential gains or losses that may result, feelings be damned.
Gill-Peterson tells the story of Robert Stonestreet, a 10-year-old boy who was
brought to the Johns Hopkins Hospital for a rare urethral defect in 1915. When
the doctors informed his father that the boy had ovaries and should be
reassigned as a girl, the man refused, explaining that he already had six girls
at home and his son was a great help around the family farm. Of course,
Stonestreet was prepubescent. Whatever biological advantage he had over his
sisters was the natural spoils of working daily on a farm. The point is that
his father’s social validation of his gender was the basically incidental
result of an economic calculation about his sex. Twenty-one years later,
Stonestreet asked the same doctors to certify him as male so he could wed his
fiancée. They refused — one suspects because a marriage with no reproductive potential
struck them as dead in the water, especially with the national birth rate at an
all-time low. Three days later, Stonestreet committed suicide — the victim of a
society that could not make up its mind on how best to make sense of his gender
while also extracting value from his sex.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is the
larger historical reason why the anti-trans movement does not want transgender
people to receive sex-altering care. It is not clear how, if at all, such
people will fit into the division of sex in America. The TERF does not, after
all, fear being assaulted by a Y chromosome in a women’s restroom. Her paranoid
fantasy is of a large testosterone-fueled body wielding a penis — an organ to
which, as Butler points out, the TERF attributes almost magical powers of violence.
(TERFs often seem to reject the idea that trans women are women on the basis
that they are not sufficiently rapeable, when in fact trans women face much
higher rates of sexual assault.) Liberals, meanwhile, object to trans girls’
participation in sports not because sperm swim faster than eggs but because
trans girls, they suppose, will swim faster than their own little girls, who
may then be deprived of athletic scholarships or other opportunities. Even
Singal admits this is ultimately an issue of “competing rights claims,” not
biological fact. Widespread discomfort at the largely fantastical idea that
trans girls will always dominate in their chosen sports reflects a basic
patriarchal belief that the physical advantages of being male are perfectly acceptable
so long as they are possessed by men. (In this sense, sex division in sport is
meant to enshrine inequality, not to mitigate it.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
anti-trans bloc does not care about what sex is in some bloodless, positivistic
sense. It cares about what sex does — or what it might not do, in the event
that transition-related care becomes widely available. One of the greatest
fears of the anti-trans movement concerns a shift in the population of trans
kids seeking care, who by some counts are now predominantly female-assigned.
(The accuracy of this claim has been disputed.) This idea was popularized by
Abigail Shrier’s 2020 book, Irreversible Damage: The Transgender Craze Seducing
Our Daughters, which hysterically claimed that an epidemic of anxiety and
depression is leading “a generation of girls” to confuse the tribulations of
female puberty with true gender dysphoria. Shrier wrote that the cost of this
epidemic was “a pound of flesh,” and it was no secret which pound she meant.
The book’s cover features an illustration of a girl with a physical hole — you
can put your finger through it — where her uterus should be. The specter of
mass infertility cannot be underestimated. I do not think it is an exaggeration
to say that the anti-trans movement is driven by a deep, unconscious dread that
society will not have enough working female biology to support the
deteriorating nuclear family — and, with it, the entire division of sex itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
probably will not happen. Sex-altering care can indeed affect one’s fertility
but not always irreversibly, and the trans population is still far too small to
bring about that sort of demographic apocalypse. What we are witnessing is a
potential reconfiguration of the division of sex — one that is highly
disturbing to anyone with an instinctive loyalty to the status quo but that is
no more inherently revolutionary than, say, the contraceptive Pill. The Pill
was, after all, one of the most important advancements in sex-changing medicine
of the 20th century. It had a dramatic effect on women’s sexual freedom and
economic independence, but it did not bring about women’s liberation. On the
contrary, it became an essential part of a new regime of rational management
within the division of sex known as “family planning.” One can likewise imagine
a marginally more benevolent society integrating hormone therapy and puberty
blockers into its own division of sex without accidentally abolishing the
family or smashing the patriarchy. True political change we must bring about
ourselves. Sex-affirming care has always served someone’s moral vision for
society. There is no reason it cannot serve ours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvUwca1gevErnmG99siZtIkrQ9jnlFQcoHgZfERBvBqjHnZ4Dyih-sDTkkVGcLsIUmpwdaLbD1RDw2qB6YdnJB3XAUSym0XZAWDQElm38CrkX74TJjNzUyUBItmDO7nb1DqszuNfHuQSyOXFYD9TWrsV_rd5rxYzUvLq2R7-oasb73mVmhHprrHPqln0w/s500/9780241595824-jacket-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvUwca1gevErnmG99siZtIkrQ9jnlFQcoHgZfERBvBqjHnZ4Dyih-sDTkkVGcLsIUmpwdaLbD1RDw2qB6YdnJB3XAUSym0XZAWDQElm38CrkX74TJjNzUyUBItmDO7nb1DqszuNfHuQSyOXFYD9TWrsV_rd5rxYzUvLq2R7-oasb73mVmhHprrHPqln0w/s16000/9780241595824-jacket-large.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What if we
make freedom into the air we together breathe?” Butler asks at the end of Who’s
Afraid of Gender? It is a beautiful thought. It would not mean the abolition of
social norms — an impossible task — but rather a collective reimagining of them
through alliances forged across our many differences. Butler argues that the
struggle for trans rights cannot be merely cultural but instead must be connected
to the fight for “the basic rights to housing, food, non-toxic environments,
unpayable debt, and health care.” They are entirely right. But their principled
commitment to coalition building can lead them toward a needlessly conciliatory
position. It is hardly clear, for instance, that “trans rights to
self-determination take no one else’s rights away.” This may be technically
true, if one means trans people can be granted social recognition and legal
equality without spoiling anyone else’s claim to the same. But if sex really is
a biological resource, then there can be no remaking of the division of sex
without real material losses — this would be like saying that socialism does
not take away the rights of the wealthy. Such is the limitation of a social analysis
like Butler’s. It imagines the anti-trans movement as consisting primarily of
religious zealots and scheming politicians, and it does not consider that many
might have a material interest in opposing what we should rightly call the
redistribution of sex.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We need a
stronger demand. Butler argues that it would be “counterproductive and wrong”
to chalk up the existence of oppressive systems to biology. But why? I am of
the opinion that any comprehensive movement for trans rights must be able to
make political demands at the level of biology itself. This is an old
radical-feminist idea, most famously found in Shulamith Firestone’s 1970
classic The Dialectic of Sex. Suppose women’s oppression really is a product of
their biology, Firestone wrote. What follows? Only that feminists must work to
change biological reality. The genius of this gambit was to refuse the idea
that biological facts had some kind of intrinsic moral value that social or
cultural facts did not. Biology could not justify the exploitation of human
beings; indeed, it could not even justify biology, which was just as capable of
perpetuating injustice as any society. When Firestone wrote of women as a “sex
class,” she — unlike the TERFs who followed her — had in mind the Marxist dream
of a classless society, something that could be achieved only by freeing
humanity from the “tyranny of its biology.” For her, this meant a
“revolutionary ecological programme” of fertility control, artificial
reproduction, and the full automation of labor. That may sound unrealistic. But
this is the point: Justice is always an attempt to change reality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sex is
real. So is global warming. To believe in their reality is an indispensable
precondition for making normative claims about them, as we know from climate activism.
But the belief that we have a moral duty to accept reality just because it is
real is, I think, a fine definition of nihilism. What trans kids are saying is
this: The right to change sex that has been enjoyed for decades by their
parents, friends, teachers, coaches, doctors, and representatives, especially
if those people are white and affluent — this right belongs to them, too. We
should understand this right as flowing not from a revanchist allegiance to an
existing social order on the perpetual verge of collapse but from a broader
ideal of biological justice, from which there also flows the right to abortion,
the right to nutritious food and clean water, and, crucially, the right to
health care.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am
speaking here of a universal birthright: the freedom of sex. This freedom
consists of two principal rights: the right to change one’s biological sex
without appealing to gender and the right to assume a gender that is not
determined by one’s sexual biology. One might exercise both of these rights toward
a common goal — transition, for instance — but neither can be collapsed into
the other. I am put in mind of a bicameral system. Each chamber has its own
prerogatives, but neither the exclusive upper chamber (sex) nor the boisterous
lower one (gender) has the ultimate power to overrule the other. (Not all trans
people wish to change their sex; some trans people are also
gender-nonconforming.) By asserting the freedom of sex, we may stop relying on
the increasingly metaphysical concept of gender identity to justify
sex-changing care, as if such care were only permissible when one’s biological
sex does not match the serial number engraved on one’s soul. The same goes for
“sex assigned at birth,” which unhelpfully obscures the very biological
processes that many people have a right to change. In general, we must rid
ourselves of the idea that any necessary relationship exists between sex and
gender; this prepares us to claim that the freedom to bring sex and gender into
whatever relation one chooses is a basic human right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What does
this freedom look like in practice? Let anyone change their sex. Let anyone
change their gender. Let anyone change their sex again. Let trans girls play
sports, regardless of their sex status. If they excel, this means only that some
girls are better at sports than others. Let people use the gender-segregated
facilities of their choice; desegregate whenever possible. Do not out children
to their parents. Do not force anyone to change their sex or their gender. Give
everyone health care. The anti-trans movement has collected the public’s rising
awareness of the staggering injustice of the American health-care system and
directed it, like a syringe full of air, at a small population of children. The
effect is to make it appear as if trans people do not want good health care or
trustworthy providers, when the truth is that trans people face health
disparities across the board, including higher reported rates of disability,
asthma, and heart disease. No single federal program would benefit trans people
more than Medicare for All. As for transition-related care itself, the right to
change sex includes the right to receive counseling, to understand the risks,
or to be treated for comorbidities; in fact, society has a duty to make these resources
freely and widely accessible to trans kids. But these are practical options,
not obligations. To make “thoughtfulness” a requirement of any universal right
is to taper that right into an exclusive privilege. That trans kids’ access to
care will in most cases be mediated by parents or legal guardians is an
inescapable fact of the way our society regards children, rightly or not. For
now, parents must learn to treat their kids as what they are: human beings
capable of freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The freedom
of sex does not promise happiness. Nor should it. It is good and right for
advocates to fight back against the liberal fixation on the health risks of
sex-changing care or the looming possibility of detransition. But it is also
true that where there is freedom, there will always be regret. In fact, there
cannot be regret without freedom. Regret is freedom projected into the past. So
it is one thing to regret the outcome of a decision, but it is a very different
thing to regret the freedom to decide, which most people would not trade for
the world. If we are to recognize the rights of trans kids, we will also have
to accept that, like us, they have a right to the hazards of their own free
will. This does not mean shooting testosterone into every toddler who looks at
a football. But if children are too young to consent to puberty blockers, then
they are definitely too young to consent to puberty, which is a drastic
biological upheaval in its own right. Yet we let this happen every day — and
not without casualties. I am not speaking of suicide; I am speaking of the many
opponents of trans rights who observe with horror that they too might have
transitioned given the chance, so intensely did they hate being teenage girls.
I do not know if they regret their biology today. I do suspect they regret that
they never got to choose it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A choice!
The thought is impossible. Yet we have no difficulty believing that 300,000
trans kids can choose to stop being trans. Freedom is easy to imagine when it
is the freedom to do as you’re told. What we cannot conceive is why they are
making all this gender trouble in the first place. They do not owe us an
explanation. They are busy taking charge of their own creation. They may not
change the world, but they will certainly change themselves. “Possibility,”
Butler once wrote, “is not a luxury; it is as crucial as bread.” We have not
yet begun to understand the courage of the child who says she is a girl for the
first time without any biological “proof” to back this up. This is especially
true if she lives in one of the many states that are working to ensure that
saying so is all that trans kids like her will ever have. But still she speaks.
The sentence “I am a girl” is performative speech in the classic sense: It
performs an action. She is not only declaring her intent to exercise her
freedom of sex in the future; she is, by uttering these words, already
exercising it. She is working the weakness in the norm. She is not afraid of
sex — she is against it. That is not nothing. There is, in fact, a very
important population of Americans who do want trans kids to exist. </span>I am
told they are small but growing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Freedom of
Sex The moral case for letting trans kids change their bodies. By Andrea Long
Chu.<a href="https://nymag.com/intelligencer/article/trans-rights-biological-sex-gender-judith-butler.html"> New York Magazine</a>, March 11, 2024. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-6505271705960958512024-03-15T11:28:00.004+00:002024-03-15T11:28:50.138+00:00Feet on the ground and eyes on the stars, Edward Carpenter : Utopian, Gay Actvist and Socialist<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhif-2nvDMYY8qQXcFOYAzSMmmTIM4K5LOQcvH4_eHQa0yE7oQqYJipVYnXovj9MrCovXzQtfFuPTBAPebrSeeV6XoMDYXqXAgervv_W2TtekC3lHhsKDIifGo2taJTPQ2IevioE48wvUQbNo-ypVL28XTVu7nc-dM7Ss8aiEZW_KyOXhO-UcW88apdICM/s670/cabinet_020_laity_paul_002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="670" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhif-2nvDMYY8qQXcFOYAzSMmmTIM4K5LOQcvH4_eHQa0yE7oQqYJipVYnXovj9MrCovXzQtfFuPTBAPebrSeeV6XoMDYXqXAgervv_W2TtekC3lHhsKDIifGo2taJTPQ2IevioE48wvUQbNo-ypVL28XTVu7nc-dM7Ss8aiEZW_KyOXhO-UcW88apdICM/s16000/cabinet_020_laity_paul_002.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edward
Carpenter, John Addington Symonds and Havelock Ellis were pioneers of their day
– though their legacy has been overshadowed by the Irish playwright</span><o:p></o:p></span></p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Oscar Wilde
always imposed. Meeting him in 1892, the French writer Jules Renard reported:
“He offers you a cigarette, but selects it himself. He does not walk around a
table: he moves the table out of the way … He is enormous, and carries an
enormous cane.” The affectations of dress and manner; the extraordinary,
magnetic talk; the flourished epigrams; the startling, needling essays, stories
and plays – all these were impositions. They were how Wilde forced himself on
the attention of the world, made himself notorious, and then famous. And in the
ugliness and despair of his downfall – in 1895 he was found guilty of
homosexual offences (acts of “gross indecency”) and sentenced to two years of
hard labour – he imposed himself again: on the contemporary and historical
imagination. But also on the lives of gay men, for 128 years and counting.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There is a
well-known passage in EM Forster’s Maurice, written in 1913 but not published
until 1971, after Forster’s death. Maurice, who has “failed to kill lust
single-handed”, resolves to consult a doctor about his problem. “I am an
unspeakable,” he confesses, “of the Oscar Wilde sort.” What is “unspeakable” is
immediately revealed by the use of Wilde’s name: that Maurice is homosexual. To
be an “Oscar Wilde sort” was to be gay – but was it to be anything like Oscar
Wilde? This was the problem troubling men of Forster’s generation and after, at
least until the legalisation of homosexuality in England and Wales in 1967
(Scotland did not follow until 1981, Northern Ireland until 1982, Ireland until
1993). Wilde’s scandalous exposure created a set of public assumptions and
prejudices that persisted for well over half a century, often twisting how gay
people saw themselves. Among these was the belief that gay men, like Wilde,
imposed themselves on the world by their difference: that they dressed
differently, talked differently, were “theatrical”. That their relationships –
as Wilde’s were alleged to have been – were crudely sexual, exploitative, mired
in inequalities of age and class. That their susceptibility to blackmail
brought them into contact with criminality, made them suspect. That they might
always be one misstep away from tragedy. Maurice was an attempt to argue with
these ideas, but the fact that Forster felt unable to publish it in his lifetime
is a testament to their grip.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The grip
has loosened. When the modern gay rights movement marched through the 1960s and
1970s, Wilde was celebrated as its founding martyr, the most notorious victim
of homophobia in history. He was already being tentatively reclaimed for
literature. Now he became a gay hero, and, ultimately, a pop icon. For new and
happier reasons, Wilde imposed himself again. To be gay, still, is to reckon
with him as a familiar ancestor: Oscar.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But does
Wilde deserve all this? There is no doubt, of course, that he was a victim of
homophobia. The Marquess of Queensberry, driven half mad by what he saw as
Wilde’s corruption of his son, Lord Alfred Douglas, left a card at Wilde’s
club, on which was scrawled (the misspelling has become notorious) “somdomite”.
But the trouble only really began when Wilde decided to sue for libel. What
both Wilde and his friends knew, of course, was that Queensberry, however
distastefully, was telling the truth. Wilde lost his suit against Queensberry,
and the police arrested him on the basis of the evidence that had been
presented in court. On 25 May he was sentenced. A moral panic ensued. Several
months later, when he was being moved between prisons, Wilde was recognised on
the platform at Clapham Junction station and spat at by a crowd.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So great
was the outpouring of venom, so horrible Wilde’s fate, that it has obscured for
well over a century the fact that the early 1890s actually saw the birth of
Britain’s first gay rights movement. After Wilde had been sent to prison
another gay man, Edward Carpenter, wrote to a sympathetic friend: “There is [a]
long campaign to fight.” That word “campaign” is revealing. Wilde was never
involved in any campaign for what we would now call gay rights – he specialised
in veiled references – but others were. A few years earlier, Carpenter had
assisted with collecting the personal testimonies of more than 30 gay men for a
book called Sexual Inversion, written by John Addington Symonds and Havelock
Ellis (whose collaboration provides the historical inspiration for my novel,
The New Life). Sexual Inversion was intended, partly by documenting the life
experiences of so-called “inverts”, to demonstrate that homosexuality was not a
sin or a degeneracy, but a harmless human quirk, and that the law under which
Wilde was later sentenced was unsound, unjust and should be abolished. (It also
included the testimonies of six gay women; though there was no law that
affected lesbians, social prejudice was strong and the book recognised that
women, too, needed to be rescued from stigma.) Carpenter had also written his
own defence of homosexuality, titled Homogenic Love and Its Place in a Free Society,
intending it to be published in 1894.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
commitments of Carpenter, Symonds and Ellis were rooted in their personal
experiences. Carpenter had met the man who would be his partner for life,
George Merrill, in 1891; Symonds had emerged from a self-torturing youth to
embrace his sexuality in middle age; Ellis, though straight, was married to a
lesbian, Edith Lees, and had his own kink (he was aroused by women urinating),
which meant that he also knew what it was like to have a stigmatised sexual
desire. The inspiration for these men’s pioneering work came partly from
Europe. French and German researchers had begun to reconceptualise
homosexuality as a medical rather than a social or legal issue. It was already
legal to be gay in France and in Italy (where the relevant legislation had been
passed in 1889) – making it seem not implausible that the same might be
achieved in Britain. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A different
kind of inspiration came from the US: Carpenter, Symonds and Ellis were united
by a love of Walt Whitman’s poetry (Wilde was also a fan). They understood
Whitman to be valorising love between men as a world-improving good, epitomised
by the ideal of democratic, cross-class “comradeship”. It’s not surprising that
many socialists warmly endorsed Whitman – Carpenter, Symonds and Ellis would
all have considered themselves socialists of a sort (again, so would Wilde). It
should also not be a surprise – considering the links between the LGBTQ+
movement and feminism today – that if you were a supporter of the homosexual
cause, you were also likely to support rights for women. So: the burgeoning gay
rights movement in Britain was connected to wider late-Victorian movements for
reform, part of a larger impulse to find new and better ways of living in the
modern world.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This was
the intellectual nexus that was smashed by the Wilde trials. Carpenter’s
pamphlet, Homogenic Love, was rejected by his publisher, who also removed
Carpenter’s Whitmanesque poem Towards Democracy from his list for good measure.
Symonds had died aged only 52 in 1893; Ellis dithered over the publication of
Sexual Inversion, and only dared bring it forward in 1897. The first edition
was destroyed after Symonds’s literary executor intervened on behalf of his
family. Ellis persisted, bringing the book out solely under his own name – only
for it to be swept up by the police and prosecuted as obscene. A judge agreed,
and the book was destroyed all over again.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And yet it
was not the end. Wilde may have become a cultural bogeyman, but subterranean
streams of influence extended into the 20th century. Carpenter lived until 1929
and befriended the young Forster – it was a pat on the backside from
Carpenter’s partner Merrill that inspired Maurice. “It seemed to go straight
through the small of my back,” Forster remembered, “into my ideas.” Carpenter
also inspired that rather noisier sexual radical, DH Lawrence. Ellis lived
until 1939 and became a world-famous sexologist, a byword for the illicit
knowledge that could be gained by curious young people if they took down one of
the volumes of his Studies in the Psychology of Sex (published in the US to
avoid censorship) from a high shelf in the library. Sexual Inversion took its
place as the first of these. Even Symonds had an energetic afterlife. He, too,
inspired Forster, who read his sexually frank autobiography in the London
Library, where it was locked up until 1984. Symonds’s homosexuality was finally
made public in 1964 by a young biographer, Phyllis Grosskurth, whose book was
widely reviewed. It was a contribution to the changing mood that finally led to
legalisation three years later.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When we
celebrate the progress of gay rights, these stories should be given a brighter
spot in history, alongside Oscar Wilde. There is not only tragedy and injustice
in the past. There is also inspiration and glimpses of a world to come.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The New Life by Tom Crewe is published by
Vinta</span>ge. </span></div><p style="text-align: left;">
<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Beyond
Oscar Wilde: the unsung literary heroes of the early gay rights movement. By
Tom Crewe. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2024/feb/10/beyond-oscar-wilde-the-unsung-literary-heroes-of-the-early-gay-rights-movement">The Guardian</a>, February 10, 2024. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTwksRw1XJE4Q92XA3LxsZi38I-OEwddjBtKNmxkYICARZfxxdBL6P_Hv1b1RUtLJ_tmoGZit9nJsNGB7fBmYIqsrx3hYEk_58YxjDynLRklBtYI5RGhTWHevLUxUZIJCucuVzLgr7KeMGTxIRQNawyPnTZOGLWoNsZXs4WDD8ZUrORr10XH_ZqhliPk/s600/Carpenter-scaled.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTwksRw1XJE4Q92XA3LxsZi38I-OEwddjBtKNmxkYICARZfxxdBL6P_Hv1b1RUtLJ_tmoGZit9nJsNGB7fBmYIqsrx3hYEk_58YxjDynLRklBtYI5RGhTWHevLUxUZIJCucuVzLgr7KeMGTxIRQNawyPnTZOGLWoNsZXs4WDD8ZUrORr10XH_ZqhliPk/s16000/Carpenter-scaled.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chalk it up
to perversity: In the midst of a horrifying anti-LGBTQ+ backlash, amid a wave
of state legislative violence against trans people specifically and our
self-expression broadly, all I can think about is queer utopia. If that phrase
brings to mind something like the meme of a glassy, futuristic cityscape dotted
with pristine green spaces and flying cars—maybe with more rainbow decals—it’s
more abstract than that. These days, when I wax utopian, I’m picturing the
flourishing of a certain outsider perspective that tests, reimagines, and
improves the received normal for everyone. I’m looking ahead to a world that
values our difference, that recognizes, grudgingly or enthusiastically, that
it’s better off with us than without us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A decade
ago, it was the other way around. During the relatively summery Obama years, as
we rode wins for marriage equality from Iowa to New York to the U.S. Supreme
Court, as we secured unprecedented federal backing for workplace protections,
housing, and health care, I didn’t trust the optimism. I volunteered with the
New York City Anti-Violence Project, a nonprofit tracking violence against
LGBTQ+ and HIV-affected communities, and we were the gay killjoys braced for
the counter-swing. It’s well documented how bias-motivated violence increases
alongside advancements in LGBTQ+ rights. Our teeth-gritting may not have fit
the moment, but triumphalism spooked me. Love demonstrably doesn’t always win.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, after
the Pulse and Club Q shootings in 2016 and 2022, in the midst of a concerted
anti-trans panic from the right and the cowardly ambivalence of center-left
institutions, with armed posses marshalling to intimidate drag queens reading
storybooks, and state governments siding against the queens and the books,
pessimism is in. And yet it is at this moment that I am most persuaded that
LGBTQ+ people are poised to bring about a better world. That it is our
perversity exactly, our ill-fittedness within a society that can’t quite accept
us, that holds the most value.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That
conviction drives my new book Uranians, a collection of short speculative
fiction about queer difference. I started writing these stories after Donald
Trump’s election in 2016 and Brazil’s election of Jair Bolsonaro in 2018, when
it was clear things were going to get much worse—for the gays, for the planet,
for everything. And naturally, there are plenty of contemporary anxieties
running around the stories, from climate change to hypercapitalist artificial
intelligence. But there’s also a weird, unnerving optimism building over the
course of them—I didn’t know where it came from—that culminates in the title
story, a piece of full-throated, operatic queer utopianism.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That title comes
from Edward Carpenter, a pioneer of gay rights in Victorian England. In his
remarkable 1908 book, The Intermediate Sex: A Study of Some Transitional Types
of Men and Women, he proposes the “Uranian”—his term for gay men and women—as
not only worthy of compassion and tolerance, but also full of radical, utopian
potential, even “the natural leaders of mankind.” It was an audacious thesis
for the time, and of course not all of it holds up. But even so, it is
precisely now that Carpenter’s earnest, almost cringey utopianism strikes me as
utterly compelling. However dangerous, exhausting, and evil the current
anti-LGBTQ+ wave is, it clarifies why such powerful interests mark us as a
threat: because, as Carpenter saw, we really can change the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdMYt8JFaPlNPpqBg2AWFL4vqy43linIOBnwQ0OAmbdyK3t8JfCu9FY2CFdcyGI4WDpiUthK-LzIjFC_hYOKRB6SpnoZ3OwPMBGSBPPhkaw-svp7kyi9GUhyJEHbrP3ztmfNwzx0i1Z9gw6nLYCxpwrltzyGRnHT4oGlHTIgAG51eQhI_A52xYrSJrfcs/s600/31706181053_2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdMYt8JFaPlNPpqBg2AWFL4vqy43linIOBnwQ0OAmbdyK3t8JfCu9FY2CFdcyGI4WDpiUthK-LzIjFC_hYOKRB6SpnoZ3OwPMBGSBPPhkaw-svp7kyi9GUhyJEHbrP3ztmfNwzx0i1Z9gw6nLYCxpwrltzyGRnHT4oGlHTIgAG51eQhI_A52xYrSJrfcs/s16000/31706181053_2.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter’s
queer journey catalyzed in the spring of 1891, when the distinguished lecturer,
poet, and socialist got cruised at a Derbyshire train station. He had noticed
the 24-year-old George Merrill in the train car and clocked his “somewhat free
style of dress”; the two men exchanged a look of recognition. When he descended
from the train in rural Sheffield, Carpenter greeted some friends on the
platform who had come to visit him and set off walking toward his cottage in
Millthorpe, about four miles over low pastureland. Merrill, ditching his own
friends, followed at a distance. After a mile, Carpenter improvised to fall
behind his guests and talk to Merrill, who suggested they turn back to town
“and so forth.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At 46,
Edward Carpenter cut a strikingly handsome figure, with dark, high-arched
brows, a full, silver beard, and an intensity to his features belied by the
sheer earnestness of his idealism. An early British socialist, Carpenter
organized and wrote polemics advocating for unions, animal welfare, vegetarianism,
and anti-pollution measures. He was an early adopter of a certain rural,
“simplified” lifestyle movement that George Orwell would later deride as “every
fruit-juice drinker, nudist, sandal-wearer, sex-maniac, Quaker, ‘Nature Cure’
quack, pacifist, and feminist in England.” Orwell here definitely had Carpenter
in mind, and only the fourth charge (“sex-maniac”) was unfair. Carpenter was,
if anything, too careful, a bit hopeless even, his enthusiasm for men more
often unconsummated and unrequited, directed at younger, working-class
socialists with at best ambivalent sexualities. Carpenter did not take up
Merrill’s invitation and abandon his guests. But he did get the young man’s
name and address.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">George
Merrill came from the slums of Sheffield, with the proletarian bona fides
Carpenter romanticized in his pamphlets and pined after privately; he was
sexually confident, experienced, foul-mouthed, flirtatious. In drifting between
industrial and service jobs around England, Merrill had racked up several affairs
with upper-class men, whose gifts he’d sent home to his father to be pawned.
Nothing went unconsummated between him and Carpenter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Merrill’s
sexual audacity had a famous galvanizing effect on others. When E.M. Forster
first visited the couple at the cottage in Millthorpe, in 1913—more than 30
years after their first encounter—the novelist was self-conscious and too much
in awe of Carpenter, until Merrill came up beside Forster and gently palmed the
crest of his ass. “The sensation,” Forster wrote, “was unusual and I still
remember it, as I remember the position of a long-vanished tooth. It was as
much psychological as physical. It seemed to go straight through the small of
my back into my ideas, without involving any thought.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Forster
went home and wrote his great gay novel Maurice, its cross-class lovers modeled
on Carpenter and Merrill. He sent it to Carpenter the next August, though it
would not see publication until 1971, after Forster’s death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For
Carpenter, the influence of his happy affair with Merrill showed in his
invigorated interest in liberal sexual politics, and, in particular, his
criticism of Britain’s “gross indecency” laws, which had recently expanded the
criminalization of homosexual acts. From 1893 to 1894, he wrote four
progressive tracts on sexuality: Woman and her Place in a Free Society,
Marriage in a Free Society, Sex-Love and its Place in a Free Society, and
finally, Homogenic Love and its Place in a Free Society.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Homogenic
Love kicks off with erudite citations of same-sex “Comradeship” in works of
Homer, Sappho, Hafiz, Tennyson, and Whitman—as well as an inexpert, though
well-meaning, argument that similar bonds appear across African, Polynesian,
and other non-Western cultures. It then insists that this form of love, though
not to be reduced to “a sexual act of the crudest and grossest kind,” still
“demands some kind of physical expression.” Summarizing still-untranslated work
by early sexologists like Richard von Krafft-Ebing and Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, Homogenic
Love places homosexuality and heterosexuality on equal footing spiritually,
sociologically, and scientifically, with either liable to descend into
“morbid,” neurotic forms or inspire great virtue in lovers. Carpenter’s
argument is scholarly, reasonable, inescapably defensive—a polite polemic meant
to win persuadable allies from out of a skeptical public.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1895,
just as the four pamphlets were set to be printed, the disaster of Oscar
Wilde’s three trials hit London. The trials are remembered now for Wilde’s
eloquence and occasional courage in the witness box but, at the time, were
dominated by lurid sensationalism, speculation, and open vilification of
homosexuality. Public discourse revolved around Wilde’s decadence, his glib
amorality, his retinue of teenage sex workers and blackmailers. Wilde’s
scandal—and his sentence of two years’ hard labor—engendered a poisonous moral
panic and a corresponding timidity by institutions that might have been
receptive to Homogenic Love. Wilde’s diabolical example also gave the lie to
Carpenter’s high-minded defenses of comradeship—and threw his own tastes for
younger, working-class men into sordid relief. The pamphlet’s printer pulled
the contract, Carpenter’s socialist friends condemned Wilde, and public opinion
on homosexuality entered a dark and diffident period.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Still,
Carpenter continued to write cultural surveys and defenses of homosexuality
through the decade after the Wilde trials, growing ever bolder in his optimism.
In 1908’s The Intermediate Sex, Carpenter comes out swinging. Here, not only is
homosexual love not worse than its more familiar counterparts—maybe it’s
better. Maybe the increased public attention to homosexuals indicates a “new
type of humankind may be emerging,” for whom an “immense capacity of emotional
love represents … a great driving force.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
“Uranian”—taking up a term from Ulrichs, inspired by Plato—“puts Love before
everything else … postponing to it the other motives like money-making,
business success, fame, which occupy so much space in most people’s careers.”
These new, “intermediate” sexes pursue their relationships “beneath the surface
of society,” at the risk of disgrace, prosecution, and ruin. (Here, Carpenter’s
early stabs at gender theory are limited, but still interesting, invoking a
stereotypical binary to position queer people as healthy, helpful
intermediaries.) Though copping to Uranians’ fair share of “a poor and
frivolous sort,” generally, Carpenter says, “the experience of the Uranian
world forming itself freely and not subject to outside laws and institutions
comes as a guide—and really a hopeful guide—towards the future.” In short, if
we’re trying to create a socialist utopia, one driven by open, democratic
principles instead of greed and narrow thinking, who better to lead this
transformation than the Uranians?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The idea is
painfully beautiful, especially with the Wilde trials and the kiboshing of
Homogenic Love in mind—that it is precisely because of our exclusion from
polite society that we are able to better it. In 1923, an 11-year-old Harry
Hay, a future founder of the Mattachine Society and Radical Faeries, discovered
a copy of The Intermediate Sex in a library and was inspired.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At almost
the same time, the Harlem Renaissance writer Countee Cullen came across
Carpenter’s books, which, he wrote, “threw a noble and evident light on what I
had begun to believe, because of what the world believes, ignoble and
unnatural. I loved myself in it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, in
another historically bleak moment for queer acceptance, it’s vital to remember
that optimism of Carpenter’s, that our friction with majorities isn’t the
problem: It’s our singular gift.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter’s
argument in The Intermediate Sex reminds me—and here I’m being truly
perverse—of the Christian apologist G.K. Chesterton’s argument in his book
Orthodoxy, which positions the Christian as a kind of utopian fanatic, “who
hates [the world] enough to change it, and yet loves it enough to think it
worth changing,” struggling for a vision of the world that should be over more
rational appeals to incremental progress. Both Chesterton’s Christianity and
Carpenter’s Uranian Love stand ready to overthrow systems of reasonableness
(class, capital, polite religiosity) for an ideal experienced pre-rationally,
even libidinally. Both accommodate a broken world, however; neither conditions
one’s happiness on any final victory over injustice. Rather, they equip their
utopians with ways to conceptualize lives of personal integrity within a
hostile environment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySyMyCu7X-Cq9IZI7PgF5YXU9XG1ZImiwPKR-ZOyM1_-obRgbS_P6qd4FUGneYCuZ70fXvBvrdnbegBJMkxJsmAe3JdH5N9LTtw0cMLmquSPvVscrTflmwlRbyL7I-WwJ_LDmixVqbHFarBvKyffutxZAjZ8GJyrLQ1vrGM2Tn5sO4wHlG_sxU1mbvEM/s600/a38835a5-57e9-4ba3-8027-9db036b8907a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySyMyCu7X-Cq9IZI7PgF5YXU9XG1ZImiwPKR-ZOyM1_-obRgbS_P6qd4FUGneYCuZ70fXvBvrdnbegBJMkxJsmAe3JdH5N9LTtw0cMLmquSPvVscrTflmwlRbyL7I-WwJ_LDmixVqbHFarBvKyffutxZAjZ8GJyrLQ1vrGM2Tn5sO4wHlG_sxU1mbvEM/s16000/a38835a5-57e9-4ba3-8027-9db036b8907a.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s a
risky, thrilling political position, rooted in a self-assured zeal that’s hard
to nurture, impossible to justify. My collection Uranians is in many ways a set
of experiments testing this politic against our massive systemic challenges
like climate change and inequality. And, to be honest, I’m not sure it works
all that consistently. For every Marsha P. Johnson, a George Santos. In the era
of Pride parades brought to you by J.P. Morgan Chase, queerness’s
anti-capitalist potential often seems more conspicuous in its failure than its
fruition. But success is hardly a fair measure for utopias—they all bomb at
scale, that’s their whole vibe. It may be that Carpenter’s queer utopianism
works best as one more lifestyle movement, inhabited instead of evangelized.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Take
climate change. Fossil fuel interests may have abused the notion of individual
carbon footprints, but it’s still important to confront how mass consumption
drives demand. And in the U.S., at least, when we look at the sectors
responsible for most of our emissions, it’s hard not to see the connection
between, on the one hand, emissions from transportation, power generation, land
use, agriculture and the meat industry, etc., and on the other hand, a pattern
of consumption tied up with a certain image of American middle-class
prosperity. You know the one: single-family suburban home, the crowded commute,
college funds for the kids, and the high-earning jobs that pay for this
lifestyle—which tend to be jobs aligned, indirectly or not, with our
fossil-fueled status quo. As one of my characters in Uranians puts it, “Maybe
feeling like you have to have two kids, two cars, a grass lawn all winter, and
a steak dinner every night to be happy is what got Earth into such a bad
state.” And, more than unsustainable, the dream is precarious, so that any
attempt to swap out its props and set dressings gets treated as a threat to
happiness itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Queer
people aren’t exempt from this way of thinking—oh my God, we are not—though for
a long time, this particular American dream was actively hostile to us. More
fundamentally, we are all equipped with some experience of breaking out of
vigorously defended social narratives, of letting go of precarious, unhealthy self-conceptions,
of doing the painful work of figuring out our own thriving in an adverse
environment. That’s real strength, and it’s strength the rest of our country
needs to see—especially in the rough times ahead. Happiness doesn’t have to
look like whatever you’ve been sold. Trust us. This is the “experience of the
Uranian world forming itself freely” that Carpenter proposed as a “hopeful
guide” for the future, and I think he’s still right—at least, he could be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">If that’s
optimism, then I admit, it’s a more sobered, wind-bitten kind than what we
usually like that word to mean. Not an assurance that things will turn out all
right, but an opportunity to make a breaking world a little more livable. Not
that gleaming futuristic city on a hill, but a home that only we can build.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Times Are
Dark for LGBTQ+ People. But Edward Carpenter’s Queer Utopianism Offers a
Glimmer of Hope. By Theodore McCombs. <a href="https://slate.com/human-interest/2023/05/uranians-and-edward-carpenter-queer-utopia-was-the-late-victorian-daddys-dream.html">Slate</a> , May 24, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsS6SCXIYzvKrKDuyHdE9mGaZPDOeHJCkLV3t_GQuiZ3hMhBv9tpg6DrHrkEcxEWdncICDtyqfsvmwIVoGEEl6KzRyTpElNAdC9FlfG_RamcQRGa-qCbYUdsIUmCaXak_7jnXnbu9YrJ-X0i743xRKGP4PE0vGBuPcD_5cbpSG6AcAnpDu-Iap8YBG20Q/s600/Edward_Carpenter_Grave_2015.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsS6SCXIYzvKrKDuyHdE9mGaZPDOeHJCkLV3t_GQuiZ3hMhBv9tpg6DrHrkEcxEWdncICDtyqfsvmwIVoGEEl6KzRyTpElNAdC9FlfG_RamcQRGa-qCbYUdsIUmCaXak_7jnXnbu9YrJ-X0i743xRKGP4PE0vGBuPcD_5cbpSG6AcAnpDu-Iap8YBG20Q/s16000/Edward_Carpenter_Grave_2015.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edward
Carpenter was one of the early socialists in Britain. In 1883, Henry Hyndman,
the founder of the Marxist Social Democratic Federation (SDF) took him to a
basement meeting of revolutionaries on Westminster Bridge Road, where he met
William Morris. They were one of several fervent clusters. Things had been
moving fast — according to the anarchist Peter Kropotkin, only two years
before, when Hyndman had called a “Socialist Congress,” it had been so tiny
that most of the delegates could assemble in the Hyndmans’ home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edward
Carpenter was not an obvious recruit to the class struggle. Born in 1844, he
had been brought up in an upper-class Brighton family and graduated from
Cambridge, becoming first an Anglican curate and then a lecturer in University
Extension, an adult education movement. His lectures took Carpenter to the North
of England where he met both middle-class feminists like Isabella Ford and
working-class students. Uncomfortably alienated from his own background, he
settled in a gray stone house, Millthorpe, in the Cordwell Valley outside
Sheffield. His new friends were local people, farmers, laborers, and a razor
grinder called George Hukin, with whom Carpenter fell in love.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In his
autobiography, My Days and Dreams (1916), Carpenter expresses his loathing of
commercialism in public life, class division, the subordination of women, “the
worship of stocks and shares, the starving of the human heart, the denial of
the body and its needs.” Opposed to capitalism, he adopted a do-it-yourself
alternative, the simple life, and with this went an early critique of the
devastation of the environment by industrialization. He helped to build the
independent Sheffield Socialist Society, propagandizing around Britain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Through the
1890s, Carpenter sat in a wooden shed in his Millthorpe garden writing away
about his visions for a better society. In his account of a long trip to India
and Sri Lanka, From Adam’s Peak to Elephanta: Sketches in Ceylon and India
(1892), he poked fun at the portentous representatives of the Raj and described
how, guided by Ponnambalam Arunachalam, his friend from Cambridge, he learned
from the Gnani Ramaswamy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Between
1893 and 1895, he produced three pamphlets on sex in which he contested both
male supremacy and the prevailing secrecy about sexual relationships. The
novelist Edith Ellis, who was married to the early sex psychologist Havelock
Ellis but attracted to women, looked forward to his “sex-bombs.” They were
indeed explosive, especially the third, Homogenic Love and Its Place in a Free
Society, which was printed only for private circulation, because same-sex love
was not just regarded as indecent — it was illegal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGguRtQLMSPrwzq5zMWQaHc4tcXCrdXz03vsJ9xND3YY3Tg6F5c0rFFBSEcMjO8eRtbq-TUeHywDb0Fg73NoZ2hmSOueS4xU3VQM3Ek7ZqISoxAi1xS9-b5-4ezrvdJ2cA32WC8t2tkxMxFQTAtAqCeafgWINlAHaBbqCAXEq_pjEPU5KFxe-XaNUyZk/s512/s-l1600.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGguRtQLMSPrwzq5zMWQaHc4tcXCrdXz03vsJ9xND3YY3Tg6F5c0rFFBSEcMjO8eRtbq-TUeHywDb0Fg73NoZ2hmSOueS4xU3VQM3Ek7ZqISoxAi1xS9-b5-4ezrvdJ2cA32WC8t2tkxMxFQTAtAqCeafgWINlAHaBbqCAXEq_pjEPU5KFxe-XaNUyZk/s16000/s-l1600.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In Love’s
Coming of Age (1896), Carpenter hails the new women, intellectually restless
and sexually rebellious, who he observed travelling unaccompanied on buses and
trains or riding their bicycles. This forceful minority were strenuously
resisting the confinement of the Victorian era, in contrast, Carpenter notes
with amusement, to the upper-class “man, the ungrown,” blithely pelting along
with his hobby or his career, until falling in love, whereupon he “struggles
like a fly in treacle.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter
himself had fallen in love with a young man called George Merrill from a poor
Sheffield family. Attracted from their first glance in 1891 on a train to
Totley, the two men were to become lifelong companions. Sexual taboos were not
boundaries to skirt for Merrill; he was simply oblivious of their existence. E.
M. Forster would later relate how, on a visit to Millthorpe in 1914, Merrill
had touched his “backside” and released in him the capacity to write his novel
Maurice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the late
1890s and early twentieth century, Carpenter’s home was visited by troupes of
rebels and reformers, nature conservers, garden city designers, trade
unionists, Clarion socialist cyclists, feminists, birth control advocates,
vegetarians, and radical Christians like the young Fenner Brockway, who was a
member of the Independent Labour Party. Brockway would later describe how
ILP-ers like himself avidly read Carpenter’s long Whitmanite poem, Towards
Democracy, “in those moments when we wanted to retire from the excitement of
our socialist work, and in quietude seek the calm and power that alone gives
sustaining strength.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter’s
Bristol socialist friend Robert Gilliard reflected that there was a “bread and
cheese side of socialism and . . . a much deeper and broader side.” The latter
assumed various manifestations, from Brockway’s humanitarian ethics to a fusion
of spirituality and creative revolution around the avant-garde magazine New
Age. When a shy Goldsworthy Lowes Dickinson enquired of Carpenter how he fused
his interest in human experience, mysticism, and socialism, he “replied that he
liked to hang out his red flag from the ground floor and then go up above to
see how it looked.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter
continued to write until the late 1920s, acquiring an international following
and extending his range into anthropology, pagan religions, land reform, and
industrial democracy. He advocated workers’ control not simply in the mines and
railways but in the army and the police as well. After his death his influence
waned, though he continued to be remembered by local people in the countryside
near Millthorpe, by older socialists, and by some of the gay men who began
organizing in the 1960s and ’70s.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I came
across him when I was sixteen in a biography about Havelock Ellis. A few years
later, through the historian E. P. Thompson, I learned that the Leeds New
Unionist organizer and poet Tom Maguire had been influenced by Carpenter. In
the mid-1960s, I read Carpenter’s papers in Sheffield Library and was hooked,
writing about him in Socialism and the New Life with Jeffrey Weeks (1977) and
eventually writing a biography of him. I was drawn to his dry humor and
cautious courage and inspired by his version of utopianism — feet on the ground
and eyes on the stars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Remembering
Edward Carpenter, a Victorian Socialist and Gay Rights Advocate. By Sheila
Rowbotham. <a href="https://jacobin.com/2022/02/remembering-edward-carpenter-a-victorian-socialist-and-gay-rights-advocate">Jacobin</a>, February 24, 2022. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWqanfqTiILFWrxIJT5v7K4brTHrSp-bar2by4gXpU6BkOi-6LwgshE5jBs-JKgVcoNII7b0hrXU4sUqnFJjXUHrxjQe3pArlyIj_jSpi_TQd_EaZktAI4KS9Y-CkNmVLLRrNpgltKH9PNB9YRW8cYC2nBAFwTD93FSh8RNz8rKxl3Un-XU1ucr4tQ88/s500/Carpenter_et_Merrill.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWqanfqTiILFWrxIJT5v7K4brTHrSp-bar2by4gXpU6BkOi-6LwgshE5jBs-JKgVcoNII7b0hrXU4sUqnFJjXUHrxjQe3pArlyIj_jSpi_TQd_EaZktAI4KS9Y-CkNmVLLRrNpgltKH9PNB9YRW8cYC2nBAFwTD93FSh8RNz8rKxl3Un-XU1ucr4tQ88/s16000/Carpenter_et_Merrill.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dublin
Pride is tomorrow, and for this Pride season we note the 90th anniversary of
the death of Edward Carpenter (1844-1929), a man who in the most repressive of
times against homosexuality in Britain was out and proud. As a small homage to
one of Sheffield’s great socialist bohemians, below is a quick once-over of his
life, followed by a beautiful obituary produced for Freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A poet and
philosopher, Carpenter was born into a wealthy household in Hove, Sussex, the
son of a school governor who had made a mint on the stock market. Educated at
his father’s school, the independent Brighton College, he went to university at
Trinity College Cambridge, where he realised both that he was gay and that his
family wealth was built on the immiseration of working people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Initially
he began a career with the Church of England as a curate, before turning
against it and instead moving to first Leeds and later Sheffield to work as a
lecturer. While there he was heavily involved in pushing socialism forward in
the city, representing the Social Democratic Federation there in 1883 and later
joining the Socialist League alongside William Morris.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
Sheffield he found both connections to working-class people and explored his
sexuality through encounters with “railway-men, porters, clerks, signalmen,
ironworkers”. Over time he patched together a political philosophy mixing
spiritualism and socialism in a Tolstoyan manner, which infuriated many
especially when he opened the doors of his co-operative farm Millthorpe to a
sexually liberated group of men.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter’s
openness with his homosexuality, spiritual inclinations, proto-beatnik
lifestyle and strident anti-imperialism led to repeated censure from elsewhere
in the movement, with George Orwell memorably excoriating him as “the sort of eunuch type with a vegetarian
smell, who go about spreading sweetness and light.” His philosophical and
political writings were nevertheless among some of the most influential of his
era, and Carpenter went on to become one of the founding figures of the
Independent Labour Party in 1893. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was
however a great ally to the anarchists, and quite clear about his inclinations
towards anarchist-communism. He worked with Peter Kropotkin in his research on
small industry and defended anarchism in the courts. Carpenter received the
warmest of obituaries upon his death from his friend Bessie Ward in the Freedom
Bulletin of that year, reproduced below:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With the
death of Edward Carpenter there passes one of the finest spirits of the early
days of the socialist movement, His work was, and, for those who care to read
it, still is, a force and an inspiration. We who in our youth were influenced
by his message must feel grateful that he never swerved from the goal of high
attainment. Once having seen the truth, having realised the shams and ruthless
brutalities of the terrible system of profit-making, Edward Carpenter devoted
the rest of his life to the destruction of the Moloch called Capitalism.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His first
step, after turning his back on his life of a university lecturer, was to get
us close to nature as possible. Eventually he built his own cottage in a garden
with a stream running at the foot. Here in his little stone house, wearing his
soft tweeds, he seemed like a jewel in its proper setting. To this small home
of the poet came a constant procession of admirers, Like pilgrims to a shrine,
they came from all parts of the world. Those who were fortunate enough to be
frequent visitors would meet travellers from the remotest and least expected
corners of the globe, Men and women who had heard the “ voice singing the song
of deliverance ” and were impelled to travel far in order to take him by the
hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Though
every one of Carpenter’s works is written with one object, the greater
understanding and emancipation of mankind, the whole covers a wide field,
Civilisation! Its Cause and Cure influenced very largely indeed the thought of
the 1890s, while England’s Ideal was almost as great an intellectual force,
Love’s Coming of Age, that-beautiful and
delicately written book on the relationship of the sexes, and The Intermediate
Sex are two aspects of a subject which it took some considerable courage to
oven admit existed in those late Victorian days. Angels’ Wings with its frank
acceptance of a coming change in art standards and a belief that art would once
again become a part of life itself, left its mark on the lover of beauty
seeking a basis for his own standards.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But of all
Carpenter’s works Towards Democracy is the most completely satisfying. In this
the poet and prophet, the great lover of mankind, has poured himself. It
contains all that Edward Carpenter ever was. In its pages “this man rises from
his mould of dust, ranges his life and looks upon the Sun.” There are moments
of pure ecstasy, prophetic pictures of the greater freedom coming to mankind,
and a yearning pity for its present pain and repression.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In his teaching
and in his life Carpenter was always the foe of authority and officialdom.
Always. In fact, more anarchist than socialist, though he never cared to label
himself. Feeling, as so many of us do, that labels restrict, he preferred to
keep himself free to help all movements which made for that true liberty for
which, in his. own words, “the heroes and lovers of all ages have laid down
their lives; and nations like tigers have fought, knowing well that life was a
mere empty blob without freedom.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was a
dear privilege to know him. One of my most cherished memories is of weekends,
after periods of sordid money-changing, spent in the little house removed just
beyond the smoke and grime of Sheffield, with the man who still remains a
source of inspiration to think upon. I met many choice spirits there, but none
so gracious, so tender, so truly beautiful as our teacher-host,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do not
hurry; have faith.” is one of his choicest messages. This attitude towards life
gave him a quiet dignity that created a sense of rest to all who came under his
spell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He ate no
animal food nor hurt any of Earth’s creatures for his clothing. He lived simply
and beautifully, writing his books, lecturing on the rare occasions when he
allowed himself a spell in towns, and towards the end, preparing to pass out in
calm and happy trance “into that other land where the great voices sound and
visions dwell.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pioneers of
British anarchism: Edward Carpenter. <a href="https://freedomnews.org.uk/2019/06/28/edward-carpenter-pioneer-of-libertarian-socialism/">Freedom</a>, June 28, 2019. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUW2i8H9VlC71etKMu1QmSp3oQmSDH6mER3k6qsx7Iz8I4NqqABQvXPWcWI_JnKWZ1cO2ivlDJAm4yGmJ77nzPCO76eM0qAX2juyfnwCe7T5e23_uxJJKLQZJdJaiuKLVqP7rhSshXJN9UWtnODxxevXfSKAOz_tccLRw18Wmkm8N2L5ToyCYeZX2W-rc/s600/ec-in-garden.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUW2i8H9VlC71etKMu1QmSp3oQmSDH6mER3k6qsx7Iz8I4NqqABQvXPWcWI_JnKWZ1cO2ivlDJAm4yGmJ77nzPCO76eM0qAX2juyfnwCe7T5e23_uxJJKLQZJdJaiuKLVqP7rhSshXJN9UWtnODxxevXfSKAOz_tccLRw18Wmkm8N2L5ToyCYeZX2W-rc/s16000/ec-in-garden.jpg" /></a></div><br /><o:p><br /></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is the
first full-length biography of the most rivetingly interesting figure in late
19th-century radical politics. Edward Carpenter, alias the Saint in Sandals,
the Noble Savage and, more recently, "gay godfather of the British left",
was a writer, philosopher and charismatic propagandist for a multitude of
causes, including anti-pollution, women's liberation, naturism, vegetarianism,
animal rights, smallholdings, recycling. You name it, Carpenter espoused it
from the start.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His demands
for more rational dress encompassed footwear, the freeing of the feet from
"the tyranny of shoe leather". It was Carpenter who introduced the
British to the Indian-style sandals that are still the sign and symbol of
left-leaning politics. His most far-reaching campaign was for liberalising
attitudes to homosexuality, at that time illegal. Carpenter the reformed
gentleman lived with his working-class lover, George Merrill, in an early and
controversial example of an openly gay relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Like William
Morris, his contemporary and fellow socialist, Carpenter came from a
comfortable background. The Carpenters were a naval family with a substantial
income from property and shares. Early on he rejected the stifling atmosphere
of their lavish house in fashionable Brighton. He despised the socially
divisive capitalist system that allowed the ruling classes to live off the
labour of the poor, "consuming much, creating next to nothing".
Things did not have to be so complex. Determinedly and bravely, he reached his
own solution. Carpenter was the inventor of that fascinating late-Victorian
phenomenon we call "the simple life".<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even as a
child Carpenter had been aware of a strong attraction towards his own sex.
Rowbotham makes links between Carpenter's sexual orientation and his visions
for total social transformation, a new world in which men and women of all
classes could live creatively together in love, beauty and freedom. Rejecting
the emotional sterility of Cambridge, where Carpenter, by then ordained, held a
clerical fellowship, he made his way north to live in Leeds and then in
Sheffield.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He had had
his St Paul moment, a lightning flash of revelation felt as "a
vibration" through his whole body, that he had to go and make his life
with "the mass of the people and the manual workers", swarthy
northern railway men and coach-builders, muscular and grimy riveters and
grinders. If this sounds Whitmanesque, we should not be surprised. Carpenter
was a disciple of Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass, with its eroticisation of
young working men, had "filter'd and fibred" his blood. Carpenter
travelled twice to visit Whitman in New Jersey. Did he, as has been suggested,
sleep with "the old god"? Rowbotham's researches have not been
conclusive but there were at least "erotic frissons", and a sometimes
startlingly frank correspondence between Carpenter and Whitman went on for many
years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sheffield
in the 1870s was an "environmental disaster", as Rowbotham describes
it, an industrial landscape of ugliness and squalor created by the rapid
expansion of the steelworks and the cutlery trades. Carpenter countered this by
retreating to the country, establishing small agricultural communities first at
Bradway, then at Millthorpe in Derbyshire. He settled in a lovely tract of
country - green fields, streams and wooded valleys beside the open moors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was an
active, rugged life of self-sufficiency. Carpenter had absorbed John Ruskin's
views on the damage done to society by separating brain work, the province of
the gentleman, from manual labour, lowly activity of the so-called working
classes. In the new simplified life there had to be a balance. On his
seven-acre site in Derbyshire, Carpenter himself dug the drains and hoed the
land, planted fruit trees, fed the fowls and grew the crops, taking his own
produce to market, where his fellow stallholders were evidently puzzled by his
still unmistakably patrician tones. In his little wooden writing hut beside the
stream, he poured out the pamphlets and treatises which argued that the moneyed
classes could opt out of the capitalist system by paring down their wants to
basic necessities and supplying their own simple communal needs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most
radically, Carpenter at Millthorpe lived alongside and had sex with local
working-class men. He was crossing class barriers and sexual boundaries
simultaneously. In researching this book Rowbotham has drawn on the Carpenter
collection now in Sheffield city archive, a tremendously rich vein revealing a
whole homosexual subculture in 19th-century industrial England. She uncovers an
altogether different milieu from the more familiar metropolitan gay underworld
of Oscar Wilde.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was a
period in which same-sex love was still "uncertain, tentative,
experimental". Rowbotham's own origins in the floating world of 1960s
communes, graphically described in her memoir of her youth, Promise of a Dream,
gives her a special sympathy for the many emotional tensions in Carpenter's
sexually experimental households. Some of his male lovers were married or about
to be. When the love of his life, the razor grinder George Hukin, announced his
engagement, Carpenter, somewhat provocatively, gave the couple a marriage bed.
Hukin wrote back anxiously: "I do wish you could sleep with us sometimes
Ted, but I don't know whether Fannie would quite like it yet." This book
brings us tender insights into real human stories, poignant renegotiations of
emotional and sexual territories played out against a background of Victorian
political turmoil, bitter socialist infighting and anarchist trials.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Millthorpe
became a mecca for progressives. Architects and writers, Norfolk-jacketed
schoolmasters and eager young lady Fabians piled into the long, low,
ivy-covered cottage to watch simple life in action. William Morris was
delighted by the uncluttered interior, precursor of 20th-century minimalist
decor. Once the volatile and humorous Merrill was installed as Carpenter's
live-in lover in 1898, the menage at Millthorpe became a demonstration of what
might be possible for homosexual men. It was Merrill who, in a famous episode,
laid a gentle finger on EM Forster's backside, just above the buttocks,
directly inspiring the writing of Maurice. Forster's explicitly homosexual
novel went unpublished until 1971.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANVPdi-uf8RhHs8YWdASZ3erFjIik6MxK4waAIb330g_a4i1FmrQUquSSJc8JVZsD9QhoeB2pAXTh3lFSAhddjraeToEqWqfaFvN8MobL9DrvM4l7PJCsZsIhL-CF7KY8x1vN2biMI2khDufOofyh_Xkpz121dLWoXqSpVNo61w7PeUXvTz9ET1xwuSg/s800/Edward_Carpenter,_1894.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="473" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANVPdi-uf8RhHs8YWdASZ3erFjIik6MxK4waAIb330g_a4i1FmrQUquSSJc8JVZsD9QhoeB2pAXTh3lFSAhddjraeToEqWqfaFvN8MobL9DrvM4l7PJCsZsIhL-CF7KY8x1vN2biMI2khDufOofyh_Xkpz121dLWoXqSpVNo61w7PeUXvTz9ET1xwuSg/s16000/Edward_Carpenter,_1894.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter
was operating in a danger zone. His ceaseless propaganda for "that special
attachment which we sometimes call by the name of comradeship" made him
many enemies. Bernard Shaw accused him of "Carpenterings and
illusions". Homogenic Love, his rationally argued pro-homosexual treatise,
could only be privately circulated when it was completed in 1893. His
Whitman-influenced long tone-poem "Towards Democracy" was passed from
hand to hand by those who understood its hidden homosexual message. It was
furtively referred to as "the little green book".<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter
became an Edwardian guru figure, famous for the strength of his handclasp and
the penetration of his gaze. He reminds us that the British labour movement
always had its mystic side. When asked how he reconciled mysticism with
socialism, Carpenter replied that he liked to hang out his red flag from the
ground floor and then go up above to see how it looked. In search of secret
harmonies, as well as "good-looking chaps of the peasant class", he
travelled to Ceylon and then India. Trust Carpenter to find there a mysterious
English nudist colony known as "the Fellowship of the Naked Trust".<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He retired
to suburban Guildford, of all places. A heartbreaking photograph shows
"the Complete Anarchist", the sage with all the answers, reduced to a
baffled old man in a wheelchair. But by the time he died, in 1926, many of his
ideas had been absorbed into the mainstream of our culture. Garden cities.
Progressive schools such as Abbotsholme and Bedales. Craft communities
including CR Ashbee's in the Cotswolds and Eric Gill's in Ditchling, living out
the Carpenterian dream of making things by hand in idyllic rural settings.
There were echoes of Carpenter in 1960s hippiedom and flower power, and in the
memorable slogans of the period: "The personal is political";
"Make love not war".<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carpenter
campaigned doggedly for a higher level of emotional awareness. He set himself
to challenge conventions and taboos that led to "the starving of the human
heart". He was an essential force in the relatively recent changing of our
attitudes to sex, and especially to same-sex relationships. His great hopes for
the decriminalisation of homosexuality were finally achieved in 1967 with the
passing of the Sexual Offences Act.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rowbotham
has written a very good biography, exhaustively researched and resonant in
detail. It is a splendid reassessment of a man who was both typical of his own
time and light years ahead of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edward
Carpenter by Sheila Rowbotham. By Fiona MacCarthy.<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2008/nov/01/edward-carpenter"> The Guardian</a>, November 1,
2008. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6j5regX5DxLkvTW-9ess7BQ_fZMdGTNeqKA0OIGlIZM9cZO8b7t1QNSi9BzBGcQOyA0P_9FU8evHsIgdaeo6RPA2nxgwyegBdG3FdypHFaaHR6h2tnqyeVlquBmqM5tMLyLUnvvOBIOPbX6vOT_hQ7VAzBaTrhJuGYUlXqUS_8VkstY-xQfhnJChVxE/s600/4920548828_cc00c47147_c.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6j5regX5DxLkvTW-9ess7BQ_fZMdGTNeqKA0OIGlIZM9cZO8b7t1QNSi9BzBGcQOyA0P_9FU8evHsIgdaeo6RPA2nxgwyegBdG3FdypHFaaHR6h2tnqyeVlquBmqM5tMLyLUnvvOBIOPbX6vOT_hQ7VAzBaTrhJuGYUlXqUS_8VkstY-xQfhnJChVxE/s16000/4920548828_cc00c47147_c.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB">Edward
Carpenter was the Victorian Morrissey, the English Walt Whitman &ndash; and
the original vegetarian, sandal-wearing socialist. So why is this gloriously
eccentric figure almost forgotten today?</span></div></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">On his 80th
birthday in 1924, five years before his death, the socialist Utopian poet,
mystic, activist, homophile, feminist, nudist and environmentalist Edward
Carpenter received an album signed by every member of Ramsay MacDonald's Labour
Cabinet. Glowing tributes appeared in the socialist papers as well as in the
Manchester Guardian, the Observer, the Evening Standard and even the Egyptian
Gazette.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the
early 20th century, Carpenter was a celebrity. Hordes of men and women – but
mostly young men – had beaten a path to his rural retreat in Millthorpe, near
Sheffield, to sit at his vegetarian, be-sandalled feet, or to take part in his
morning sun-baths and sponge downs in his back garden.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">After his
death, however, his charismatic reputation faded faster than a Yorkshire tan.
By the middle of the century he was regarded as a crank. When that
Eton-educated proletarian George Orwell decried the left's habit of attracting
"every fruit juice drinker, nudist, sandal wearer, sex-maniac, Quaker,
'Nature Cure' quack, pacifist and feminist in England", everyone knew who
he was dissing.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Today,
despite the brief renaissance of his works with the gay left after the
emergence of gay lib in the 1960s and 1970s, and this worthy yet fascinating
new biography by the feminist historian Sheila Rowbotham, it sometimes seems as
though there's almost nothing left of Ted save his beard and sandals (he seems
to have introduced sandal-wearing to these shores). He's become the Cheshire
cat of fin-de-siècle English Utopianism. One could argue, and I will, that the
main thing that connects most of us with Carpenter today is EM Forster's
bottom.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">George
Merrill, Carpenter's uninhibited working-class partner, touched Forster's
repressed Cambridge backside during a visit to Millthorpe in 1912, "...
gently and just above the buttocks. I believe he touched most people's. The
sensation was unusual and I still remember it, as I remember the position of a
long-vanished tooth. It was as much psychological as physical. It seemed to go
straight through the small of my back into my ideas, without involving any
thought."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Inspired,
Forster went home, sat down on his probably still-tingling buttocks and wrote
the first "gay" novel, Maurice. Though it wasn't to be published
until after timid Forster's death, DH Lawrence saw the manuscript and was
himself touched: Lady Chatterley's Lover is in many ways a heterosexualised
Maurice. When Maurice was made into a film in the 1980s, its stars James Wilby
and Rupert Graves made millions of rumps, male and female, tingle at a time
when homosexuality, as a result of Section 28 and Aids, had become a cultural
battleground.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Carpenter
became a kind of English Whitman figure, though more outspoken on the subject
of toleration of same-sex love than Whitman ever dared to be in the US. Alas,
he was not nearly as fine a poet (another reason why his work hasn't endured).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Merrill and
Edward Carpenter's relationship lasted nearly 40 years, and was an inspiration
to many. Carpenter described Merrill as his "simple nature child",
his "rose in winter", his "ruby embedded in marl and clay",
and delighted in Merrill's lack of guilt about the "seamy side of
life". Raised in the Sheffield slums and without any formal education,
Merrill was almost untouched by Christianity. On hearing that Jesus had spent
his last night on Gethsemane, Merrill's response was: "Who with?"<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Carpenter
was born into an upright upper- middle class family in Hove, Brighton (a
sizeable inheritance financed his purchase of Millthorpe and his comradely life
in the North). He was drawn to the working classes because he saw them as rescuing
him from himself – as much as he was rescuing them.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">"Eros
is a great leveller," Carpenter wrote in The Intermediate Sex.
"Perhaps the true democracy rests, more firmly than anywhere else, on a
sentiment which easily passes the bounds of class and caste, and unites in the
closest affection the most estranged ranks of society." He noted that many
"Uranians" "of good position and breeding are drawn to rougher
types, as of manual workers, and frequently very permanent alliances grow up in
this way".<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">It's worth
pointing out that Wilde and Bosie's relationship, which was to cause Forster
and many other homosexuals at that time such grief, was based on their mutual
enjoyment of rent boys. Carpenter disapproved of such exploitation, but you can
imagine Wilde jesting that people like Carpenter were socialists only because
they didn't want to pay for their trade.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiZKjTr-iayzqkOtpLRhPN6TUUk7I7NCVd2bPyKuzuh8_t1oYh_8fcP1bp4RE3zykHEc-qifxpBOeVmABTiz3E0Qsmp7QUEUvhG1_wTWY5BW3VwFsdQWAfLlAFEDGjJrxQ3p0lXSIpF5tF9_YTshl5dzQTwBff60X_UWRzbTMCK9ddQBQK-_9RX8j2CU/s882/51ybNEKzVeL._AC_UF1000,1000_QL80_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiZKjTr-iayzqkOtpLRhPN6TUUk7I7NCVd2bPyKuzuh8_t1oYh_8fcP1bp4RE3zykHEc-qifxpBOeVmABTiz3E0Qsmp7QUEUvhG1_wTWY5BW3VwFsdQWAfLlAFEDGjJrxQ3p0lXSIpF5tF9_YTshl5dzQTwBff60X_UWRzbTMCK9ddQBQK-_9RX8j2CU/s16000/51ybNEKzVeL._AC_UF1000,1000_QL80_.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Rowbotham,
to her credit, doesn't shrink from pointing out the limits of Carpenter's
socialism: "Carpenter never queried his own tacit presumption that the
lower classes and subordinated races were to be defended when vulnerable and
abject but treated with contempt when they sought individual advancement."
To this, it could be added that if Carpenter succeeded in abolishing class,
then with it would be abolished the interest in the working classes of men like
Carpenter. Each man kills the thing he loves.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">One young
lover wrote of Carpenter: "You feel inclined to get hold of him as a boy
would his mate" and talked of his "Handsome appearance – his erect,
lithe body, trim and bearded face, penetrating eyes and beautiful voice".
Carpenter was to continue attracting young working-class men to his door well
into silver-haired old age.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Carpenter
saw those exclusively attracted to their own sex as harbingers of a new age,
the cultural advance guard of socialism in which a Utopian androgyny would be
the norm. Not everyone shared his enthusiasm for a future world of Carpenters.
George Bernard Shaw was enraged by the idea that "intermediacy"
should be recommended to "the normal" as the desired way to be.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">EM Forster
described Carpenter's mysticism as the usual contradiction of wanting to
"merge with the cosmos and retain identity" at the same time. This
described pretty much everything, from Ted's attitude towards comradeship and
homosexuality, class and socialism, and even Millthorpe, where he would write
standing in a sentry box in the garden while his "retreat" was
overrun by guests.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">His
championing of androgyny and female emancipation held contradictions. Rowbotham
describes his horror and disgust at the androgyny of a Siva statue he witnessed
on a mystical visit to India as being "akin to the disgust he had felt at
seeing the female nudes in a French art gallery". For Carpenter,
"acceptable femininity consisted of lithe gay men and supportive,
tom-boyish sister figures".<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Perhaps the
most lasting and pertinent thing about his life is a question: how on Earth did
the old bugger get away with it? How did he avoid a huge scandal? How did he
end up so lionised in his old age? Especially when you consider what happened
to Wilde.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">The answer
is probably the same reason for his lack of appeal today. His prose now seems
strangely precious and oblique, replete with coy, coded classical references.
Worst of all for modern audiences, he necessarily downplayed the sexual aspect
of same-sex love. Class helped too: even his live-in relationship with Merrill
was often seen as one of master and servant (that's how Merrill, who was
financially dependent on Carpenter, was legally described).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">One
contemporary suspected that Carpenter might not be as simple as he presented
himself, that his mysticism "gave him a certain detachment which protected
him against prosecution as a heretic". To which Rowbotham drily observes:
"As for the non-mystical Merrill, he just tried out the idealistic
admirers." (Or, as that Northern prophet Morrissey was to sing many years
later: "I recognise that mystical air / It means I'd like to seize your
underwear.")<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Whatever
Carpenter's survival secret, it's rather wonderful for us that he did. Although
he fades in and mostly out of consciousness today, it's hard not to agree with
Rowbotham's conclusion: "This complicated, confusing, contradictory yet
courageous man is not going to vanish entirely from view."</span></span></div>
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><br /><p></p><div><p class="MsoNormal">"...Though
after the Wilde trial, homosexual men began to be labelled as 'oscarwildes',
men who did not fit the green carnation stereotype remained in the shadows,
swathed in a cloak of ambiguity... In socialist circles, this opaqueness was
compounded by the overlap between political and personal comradeship"</p>Edward Carpenter: A life of liberty and love, By Sheila Rowbotham (Verso £24.99)</div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The lost
Utopian: Why have so few of us heard of Victorian poet and renowned socialist
Edward Carpenter? By Mark Simpson. <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/features/the-lost-utopian-why-have-so-few-of-us-heard-of-victorian-poet-and-renowned-socialist-edward-carpenter-949080.html">The Independent</a> , October 5, 2008. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Further information : </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.friendsofedwardcarpenter.co.uk/">The Friends of Edward Carpenter</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.edwardcarpentercommunity.org.uk/">The Edward Carpenter Community</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-8475354926067946222024-03-04T16:13:00.001+00:002024-03-04T16:13:17.567+00:00Playlist : Keeley Forsyth, Anastasia Coope, VÄLVĒ, Joe Gideon, Pop Miri, Youbet, How To Dress Well, Alison Cotton, Mary in The Junkyard, Lime Garden, Cadence Weapon ft Grandtheft, Moor Mother ft Alya Al-Sultani, Feeo, Lip Critic, System Exclusive, Alena Spanger, Kettama, Real Lies, Sunna Margrét, Nourished By Time, Guests, Still House Plants, Erika Angell, M(h)aol, Evanora:Unlimited & Taraneh, h. pruz, Landrose, Heavy Feelings, Real Farmer, Goat Girls<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUooO9npfcmmBv1vIy6VZO9-tbPmCtVss-iQQchDvGgkC-zy91e68OyMMCi8XiRkerbanGaWs-61u_E0oe3QVhQLW6aF0dyTzehk3cdzDHno0n3AcU8zoerilW9pQdUnJhoomUsXxjOkkddBJ6Thwf3SvW1xPRlrJqZqEmOrDUFH-F2EUvmbzE_ikQyWE/s600/goat%20girl%20moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUooO9npfcmmBv1vIy6VZO9-tbPmCtVss-iQQchDvGgkC-zy91e68OyMMCi8XiRkerbanGaWs-61u_E0oe3QVhQLW6aF0dyTzehk3cdzDHno0n3AcU8zoerilW9pQdUnJhoomUsXxjOkkddBJ6Thwf3SvW1xPRlrJqZqEmOrDUFH-F2EUvmbzE_ikQyWE/s16000/goat%20girl%20moon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Lots to choose in February. There were great videos by fav artists like Adrianne Lenker, PJ
Harvey, Armand Hammer, Julia Holter, Fever Ray, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>St.Vincent, but I chose lesser known artists, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>who did
surprise me again or for the first time. Play Loud & Enjoy.</span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Keeley
Forsyth – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WdefRnKcAy4">Horse</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUzJwmUw79IobtAc0Md3D9iy1-0eJMqOwVlE3KCd7CYd3AqLpH8md0_ghIjLsBAYX3lK4ExEeMkdfsHufurTdNElkzvHa6_RTqiEj-78JfXu-MpasT5VUiC9MQkZCwA4B-NGePlJJpFFqlQKJPFR9ZTZesBEc87gvQa2xT3LpCdI4Ire2lLCFoKwrnKY/s600/keeley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUzJwmUw79IobtAc0Md3D9iy1-0eJMqOwVlE3KCd7CYd3AqLpH8md0_ghIjLsBAYX3lK4ExEeMkdfsHufurTdNElkzvHa6_RTqiEj-78JfXu-MpasT5VUiC9MQkZCwA4B-NGePlJJpFFqlQKJPFR9ZTZesBEc87gvQa2xT3LpCdI4Ire2lLCFoKwrnKY/s16000/keeley.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anastasia
Coope -<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2s7Ua7geUE"> He is On His Way Home, We Don't Live Together</a></span></span></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHM5ID-6w_WsjrZdavA7PFyEF3dGszMdG8yiy7VfIPbk4Nv78ubb0q1M762HCgYl6Bj3KxDZ3uyyFXn8ctiYxj3T_NXcETrSmDnVyP5ZQ03jBv-oxFyTdIqdB_oROts2DWHaWvhGtNlRbW9eSgYx_Rw33Tdg9w771jPDOKUChDVcLTYBedYah7B95MpRs/s600/anastasiaa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHM5ID-6w_WsjrZdavA7PFyEF3dGszMdG8yiy7VfIPbk4Nv78ubb0q1M762HCgYl6Bj3KxDZ3uyyFXn8ctiYxj3T_NXcETrSmDnVyP5ZQ03jBv-oxFyTdIqdB_oROts2DWHaWvhGtNlRbW9eSgYx_Rw33Tdg9w771jPDOKUChDVcLTYBedYah7B95MpRs/s16000/anastasiaa.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">VÄLVĒ - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pZ5oQd6IbQ">Man In The Moon</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrDPlZc4s4kEPiIWkArvEQ8rXUlsqnBt3oYdbFpOJ5CRWIHiRFB-3TB9r7b2t-wnQ_7oPBbog-PFrxf4S7FpRduKLChDQv7TbO6JPkPUWkFh6xpYnGVouPV6OLc0geLglUKrxlvLDjEPLIkN5DkcRwpSq7ExQyV0gbJeRnUv0_AfPv9kNTT5UkOS8HJqQ/s600/valve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrDPlZc4s4kEPiIWkArvEQ8rXUlsqnBt3oYdbFpOJ5CRWIHiRFB-3TB9r7b2t-wnQ_7oPBbog-PFrxf4S7FpRduKLChDQv7TbO6JPkPUWkFh6xpYnGVouPV6OLc0geLglUKrxlvLDjEPLIkN5DkcRwpSq7ExQyV0gbJeRnUv0_AfPv9kNTT5UkOS8HJqQ/s16000/valve.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Joe Gideon
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpaR1z4qTuk">Arctic Moon</a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJO265TT8ZAPYHleBj_mTAtDBSi_MWrOGY6mYbbLCaJ5IOAChuXLCN_iKM5n0D9jGre8OLEl79qB2hOX3NDMk7kDgd9mGz354DttUVb57JFhsBrTJY5CkEgmD8zMK7u-rLXPWzZgc7NoeEa3TKfq7aLl7no6ktjHn9mYvE-2txRX01iNdvNdePhfvqP0/s600/joe%20gideon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJO265TT8ZAPYHleBj_mTAtDBSi_MWrOGY6mYbbLCaJ5IOAChuXLCN_iKM5n0D9jGre8OLEl79qB2hOX3NDMk7kDgd9mGz354DttUVb57JFhsBrTJY5CkEgmD8zMK7u-rLXPWzZgc7NoeEa3TKfq7aLl7no6ktjHn9mYvE-2txRX01iNdvNdePhfvqP0/s16000/joe%20gideon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pop Miri –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRnSoCQ9e-k">Battery Acid</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTM7bLAYUj8AbcdeMRiRR8-umvsOCd-i-GilArpVKGmH2T5FzmjWBUIFzbyDTpwpUvMxbL7wlUNebLMrj_xON0lrrjKV9Bt8uB29SuM6DvApQYiISngLpKdgP9BHkLkb0YGVpP6T0B-jatiouiYT9x5LRUwHkD2so04dM_YxoL1NoBdwc1oB8dJK24Eow/s600/pop%20miri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTM7bLAYUj8AbcdeMRiRR8-umvsOCd-i-GilArpVKGmH2T5FzmjWBUIFzbyDTpwpUvMxbL7wlUNebLMrj_xON0lrrjKV9Bt8uB29SuM6DvApQYiISngLpKdgP9BHkLkb0YGVpP6T0B-jatiouiYT9x5LRUwHkD2so04dM_YxoL1NoBdwc1oB8dJK24Eow/s16000/pop%20miri.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Youbet -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aw1DPQwE5tU">Seeds Of Evil</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiasgCfABLC2VCfs3n3iwWy3hcHkMWPG75qVXf4MJEMKlNcu3efdm-53Q7TJFkY-pjmYmD6qWMgLcMk_HqiV1iFMb6ZjP94HU5Z4EjWrW7xUFW95028DIXTn2fBkm5rOkd2L2g1EYs0tG1Pid9TJ3sC_h7nKEKWYvHwa6XgExnYzdHeBAqiCjPMLZpMNYI/s600/youbet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiasgCfABLC2VCfs3n3iwWy3hcHkMWPG75qVXf4MJEMKlNcu3efdm-53Q7TJFkY-pjmYmD6qWMgLcMk_HqiV1iFMb6ZjP94HU5Z4EjWrW7xUFW95028DIXTn2fBkm5rOkd2L2g1EYs0tG1Pid9TJ3sC_h7nKEKWYvHwa6XgExnYzdHeBAqiCjPMLZpMNYI/s16000/youbet.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How To
Dress Well - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DCuRays7qk">New Confusion</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18_H6Utia8oPFX4sFj4ejphuaCyKyI5KDLzXYi-8390yrSLz1T1rQ1-Cs3tV6irXaei8ltWgIxqxvSelqhNU6D2jnFqIaHnBHadlM7VNlI3wTxzSg4R8R-ZM8gJB8g-F2l71l4GpNZYcWcACyru5tdAmFdTj0sjdKxsPmrewDC95Qsh4i0mugx0gWWHs/s600/howtodresswell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18_H6Utia8oPFX4sFj4ejphuaCyKyI5KDLzXYi-8390yrSLz1T1rQ1-Cs3tV6irXaei8ltWgIxqxvSelqhNU6D2jnFqIaHnBHadlM7VNlI3wTxzSg4R8R-ZM8gJB8g-F2l71l4GpNZYcWcACyru5tdAmFdTj0sjdKxsPmrewDC95Qsh4i0mugx0gWWHs/s16000/howtodresswell.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alison
Cotton – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ASM-pI7LhQ">Crépuscule</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpCgbbYuVO9kJQCetLqagXXhAt3VuCXnHxPN8E_3HL40rM8iQWv8BjWAKvhs-zZXgFZQHrEshRzNuV3cVt2XG1vS48ibpOznFacGePcjYzLYlqCpQ63N_LkU7kSuDvBQoCf31rTOWcA4P0y4Eqid2FIbykrQcZBbc3l-B6MZ8IhsuIoLvWMmyJ-851wQ/s600/alison%20cotton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpCgbbYuVO9kJQCetLqagXXhAt3VuCXnHxPN8E_3HL40rM8iQWv8BjWAKvhs-zZXgFZQHrEshRzNuV3cVt2XG1vS48ibpOznFacGePcjYzLYlqCpQ63N_LkU7kSuDvBQoCf31rTOWcA4P0y4Eqid2FIbykrQcZBbc3l-B6MZ8IhsuIoLvWMmyJ-851wQ/s16000/alison%20cotton.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mary In The
Junkyard - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHqyqdVnR0M">Ghost</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLRra5HzPsBqAyJl2itQerFfIUtfSGb8_v9qFgwXRIU4yrIzYjzqFfCaX_gC0C_MWJWpUigFCmAX_S3c9y4L0iCpCXeGN1L_FqWm1R8oyS-GEqLVuaJ9upJiuxwMSugBulMYpPKNR6lNy9GkiBKxjS59u6yEPKxb73hCmWsxeHU70jN15TAJRC495Cd-I/s600/mary%20in%20the.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLRra5HzPsBqAyJl2itQerFfIUtfSGb8_v9qFgwXRIU4yrIzYjzqFfCaX_gC0C_MWJWpUigFCmAX_S3c9y4L0iCpCXeGN1L_FqWm1R8oyS-GEqLVuaJ9upJiuxwMSugBulMYpPKNR6lNy9GkiBKxjS59u6yEPKxb73hCmWsxeHU70jN15TAJRC495Cd-I/s16000/mary%20in%20the.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lime Garden
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YlDHewTO7Zc">Pop Star</a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNgAm1IcXpln87g0N7aPaEQ5yaAX7NPOWD2ZRdukj_tr5sCqwGY5yOMSFK_q-5yBD0rlBeL1XFeEDo4JJO2TYKvInWluyhlykbm87PzBnAi2xRVjeBw5Bld3_kYG1Nzv7hAY0DYqvWHNmXNoAuSQW7w2bERvxlyfCo0aE2qNlAwa_GGmU3TMOs1veQfs/s600/lime%20garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNgAm1IcXpln87g0N7aPaEQ5yaAX7NPOWD2ZRdukj_tr5sCqwGY5yOMSFK_q-5yBD0rlBeL1XFeEDo4JJO2TYKvInWluyhlykbm87PzBnAi2xRVjeBw5Bld3_kYG1Nzv7hAY0DYqvWHNmXNoAuSQW7w2bERvxlyfCo0aE2qNlAwa_GGmU3TMOs1veQfs/s16000/lime%20garden.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cadence
Weapon ft Grandtheft - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80HJ83I6Alg">Press Eject</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSs6b2avn5MsWlLv4vRWZqW7bROecV10X5ET5YTfj-OuX9qCE32BmxM6EWYQmQv0-YSMEEoYeZwwwSg7xAssQ9kpkLt469iNOpQNAS8z_iT5GhMpkQoN3TohyaX8AHFV3JdXa0gALX2cILpW-w-2DO34uA0oxy1kcGUbnwm8LFVT-RLtIScJOa065fcQ/s600/cadence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSs6b2avn5MsWlLv4vRWZqW7bROecV10X5ET5YTfj-OuX9qCE32BmxM6EWYQmQv0-YSMEEoYeZwwwSg7xAssQ9kpkLt469iNOpQNAS8z_iT5GhMpkQoN3TohyaX8AHFV3JdXa0gALX2cILpW-w-2DO34uA0oxy1kcGUbnwm8LFVT-RLtIScJOa065fcQ/s16000/cadence.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Moor Mother
ft Alya Al-Sultani –<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WK3NHEgJIUM"> All The Money</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fc-LwINDzdcem4awyH13qLFFficVY9mCdbNYy5nkz_fY9DEpD0N0hQzfd8nwUalu4aiK5qqxantfQNhMG8Wu2tAeHFqLCapF0lv6_TmeojeA7ehLoJoeZI72_HPU-y_dNyudbVDxtwJGQiBd09fWf1HjT7lcpyIEriNBP30NdpsyUUP6X_xjolmNi00/s600/moor%20mother.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fc-LwINDzdcem4awyH13qLFFficVY9mCdbNYy5nkz_fY9DEpD0N0hQzfd8nwUalu4aiK5qqxantfQNhMG8Wu2tAeHFqLCapF0lv6_TmeojeA7ehLoJoeZI72_HPU-y_dNyudbVDxtwJGQiBd09fWf1HjT7lcpyIEriNBP30NdpsyUUP6X_xjolmNi00/s16000/moor%20mother.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Feeo -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktUtMpmciQE">Tnteen</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6068EZe0P53nicaL3wILwgJO1gUODyIwuUC00wGXVB-7wf0ZVCpDqX7tUf3e5kewsnIe_bJJh2KVoGMVdIIfQi6jF_wUwvc13unlVcVZ3BwNvqOiqlPxo1QZD7Bf80-90nnnKAyQwmA7LjsgsXZFhBZ4AVB7bAwKRw5XY89HpdOOXLdhRQ-2oWc2gXtg/s600/feeo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6068EZe0P53nicaL3wILwgJO1gUODyIwuUC00wGXVB-7wf0ZVCpDqX7tUf3e5kewsnIe_bJJh2KVoGMVdIIfQi6jF_wUwvc13unlVcVZ3BwNvqOiqlPxo1QZD7Bf80-90nnnKAyQwmA7LjsgsXZFhBZ4AVB7bAwKRw5XY89HpdOOXLdhRQ-2oWc2gXtg/s16000/feeo.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lip Critic
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0oAWtHmylI">Milky Max</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0ARy1HHcMOZqAfuYS4t1h8dtr6r76wa7FEThGBI4w9b0tcmo20dBJo97ZqNsTNGpEQNASDUZPumL7pLRkrzPD32yFCY1umQsb2geHeBORVgXkMJCE2AW1HgjDFFJGJxZBQn1-Zvo4bH-lDSJit27iip0i99xrooqiVMItBDEOe5FEq32wmuBLigOKa0/s600/lip%20critic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0ARy1HHcMOZqAfuYS4t1h8dtr6r76wa7FEThGBI4w9b0tcmo20dBJo97ZqNsTNGpEQNASDUZPumL7pLRkrzPD32yFCY1umQsb2geHeBORVgXkMJCE2AW1HgjDFFJGJxZBQn1-Zvo4bH-lDSJit27iip0i99xrooqiVMItBDEOe5FEq32wmuBLigOKa0/s16000/lip%20critic.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">System
Exclusive - </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XFQH53OhT4">Click</a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9E-ERrN1IuJu8K4aZB-chEL84mXZ2J_e5Rxa1hETKfkI1Cf8QIaQ8iMN50STh6Xuv8a3xWiWRHPiajlUMwhomOMrqqlH718Pu2FXkX60qRyZdAXjIySJmje_y76sIoHa2FfSQ5l3TT332G7NfD1jtXjt2t8QC6H6Z7T8zNO_9MetfwXAK0IsMq2UTlSg/s600/systemexclusive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9E-ERrN1IuJu8K4aZB-chEL84mXZ2J_e5Rxa1hETKfkI1Cf8QIaQ8iMN50STh6Xuv8a3xWiWRHPiajlUMwhomOMrqqlH718Pu2FXkX60qRyZdAXjIySJmje_y76sIoHa2FfSQ5l3TT332G7NfD1jtXjt2t8QC6H6Z7T8zNO_9MetfwXAK0IsMq2UTlSg/s16000/systemexclusive.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alena
Spanger - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RAzGjK32BEk">All That I Wanted</a></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><b></b></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYU2_1HIHELyNy2vQj3Oc2s77Fbc8KLQBg8W-F7jo1U3OnNPyS_HfyZCElANPIoBd8AxiF3Ik85NZ9-EM1d2LDPhKMnOcY0wDRmlOTNxbNfLMrmug3UEQub_rJaiTjaSwz6uWFpB7F3HfXYg4jNGfITJbSaT9xNQxPVmxYU8-JbwakESj6OEpJeK3Jrmk/s600/alena%20spanger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYU2_1HIHELyNy2vQj3Oc2s77Fbc8KLQBg8W-F7jo1U3OnNPyS_HfyZCElANPIoBd8AxiF3Ik85NZ9-EM1d2LDPhKMnOcY0wDRmlOTNxbNfLMrmug3UEQub_rJaiTjaSwz6uWFpB7F3HfXYg4jNGfITJbSaT9xNQxPVmxYU8-JbwakESj6OEpJeK3Jrmk/s16000/alena%20spanger.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kettama,
Real Lies - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zly6vdtaRII">Purple Hearts</a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcR9wur2rEspAzpswbTevLaaJ_Vgf4knpFNBofzgGHyRsL3uCkBH5sfgo8OUHTCqZe5yERbV68JyHShHYbweqTfDYNVedb2qzL42YpQEXhhqhgFc9TYhvzE69JIfsQwAF9zhtrfHcYoKRbetoOvz5VEETKvk73_kvI8wFE5rR5sPYLr8KpcAQ2gkrw-z0/s600/kettama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcR9wur2rEspAzpswbTevLaaJ_Vgf4knpFNBofzgGHyRsL3uCkBH5sfgo8OUHTCqZe5yERbV68JyHShHYbweqTfDYNVedb2qzL42YpQEXhhqhgFc9TYhvzE69JIfsQwAF9zhtrfHcYoKRbetoOvz5VEETKvk73_kvI8wFE5rR5sPYLr8KpcAQ2gkrw-z0/s16000/kettama.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sunna
Margrét - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70QKuH5-NDI">Come With Me</a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtuopU1feqN0tYZQ0B7fW2nDYRLgdKWrtimaN-HrGjg8Q2r0Yr6Fw_Hi6KmnMpeKr7I-NiuwVvuZ7WC4cbeHDj4k8A0hyphenhyphenxCaCEQoGXIjO-rWa3tZQv0_oZPYQe2cPvXOPHeB2gBaR0ICrbLDt9XB8H50-9ao_h7my51vbrRA8FpWqyYwHXjiyeb0IvCY/s600/sunna%20margret.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtuopU1feqN0tYZQ0B7fW2nDYRLgdKWrtimaN-HrGjg8Q2r0Yr6Fw_Hi6KmnMpeKr7I-NiuwVvuZ7WC4cbeHDj4k8A0hyphenhyphenxCaCEQoGXIjO-rWa3tZQv0_oZPYQe2cPvXOPHeB2gBaR0ICrbLDt9XB8H50-9ao_h7my51vbrRA8FpWqyYwHXjiyeb0IvCY/s16000/sunna%20margret.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nourished By
Time - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IYXPDZHZcqg">Hand On Me</a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAntSrnt0K2TL7wERUdbLUnE870dvqeaypJFiBxdGzoDuH9Jq-gyI-ZkAVKHwNI53fHQaKDqnXoGF5uIoWYL56pZfmBMg4rtdYJSIl2C2SYI9K8HLyjGgtt2ePAXejTiV2Oo5TTDUiAfqrnHUBUpbHqkKmqnXExIFRhpC9TJVWeKjU-PkzFw5XdP1Uie4/s600/nourished.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAntSrnt0K2TL7wERUdbLUnE870dvqeaypJFiBxdGzoDuH9Jq-gyI-ZkAVKHwNI53fHQaKDqnXoGF5uIoWYL56pZfmBMg4rtdYJSIl2C2SYI9K8HLyjGgtt2ePAXejTiV2Oo5TTDUiAfqrnHUBUpbHqkKmqnXExIFRhpC9TJVWeKjU-PkzFw5XdP1Uie4/s16000/nourished.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Guests - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSHR1Y3sELs">Arrangements,
As In Making Them</a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqp2qdFEt5aYMi1wwiA_o_aaty2EQ7XCZ6JLWI1sWmrA4xA4QG6Gl83Pvwi_AveR8X1wCRenHMvq9EuMafmVNHD7TjDTg-cmpiIAO-VbwM4LXhoyEWZ5NY5V_EJid9zo-mBtbogsA-X68thKX048tUT8Bx8sPFKVtKYSpD8W72V9H9bAUtfXxEprzz2zA/s600/guests.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqp2qdFEt5aYMi1wwiA_o_aaty2EQ7XCZ6JLWI1sWmrA4xA4QG6Gl83Pvwi_AveR8X1wCRenHMvq9EuMafmVNHD7TjDTg-cmpiIAO-VbwM4LXhoyEWZ5NY5V_EJid9zo-mBtbogsA-X68thKX048tUT8Bx8sPFKVtKYSpD8W72V9H9bAUtfXxEprzz2zA/s16000/guests.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Still House
Plants – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Xo7nbPiEpc">No Sleep Deep Risk</a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm6j4_UR8e37WzKyUHH_tbvrH9KQRMhdf2_Vw-Wbp2gPhlOEq8JRkghkiTH3pL8RH4OpfPzvQipKAkhGwRXamc51WBkei3HkobN21Brr-cXMfw4cEIA6AX8E4HzWgiaN7pTa2S0Sx5mkt61eaKH24v7yw61S36FYP5A9QjcVhBsZ4G4X2UDg8KiFYlxOo/s600/still%20house%20plants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm6j4_UR8e37WzKyUHH_tbvrH9KQRMhdf2_Vw-Wbp2gPhlOEq8JRkghkiTH3pL8RH4OpfPzvQipKAkhGwRXamc51WBkei3HkobN21Brr-cXMfw4cEIA6AX8E4HzWgiaN7pTa2S0Sx5mkt61eaKH24v7yw61S36FYP5A9QjcVhBsZ4G4X2UDg8KiFYlxOo/s16000/still%20house%20plants.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB">Erika
Angell - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_z4p_FIjrU">Up My Sleeve</a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFPoQB8TNqxLKx0ywRuNhK3j7wmwFLGcGDjGRAMtcyC5CSE9KU39OpQpY_KYcw37NAAyxyIGCjGzcH_LXhsJSQOdpmmhFKvqXncU1E7a2p_-6c5SlTm3_A1GNtyKmPw5NM4nWVbXYLxOon0iyzFsQP9zils3uTATbE18ojVBY89yjxxZkU5o4uUn67Sw/s600/erika%20angell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFPoQB8TNqxLKx0ywRuNhK3j7wmwFLGcGDjGRAMtcyC5CSE9KU39OpQpY_KYcw37NAAyxyIGCjGzcH_LXhsJSQOdpmmhFKvqXncU1E7a2p_-6c5SlTm3_A1GNtyKmPw5NM4nWVbXYLxOon0iyzFsQP9zils3uTATbE18ojVBY89yjxxZkU5o4uUn67Sw/s16000/erika%20angell.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;">M(h)aol - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_XQOa_yeKk">Pursuit </a></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GAI8NhG0O-lWl6V5XO0o8RRFbiWUsuS_vYAhmwOipVsn4NaubvyjyOuheFmBau_eV6hnqaw_FiV6fMcKlWQQ8KwR-QspnjiCFFRzp1dgsqkAfNrNlRIZkiiygO4goFKu82Wg9HFzEskgZs5GfTHyCVBY1PmBrgTRvt-wPXNc4qwySFBgnutL3qJ1Ndw/s600/mhaol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GAI8NhG0O-lWl6V5XO0o8RRFbiWUsuS_vYAhmwOipVsn4NaubvyjyOuheFmBau_eV6hnqaw_FiV6fMcKlWQQ8KwR-QspnjiCFFRzp1dgsqkAfNrNlRIZkiiygO4goFKu82Wg9HFzEskgZs5GfTHyCVBY1PmBrgTRvt-wPXNc4qwySFBgnutL3qJ1Ndw/s16000/mhaol.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Evanora:Unlimited
& Taraneh - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJd4Sn7xCeA">Salt Water</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HT8BT9R26xca65VKoJwbXNX7XA3KilbYHriOxV5sgFT8gyQbdCMicB5_oDkaQTca-HNUicw3Qq9upJ5X4IczI8L1RojNcOtfg0aT_WtLeU593V4A91qvMqdm06XjDNpEq2lWYLVmGls4Gli8qt5q0dSPW1GCdD59AFDRuOvt67iiwHHvDpW_kCLBlLI/s600/evanora.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HT8BT9R26xca65VKoJwbXNX7XA3KilbYHriOxV5sgFT8gyQbdCMicB5_oDkaQTca-HNUicw3Qq9upJ5X4IczI8L1RojNcOtfg0aT_WtLeU593V4A91qvMqdm06XjDNpEq2lWYLVmGls4Gli8qt5q0dSPW1GCdD59AFDRuOvt67iiwHHvDpW_kCLBlLI/s16000/evanora.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">h. pruz - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WU1fbyx1RQc">I Keep Changing</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioI6OWFzplvZo16g4AY1DbopPsDxFxd1ysKY4y2WV6zM_PL4NhsqZD_kOdLaSbiEp9V7p32fhdMBhMXFt8tiU1VibgQcF-o3pHRwy_hqX3lDjbhiiPxsBx_7JkzOmhl-Hznt8KgdTGZ_3skE5x8OsfH2nvE2W7pHhAGiBv6QN7-znuyw3v9286sN0F5lk/s600/h.pruz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioI6OWFzplvZo16g4AY1DbopPsDxFxd1ysKY4y2WV6zM_PL4NhsqZD_kOdLaSbiEp9V7p32fhdMBhMXFt8tiU1VibgQcF-o3pHRwy_hqX3lDjbhiiPxsBx_7JkzOmhl-Hznt8KgdTGZ_3skE5x8OsfH2nvE2W7pHhAGiBv6QN7-znuyw3v9286sN0F5lk/s16000/h.pruz.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Landrose – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usPsVLFVyZ4">Outlet</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumckID02z9GAZpCPBQK4bvJYFGQ3bBG3_IvaGIuSLCOzdIZTc4tHYtNHdRZO_0k3OrelJEkFyM1mXuB_H5JwTyLtJm_j9SJcmFjNop86ltaqzkMKsTRCUugUQRxI9lNuE5bQv91O5DMUM8WlDhoIEcteVdyJZluMbXHnBF-BSerEzbb1HI_gkR_ybIDg/s600/landrose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumckID02z9GAZpCPBQK4bvJYFGQ3bBG3_IvaGIuSLCOzdIZTc4tHYtNHdRZO_0k3OrelJEkFyM1mXuB_H5JwTyLtJm_j9SJcmFjNop86ltaqzkMKsTRCUugUQRxI9lNuE5bQv91O5DMUM8WlDhoIEcteVdyJZluMbXHnBF-BSerEzbb1HI_gkR_ybIDg/s16000/landrose.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Heavy
Feelings – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yplh1pEs_cI">Bootlicker</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSQpgPNuHX6OfOKgQeEOGYY_hMVk8uJksqkz36N2mwldbI1stNOU8OKAmYBxE8KTncniarhdGFUeSnwfEM8kdzBH65i-wyX4yBlF7wHBNZWQzlX3skIC35vc6XMH81i00ZZgWB5_ZKN-CXiK6KZU7QlNIOU7arPZkYgrz4fPDyUIOOYTHHVCi-RTU9DM/s600/heavy%20feelings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSQpgPNuHX6OfOKgQeEOGYY_hMVk8uJksqkz36N2mwldbI1stNOU8OKAmYBxE8KTncniarhdGFUeSnwfEM8kdzBH65i-wyX4yBlF7wHBNZWQzlX3skIC35vc6XMH81i00ZZgWB5_ZKN-CXiK6KZU7QlNIOU7arPZkYgrz4fPDyUIOOYTHHVCi-RTU9DM/s16000/heavy%20feelings.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Real Farmer
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsG-09eb8e4">Consequence</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5b9OjHJaF-Wy_vzc6U5MkAjf2YqiIuDar5bkBm8RpLqfF0xeTIqqdhLetR_9tfrCw3sc4Pe_6smBkCMOzitBqDtaXqHVfnsYRtV2G0vW4x5tTEen5xHoyYc85I-A_xH97M2kFfYAljkPV827I7Zs6-7Ilcy7LVewKNTCBAr-z7KoKcPgXmUhwLiGCJE/s600/real%20farmer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5b9OjHJaF-Wy_vzc6U5MkAjf2YqiIuDar5bkBm8RpLqfF0xeTIqqdhLetR_9tfrCw3sc4Pe_6smBkCMOzitBqDtaXqHVfnsYRtV2G0vW4x5tTEen5xHoyYc85I-A_xH97M2kFfYAljkPV827I7Zs6-7Ilcy7LVewKNTCBAr-z7KoKcPgXmUhwLiGCJE/s16000/real%20farmer.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Goat Girl -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLVTnYXdXoY">Ride Around</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixegF-3dEunhsY-wy_kCakWPFBdnaHHl_e1AAaLH7f1iEx3yIsk7FwHm6uWtbSmlKyblv2D7CyA_G3ju509itwCWQHSrPg7ZzUy7YlZ_scV3KEc1La178CCHx2OzmWF0BKlad9Y_qnroN9fIXRSWiCtVVoIHaQdhNOb4LTivlWzFAfNS9gZ4zOn2Jc3Ek/s600/goat%20gril.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixegF-3dEunhsY-wy_kCakWPFBdnaHHl_e1AAaLH7f1iEx3yIsk7FwHm6uWtbSmlKyblv2D7CyA_G3ju509itwCWQHSrPg7ZzUy7YlZ_scV3KEc1La178CCHx2OzmWF0BKlad9Y_qnroN9fIXRSWiCtVVoIHaQdhNOb4LTivlWzFAfNS9gZ4zOn2Jc3Ek/s16000/goat%20gril.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-88872026023006338622024-02-25T20:09:00.001+00:002024-02-25T20:09:45.605+00:00The Endangered Language Crisis<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXYYSVOha3jGLVxwkdD40cpEAmJ6NKW7GtSMx3S-1gB_b8tP_eM9csKqmk6homfQuS-GjUIfauObgfv94MY-TkJUDLGP3Vuw2SrjBtYp0f8ASvr4-CEv1G4QMkhXjrkNt3y6hRNKgvi6vjwGp2xAuIQ1Ctnru1U_ws37N1flYtDIJskyggmAlL4la8fc/s600/7952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXYYSVOha3jGLVxwkdD40cpEAmJ6NKW7GtSMx3S-1gB_b8tP_eM9csKqmk6homfQuS-GjUIfauObgfv94MY-TkJUDLGP3Vuw2SrjBtYp0f8ASvr4-CEv1G4QMkhXjrkNt3y6hRNKgvi6vjwGp2xAuIQ1Ctnru1U_ws37N1flYtDIJskyggmAlL4la8fc/s16000/7952.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the
heart of linguistics is a radical premise: all languages are equal. This
underlies everything we do at the Endangered Language Alliance, an eccentric
extended family of linguists, language activists, polyglots and ordinary
people, whose mission is to document endangered languages and support
linguistic diversity, especially in the world’s hyperdiverse cities.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Language is
a universal and democratic fact cutting across all human societies: no human
group is without it, and no language is superior to any other. More than race
or religion, language is a window on to the deepest levels of human diversity.
The familiar map of the world’s 200 or so nation-states is superficial compared
with the little-known map of its 7,000 languages. Some languages may specialise
in talking about melancholy, seaweed or atomic structure; some grammars may
glory in conjugating verbs while others bristle with syntactic invention.
Languages represent thousands of natural experiments: ways of seeing,
understanding and living that should form part of any meaningful account of
what it is to be human.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Users of
Sanskrit, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, Persian, Mandarin, English and the like
have continually proclaimed their languages holier, more perfect or more
adaptive than the unwritten, unstandardised “dialects” they look down on. But
from a linguistic point of view, no language as used by a native speaker is in
any way inferior, let alone broken. The vast majority have always been oral,
with written language a derivative of comparatively recent vintage, confined to
tiny elites in a small number of highly centralised societies. Writing is
palpably a trained technology of conscious coding, in comparison with the
natural and universal human behaviours of speaking and signing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perceptions
of linguistic superiority or inferiority are not based on anything about the
languages themselves, but on the power, class or status of the speakers. Every
language signed or spoken natively is a fully equipped system for handling the
core communicative demands of daily life, able to coin or borrow words as
needed. “Languages differ essentially in what they must convey and not in what
they may convey,” said the linguist and polyglot Roman Jakobson. In other
words: it’s possible to say anything in any language, but each language’s
grammar requires speakers to mark out certain parts of reality and not others,
however unconsciously. This is the essence of what makes linguistics
fascinating and revealing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All
languages may be equal in the abstract, but much harder to bridge are the
social and historical disparities among their speakers. At present, about half
of all languages are spoken by communities of 10,000 or fewer, and hundreds
have just 10 speakers or fewer. On every continent, the median number of speakers
for a language is below 1,000, and in Australia this figure goes as low as 87.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today,
these numbers reflect serious endangerment, and even languages with hundreds of
thousands or a few million speakers can be considered vulnerable. In the past,
however, small language communities could be quite stable, especially
hunter-gatherer groups, which typically comprised fewer than 1,000 people.
Likewise, most older sign languages, now critically endangered, evolved in
so-called deaf villages, where the incidence of hereditary deafness in the
population was significantly higher than elsewhere, though still rarely more
than about 2%. Many hearing people in these villages could also sign, but the
core group of signers was typically several hundred at most.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In general,
sheer speaker or signer numbers have always mattered less than
intergenerational transmission. A small language can apparently remain strong
for centuries as long as parents, grandparents and other caregivers are using
it with children. Take Gurr-Goni, an Aboriginal language from north-central
Arnhem Land in Australia, which has had just several dozen speakers as far back
as anyone can remember. Far from being an isolated group, Gurr-Goni speakers
maintained their language in a context of multilingual equilibrium, where each
“father tongue” was integrally connected with certain ancestral lands and
natural resources. It’s this kind of equilibrium that has been vanishing fast
as colonial and national languages take over.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But why
does linguistic diversity matter in the first place? For a linguist, the answer
is clear enough: little-documented, primarily oral languages are often the ones
with the most to teach us about the nature and possibilities of human
communication more generally. Without the Khoisan languages of southern Africa,
we wouldn’t know how extensively and expressively clicks could be used. Without
Warao, spoken in Guyana, Venezuela and Suriname, we wouldn’t know that
object-subject-verb could be the routine way of ordering a sentence. Without
the Hmong-Mien languages of south-east Asia, we wouldn’t know that a language
could have a dozen tones.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But it’s
also what the languages carry inside them: the poetry, literature, jokes,
proverbs and turns of phrase. The oral histories, the local and environmental
knowledge, the wisdom, and the lifeways. Only a fraction of this ever can or
will be translated into other languages.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If this
still sounds theoretical, consider even more immediate, practical consequences.
A growing body of research shows that there is no substitute for mother-tongue
education, and that language maintenance is an integral component of physical
and mental well-being – perhaps especially so for long-marginalised Indigenous
and minority peoples.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For this is
the crux of it: languages are not “dying natural deaths”, but being hounded out
of existence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Like
biodiversity, linguistic diversity remains strongest today in remote and rugged
regions traditionally beyond the reach of empires and nation states: mountain
ranges like the Himalayas and the Caucasus; archipelagoes like Indonesia and
the Solomons; and what were once zones of refuge like the Amazon, southern
Mexico, Papua New Guinea and parts of west and central Africa. But these too
are now under tremendous pressure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Language
has always been the companion of empire,” wrote Antonio de Nebrija in his 1492
Gramática Castellana, which aimed to raise vernacular Castilian Spanish to the
level of Latin and other imperial languages, just in time for European
conquests across the globe. Though languages have always changed and come and
gone, the scope for linguistic imperialism has widened exponentially since
Nebrija’s day. A comparatively small number of empires and nation states, now
bristling with 24/7 communication and education systems, cover every inch of
the Earth. Worldwide, centuries of imperialism, capitalism, urbanisation,
environmental destruction and nation building are now coming to a head
linguistically. With power behind them, a few hundred languages keep growing and
getting all the resources, while the other 95% struggle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Particularly
dominant are just a few dozen languages of wider communication, less politely
called “killer languages”. English, Spanish and Chinese are on the march, but
so are Nepali and Brazilian Portuguese. These languages are spreading through
political, economic and cultural conquest, and the consequences are seeping
into everything. At the same time, only under extraordinary circumstances are a
few new languages emerging, such as Light Warlpiri, which developed out of
mixing English and the Aboriginal language Warlpiri in Australia’s Northern
Territory.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlUN6tUYoQU4nY-4MFMLI9GNY0T8yJg5esZrpQwIN6RnTxb7SynGDn-oX-i-7K6R5wX9oJz2v4YvWKi780Qr9qUYdnjSXdIxR4pS4gIkBBnxiX2A4LGDp_-NrXZtXIFyKGMEGAC6VLJc6dbsl8t43c7aPnQBL5YQmNUYpNud4PY4-zIYj4Uew2krNGwQ/s600/39833636-9306691-image-m-24_1614428390445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlUN6tUYoQU4nY-4MFMLI9GNY0T8yJg5esZrpQwIN6RnTxb7SynGDn-oX-i-7K6R5wX9oJz2v4YvWKi780Qr9qUYdnjSXdIxR4pS4gIkBBnxiX2A4LGDp_-NrXZtXIFyKGMEGAC6VLJc6dbsl8t43c7aPnQBL5YQmNUYpNud4PY4-zIYj4Uew2krNGwQ/s16000/39833636-9306691-image-m-24_1614428390445.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
anglophone settler societies such as the US and Canada, genocide, expulsion,
disease and every form of prejudice and pressure exerted on Native peoples have
profoundly altered the linguistic landscape. About half of the 300 distinct
languages once spoken north of the Rio Grande have already been silenced, and
most of those remaining are no longer actively used, with under 10 native
speakers. Only a few of the largest, including </span><span lang="EN-GB">ᏣᎳᎩ</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> (Cherokee), Diné Bizaad (Navajo) and Yup’ik can in any way be
considered “safe”, though profoundly embattled, for the coming decades. Likewise,
most of the hundreds of Aboriginal languages once spoken in Australia are
either no longer spoken or else down to small clusters of elderly speakers,
with just a few still heroically being transmitted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dominant-language
speakers opine that everything would be easier and better (and peace on Earth!)
if everyone would just speak their particular dominant language. But common
languages don’t unify in and of themselves – look at many of the world’s civil
wars, or the deep divisions in anglophone American society today. The
imaginative challenge of big differences is quickly replaced with the
narcissism of small ones: scrutinising other people’s accents, sociolects, word
choice, tone of voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The spheres
of use for smaller languages and nonstandard varieties are continually
shrinking: they often emerge only in private, yielding as soon as a speaker
steps outside. Now the shift is happening inside homes as well. Families around
the world are hitching their fate to English and other dominant languages – abandoning
not just words, but vast traditions of gesture, intonation, facial expression,
conversational style and perhaps even the culture and character behind all
these. Only in the face of intense political, economic, religious or social
pressures do people stop passing on their mother tongues to children, but today
these pressures are everywhere. The disruption of this basic natural process
has come to feel almost normal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course
English in particular, supercharged by business, pop culture and the internet
after centuries of colonial expansion, is the real empire of our time – far
more fluid and influential than any political entity. Many English speakers go
their entire lives without encountering anything significant they can’t do or
get in their language. Whatever the power dynamics of any given conversation,
English is pure linguistic privilege, the reserve currency of communication.
The push to learn it is an event of planetary significance, swelling a
linguistic community of going on half a billion native English speakers
worldwide, plus another 1 or 2 billion who know it as a second language. These
numbers are growing every day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Many people
think the world, or at least their corner of it, is growing ever more diverse,
but monolinguals are increasingly in charge. The monolingual mindset, bone-deep
in almost every anglophone American, blocks any real urgency about other
languages. A multilingual childhood, only now widely recognised as an
inestimable cognitive advantage, can add a whole dimension to someone’s
understanding of the world, with a sense of linguistic and cultural
perspective. But to do it right, especially for monolingual parents, can
require serious effort and resources.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What should
a monolingual person do? Every time someone speaks, they embody an inherited
chain of choices. It can be profoundly useful to be a native speaker of the
dominant dialect of a dominant language. Representing the associated
“mainstream” culture with every sound means being able to talk to many and
sound good to most. Rarely does a dominant-language monolingual need to speak
anyone else’s language, and it counts as a charming attempt if they do, a mark
of open-mindedness and sophistication or an advanced party trick. Since reading
and writing usually hew close to the dominant dialect, book learning is that
much easier. A person “without an accent” is by default considered to be
smarter or better educated as soon as they open their mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet people
intensely aware of privilege based on gender, race, class or sexuality seldom
consider their linguistic privilege. English or Spanish or Mandarin or Urdu may
just seem like the air you breathe. The only cure for monolingualism is to
learn other human languages, but it’s at least a start to learn about them,
from those who speak them. Maybe there should be a special kind of therapy for
monolinguals, where you have to sit listening to a language you can’t
understand, without translation but with total patience.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jgETCE5SSYJ1UyCB5BPMDLAOzsYhnjgmEftigUHqfiNONTeDv5ia_CINFFRZLfucAcuBtka1OOC1qLup5RRDTXkKY_qiEIgY-MDVtTtNfiqDHd7U6qatidHvjpqPvip9X3ba_VVnVzdymYffNIMX7HoqIb3YWFzmFUlG5eWqfsVbLUlBFacrZuvFSao/s600/KhoiSan-Ouma-Katrina-5-mh9hgdfgpvgb8nb2289062qi8pn6y0i9iywzjclxsw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jgETCE5SSYJ1UyCB5BPMDLAOzsYhnjgmEftigUHqfiNONTeDv5ia_CINFFRZLfucAcuBtka1OOC1qLup5RRDTXkKY_qiEIgY-MDVtTtNfiqDHd7U6qatidHvjpqPvip9X3ba_VVnVzdymYffNIMX7HoqIb3YWFzmFUlG5eWqfsVbLUlBFacrZuvFSao/s16000/KhoiSan-Ouma-Katrina-5-mh9hgdfgpvgb8nb2289062qi8pn6y0i9iywzjclxsw.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For an
academic linguist, this is an occupational hazard. On first meeting, a speaker
knows you don’t know their language, but there is a useful ambiguity. If not
learning languages, what exactly does a linguist do? Sound systems are entire
ecosystems for the ear, but even on an initial listen you can try to make out
the shapes of syllables, the qualities of vowels, the puff of aspiration, the
bent tongue of a retroflex. There may be clues in the intonation patterns:
variations in pitch, rhythm, loudness, voice quality or the length of sounds,
which convey not only vibes, but essential information, like how rising pitch
in English can signal a yes-no question. Under the rush of unfamiliar sound,
flowing at hundreds of syllables a minute, you try to hold back from the
scramble for meaning and suss out the structure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From the
glottis to the lips, the whole tract where spoken language happens is just five
or six inches long. Across evolutionary eons, a space for eating and breathing
gradually took on linguistic uses, not just anywhere but at certain places of
articulation: the lips, the teeth, the alveolar ridge, the hard palate and the
soft one behind it, the uvula that hangs like a little grape above the throat,
the pharynx and the larynx. The tongue – that near-universal symbol of language
– darts and bends to make contact wherever it can. For signers, it happens in
the hands. (In what follows, I use terms such as speech and oral for the sake
of simplicity, but virtually everything here also applies to sign languages.)
There are also whistled languages, drum languages and many other ways of
emulating speech across space.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To document
and describe languages while there is still time ought to be the first task for
a linguist. Yet a linguist’s moment of discovery is also almost always the
moment of grasping a disappearance. For any outsider claiming to “discover” any
human society or culture or language – that is, announcing the existence of
some smaller group to the ruthlessly joined-up juggernaut sometimes known as
“us” – is also arriving at, and bound up in, the moment of its destruction. The
same forces that bring an outside linguist in are bringing everything else as
well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
organised movement to preserve the world’s languages is recent. In 1992, the
linguist Michael Krauss warned that linguistics would “go down in history as
the only science that presided obliviously over the disappearance of 90% of the
very field to which it is dedicated”. This helped light the spark. Inspired by
the new push for biodiversity and the growing movement for Indigenous rights, a
cohort of linguists and language activists vowed to use new technologies to
record and preserve as much as possible of the world’s vanishing linguistic
heritage. Ideally, speakers record and document their own languages, and this
is now increasingly common.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Language
documentation may sound like an obvious priority for linguistics, but it flies
in the face of what most linguists have been focusing on for the past 70 years:
language, not languages. Following Noam Chomsky, most have been chasing
theoretical and computational questions, seeing themselves as Martians trying
to document an essentially uniform language called Earthling. Their evidence
has come mostly from the largest languages, which happen to be the dominant ones
they’re familiar with. Few meaningful universals have emerged from all the
armchair theorising and laboratory testing. Theory has its place, of course,
but it’s essential that languages be documented on their own terms. The real
view from Mars, it turns out, is that linguistic diversity on Earth is far more
profound and fundamental than previously imagined.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the same
time, there is an essential toolkit that every language should have: a
substantial dictionary, a detailed grammatical description, and a
representative corpus of recorded stories, oral histories and other texts
showing the language in action, and at least partially transcribed, translated,
analysed and archived. To the extent that speakers are willing, these materials
should be maximally accessible and archived for posterity. Speakers of larger
languages take for granted effectively limitless resources in and about their
languages. Forget Siri, speech recognition, automatic translation, spellcheck
and other nifty tools: imagine not having a dictionary, any established way of
writing or any authority on the language at all, aside from an elder you have
to find and ask in person.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s one
thing to help build arks, or at least archives, but linguists don’t and can’t
“save” languages. By definition, every language is limitless as long as
speakers are still speaking it or signers are signing it. No language ends on
the last page of a dictionary. From a finite number of sounds, words, rules and
techniques, speakers form an infinite number of utterances. There is no single
way that a community “really speaks”, nor any one authoritative type of data to
preserve for all time. Language is too fluid.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately,
many linguists also dwell on damaging, defeatist abstractions about language
“death” and “extinction” while Indigenous scholars state clearly that
oppression is the threat, and that reclaiming Indigenous languages is about
liberation and recovery from historical trauma. Linguistics, like anthropology,
has skeletons in its disciplinary closet. Fighting for endangered languages can
only mean fighting on the side of their speakers and signers, and ultimately
it’s always up to communities whether and how to keep using their languages.
Some have been struggling to do so for centuries; others are less concerned. Of
course, there are not only pressures, but also always enticements to learn a
dominant language, which may grant access, however limited, to the dominant
culture’s resources.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">For some
members, the breakdown of a traditional community may feel like emancipation;
for others, a disaster. Whether it’s a matter of survival or a question of
common sense, the logic of abandoning a smaller mother tongue for work,
education, migration, marriage or any number of other reasons can seem
unassailable. Once-valued or ingrained connections to ancestors, traditions,
territories and knowledge systems can easily seem irrelevant, obscure or simply
impossible to access under contemporary conditions.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s a
powerful-sounding truism, but not quite true, that language and culture are
inextricably linked, since group identities in some cases persist after the
loss of a language. Nor should anyone feel forced to stay within any particular
culture. What matters is that individuals and communities have meaningful
options for how they relate to their linguistic pasts and construct their
linguistic futures. Given the normal and natural human capacity for
multilingualism, maintaining a less widely spoken language need not preclude
learning a more widely spoken one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are
now hundreds of language revitalisation movements around the world, most
launched in just the past few decades, creating a wealth of experience for
others to draw on. It can feel like nearly impossible work, where even a single
new speaker of a highly endangered language counts as a serious triumph,
requiring years of dedication. At the same time, scattered speakers are now
finding one another in virtual spaces, where language learning options are
multiplying and reality-augmenting and artificial intelligence possibilities
are on the horizon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If one
critical ingredient has been missing from language revitalisation movements, it
is real financial, political, and technical support from majority populations.
Speakers of endangered languages almost never encounter outside interest in or
knowledge about their languages, while persecution, mockery, and stigma are
still common. To the extent that language policy or discussion is on the agenda
at all, it relates to specific points of conflict in a few dominant languages,
not the collapse of linguistic diversity itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For the
revivers of endangered languages, a sense of radical futility may be waiting
round the bend of every utterance. Where will I speak this? Who will understand
me? Who can even tell me if I’m speaking correctly? Will I ever start thinking
in the language? When almost no one else is doing it, matching a string of
sounds to a meaning can seem downright arbitrary. And yet it is only after
ingesting masses of often arbitrary-seeming words that people can process or
produce them at speed, and only then that they can start feeling the
indescribable sense of what it is to live in a particular language – just as an
actor needs to get her lines down cold before even starting to get into
character. To try to communicate with what is no longer a tool of communication
– to resurrect a whole worldview that is almost over the horizon – is a
wonderful madness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is an
edited extract from Language City: The Fight to Preserve Endangered Mother
Tongues, published by Grove Press UK on 7 March.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Disappearing
tongues: the endangered language crisis. By Ross Perlin. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/science/2024/feb/22/disappearing-tongues-the-endangered-language-crisis">The Guardian</a>, February
22, 2024. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5D7u2SLTtitGotMf-kC20OJ8HoUMQbJFjejBURtF2v9OUbQeDQWOFyrx-k3H_EqfSoEOizpOkixqXIwhXKkIPHH7rRfxllRhnn86uiwVtwz6IeRZZagh8OqLXLFdt92Zyd10ZNBNQiKt_3FdJD0jlDuedtsjiMW21hFj1-wbJ4d1M7pxV1VkLzZ15bbc/s938/188541903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="938" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5D7u2SLTtitGotMf-kC20OJ8HoUMQbJFjejBURtF2v9OUbQeDQWOFyrx-k3H_EqfSoEOizpOkixqXIwhXKkIPHH7rRfxllRhnn86uiwVtwz6IeRZZagh8OqLXLFdt92Zyd10ZNBNQiKt_3FdJD0jlDuedtsjiMW21hFj1-wbJ4d1M7pxV1VkLzZ15bbc/s16000/188541903.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
“Language City,” the linguist Ross Perlin chronicles some of the precious
traditions hanging on in the world’s most linguistically diverse metropolis.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Up on the sixth floor of an old commercial
building along the sunless canyon of 18th Street, there is a room where
languages from all over the world converge.” It makes sense that the Endangered
Language Alliance, the only organization in the world focused on “the
linguistic diversity of cities,” lives here, in a donated office in the most
linguistically diverse metropolis on earth. It is also here that Ross Perlin
begins “Language City,” his gorgeous new narrative of New York, as told through
the hundreds of languages spoken in its five boroughs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On any
given day, the E.L.A.’s cramped office bursts with people singing in
Bishnupriya Manipuri (originally from Bangladesh), writing in Tsou (Taiwan) and
recording in Ikota (Gabon). A caller from the Bronx, with a voice “full of
longing,” seeks recordings of the language he left at the Mali-Burkina Faso
border when he was 7.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perlin, the
co-director of the E.L.A. and an accomplished linguist himself, explains that
up to half of the world’s 7,000 languages are likely to die over the next few
centuries. But his book is less a lament for the deaths of endangered languages
than an account of how, like their speakers, they have built new lives in a
place where half the residents speak a language other than English at home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perlin
retells the familiar story of the city through the lens of its exceptional
linguistic history, beginning with Indigenous languages like Lenape (in which
Manaháhtaan means “the place where we get bows”). Early settlers included the
first 32 Walloon families to live permanently in New Amsterdam and enslaved
Kikongo speakers from the Kingdom of the Kongo.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While
Massachusetts and Virginia were “fanatically intolerant English-only colonies,”
New Amsterdam did not seem to care; in 1643, a priest wrote of finding 18
languages among just a few hundred men. New Yorke soon boasted not just
languages like English, Spanish, French and Russian, but also Basque and
Breton, Catalan and Maltese. Some 200 years later, the Hart-Celler Act of 1965,
which ended longstanding national-origin immigration quotas, helped make
Bengali and Urdu two of the city’s most widely spoken languages.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Throughout,
Perlin never misses the chance to reinforce a key point: The history of New
York’s lesser-known languages is also that of the traumas of many speakers.
Some fled genocide (as in the cases of Western Armenian and Judeo-Greek),
others mass deportation (languages of the North Caucuses), racial violence
(Gullah, an English-based Creole) or starvation (Irish). Linguistic minorities
“have been overrepresented in diaspora,” Perlin points out, because they are
“hit hardest by conflict, catastrophe and privation and thus impelled to leave.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perlin’s
excellent account of the present-day city chronicles six New Yorkers all
working, in some way, to extend the lives of their languages. This includes
Rasmina, who takes Perlin to “380,” a six-story apartment building in Flatbush
that has housed over 100 of the world’s 700 speakers of Seke, a Tibetan-Burman
language. Ibrahima runs a website in N’ko, a West African alphabet created in
1949, and Irwin writes poetry in Nahuatl, an Indigenous language he absorbed
while listening in at his grandfather’s grocery store in Mexico.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Husniya
plans children’s books in Wakhi, a Pamiri language spoken where Tajikistan,
Pakistan, Afghanistan and China meet. Dianne, probably the last native speaker
of Lenape, tells Perlin wistfully, “Now there’s nowhere to hear the language
outside the walls of my head.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s hard
to be hopeful. Intergenerational transfer of endangered languages is
particularly difficult. Still, Perlin builds a compelling case for why
preserving them matters not just for the speakers, but for humanity itself.
It’s an argument he lives in his own life. (I invite you, too, to binge-watch
Perlin’s fascinating YouTube dispatches from China — in Yiddish.) But change is
inevitable. As Perlin says, “Someday English, too, will be down to its last speaker.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">About
halfway through reading “Language City,” I reached for the Bible, looking for
the story of the Tower of Babel. I knew the basics of the Genesis story: At a
time when the world had “one language and a common speech,” the people of Babel
decided to build a city, with a tower reaching to heaven. God disapproved and
“confused” their language “so they would not understand each other.” Work on
the city — and the tower — halted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I’d
forgotten what happened next: God scattered the people of Babel over the face
of the earth. “Language City” is a deft refutation of this parable’s moral. Far
from scattering, people have instead converged on the city, bringing their
words with them. And New York’s towers have never risen higher.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Language
City: The Fight to Preserve Endangered Mother Tongues in New York | By Ross
Perlin | Atlantic Monthly Press | 415 pp. | $28.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How To
Speak New York. By Deirdre Mask. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/19/books/review/language-city-ross-perlin.html">The New York Times</a>, February 19, 2024. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHCXX2Dow3rALFxZjGuTGZtMEPpjKv7tUyi8jI9ZS3kEW9AGaUVUkPA73qMMOEUHGFZ7lNmeMQCV-DYtrsYKC02Ob6yrKAfq4QqJ2ONL8IvvO1thViGxF-waITKG9wBD0NQ5dEDqCCFMl2np12Y277lRa4qW_9ClKY_Zjz_ryQaxOUGhpogvsi_WAgMk/s600/Endangered-Language-Alliance-NYC-Language-Diversity-Map-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHCXX2Dow3rALFxZjGuTGZtMEPpjKv7tUyi8jI9ZS3kEW9AGaUVUkPA73qMMOEUHGFZ7lNmeMQCV-DYtrsYKC02Ob6yrKAfq4QqJ2ONL8IvvO1thViGxF-waITKG9wBD0NQ5dEDqCCFMl2np12Y277lRa4qW_9ClKY_Zjz_ryQaxOUGhpogvsi_WAgMk/s16000/Endangered-Language-Alliance-NYC-Language-Diversity-Map-3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most people
think of endangered languages as far-flung or exotic, the opposite of
cosmopolitan. “You go to some distant mountain or island, and you collect
stories,” the linguist Ross Perlin says, describing a typical view of how such
languages are studied. But of the 700 or so speakers of Seke, most of whom can
be found in a cluster of villages in Nepal, more than 150 have lived in or
around two apartment buildings in Brooklyn. Bishnupriya Manipuri, a minority
language of Bangladesh and India, has become a minority language of Queens.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All told,
there are more endangered languages in and around New York City than have ever
existed anywhere else, says Perlin, who has spent 11 years trying to document
them. And because most of the world’s languages are on a path to disappear
within the next century, there will likely never be this many in any single
place again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Language
loss has been a natural part of human history for centuries, but it was
typically small in scale and relatively confined. The lost language could
sometimes leave traces in the language that overtook it, what linguists have
called a “grammatical merger” of intersecting societies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">About 30
years ago, though, the linguists Ken Hale and Michael Krauss warned of a new,
more dire form of loss in which a dominant language would “simply overwhelm
Indigenous, local languages and cultures.” Hundreds of languages were
essentially gone, Krauss noted, and others were quickly fading. Several were
spoken by as few as one or two people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As Perlin
writes in his new book — “Language City: The Fight to Preserve Endangered
Mother Tongues in New York,” out this month — what stands to be lost is more
than mere words. “Languages represent thousands of natural experiments: ways of
seeing, understanding and living that should rightly form a major part of any
meaningful account of what it is to be human.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With Daniel
Kaufman, also a linguist, Perlin directs the Endangered Language Alliance, in
Manhattan. When E.L.A. was founded, in 2010, Perlin lived in the Chinese
Himalayas, where he studied Trung, a language with no standard writing system,
dictionary or codified grammar. (His work helped establish all three.) He spent
most of his time in the valley where the largest group of remaining speakers
lived; the only road in or out was impassable in winter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After three
years, Perlin returned to New York City, where he had grown up. At that time,
E.L.A. conducted language surveys on foot, canvassing neighborhoods and posting
fliers seeking speakers of endangered languages. Most of the work was directed
by the organization’s founders: two linguists, including Kaufman, and a poet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2016,
E.L.A. began to map the languages spoken in the city. A vast majority were not
recognized by large businesses, schools or city government. Officially, Perlin
said, they were simply not there. “None of the communities with whom we planned
to partner were recorded as even existing in the census,” Kaufman and Perlin
later wrote.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Since their
project began, Perlin and Kaufman have located speakers of more than 700
languages. Of those languages, at least 150 are listed as under significant
threat in at least one of three major databases for the field. Perlin and
Kaufman consider that figure to be conservative, and Perlin estimates that more
than half of the languages they documented may be endangered.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A
language’s endangerment is not simply a function of its size but also a measure
of its relationship to the societies around it. Sheer numbers “have always
mattered less than intergenerational transmission,” Perlin writes in “Language
City.” Until recently, in many regions of the world, dozens of languages lived
side by side, each with no more than a few thousand speakers. Gurr-goni, an
Aboriginal Australian language, had long been stable with 70. A language
survives, Perlin writes, by sharing life with those who speak it: “Only in the
face of intense political, economic, religious or social pressures do people
stop passing on their mother tongues to children.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Perlin
visited Seke-speaking Nepali villages in 2019 and 2023, he found that many of
the people he wanted to speak with had left to find work. “Whole age groups
were missing,” he says. Kaufman points to Mixtec, a group of Indigenous
languages spoken in south-central Mexico, with 500,000 speakers. The
differences in how the language is spoken from village to village can be
“bigger than you find between French and Italian,” he said. “And there are
villages where there are essentially no young people.” Their children are now
born elsewhere — Culiacán, Mexico City, New York, Los Angeles. “500,000
speakers can disappear in a generation.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perlin
studies languages for what they communicate both explicitly and indirectly. A
language’s lexicon is not “just one word after another,” he writes in “Language
City,” but a representation of the enduring preoccupations of a culture. Its
rules of grammar are held together by invisible selections of what will be
conveyed and what will be overlooked. It “requires speakers to mark out certain
parts of reality and not others, however unconsciously.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Perlin
and Kaufman document a language, they work alongside native speakers to
transcribe and translate video interviews that are recorded locally and during
trips to a language’s home region. (Perlin and Kaufman have helped produce some
of the first dictionaries and grammars of these languages.) To document Seke,
for example, Perlin works with Rasmina Gurung, a 26-year-old nurse who happens
to be one of the youngest Seke speakers in the world. Most Seke speakers, about
500 people, live across five neighboring villages in northern Nepal, near
Tibet. Though the villages are within walking distance, each has developed its
own Seke dialect. Like many of the smaller languages of “traditional
face-to-face societies,” Perlin writes, Seke has no “formal, all-purpose
hello,” because villagers live among the same groups of people and rarely
encounter a Seke-speaking stranger. Instead, a question — Where are you going?
What are you doing? — would be more common.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When E.L.A.
researchers travel to interview speakers in their home regions, they may begin
with a list of common questions, but the conversations are often more
free-form. “Whatever the speakers want to talk about the most, we always
encourage that,” Gurung says. “We always want to understand the language
better, but we need to understand where it came from, how it came to be.
Whatever’s close to home.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">As E.L.A.
produced its first language maps, the institute’s work caught the eye of Thelma
Carrillo, a research scientist in the city’s Health Department. Carrillo, who
is part Zapotec, was working on a Latino health initiative, but the city had
what Perlin and Kaufman found to be “no basic demographic information” on New
Yorkers from Indigenous communities in Latin America, even though they have
been migrating here in large numbers since the 1990s.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We found
ourselves in this odd position of being a conduit between the Indigenous Latin
Americans of the city and the city agencies, because other organizations that
work with them see them as Mexican or Guatemalan,” Kaufman says. “We’re working
with their languages, which becomes extremely important when you need to
communicate something to them.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By the
start of the pandemic, the city had begun official outreach in nine Indigenous
languages and recorded videos in several other endangered languages. By
reaching these communities in their own languages, New York City offered what
is almost certainly the first official recognition that they exist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Still,
Perlin and Kaufman are keenly aware that the corpus they are building — word by
word and sometimes syllable by syllable — might someday turn out to be a kind
of fossil record.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Outside of
the office, Gurung mostly speaks Seke in voice notes to elders overseas or to
tell her mother a secret she doesn’t want her sister to hear. On her first trip
to Nepal with E.L.A., she ended every interview with the same question: “Do you
think our language will survive?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Methodology<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The maps
showing endangered languages in New York City are based on a map provided by
the Endangered Language Alliance. We cross-referenced E.L.A.’s New York City
language list with three independent databases that track the threat level of
languages around the world: Ethnologue, which catalogs all known living
languages in the world; UNESCO’s World Atlas of Languages, a survey of all the
languages spoken in UNESCO member states; and the Endangered Languages Project,
a site to which the public can contribute content, managed by the First
Peoples’ Cultural Council and the Endangered Languages Catalogue (ELCat)
project at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. Each of these projects determines
how threatened a language is in a slightly different way. Criteria include the
number of global speakers and whether multiple generations speak the language
and are passing it on to the next. Additional languages were added in
consultation with E.L.A.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The audio
clips are excerpts from audio provided by E.L.A., which also provided the
translations. In one instance, small adjustments to the translation were made
to provide context that would have been clear to the speaker. The translation
for Ibrahima Traore's remarks comes from Coleman Donaldson.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Endangered Languages of New York. By Alex Carp. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2024/02/22/magazine/endangered-languages-nyc.html">The New York Times Magazine</a>, February 22, 2024. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUKXON0ifTBVeqRgT29fMd1FUy_nAyKaA-IfY7j4vReFuGEq46dweobKccwe_TxRbYNUfpObZphPtRCZipVMLg8BEwbHfFEodPwZXzGv-eJiRCBzMt1wdxzvQsE1o09KgD8rPCckWvpnrd3uQGpiWNnu9s16TS_hEfO-EEt7SdJbWdHclaRHkhyphenhyphenZttLw/s600/Lunaape-Class-May-1024x768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUKXON0ifTBVeqRgT29fMd1FUy_nAyKaA-IfY7j4vReFuGEq46dweobKccwe_TxRbYNUfpObZphPtRCZipVMLg8BEwbHfFEodPwZXzGv-eJiRCBzMt1wdxzvQsE1o09KgD8rPCckWvpnrd3uQGpiWNnu9s16TS_hEfO-EEt7SdJbWdHclaRHkhyphenhyphenZttLw/s16000/Lunaape-Class-May-1024x768.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once a
month, on the sixth floor of an old Manhattan office building, about a dozen
people gather to try to speak one of the island’s original languages. Our
teacher is Karen Hunter, who learned Lenape as an adult on a tribal reserve in
Ontario, in the company of the last native speakers and the first revivalists.
For more than a decade, she has been driving up to ten hours to and from New
York and other locales to share what she knows, without compensation, with
indigenous people (Ramapo, Matinecock, Montaukett) and interested others. These
sessions at the Endangered Language Alliance, the nonprofit I codirect, may
represent the first time Lenape has been taught in the city since the
eighteenth century, when almost all of its speakers were driven out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today,
colonial settler cities such as New York, Sydney, and Vancouver are among the
most multilingual in history. Walking through their streets, you’ll hear
Spanish, Tagalog, and Hebrew, but you’ll never encounter autochthonous
languages like Lenape (New York), Darug (Sydney), or Squamish (Vancouver). Our
cities’ remarkable diversity was preceded by acts of expulsion and
dispossession that destroyed long histories of earlier settlement along with
the languages that made settlement possible. If patterns continue, nearly half of
the world’s approximately six thousand languages could be silenced, the
planetary cultural collapse mirroring the ongoing elimination of plant and
animal species.1 Anglophone settler societies like the United States constitute
the center of the emergency. As many as half of the three hundred languages
once spoken by the indigenous peoples of North America are already effectively
gone, and fewer than twenty of those remaining—major languages like Cherokee,
Navajo, and Yup’ik—are predicted to survive the coming decades.2 Likewise,
after centuries of systematic disenfranchisement, many First Nations languages
in Canada and Aboriginal languages in Australia are now spoken only by small
clusters of elderly people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Karen’s
Lenape sessions are part of an unprecedented, decentralized global effort at
cultural reclamation, which crystallized when the United Nations declared 2019
the International Year of Indigenous Languages. Activists from hundreds of
communities around the world, many of them very small in number, are
intensifying the pioneering twentieth-century models of language renewal, such
as those that swelled the population of speakers of Hebrew, Basque, Welsh, and
Māori. Passing the language on to children at home is critical to any
revitalization effort, but it can be crushingly difficult. Successful
alternative approaches include the Master-Apprentice Language Learning Program,
developed in California in 1993 and now spreading to Canada and Australia,
which pairs older speakers with younger learners for ten or more hours per
week. All participants are paid and immersed in the language outside the
classroom, ideally in hands-on, culturally relevant settings. The grassroots,
activist-driven Hawaiian-language movement, another remarkable model, has built
an entire education system from the ground up, offering everything from
“language nests” for preschoolers to graduate studies in Hawaiian. The Welsh
are using poetry and music to renew their language (still famously robust,
given its geographic proximity to language-killing English).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Reawakening
dormant languages requires extraordinary acts of coordination—administrative,
social, and emotional—but it is possible. Take jessie “little doe” baird, a
Wôpanâak woman who, when pregnant with her fifth child, Mae Alice, had a vision
of reviving her ancestral language—the first tongue the Pilgrims encountered in
coastal Massachusetts, which had been without speakers for more than a century.
baird studied linguistics at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, then spent
the next twenty-six years leading a revival of Wôpanâak; Mae Alice is the first
Wôpanâak-speaking child in generations. In Ohio, activist Daryl Baldwin has
spearheaded the revival of Myaamia, dormant since the 1960s, first teaching it
to himself, his wife, and their four children. Common to both community-led
efforts was meticulous linguistic research that fed into the creation of
immersion programs focused on fostering fluent new speakers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Documentary
records play a crucial role, especially when there are no living native
speakers. In the early twentieth century, the American linguist J. P.
Harrington collected approximately thirteen hundred recordings of ninety
American Indian languages on fragile wax cylinders and aluminum discs.
Harrington was a complex figure, but he was dedicated to languages, and he
worked closely with native speakers for extended periods. For many American
Indian language activists, the road to revival begins with Harrington’s
archive, which is housed at the Smithsonian. Over the past twenty-five years, a
new generation of linguists has followed in Harrington’s footsteps, creating
the subdiscipline of language documentation and producing audio and video
recordings, dictionaries, grammar manuals, and articles on an unprecedented scale,
all of which feed the revitalization movement. Yet these initiatives are not
without complications: Tensions between community goals and outsider or
academic methods have moved many linguists to recalibrate, and much linguistic
research on smaller communities is still undertaken by missionaries motivated
by the dream of translating the Gospel. The gold standard is the native-speaker
linguist from the community, but there are often tensions within communities,
too. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Globally,
language revitalization is both a product and a symbol of the half-century-old
“demographic revolution” occurring in indigenous communities of the United
States, Canada, Brazil, and elsewhere, from the Sámi of Scandinavia to the
Mapuche of Chile and western Argentina. After centuries of decimation,
indigenous groups are growing at a far greater pace than the general
population, due not only to high birth rates but also to changing attitudes
toward these cultures, which has led more people from mixed backgrounds to
proudly acknowledge their indigenous roots. Official recognition of a
language—whether it’s Tamazight (Berber) in Algeria or all twenty native
languages of Alaska—can be useful for a community’s perceived strength, but
rising incomes, political autonomy, and principled policies are also essential
to any population’s tangible gains.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Urbanization
is the linchpin of linguistic maintenance and revitalization. If smaller
languages are to survive, they will have to do so in cities, where the majority
of humanity now lives. An estimated 50 percent of indigenous people reside in
urban areas—from the Mohawk steelworkers of Brooklyn to the residents of the
Little Earth housing complex in Minneapolis to those living in the Toba barrio
in Buenos Aires—where their families may have been settled for generations, or
where they may have been forced to relocate. In some countries, such as Canada,
Brazil, Bolivia, and Chile, the ratio is reported to be even higher. These
communities often remain invisible to outsiders, and in some places, such as “the
Block” in the Sydney suburb of Redfern, they are threatened again by
redevelopment. Even so, in both Canada and Australia, the urban indigenous
population is increasing much faster than the general urban population. New
York City is home not only to the largest concentration of American Indians in
the United States (at a total of 111,749 members, according to the 2010 census)
but also to tens of thousands of recently arrived indigenous Latin Americans
from Mexico, Guatemala, Ecuador, and elsewhere, most of them uncounted by the
census. Population density usually coincides with concentrated public and
private resources, which can support crosscutting alliances, such as the
nonprofit Binational Front of Indigenous Organizations’ Los Angeles committee,
which includes individuals from at least eight different indigenous Mexican
groups, as well as members who identify as mestizo. Cities also facilitate
encounters with the worlds of media and the arts, where messages can be
articulated in new keys.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But if cities
are crucibles for the formation of new composite identities, they are also
sieves, where all but the dominant few cultures can quickly drain away. Urban
spaces that foster subcultures are often destabilizing to cultures historically
anchored in language, family, and land. As scholars Naama Blatman-Thomas and
Libby Porter put it, cities have been “sites for expressing and actualizing
colonial power,” such that indigenous people have experienced “vast symbolic
dispossession, which has left them essentialized as non-urban while imposing
structural limitations on their ability to assert their sovereignty in urban
contexts.”3<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Still, even
if urban conditions discourage landownership and intergenerational settlement,
there remains power in language. Forward-thinking cities around the world are
enhancing efforts to accommodate mother tongues and encouraging multilingualism
in schools and other institutions. (“Language access,” the legal right to
translation and interpretation, has greatly improved in New York since 2008,
when the local government committed to providing basic services in the city’s
six most widely spoken languages.) But when it comes to smaller indigenous
languages and cultures with fewer resources, the changes have been primarily
symbolic. In many places, an indigenous presence is newly visible in land
acknowledgments, celebrations of Indigenous Peoples’ Day (replacing Columbus
Day), memorial plaques, and other public events. In a few cases, city
agencies—such as the New York City Department of Health, which had been
developing a health initiative specifically for indigenous people—are beginning
to recognize the importance of engaging with urban indigenous communities. Rare
are more substantive initiatives, such as the controversial 2015 native title
settlement between the Noongar Nation and the provincial government of Western
Australia, which recognized traditional Noongar ownership of an area
encompassing the major metropolitan region of Perth and calculated belated
compensation accordingly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The revival
of a language is not only a triumph of creativity and continuity—it is also a
significant step toward restitution and recovery after the five centuries of
colonialism and nationalism that have led to the current linguistic extinction
event. Individuals and communities should have meaningful options as to how
they relate to their pasts and construct their linguistic futures. Though
hundreds of the world’s endangered languages are still likely to disappear over
the next century, the language revitalization movement is demonstrating that
some may be able to survive, evolve, and coexist with more widely spoken
languages. If one critical ingredient has been lacking in the efforts to revive
indigenous cultures, languages, and communities, it is active financial and
official support from majority populations. Through our institutions,
foundations, schools, and governments, majority populations need to support the
revitalizers, as a matter of justice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjG9aeK13MASweJpLWJ4Hf8iRQi2e8EeFCKDXVH8SZAkGj2d7Joml6_U83l_X9Y7jXXab5kuhx_OfWZXCCM-mJSZWulmww1ZTABCpgiGpFD7Z4XrXfN9_mSuVchZ1_AtWFICL0bwOqB1OqwGR8Iqzs7zouyngq9sk5Fls05gNcjTow4L4GJFV9RwIDWUw/s600/ross1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjG9aeK13MASweJpLWJ4Hf8iRQi2e8EeFCKDXVH8SZAkGj2d7Joml6_U83l_X9Y7jXXab5kuhx_OfWZXCCM-mJSZWulmww1ZTABCpgiGpFD7Z4XrXfN9_mSuVchZ1_AtWFICL0bwOqB1OqwGR8Iqzs7zouyngq9sk5Fls05gNcjTow4L4GJFV9RwIDWUw/s16000/ross1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ross Perlin
is codirector of the Endangered Language Alliance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Talk of the
Town : Ross Perlin on endangered languages. By Ross Perlin. <a href="https://www.artforum.com/columns/ross-perlin-on-endangered-languages-244710/">Artforum</a>, Vol. 58,
Nr. 2, October 2019. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SYOX_TxxmHR058pVjpDj2x7vEIszZyrOkOyaaoQWZbkmThMgiTTgSU0pfKkA7DZtA93aPkPhpg4CxtkQnIXBjxLIMNJcAq_NBkuCw5Gpn5sKpI6m0OVHZZnTr-LB4UfhdfnUr-yUQPtHAgwTXQpZbsQRY36HxvzTdYtjNPCmJxwm9lqQx-iILB3d5h0/s600/800500_uclnews_3dlangheaderpng.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SYOX_TxxmHR058pVjpDj2x7vEIszZyrOkOyaaoQWZbkmThMgiTTgSU0pfKkA7DZtA93aPkPhpg4CxtkQnIXBjxLIMNJcAq_NBkuCw5Gpn5sKpI6m0OVHZZnTr-LB4UfhdfnUr-yUQPtHAgwTXQpZbsQRY36HxvzTdYtjNPCmJxwm9lqQx-iILB3d5h0/s16000/800500_uclnews_3dlangheaderpng.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Half of the
world’s languages are endangered and more than a thousand are expected to be
lost in coming decades. A team at UCL is using animation software to preserve
these languages in an entirely new way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s
estimated that there are over 7,000 documented languages spoken across the
world. Yet around half of these languages are endangered. Between 1950 and
2021, around 230 languages were wiped from human memory. About 1,500 endangered
and rare languages are at a high risk of being lost in the next century.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
consequences of language loss – also known as linguicide - are felt around the
world, affecting identity and well-being as well as culture and linguistic
diversity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In response
to this growing trend, an anthropologist and architect at UCL have come
together to present and preserve some of these languages in a truly unique way,
using inspiration and technology from animation in the gaming industry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Reimagining
language</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Language is
often only imagined in the shape dictated by our writing system - as words on a
page or as sound. But the ‘shape’ of humanity’s natural languages and their
high-dimensional form mostly remain to be fully explored and modelled as visual
material – similar to how we envision the double helix of DNA.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rather than
only listening to a recording, scientists have now made it possible to also
handle a language excerpt physically, by building 3D printed models based on
language patterns and grammar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As part of
a study published in Nature’s Humanities and Social Sciences Communications,
scientists explored how the structure of language can be represented in 3D
using software commonly used for game, film and video animation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To create
their 3D designs, they drew on the sounds of a language – the number of
syllables in a line – as well as its grammar, focusing on a particular
grammatical system called evidentials. They gave a numerical value to
“evidential weight” – that is, the nature of the evidence being conveyed. In
one of the languages they focused on - the Amazonian language Tariana -
speakers are grammatically obliged to indicate the nature of the evidence
they’re conveying at all times, unlike in English, where this isn’t required.
Tariana contains a hierarchy of preferred evidentials, ranging from information
obtained through direct visual observation to the repetition of information
related by someone else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They
plotted points in three dimensions, with the numerical values derived from
evidentials along the Z axis, the number of syllables along the Y axis and
timeline on the X axis. The design software then turned these points into a 3D
shape, virtually filling in the digital weave of warp and weft to appear as a
smooth, woven undulating surface.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
researchers were then able to create four prototypes and digital 3D images from
this, which they printed as 3D objects.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first
of its kind in the world, the project and its outputs not only enable the
visual demonstration of the architecture of language, but also enables its
preservation in a permanent, solid form.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBH92X6J1cIBHf6HDlT59kPEQCFr79WRWmAYsIN4f8irWzXqjI2m2avmweScM6xg2kPLGNsDDWb27oP5x9uVgdy17ZkfZM_sEeWul8pmTw3ucCGNvf9L01xkJg65P8bAgOnISv7P42mNUnzkwpsKXsikkrOSVGM_NTPzSHI2nJ2N6oAOZ9fxd64GdiM4/s600/3d_printed_objects_from_in_tariana_and_english_prototypes_above.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBH92X6J1cIBHf6HDlT59kPEQCFr79WRWmAYsIN4f8irWzXqjI2m2avmweScM6xg2kPLGNsDDWb27oP5x9uVgdy17ZkfZM_sEeWul8pmTw3ucCGNvf9L01xkJg65P8bAgOnISv7P42mNUnzkwpsKXsikkrOSVGM_NTPzSHI2nJ2N6oAOZ9fxd64GdiM4/s16000/3d_printed_objects_from_in_tariana_and_english_prototypes_above.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Crossing
boundaries</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
multi-disciplinary study brought together Dr Alex Pillen (UCL Anthropology) and
PhD candidate Emma-Kate Matthews (Bartlett School of Architecture at UCL). Dr
Pillen explains: “The seed of the idea for this work came from our initial
conversations - with each of us coming at this from our own different
disciplines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“At the
time, I was just finishing a book project, and I felt that I couldn't quite
come up with a single image that would go on the cover.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And I
thought, well, what if I could create an image that roughly would be the
architecture of the Kurdish language incurred through an abstract design that
could be used as the cover?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Then more
people were saying, ‘Well, we should put in some comparative materials. It
shouldn't just be about Kurdish.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We then
contacted colleagues who are looking at Amazonian languages – and then I had a
PhD student who worked on Akkadian, an ancient language, who agreed to code it.
Then a colleague suggested we could add English as well, which we did.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dr Pillen
explains: “We've focused on one single grammatical system that is most
prominent in Native American, Amazonian and Aboriginal languages - evidentials.
Grammar is complex in these languages, and these are precisely the languages
that are under threat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
researchers say that visualising words and grammar in 3D offers a palpable new
way to preserve languages that will not leave behind a written record, or whose
complex patterns are often lost in translation - documenting endangered
languages and enhancing grammatical understanding - and bringing to life
ancient languages no longer spoken for future generations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We do, of
course, have recordings of these languages to preserve the way they sound,
while the vocabulary can be preserved in a dictionary. But what is more
difficult to preserve is the grammar, because this is often presented in a very
dry manner by linguists.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You get
transcripts, annotated with very technical terminology. But by producing the
geometry of grammar in 3D, we allow people to have an immediate intuitive
relationship to these languages that are under threat - or that might
disappear.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As well as
its implications for recording language in an era of rapid loss of linguistic
diversity, the scientists say that 3D printing words and phrases also enables
them and their students to use spatial intuition to get to know the patterns of
languages that we do or do not speak.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“In terms
of spatial intuition, you can immediately see in terms of - for example, the
Tariana example - if you hold it in your hand, there is an immediate sensation
of its complexity, which I would say the kind of books written by linguists,
with all the technical detail about grammar, don't achieve,” Dr Pillen adds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dr Pillen
also notes that it isn’t just languages under threat of extinction that are
experiencing linguicide.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This is
not only about preservation of languages that are endangered - but also about
linguistic loss,” she says.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Some
Amazonian language, Aboriginal languages, North American languages are facing
extinction - but there are several other languages spoken by sizeable
populations who have been faced with language loss, such as the Kurdish
language. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“In Turkey
and Syria, where language policies obstruct the standardisation of language,
and schooling in the Kurdish mother tongue, communities suffer a loss of
culture, and loss of linguistic heritage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It's for
people like that that these models are also important as a solid object to reflect
that predicament of loss. Our method allows for aspects of an intangible
heritage to become tangible - a rare form of solidity for people who have often
lost so much.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
researchers say that there is more they’d like to do with the technology they’ve
developed to further enhance learning and language preservation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“At the
moment, these are language excerpts that are frozen in time representing very
short speech moments,” Dr Pillen adds. “Now, what would be amazing is to use
larger datasets to create moving images of evolving shapes in natural
language.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Feature:
Preserving endangered languages as 3D shapes. <a href="https://www.ucl.ac.uk/news/2023/jan/feature-preserving-endangered-languages-3d-shape">University College Of London</a>,
January 25, 2023. </span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UG4nx3Plnypnw0yXHJvdtpAtFq2pjdVEbTD7W97v7HYp1d4LRTzcWISkS8UF88RhbhSIxFqZFTJliVFVEX1VD3sDrpBAfWgGs5C_-t-H0Rk-pAVKqzDE5irp_3oFtC8pIYgMtVwh7GnUMyjMbY-IL16aoGfvjmeimxdg_othXs_e-hHFDF5PsDNSWDA/s600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UG4nx3Plnypnw0yXHJvdtpAtFq2pjdVEbTD7W97v7HYp1d4LRTzcWISkS8UF88RhbhSIxFqZFTJliVFVEX1VD3sDrpBAfWgGs5C_-t-H0Rk-pAVKqzDE5irp_3oFtC8pIYgMtVwh7GnUMyjMbY-IL16aoGfvjmeimxdg_othXs_e-hHFDF5PsDNSWDA/s16000/image.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Climate
crisis could be ‘final nail in the coffin’ for half of all surviving languages,
say linguists, as coastal communities are forced to migrate<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Every 40
days a language dies. This “catastrophic” loss is being amplified by the
climate crisis, according to linguists. If nothing is done, conservative
estimates suggest that half of all the 7,000 languages currently spoken will be
extinct by the end of the century.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Speakers of
minority languages have experienced a long history of persecution, with the
result that by the 1920s half of all Indigenous languages in Australia, the US,
South Africa and Argentina were extinct. The climate crisis is now considered
the “final nail in the coffin” for many Indigenous languages and with them, the
knowledge they represent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Languages
are already vulnerable and endangered,” says Anastasia Riehl, the director of
the Strathy language unit at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. Huge
factors are globalisation and migration, as communities move to regions where
their language is not spoken or valued, according to Riehl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It seems
particularly cruel,” she says, that most of the world’s languages are in parts
of the world that are growing inhospitable to people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Vanuatu, a
South Pacific island nation measuring 12,189 sq km (4,706 sq miles), has 110
languages, one for each 111 sq km, the highest density of languages on the
planet. It is also one of the countries most at risk from the climate crisis,
she says.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Many small linguistic communities are on
islands and coastlines vulnerable to hurricanes and sea level rise.” Others
live on lands where rising temperature threaten traditional farming and fishing
practices, prompting migration.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJGOFITVqoyY9Wtfgv-vGUlcaH4TYp9zbFRGuYP8k_H9-gBiTK4Z7kcySj-e86beGTOGv1DyXQuApgq3thk1Jz2Iwang9icQWdHLu0UMLOURTT1k2t_cC_x99nRtNFAXR3GMnMDPN6Lj7ui51_uhzVl20yO0hfXvAsi8nGKD8Pz9ShdOf91c-SGwosAM/s600/-1x-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJGOFITVqoyY9Wtfgv-vGUlcaH4TYp9zbFRGuYP8k_H9-gBiTK4Z7kcySj-e86beGTOGv1DyXQuApgq3thk1Jz2Iwang9icQWdHLu0UMLOURTT1k2t_cC_x99nRtNFAXR3GMnMDPN6Lj7ui51_uhzVl20yO0hfXvAsi8nGKD8Pz9ShdOf91c-SGwosAM/s16000/-1x-1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“When
climate change comes in, it disrupts communities even more,” says Riehl. “It
has a multiplier effect, the final nail in the coffin.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although
the effects of global heating on language have not been well studied, it has
caused increased instances of heatwaves, droughts, floods and sea level rise,
which have already exposed millions of people to food insecurity, water
shortages and driven them from their homes. Disasters, the majority of them
weather related, accounted for 23.7m internal displacements in 2021, up from
18.8m in 2018. Over the past 10 years, Asia and the Pacific were the regions
most affected by displacement worldwide, with the Pacific island states the
worst by population size.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet, it is
precisely here where many Indigenous languages have thrived. One in five of the
world’s languages are from the Pacific, according to the New Zealand Māori
language commission.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The Pacific,
including the Philippines, India and Indonesia, has a lot of linguistic
diversity. Some languages only have a few hundred speakers,” says Anouschka
Foltz, an associate professor in English Linguistics at the University of Graz,
in Austria.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If sea
level rise or another climate impact hits, they have to leave. Communities
scatter to places where their language is not valued.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">A map of
the world’s 577 critically endangered languages reveals clusters around
equatorial Africa and in the Pacific and the Indian ocean region.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In response
to the crisis, the UN launched the International Decade of Indigenous Languages
in December. Preserving languages of Indigenous communities is “not only
important for them, but for all humanity,” the UN general assembly president,
Csaba Kőrösi, said, urging countries to allow access to education in Indigenous
languages.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“With each
Indigenous language that goes extinct, so too goes the thought, the culture,
tradition and knowledge it bears,” said Kőrösi, echoing the sentiments of Ken
Hale, the late US linguist and activist, who compared losing any language to
“dropping a bomb on the Louvre”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dr Gregory
Anderson is director of the Living Tongues Institute for Endangered Languages,
a non profit based in the US that documents and records endangered languages.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We are
heading for a catastrophic language and cultural loss into the next century,”
he says.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anderson
notes that the death of a language, when the last fluent speaker dies, is often
the result of “some sort of assault” on Indigenous communities. It can be
overt, such as when Indigenous children were forced into boarding schools and
banned from speaking their native language in countries including the US,
Canada, Australia and Scandinavian nations in the 1900s, or covert, where
people with a strong accent are excluded from jobs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Studies
show that, while the suppression of Indigenous language is associated with
mental health problems, the reverse can also be true. One study in Bangladesh
showed that Indigenous youth capable of speaking their native language were
less likely to consume alcohol or illicit substances in risky amounts, and were
less exposed to violence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Books
written in the Quechua Indigenous language sit behind a student during a class
on medicinal plants, at a public primary school in Licapa, Peru, Wednesday,
Sept. 1, 2021.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">View image
in fullscreen<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some
efforts to save Indigenous languages have been successful, with the
introduction of ‘immersion schools’ for young children being particularly
effective. Photograph: Martín Mejía/AP<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are
some bright spots, too: such as New Zealand and Hawaii, where Indigenous
languages have been resurrected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
1970s, only 2,000 native speakers of Hawaiian remained, most in their seventh
decade of life, but advocates launched “immersion schools”, where children are
taught in Hawaiian. Today, more than 18,700 people speak it. In New Zealand,
only 5% of young Māori people spoke the language in the 1970s, but due largely
to efforts by the Māori, backed by the government, more than 25% now speak it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Prof
Rawinia Higgins, a member of the Global Taskforce for the International Decade
of Indigenous Languages 2022-2032 and the New Zealand Māori language
commissioner says: “Indigenous languages are an anchor to the past, as well as
a compass to the future. Thirty-five years ago, people fought to save the Māori
language with the government of the day boldly making it an official language
protected by law. Once banned and seen by many as worthless, now more than
eight in 10 of us see it as part of our identity as New Zealanders.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The New
Zealand broadcaster, journalist and Māori interpreter Oriini Kaipara was taught
the language by her grandparents, in kōhanga reo, or “language nests” where
only Māori is spoken.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgobTLNNSU6Y09iZ0qQWJ-9IWiQ3ec2vZwCgqkuUmSTMWvXo7haTwsQ815w8-1Ig0ZhPQWwC9YlYgGUMioJ4LuX9705Rnr2KltqNK8NbtUkE2D05Voljz8S_ya5G_o_PMWVswKQQKF9BrlpsW22P7qCmB0W93pqlw8qZ_G8-EdLbROeK_domfKXyA4Ym5c/s600/0382d7e32db442c752fd81b45304acfb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgobTLNNSU6Y09iZ0qQWJ-9IWiQ3ec2vZwCgqkuUmSTMWvXo7haTwsQ815w8-1Ig0ZhPQWwC9YlYgGUMioJ4LuX9705Rnr2KltqNK8NbtUkE2D05Voljz8S_ya5G_o_PMWVswKQQKF9BrlpsW22P7qCmB0W93pqlw8qZ_G8-EdLbROeK_domfKXyA4Ym5c/s16000/0382d7e32db442c752fd81b45304acfb.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “My generation were fortunate enough to be
raised in total immersion,” says Kaipara, who, as a primetime newsreader with a
Māori chin marking, or moko kauae, has become an ambassador for Māori. “But
language loss is still a huge threat to us. Those generations who were native
speakers, held the customs, the understanding, the indigenous knowledge that
was handed down by their parents. And that has gone.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Māori have
a “unique way” of connecting with their environment that is only accessible
through their language, she says. The word matemateāone is almost
untranslatable into English, she said, but expresses “a deep, emotional,
spiritual, physical” longing for the Earth. “In essence, it means I belong,”
she says. “My language is a gateway to my world.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> This article was amended on 17 January 2023.
An earlier version said the Living Tongues Institute for Endangered Languages
is based at the University of South Africa; it is actually a non-profit based
in the US. An amendment on 26 April 2023, clarified that Anastasia Riehl
described Vanuatu as being one of the countries most at risk from the climate
crisis, not sea level rise, as we had previously said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lost for
words: fears of ‘catastrophic’ language loss due to rising seas. By Karen
McVeigh. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2023/jan/16/linguists-language-culture-loss-end-of-century-sea-levels-rise">The Guardian</a>, January 16, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldjnF2YiHh1JVRQ0ghqUV6kxLAgIEOZ6ksZd2ZbIW4Y-arhcj-9BFcaGUjy8or2ckh13du5hSHd9LDUtAFuaX7jXWp_vUyQHrIjl1TeLtzIwUSu_-zlh9ohJXlzIk7vIpKwzwocsAV7Y9PqcKm0RTw4CF3oMW8lWIRNePdUt5qmsc91LEs9V5FUT7RPI/s600/Boa-Sr-DW-Wissenschaft-Andaman-and-Nicobar-Islands-jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldjnF2YiHh1JVRQ0ghqUV6kxLAgIEOZ6ksZd2ZbIW4Y-arhcj-9BFcaGUjy8or2ckh13du5hSHd9LDUtAFuaX7jXWp_vUyQHrIjl1TeLtzIwUSu_-zlh9ohJXlzIk7vIpKwzwocsAV7Y9PqcKm0RTw4CF3oMW8lWIRNePdUt5qmsc91LEs9V5FUT7RPI/s16000/Boa-Sr-DW-Wissenschaft-Andaman-and-Nicobar-Islands-jpg.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Endangered
languages have sentimental value, it’s true, but are there good philosophical
reasons to preserve them?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The year
2010 saw the death of Boa Senior, the last living speaker of Aka-Bo, a tribal
language native to the Andaman Islands in the Bay of Bengal. News coverage of
Boa Senior’s death noted that she had survived the 2004 tsunami – an event that
was reportedly foreseen by tribe elders – along with the Japanese occupation of
1942 and the barbaric policies of British colonisers. The linguist Anvita Abbi,
who knew Boa Senior for many years, said: ‘After the death of her parents, Boa
was the last Bo speaker for 30 to 40 years. She was often very lonely and had
to learn an Andamanese version of Hindi in order to communicate with people.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tales of
language extinction are invariably tragic. But why, exactly? Aka-Bo, like many
other extinct languages, did not make a difference to the lives of the vast
majority of people. Yet the sense that we lose something valuable when
languages die is familiar. Just as familiar, though, is the view that
preserving minority languages is a waste of time and resources. I want to
attempt to make sense of these conflicting attitudes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
simplest definition of a minority language is one that is spoken by less than
half of some country or region. This makes Mandarin – the world’s most widely
spoken language – a minority language in many countries. Usually, when we talk
of minority languages, we mean languages that are minority languages even in
the country in which they are most widely spoken. That will be our focus here.
We’re concerned especially with minority languages that are endangered, or that
would be endangered were it not for active efforts to support them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The sorrow
we feel about the death of a language is complicated. Boa Senior’s demise did
not merely mark the extinction of a language. It also marked the loss of the
culture of which she was once part; a culture that was of great interest to
linguists and anthropologists, and whose extinction resulted from oppression
and violence. There is, in addition, something melancholy about the very idea
of a language’s last speaker; of a person who, like Boa Senior, suffered the
loss of everyone to whom she was once able to chat in her mother tongue. All
these things – the oppression until death of a once thriving culture,
loneliness, and losing loved ones – are bad, regardless of whether they involve
language death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Part of our
sadness when a language dies, then, has nothing to do with the language itself.
Thriving majority languages do not come with tragic stories, and so they do not
arouse our emotions in the same ways. Unsurprisingly, concern for minority
languages is often dismissed as sentimental. Researchers on language policy
have observed that majority languages tend to be valued for being useful and
for facilitating progress, while minority languages are seen as barriers to
progress, and the value placed on them is seen as mainly sentimental.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sentimentality,
we tend to think, is an exaggerated emotional attachment to something. It is
exaggerated because it does not reflect the value of its object. The late
philosopher G A Cohen describes a well-worn, 46-year-old eraser that he bought
when he first became a lecturer, and that he would ‘hate to lose’. We all
treasure such things – a decades-old rubber, our children’s drawings, a
long-expired train ticket from a trip to see the one we love – that are
worthless to other people. If the value of minority languages is mainly
sentimental, it is comparable to the value that Cohen placed on his old eraser.
It would be cruel to destroy it deliberately, yet it would be unreasonable for
him to expect society to invest significant resources preserving it. The same
might be true of minority languages: their value to some just doesn’t warrant
the society-wide effort required to preserve them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are a
couple of responses to this. First, the value of minority languages is not
purely sentimental. Languages are scientifically interesting. There are whole
fields of study devoted to them – to charting their history, relationships to
other languages, relationships to the cultures in which they exist, and so on.
Understanding languages even helps us to understand the way we think. Some
believe that the language we speak influences the thoughts we have, or even
that language is what makes thought possible. This claim is associated with the
so-called Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, which the linguist and cognitive scientist
Steven Pinker at Harvard has described as ‘wrong, all wrong’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is certainly linked to a variety of dubious myths and
legends, such as the pervasive but false belief that Eskimos have a
mind-bogglingly large number of words for snow. But its core idea is not as
wrong-headed as Pinker believes. While there is little evidence that thought
would not be possible at all without language, there is plenty of evidence that
language influences the way we think and experience the world. For example,
depending on which language they are using, fluent German-English bilinguals
categorise motion differently, Spanish-Swedish bilinguals represent the passage
of time differently, and Dutch-Farsi bilinguals perceive musical pitch
differently. Even Pinker apparently finds the link between thought and language
compelling: he believes that thoughts are couched in their own language, which
he calls ‘mentalese’. In any case, this debate can be settled only empirically,
by studying as many different languages (and their speakers) as possible. Which
leaves little doubt that languages are valuable for non-sentimental reasons.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Second,
let’s take a closer look at sentimental value. Why do we call some ways of
valuing ‘sentimental’? We often do this when someone values something to which
they have a particular personal connection, as in the case of Cohen and his
eraser. Cohen calls this sort of value personal value. Things that have
personal value are valued much less by people who do not have the right sort of
personal connection to them. Another way of being sentimental is valuing
something that is connected to someone or something that we care about. This
sort of value is behind the thriving market in celebrity autographs, and it is
why parents around the world stick their children’s drawings to the fridge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The term
‘sentimental’ is gently pejorative: we view sentimentality as an inferior sort
of value (compared with, say, practical usefulness), although we are often
happy to indulge each other’s sentimental attachments when they don’t cause us
inconvenience. Parents’ sentimentality about their kids’ drawings is not
inconvenient to others, but sentimentality about minority languages often is,
since they require effort and resources to support. This helps to explain why
minority languages, to some people, are just not worth the bother.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However,
sentimentality is not so easily set aside. Our culture is underpinned by values
that, on close inspection, look very much like sentimentality. Consider the
following comparison. We can all agree that it is sentimental of Cohen to insist
(as he did) that he would decline an opportunity to upgrade his old eraser to a
brand-new one. Yet were the Louvre to decline an offer from a skilled forger to
exchange the Mona Lisa for an ‘improved’ copy that eliminated the damage
suffered over the years by the original, we are unlikely to view this decision
as sentimental. On the contrary, were the museum to accept the forger’s offer,
we could expect to find this shocking story make headlines around the world.
Our contrasting attitudes disguise the fact that the values involved in these
two cases are very similar. In each case, an item with a certain history is
valued over another, somewhat improved, item with a different history.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This sort
of value is ubiquitous. We preserve such things as medieval castles, the Eiffel
Tower and the Roman Colosseum not because they are useful but because of their
historical and cultural significance. When ISIS fighters smashed 5,000-year-old
museum exhibits after capturing Mosul in 2015, outraged journalists focused on
the destroyed artefacts’ links with ancient and extinct cultures. Historical
and cultural significance is part of why we value languages; indeed, the philosopher
Neil Levy has argued that it is the main reason to value them. These ways of
valuing things are labelled sentimental in some contexts. If minority languages
are valuable partly for sentimental reasons then they are in good company.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRv4c-jSk4pnxYfq5kC65q4MMEB8X6ufL-60DtnUdhqMrb4hD9UEbSv9eRT9Cu7V9Qd-FzUNgm5TFDNF7QKwdyF5rEAynWbqYs88aAAFbDNj5DZFaiNH5ZkMEa2YWLFxPrY_SGKfBreBqIQZ0J1oPv5NngSKNCiTdW2NpXvgZLeL4Jno3UU-si9Z7k4g/s600/Gallagher-Wampanoag-photo1-Jonathan-Reed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRv4c-jSk4pnxYfq5kC65q4MMEB8X6ufL-60DtnUdhqMrb4hD9UEbSv9eRT9Cu7V9Qd-FzUNgm5TFDNF7QKwdyF5rEAynWbqYs88aAAFbDNj5DZFaiNH5ZkMEa2YWLFxPrY_SGKfBreBqIQZ0J1oPv5NngSKNCiTdW2NpXvgZLeL4Jno3UU-si9Z7k4g/s16000/Gallagher-Wampanoag-photo1-Jonathan-Reed.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While
valuing minority languages is often viewed as sentimental, it is just as often
admired. The documentary We Still Live Here (2010) tells the story of the
revival of the Wampanoag language, a Native American language that was dead for
more than a century. The film celebrates the language’s revival and the efforts
of Jessie Little Doe Baird, who spearheaded its revival, whose ancestors were
native speakers, and whose daughter became the revived language’s first native
speaker. Baird received a MacArthur Fellowship to carry out her project, and
her success attracted widespread media attention and honours, including a
‘Heroes Among Us’ award from the Boston Celtics basketball team.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Across the
Atlantic, Katrina Esau, aged 84, is one of only three remaining speakers of N|uu,
a South African ‘click’ language. For the past decade, she has run a school in
her home, teaching N|uu to local children in an effort to preserve it. In 2014,
she received the Order of the Baobab from the country’s president, Jacob Zuma.
Both Baird and Esau have received global news coverage for their efforts, which
are acclaimed as positive contributions to their community.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is
fortunate that sentimentality can be a respectable sort of attitude. Without it
– that is, focusing solely on the scientific and academic value of languages –
it is difficult to explain why it is better to preserve currently existing
minority languages rather than revive long-dead languages that nobody living
today cares about, or why it is better to support endangered natural languages
such as the Lencan languages of Central America rather than artificial
languages such as Volapük (constructed by a Roman Catholic priest in
19th-century Germany) and Klingon (the extra-terrestrial language in Star
Trek), or why it is better to preserve endangered natural languages than to
invent completely new languages.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even people
who are unsympathetic to efforts to support minority languages are, I imagine,
less baffled by Esau’s desire to preserve N|uu than they would be by a campaign
for the creation and proliferation of a completely new artificial language. No
such campaign exists, of course, despite the fact that creating and promoting a
new language would be scientifically interesting. The reason why it’s better to
preserve currently existing natural languages than to create new ones is
because of the historical and personal value of the former. These are exactly
the sort of values associated with sentimentality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Minority
languages, then, are valuable. Does that mean that societies should invest in
supporting them? Not necessarily. The value of minority languages might be
outweighed by the value of not supporting them. Let’s look at two reasons why
this might be the case: the burden that supporting minority languages places on
people, and the benefits of reducing language diversity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While we
might value minority languages for similar reasons that we value medieval
castles, there is an important difference in how we can go about preserving the
two types of thing. Preserving a minority language places a greater burden on
people than does preserving a castle. We can preserve a castle by paying people
to maintain it. But we can’t preserve a minority language by paying people to
carry out maintenance. Instead, we must get people to make the language a big
part of their lives, which is necessary if they are to become competent
speakers. Some people do this voluntarily, but if we want the language to grow
beyond a pool of enthusiasts, we must impose lifestyle changes on people
whether they like it or not. Often this involves legislation to ensure that
children learn the minority language at school.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Such
policies are controversial. Some parents think that it would be better for
their children to learn a useful majority language rather than a less useful
minority language. However, for native English speakers, the most commonly
taught majority languages – French, German, Spanish, Italian – are not as
useful as they first seem. A language is useful for a child to learn if it will
increase the amount of people she can communicate with, increase the amount of
places where she can make herself understood, and perhaps also if it is the
language of a neighbouring country. Yet, because English is widely spoken in
countries such as France, Germany, Spain and Italy, even an English-speaking
monoglot can make himself understood pretty well when visiting these countries.
If he decides to invest effort in learning one of these languages, he can
expect relatively little return on his investment in terms of usefulness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If people
in English-speaking countries are concerned about teaching children useful
languages, we should teach them languages whose native speakers less commonly
understand English, such as Arabic and Mandarin – languages that are not
commonly taught in schools in the UK and the US. There are, of course, some
native English speakers who believe that learning any foreign language is
pointless because English is so widely understood – think of the stereotypical
British ex-pat living in Spain but not learning Spanish – but this view is
clearly not held by parents who are supportive of their children learning some
foreign language. So people who support English-speaking children learning
French, German and Spanish, but who don’t support them learning a local
minority language, will have difficulty defending their position in terms of
usefulness. In that case, why is it so widely seen as a good thing for
English-speaking children to learn majority languages such as French, German
and Spanish? I think it is the same reason that many claim it’s a good thing to
learn a minority language: to gain an insight into an unfamiliar culture, to be
able to signal respect by speaking to people in the local language, to hone the
cognitive skills one gains by learning a language, and so on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is
also, I think, a special kind of enrichment that children – and people in
general – get from learning a minority language connected to their community.
They get a new insight into their community’s culture and history. They also
gain the ability to participate in aspects of their culture that, without
knowing the language, are closed off and even invisible; namely, events and opportunities
conducted in the minority language. I write from experience here, having spent
the past 18 months or so trying to learn Welsh. I was born and raised in Wales
yet, until recently, my main contact with the language consisted mainly of
ignoring it. Returning to Wales now, armed with my admittedly modest
understanding of Welsh, I have a sense of this long-familiar country becoming
visible to me in a new way. I feel pleased and interested when I encounter
Welsh speakers. I am happy that my nephew learns Welsh at school. These strong
conservative intuitions are – for a non-conservative like me – surprising and
somewhat alien. But they are not unique: they centre on benefits that are
frequently mentioned by campaigners for minority languages.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm56-jO-PNbGBG6phAN3CoJPu8YMuXncnZS4_Oik2i2uUruHDfIs1_tRBoPuD6nJVCpsZDZNO8jxEIAZ9ukeGO_zFbJPY7cvTd_0hWWdAJDWg9_6jMA7YOA_oT9dmGMQxjeCPTz-0VyuqkDtXR7VeQjdn8W5kw0lnpongHHK2cdEsqaYoWMfvMfjRLefA/s600/welsh-language.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="309" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm56-jO-PNbGBG6phAN3CoJPu8YMuXncnZS4_Oik2i2uUruHDfIs1_tRBoPuD6nJVCpsZDZNO8jxEIAZ9ukeGO_zFbJPY7cvTd_0hWWdAJDWg9_6jMA7YOA_oT9dmGMQxjeCPTz-0VyuqkDtXR7VeQjdn8W5kw0lnpongHHK2cdEsqaYoWMfvMfjRLefA/s16000/welsh-language.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally,
let’s consider a very different reason to resist the view that we should
support minority languages. Language diversity is a barrier to successful
communication. The Bible has a story about this: as a punishment for building
the Tower of Babel, God ‘confused the language of all of the Earth’ by causing
people to speak a multiplicity of languages where once they had all spoken the
same one. It’s rare these days to encounter the view that our diversity of
languages is a curse, but it’s notable that in other areas of communication –
such as in the representation of numbers, length and volume – we favour
standardisation. The advantages to adopting a single language are clear. It
would enable us to travel anywhere in the world, confident that we could communicate
with the people we met. We would save money on translation and interpretation.
Scientific advances and other news could be shared faster and more thoroughly.
By preserving a diversity of languages, we preserve the obstacles to
communication. Wouldn’t it be better to allow as many languages as possible to
die out, leaving us with just one universal lingua franca?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It would be
difficult, however, to implement a lingua franca peacefully and justly. The
very idea calls to mind oppressive past policies, such as the efforts of the
Soviet Union to suppress local languages and to force all its citizens to
communicate only in Russian. Extinct and endangered languages have not, on the
whole, become extinct or endangered gently, by subsequent generations choosing
freely to switch to a more dominant language. The history of language death is
a violent one, as is reflected in the titles of books on the subject: David
Crystal’s Language Death (2000), Daniel Nettle and Suzanne Romaine’s Vanishing
Voices: The Extinction of the World’s Languages (2000), and Tove
Skutnabb-Kangas’s Linguistic Genocide in Education (2008).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It would,
then, be difficult to embrace a lingua franca without harming speakers of other
languages. In addition, if we were serious about acting justly, it would not be
enough merely to abstain from harming communities of minority language
speakers. Given the injustices that such communities have suffered in the past,
it might be that they are owed compensation. This is a view commonly held by
minority-language campaigners. It is debatable what form this compensation
should take, but it seems clear that it should not include wiping out and
replacing the local language.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps, if
one were a god creating a world from scratch, it would be better to give the
people in that world one language rather than many, like the pre-Babel
civilisations described in the Bible. But now that we have a world with a rich
diversity of languages, all of which are interwoven with distinct histories and
cultures, and many of which have survived ill-treatment and ongoing
persecution, yet which continue to be celebrated and defended by their
communities and beyond – once we have all these things, there is no going back
without sacrificing a great deal of what is important and valuable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The death
of languages. By Rebecca Roache.<a href="https://aeon.co/essays/should-endangered-languages-be-preserved-and-at-what-cost"> Aeon</a>, October 12, 2017.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p></div><div><br /></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-50111680453035940552024-02-21T13:05:00.006+00:002024-02-21T13:12:37.725+00:00Who On Earth Is James Ensor?<div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxauApbs6XXmS_fARwtBvVICTkGRBPCc00b3TYtp9xxGdxSvPl1Rjdu3vUHv1GZz2oLwcDrdr3DW_lgYB57Eis3TJuNXQntYJJMhFoe-ZRxZVTdbaxeI-5K4cysD-NRkZl9faoLD6rejn2KksmemdunRY3IMeQzXQVCKMEUsyF2pEaqDsm-ELZYIsuJM/s600/ensor001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxauApbs6XXmS_fARwtBvVICTkGRBPCc00b3TYtp9xxGdxSvPl1Rjdu3vUHv1GZz2oLwcDrdr3DW_lgYB57Eis3TJuNXQntYJJMhFoe-ZRxZVTdbaxeI-5K4cysD-NRkZl9faoLD6rejn2KksmemdunRY3IMeQzXQVCKMEUsyF2pEaqDsm-ELZYIsuJM/s16000/ensor001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></b></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">An anti-establishment artist with plenty to say, James
Ensor's scribblings are just as eccentric as his paintings. As an insight into
his whimsical works, here's a selection of Ensor's inner musings – on art, critics
and his naughty pug.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">"My writings, or self-important swaggerings presaging
a final collapse in the filthy swamp”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">This is a subtitle that James Ensor used in his writings
repeatedly, which should give you some sense of just how eccentric this celebrated
Belgian artist was – and what is to follow below. A well-established painter by
his later years, Ensor increasingly turned to writing as an additional means of
expressing his ideas and opinions – often in the same bizarre, sometimes
macabre style that characterises his paintings. An avid letter-writer and
regular contributor to journals and newspapers, his surviving texts cover art
criticism, family stories, satirical reviews and philosophical musings. His
dark humour and unique perspective offer us another insight into the macabre
and enigmatic spectacles in his paintings.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">On art...<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“A correct line cannot inspire lofty feelings. It is the
enemy of genius, incapable of expressing passion, anxiety, struggle, sorrow,
enthusiasm, poetry.”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">Attending art school in Brussels as a young man, Ensor
failed to impress his teachers with his unusual use of colour and light. In a
sketch he wrote summarising his time at the Academy, the professors complain
that the student "does the opposite of what [he is] told". In the
letter quoted above, written to his friend Pol de Mont in late 1894 or early
1895, Ensor affirms his belief in the power of bold experimentation in art;
later on in the same paragraph, he expresses his huge admiration for the work
of the composer Richard Wagner.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></b></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“Cannoniers to your guns! Brace at your batteries! Blast
night and day... Art clears a path by means of cannon shots.”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">Ensor's art was dismissed by critics and the public for
much of his early career. By the 1900s he was well on the way to achieving a
respected place within the Belgian artistic canon, but he remained as
rebellious and opinionated as when he was a struggling, marginalised oddity.
The lines above are part of an emphatic call to arms Ensor wrote in the 1900s,
encouraging his fellow artists to defend artistic freedom and pursue
innovation.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB">“Oh, beautiful modernity! What crimes are committed in
your name!”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="letter-spacing: -.15pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">Over the course of his life, Ensor campaigned to
preserve several historic buildings in Ostend, including the old docks and a
church tower. According to Ensor scholar Herwig Todts, his efforts met with
varying success, causing him to issue the plaintive cry above on more than one
occasion.<br /></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">‘’The artist must invent his style, and each new work
demands its own.”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">Written in a letter to the art critic André de Ridder,
this bold statement from Ensor accounts for the notable diversity of his
output; he left behind paintings, writings, compositions, etchings and even
crayon drawings.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">On science...<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“Let us all promptly praise the great Einstein and his
relative orders, but condemn algebraism and its square roots, the surveyors and
their cubic reasons. I say that the world is round...”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">In early 1933, Ensor had an improbable meeting with Albert
Einstein, when the latter passed through Belgium after fleeing Germany. From
these later writings, it appears that Einstein's theories did not altogether
impress the artist.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">On critics...<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“Why satisfy the vile desire of the crowd... a desire
without nobility, a curiosity that weighs heavily on us, the super-sensitive.
Let us resist communion with the mob! To be artists, let us live in hiding!”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">Facing an onslaught of critical and public disparagement,
Ensor unsurprisingly sometimes lashed out at his detractors in his writing.
Here, he makes a not-entirely-convincing case for ignoring the opinions of all
non-artists and shunning public approval.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“Disparagement beats down on me like hail. My umbrella is
always to hand; I’m abused, I’m insulted, I exist, I’m mad, I’m simpleminded,
I’m nasty, wicked, incapable, ignorant, a creampuff gone rotten.”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">Ensor wrote this in his later years, looking back at the
ways critics had received him as a young painter.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">On his relationships...<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“Undoubtedly, the artist doesn’t like women because he is
always abusing them in his compositions.”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">This was written in a letter to Ensor's friend, Pol de
Mont, in 1894, describing his painting The Temptation of St Anthony. He also
penned a poem titled On women, which compares its titular subject to a
"Mirey pool, crawling with bad beasts" and "Horrible cess-pit,
teeming with leeches". We don't know how much these reflect his true views
of women, although we do know that he never married or left his family home.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“Our minuscule pug... is very smart and quite sensitive.
I’ve played Wagner for him; he let out heartrending cries and bit Mitche
nastily. He entertains us greatly.”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">Mitche was Ensor's sister, with whom he lived for the
majority of his life. This scene was described in an undated letter to Mariette
Rousseau, a close friend with whom he maintained a 25-year correspondence
totalling over 350 letters.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“I don't have children, but light is my daughter.”<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">As a painter, Ensor was preoccupied with light throughout
his lifetime, becoming particularly impassioned when discussing the subject in
this excerpt from a speech made in the 1930s.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">On his
work...</span></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“Hounded by
those on my trail, I joyfully took refuge in the solitary land of fools where
the mask, with its violence, its brightness and brilliance, reigns supreme.”</span></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">Throughout the early 1880s, Ensor's paintings moved away
from his early naturalism and became increasingly eccentric. Here, he describes
how he learned to embrace his own artistic vision and shake off the harsh
reviews from his critics.<br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“I’ve added a
few hundred more figures: ghastly devils, horrible animals, revolting and
obscene monsters. I am very pleased.”</span></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">The work in
question here is The Temptation of St Anthony (1887), a vast artwork consisting
of 51 separate sheets of paper, mounted onto canvas.</span></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">On Belgians
and Brits...</span></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;">“A hostile
public, creeping down the sandy beach, Ostenders detest art. Last year thirty
Ostenders came to see the exhibition; this year we'll reach the number of
thirty-one.”</span></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: windowtext;"><br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB">Writing
to his friend Pol de Mont in 1895, Ensor vented his frustration at the lack of
artistic appreciation among his fellow Ostenders. Ensor had mixed feelings
about his hometown; his English father, an alcoholic, was attacked by local
thugs in 1885 while on his way home, prompting a serious breakdown in his
mental health. Reporting the attack in a letter to Mariette, Ensor wrote that
the attackers' families had just passed the house laughing, bitterly commenting
"that's the Ostend public for you". However, Ensor never left his
birthplace, choosing to stay put even through two world wars.<br /></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB">“I feel
more English than most of the English artists now slavishly imitating the early
Italians.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="letter-spacing: -.15pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Writing
to a critic in his later years, Ensor compared himself to British artists and
satirists including Turner, Hogarth and Gainsborough, while disparaging the in-vogue
Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Like Hogarth, Ensor's work makes extensive use of
caricature, most notably in </span><span style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Christ's Entry into Brussels in
1889</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="letter-spacing: -.15pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">, which placed several recognisable Belgian notables amongst the crowds
of people.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB">“...our
desires are born of the flatlands, our paradises are made of dough and
condensed milk, and our endearments are made of butter.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="letter-spacing: -.15pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzdQM7LwyJI2dIhF8ZfvMJd-4gUDnCO2HUZWqXIZE4Oxjbcu02tPkyVEBh7Nm6GL2YJOTIiVkO5lwC9eT6KddVXWKvFMIbrwufda5ujPg5zTMnwMEKJC-JyZOqXZvY4cgU0qLZnyqdedhDRpIZ0dRzzAaOy9TFLf_DDVnlHm9pH3lCEIaIKJROtRwb-8/s755/ensor002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="755" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzdQM7LwyJI2dIhF8ZfvMJd-4gUDnCO2HUZWqXIZE4Oxjbcu02tPkyVEBh7Nm6GL2YJOTIiVkO5lwC9eT6KddVXWKvFMIbrwufda5ujPg5zTMnwMEKJC-JyZOqXZvY4cgU0qLZnyqdedhDRpIZ0dRzzAaOy9TFLf_DDVnlHm9pH3lCEIaIKJROtRwb-8/s16000/ensor002.jpg" /></a></div></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">By
1924, Ensor occupied a considerably more elevated position within Belgian
society. Although he still enjoyed writing lengthy diatribes, his work was no
longer critically derided; in fact, he was just five years away from being
ennobled by King Albert. These improvements in his status might account for the
more generous words he uses to describe the Belgian temperament, thirty years
after dismissing the Ostenders.</span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="letter-spacing: -.15pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">On
dreams...<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“I was
born on Friday, April 13, 1860, the day of Venus. At my birth Venus came toward
me, smiling, and we looked into each other's eyes. She smelled pleasantly of
sea water.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="letter-spacing: -.15pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">An
imaginative retelling of Ensor's birth, as told in </span><em style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-style: normal; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">My writings</span></em><i><span lang="EN-GB">.<br /><o:p></o:p></span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></i><span lang="EN-GB">“What a
wonderful, phosphorescent dream: to end in beauty, tenderly embraced by a
passionate octopus!”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor's
writings frequently make reference to the sea; unsurprisingly, given that he
lived in a coastal town all his life. Here, he envisions dying in the depths of
the North Sea, evoking some unusual imagery in the process.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Intrigue:
James Ensor by Luc Tuymans is in The Sackler Wing of Galleries at the RA until
29 January 2017.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">"I'm
a creampuff gone rotten" – James Ensor on art and life. By Sandra Mackenzie. <a href="https://www.royalacademy.org.uk/article/james-ensor-on-art-and-life">Royal Academy of Arts</a>, November 25, 2016</span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvQQsdzF40tREbVqCj4DINOdH2e_oRuJlGBjK0okqJ_RvXOckhdZH_VmFDOg_2wpBiXXVc1-vrINmuY-Swf7eJaJ7_oztYpP8MZTU3NgPB8kYuXvf9k9De6uTf6x2AotisrVBeOwx_fj5R8cdftMEB4TMbcIqaos1XEmAt78d1uC4le9b9sidHat817c/s844/ensor-ensor-the-oyster-eater-magnet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvQQsdzF40tREbVqCj4DINOdH2e_oRuJlGBjK0okqJ_RvXOckhdZH_VmFDOg_2wpBiXXVc1-vrINmuY-Swf7eJaJ7_oztYpP8MZTU3NgPB8kYuXvf9k9De6uTf6x2AotisrVBeOwx_fj5R8cdftMEB4TMbcIqaos1XEmAt78d1uC4le9b9sidHat817c/s16000/ensor-ensor-the-oyster-eater-magnet.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When
James Ensor painted his Oyster Eater in 1882, he created a milestone in Belgian
art. No one would argue with that today, but was the canvas equally popular
when it first appeared? Who is it exactly tucking into those oysters? And what
makes the painting so special?</span></div><div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin: 2rem 0px 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">1.
Drawing room as studio<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">James
Ensor was a painter who often focused on one subject and one way of painting
for an extended period, before moving on entirely. He was still a very young
artist in 1880 when he started work on what his close friend Eugène Demolder
called ‘une série de femmes coquettes’. Nowadays we refer to these works as his
‘bourgeois drawing rooms’.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor
captured different corners of the interior in his sketchbook or on his easel,
dissecting and rearranging them. Our impression of the room recalls an interior
design magazine. What was traditionally a hyper-female space became Ensor’s
temporary studio, in which his sister Mitche, his mother Maria Cathérine and
his aunt Mimi perform everyday rituals. Representing these actions on such a
large scale heightens their significance, while the dark colours create an
intimate mood. We get a fly-on-the-wall view of the everyday life of the women
in the family. Yet there is a marked contrast with reality: although the
drawing-room scenes suggest that the ladies live a placid life, they were in
fact extremely active as ‘modern’ women in the family business.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">And then
along came The Oyster Eater in 1882 – bright, colourful and less staged. Ensor
brought his easel closer to his subject and rather than the muted colours, it
is now the action itself that creates the sense of intimacy. A young woman
peaceably enjoys her meal, oblivious to the ‘lens’ zooming in on her. It was
the first major turning point in Ensor’s career and one that brought him a step
closer to the colours of his more mature years.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">2.
Portrait of Ensor’s sister<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
Oyster Eater is Mariëtte Caroline Emma, or Mitche, as Ensor knew his sister.
She was born on 28 August 1861, making her a year younger than the artist. Like
her brother, Mitche Ensor liked to push at the boundaries and she enjoyed a
tempestuous love life in her twenties. In 1892 she married Alfred John
Taen-Hee-Tsen, an importer of Chinese and Japanese goods, some of which were
sold in the Ensor family shop. The couple separated in 1893, however, following
the birth of their daughter Mariette Alexandrine Jeanne. Little Alex was a ray
of sunshine in the family home and also won her Uncle James’ heart.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Her life
might have been turbulent, but this didn’t mean Mitche couldn’t sit still: she
posed regularly for her brother. We spot her, for instance, in Ensor’s Lady
with a Red Parasol. She was fond of the arts, not to mention the progressive
artists like Willy Finch who came to the house to visit their friend James. Do
we get to see a bit more of the ‘real Mitche’ in her oyster-eating alter ego?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">3. Not a
portrait but a still life<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
Oyster Eater is much more than simply a portrait of his sister, it is a form of
self-expression. Artists in the 19th century began to ask themselves what a
painting ought to be. They gradually distanced themselves from the idea that
art had a duty to hold up a mirror to the public. It wasn’t their job, they
argued, to dictate what was good, right or beautiful: the viewer should be
allowed simply to enjoy their talent. They threw out all sorts of rules on
perspective and lighting and began to experiment and to develop styles of their
own, through which they could develop freely.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For
someone like Ensor who refused to be bound by rules, this suited him down to
the ground. He was a conductor, spreading out his paint thickly and thinly with
palette knife and brush, to create accents through his impastoed touches. His
oyster eater is seated in the middle of a vibrant composition of colours that
intensify or contrast with one another. Variation is the watchword here, in
both execution and chromatic tones. Although the work as a whole evokes a sense
of calm, Ensor broke new ground with The Oyster Eater for both himself and
Belgian art. What he created was more a gigantic still life, in fact, than a
portrait.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">4. In
the Land of Colours<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">James
Ensor’s initial title for The Oyster Eater was the rather abstract In the Land
of Colours. Colour does indeed play the leading role in his composition. All
the same, the artist did not abandon his classical training entirely: he
continued to work with preparatory layers, for instance, where the
Impressionists had begun to paint directly onto the white canvas. The pigments
he used were fairly traditional as well: vermilion, lead white, ochre, cobalt
blue, Prussian blue and synthetic ultramarine. The chrome yellow in The Oyster
Eater is the exception – far more intense than the pale Naples yellow he had
used previously. So what makes this work so different to his earlier bourgeois
interiors? Firstly, the colours are lighter in tone. In many cases, Ensor used
them pure, rather than mixing them. And he also laid them down in large
expanses or applied them in a sketchy manner.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor
might not have painted directly onto the support, but he did create a white
canvas of his own: the tablecloth fills the painting, together with the napkins
and Mitche’s shawl. It is this expanse of white that ultimately lends the
colours their brightness and power. The effect is heightened by the intriguing
pattern of reflections.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor
opted firmly for yellows and reds so that we almost feel the warm, abundant
sunlight flooding into the room. No wonder Mitche looks so content.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For all
the speculation about oysters as an aphrodisiac, the artist did not intend to
create a scene with any erotic overtones. In 1882, oysters were cultivated on a
large scale in Ostend for export and were simply easy to come by. Ensor later
said he wished he’d painted Mitche tucking into mussels instead.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXv8qjopAEyG3_SpUIjgPdLsPe6rL0Wq1ibu8GONqqds3AhrDXZ7caMLSN6Wu4peLrj3DbRobzuwzYepljSV80gPAvV-q1cQoE1v52q2Y19eaHE4qwVywVPZJOW_lM0CGffaSfEsAvr102umvuNTfkmM_y-5ns8JV6YKryrVtENk3bXZa88fBexo8MIVA/s768/Silhouet_van_een_vrouw,_Mitche_en_een_slot,_James_Ensor,_Groeningemuseum,_0000.GRO1270.II.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXv8qjopAEyG3_SpUIjgPdLsPe6rL0Wq1ibu8GONqqds3AhrDXZ7caMLSN6Wu4peLrj3DbRobzuwzYepljSV80gPAvV-q1cQoE1v52q2Y19eaHE4qwVywVPZJOW_lM0CGffaSfEsAvr102umvuNTfkmM_y-5ns8JV6YKryrVtENk3bXZa88fBexo8MIVA/s16000/Silhouet_van_een_vrouw,_Mitche_en_een_slot,_James_Ensor,_Groeningemuseum,_0000.GRO1270.II.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">5. Not
an instant hit<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">After
seeing The Oyster Eater, Emile Verhaeren declared that Ensor was ‘the first of
all our artists to paint in a truly bright way’. The Flemish author was deeply
impressed and was keen to hold Ensor up as the great innovator of Belgian art.
But not everyone saw it that way. The critics didn’t hold back: the colours
were too strident and the work was sloppily painted. What’s more, it was
unseemly to paint such a second-rate subject on such an immense scale – 2 x 1.3
m. And the loosely applied perspective made it seem like everything could come
tumbling out of the painting at any moment.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">"The
first of all our artists to paint in a truly bright way. " Emile Verhaeren<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
Antwerp Salon, at which the leading art of the day was exhibited, rejected the
work in 1882, and even Ensor’s old comrades at L’Essor in Brussels refused to
show The Oyster Eater the following year. Only in 1886 was Ensor able to
present his milestone in public for the first time at the Brussels avant-garde
art society Les Vingt. But even then, he had to keep fighting his painting’s
corner. As late as 1907, Liège City Council decided not to acquire the work for
the local Musée des Beaux Arts.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Fortunately,
Ensor’s good friend Emma Lambotte stepped in. She bought the painting and hung
it in her own drawing room, completing the circle. For a while, anyway: about
20 years later the KMSKA was given the opportunity to buy the work and the
museum wasted no time in saying yes.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">6.
Freshly restored<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Over the
years, The Oyster Eater’s famous colours gradually deteriorated and paint began
to lift and crack. The biggest problem, however, was the painting’s thick layer
of varnish. Until recently, that is, when conservator Lene Smedts successfully
removed it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This was
certainly necessary, as the varnish layer was thick, yellowed, irregular and
glossy. The resulting yellow sheen virtually cancelled out the nuances in the
white zones and the fresh look of the overall work that Ensor had intended. All
the subtlety of his colours had also been lost, while the glossy coating
created unsightly reflections. The vibrant surface structure that is such a
part of this painting could no longer be seen either.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Thanks
to the conservator’s skills, we will soon be able to admire Ensor’s work once
more, just as he meant it to look.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Six
Things You Should Know About Ensor’s Oyster Eater. </span><a href="https://kmska.be/en/oyster-eater">Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten Antwerpen</a>, 2024. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9-64NOv3wNUU7WWZCBjNhodC9FIRu64gmkiGlWXTNTFgKcsHF3XF5PWPm8M9xWQO8qTQ5RXHc_bIHzmeCT8AYCRtwLrHDSRJaOjsk5oVE8PqiCd5R6qx90P_iP8ZK4JiWuoL38WKSXMBuAP1OWjy5SAn51RikhN61N0AJ6cr808WgkVT7JSsDpY28FU/s600/emma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="385" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9-64NOv3wNUU7WWZCBjNhodC9FIRu64gmkiGlWXTNTFgKcsHF3XF5PWPm8M9xWQO8qTQ5RXHc_bIHzmeCT8AYCRtwLrHDSRJaOjsk5oVE8PqiCd5R6qx90P_iP8ZK4JiWuoL38WKSXMBuAP1OWjy5SAn51RikhN61N0AJ6cr808WgkVT7JSsDpY28FU/s16000/emma.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">As a
young woman, Emma Lambotte (1876-1963) was keen to throw off the constraints
placed on women in her time.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">She
published poems, books and art criticism, but it wasn’t enough. When she saw
Ensor’s work in a magazine, she immediately recognized a soul mate. A
friendship was born, letters exchanged and Emma went on to buy 20 works by
Ensor. In doing so, she both supported the artist and raised her own profile. How
exactly? We asked Ulrike Müller, who knows all there is to know about the world
of art collectors in the 19th and early 20th century.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Who was
Emma Lambotte?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: ‘Emma was born in Liège in 1876. Her father was the printer and
businessman Edouard Protin, so she grew up in a well-to-do bourgeois family.
Education was important to the Protins and Emma went to the best private
schools, which certainly wasn’t always the case for girls back then. Because of
her artistic talents, she was also allowed to take private lessons at the
academy in Liège. At the age of 19, Emma married a doctor called Albin
Lambotte. The couple moved to Antwerp, where Albin was appointed chief surgeon
at the Stuyvenberg Hospital. They lived in a grand house on Louizastraat, near
the recently constructed National Bank.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Did she
like Antwerp?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: ‘Emma found herself in the conservative medical world in Antwerp.
There’s a letter to James Ensor where she describes the guests at a dinner
party at her home as “a group of old grey men and their equally grey wives”.
She wished Ensor had been there, so she’d have had a like-minded person to talk
to. His self-portrait was hung in a prominent place in her dining room, which
at least meant she could look at the artist during the dinner and feel
connected to him that way. She certainly felt more at home with artists than in
high society.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">How did
Emma spend her time?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: ‘She wrote. We mainly know her nowadays as a writer of poetry, books
and art criticism, albeit under a pseudonym. And she was an art collector too,
who identified completely with her collection. The work she chose was often out
of step with bourgeois Antwerp taste – a lot of it was contemporary. We haven’t
identified an inventory of her collection, so we know all this from photographs
and from Emma’s letters.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span>True friendship<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><span lang="EN-GB">When did
she meet Ensor?<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: ‘In 1904. Ensor gave her the true friendship she lacked in her Antwerp
circles. She thanks him in one of her letters for treating her more like a pal.
Ensor made Emma feel less conscious of her lower social status as a woman.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">What
kind of relationship did she have with Ensor?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: ‘Emma was bowled over by Ensor’s work. His unconventional style
stimulated her taste and her innovative views on art. Supporting Ensor as both
a collector and critic also allowed Emma to showcase her own artistic ideals.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘And
Ensor benefited from their friendship too. The fact that Emma bought work from
him validated his talent, while the enthusiastic reviews she wrote for the
magazines and newspapers helped establish Ensor’s reputation.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Which
works does Emma buy from Ensor?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: "Yet mainly the more controversial works, such as The Oyster
Eater. For her, these are the works that most typify Ensor, and the best way to
affirm him in his individuality. Moreover, they are a way of distancing herself
from the Antwerp bourgeoisie."<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">"She
does seek out the edges. She can afford to, because her family has remained in
Liege. She cannot embarrass anyone with her peculiar tastes. Possibly she does
get support from her husband."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Where
did Emma hang the paintings she bought from Ensor?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: ‘Emma hung her Ensors in strategic spots in her home. Like many other
women of her class, she held salons, to which she invited writers, musicians
and artists. These women paid huge attention to interior design, which was
viewed as a typically female occupation at the time. On the other hand, the
salons and society dinners that took place in those interiors made them
semi-public spaces too. Like many other collectors, Emma used her home to
express her individual identity to her peers. The Lambottes had furniture and
wallpaper in the latest Art nouveau style, for instance.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor's
works are essential in Emma's interiors. In her monumental hall, she hangs
Still Life with Chinoiseries. A statement, because visitors get to see it
immediately when they enter the house.Close by, she creates her own still lifes
with Asian prints, plates, feathers, vases and figurines. But she goes one step
further.In the same hall, she hangs Adam and Eve expelled from Paradise.This is
a shocking work, which by no means everyone can appreciate.She writes to Ensor
about the overwhelming effect the painting has on the entire hall."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Did Emma
buy artworks from Ensor herself or did the Lambottes purchase them together?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: ‘There are letters showing that Emma picked out the works at Ensor’s
place. The artist only wrote to her, but he did describe the couple as friends
of his. Albin is known to have been an art lover too, but he was a busy surgeon
and so probably had less time to invest in the collection. Ensor showed his gratitude
for Emma’s support by giving her his Self-Portrait with Masks.’</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jTYr6J-PW3pYI8KhX9xhW0huMw67TFL4NRUPhmcsiitelZhK0P-dY63Z9QouiwHKrd6Dl32IrzURvTAZAHOeyauc0Fpd1GxhYF_XYiXxil83UxU1_YJUW2lOrgXZnUMsW2PU5IpjDseelTIJKclxfcX0oBYfjtKYLvYxbkAVa6xJPCsg02hQ7ZP1vqM/s796/james_ensor_emma_lambotte%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="796" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jTYr6J-PW3pYI8KhX9xhW0huMw67TFL4NRUPhmcsiitelZhK0P-dY63Z9QouiwHKrd6Dl32IrzURvTAZAHOeyauc0Fpd1GxhYF_XYiXxil83UxU1_YJUW2lOrgXZnUMsW2PU5IpjDseelTIJKclxfcX0oBYfjtKYLvYxbkAVa6xJPCsg02hQ7ZP1vqM/s16000/james_ensor_emma_lambotte%20(1).jpg" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Mutual
influence<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Did Emma
have any impact on Ensor’s career?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller: ‘Emma bought 20 paintings from Ensor all told, which meant she had the
largest collection of his work at the time. And as I already mentioned, she
wrote about his art as well. Most importantly, it was Emma who introduced Ensor
to the Antwerp collector and patron François Franck. He was the driving force
behind the progressive art society ‘Kunst van het Heden’ [‘Art of the
Present’]. He brought Ensor into the exhibition circuit, which boosted his
reputation and prestige. It’s how Ensor came to show his work in Rotterdam in
1910.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘A
growing number of collectors and museums, including the KMSKA, began to buy his
work at that point and Kunst van het Heden even organized an Ensor
retrospective in Antwerp in 1921. Emma was the only woman on the exhibition
committee and she loaned 14 works from her own collection for the occasion. She
made a real mark on the exhibition, precisely because the paintings she owned
were less obvious ones.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Did
Ensor influence Emma’s own artistic career in any way?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘Emma
painted when she was young, but that’s not where her ambitions lay. All we know
of her work is a painting of an interior with her desk and Ensor’s
Self-Portrait with Masks hanging above it. It highlights the inspiration Emma
drew from the artist’s work.'<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘She
channelled her passion much more into writing. Being an author enabled her to
express her opinions. She wanted to be innovative, to emancipate herself, to
have a voice as a woman. She could do so more effectively as a patron and
writer than as a painter. And she was very effective in her chosen role.'<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘Emma
continued to associate herself with Ensor throughout her life. She lectured on
his art and also wrote her memoirs through the prism of their friendship. At
the age of 85, just before her death, she was still working on a book titled
Ensor, que I’ai connu [‘Ensor as I knew him’].’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">'In
1927, Emma and Albin sold the KMSKA six works by Ensor, including The Oyster
Eater and Adam and Eve Expelled from Paradise. It is not clear why they were
willing to part with the paintings – perhaps their new home in Wilrijk was too
small or the market was particularly good at that moment.'<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ulrike
Müller is a researcher at the Mayer van den Bergh Museum and a post-doctoral
researcher at Antwerp University (Centre for Urban History).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="FR">Emma Lambotte,
Ensor’s Soul Mate. </span><a href="https://kmska.be/en/emma-lambotte-ensors-soul-mate">Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten Antwerpen</a>, 2024. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>
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<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p></div>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="box-sizing: inherit; margin-top: 2rem;">
</span>
</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzVcj_NHf0RekDOBxVePXmTm-KW57uMZLglNG9vXGIEwkab9LrxTGreC9g8FoMY4ZyMH-N3G1seoXURJ0-rebdaQ_MJAzFgsuQZIVxGmJGmvm3cTjNnn6YpToi0DGLvGZyB_91_24Uem525YAeKpu-8Qa-wyHtmxRFT2ltYmkjY0Y0ybhtzEDUU_V27U/s600/james-ensor-2c-rozen--28roses-29-2c-1892.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzVcj_NHf0RekDOBxVePXmTm-KW57uMZLglNG9vXGIEwkab9LrxTGreC9g8FoMY4ZyMH-N3G1seoXURJ0-rebdaQ_MJAzFgsuQZIVxGmJGmvm3cTjNnn6YpToi0DGLvGZyB_91_24Uem525YAeKpu-8Qa-wyHtmxRFT2ltYmkjY0Y0ybhtzEDUU_V27U/s16000/james-ensor-2c-rozen--28roses-29-2c-1892.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Who on
earth is James Ensor? If you’re British, chances are you’ve never heard of him.
If you’re Belgian (or Dutch or German), though, you probably know all about
him. In Flanders, where I’m writing this in a windswept café on the Ostend
seafront, he’s regarded as a figure of national importance — a name to set
alongside Rubens and Van Dyck in the rich history of Flemish art.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are
plenty of Flemish artists who mean absolutely nothing to British audiences, and
in most cases that’s no great loss. If there’s one foreign painter who does
deserve more attention in Britain, it’s James Ensor. For one thing, he’s
actually half English (his father, though born in Brussels, was a British
citizen, the son of two English emigres). He was also a truly revolutionary
artist, a pioneer of modern art. The most important reason, though, is that his
unique artworks are terrific fun.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Go to any
Belgian art gallery, and it’s hard to avoid Ensor. There are excellent
collections of his paintings in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Brussels and
KMSKA in Antwerp, but the best place to see his work is here in Ostend, where
he spent his entire life. Throughout 2024, Ostend is staging numerous events
and exhibitions. Although the excuse for this Ensor year is actually pretty
spurious — the 75th anniversary of his death — it’s a great opportunity for
Brits to discover an artist whom they can call their own, in a seaside resort
not far from home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Ensor
was born in Ostend in 1860, his hometown was a sleepy place, barely more than a
fishing village, but when sea bathing became chic, it quickly became a
boomtown. Leopold II, King of the Belgians, came here on his holidays, and le
tout Belgique followed in his wake. Ensor’s English father had failed at
several careers (medic, engineer, businessman), but his Belgian mother was made
of tougher stuff. She ran a souvenir shop, which generated enough money to
raise her two children — James and his sister Mariette — and allow her amiable
husband to become a barely functioning alcoholic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">James
wasn’t remotely academic, but he had a natural flair for drawing, and
thankfully his canny mother found sufficient funds to send him to the art
academy in Brussels. He excelled at art school and made some influential
contacts. Rather than staying on in the Belgian capital after graduating, he
returned to Ostend, and moved back in with his parents. An attic room above the
shop became his studio, where he toiled away for the next 30 years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Painting in
this provincial garrett, he might easily have been forgotten, but the Brussels
cognoscenti beat a path to his attic door. Curators and collectors loved him.
It’s easy to see why. His realistic early paintings are powerful and
atmospheric. If he’d continued in the same vein, painting impressionistic
seascapes, his work would still command considerable attention. Instead, in the
late 1880s in his late twenties, he switched to a more expressionistic style,
cementing his place as a key player in the evolution of modern art.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today,
Ensor’s expressionistic paintings can seem like just another stage in the
development of modernism, closely aligned with German expressionists like Max
Beckmann, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner and Otto Dix. It’s easy to forget that Ensor
was a generation older than these German artists; his journey into
expressionism predated theirs by 20 years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Seeing the
masks and skulls and strange creatures in Ensor’s paintings, I’d always assumed
he must have a vivid imagination. When you come to Ostend, you realise he
simply painted what he saw. His mother’s souvenir shop sold all sorts of
grotesque curios, and Ostend’s annual carnival enabled its respectable citizens
to commit all sorts of indiscretions in disguise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Compared to
his fantastical carnival scenes, the new Ensor show at Mu.Zee, Ostend’s
municipal art gallery, is relatively tame. It’s a display of still lifes — a
genre which accounted for about a quarter of his output — but although these
pictures of food and drink are no substitute for pictures of manic revellers
making mayhem, they show how Ensor could enliven even the dullest scene. The
exhibition includes other still lifes painted around the same time by other
artists, and the difference is astounding. Their dreary workaday daubs look
lifeless and pedestrian by comparison.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A short
walk away from Mu.Zee is the Ensorhuis, where the family souvenir shop and the
apartment above have been carefully preserved as a museum. You realise what a
humdrum life he led — a petit bourgeois Belgian in an obscure backwater, with
extraordinary creative gifts. It goes to show that you can still harbour big
ideas in a small town.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor lived
until the grand old age of 89 — a remarkable lifespan, straddling an era of
tremendous change. He never married. He had no children. His private life
remains a riddle. He was certainly eccentric, but he also had a wicked sense of
humour. Anecdotes about his idiosyncrasies abound, but I suspect they may have
been practical jokes, played at everyone else’s expense.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor was
ennobled in 1929, an honour which he embraced with a refreshing absence of
false modesty. “Baron James Ensor” reads the headstone on his grave, in a small
churchyard on the edge of town. Heroically, Ensor saved this church, the Maria
Kerke, and the surrounding dunes, from developers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The rest of
Ostend wasn’t so lucky. In 1900, Baedeker called it “one of the most
fashionable and cosmopolitan watering places in Europe”, but even in Ensor’s
lifetime it underwent a steep decline. Occupied by the Germans in both world
wars, it was bombed by both sides, but many of the worst architectural
atrocities were committed by the Belgians. For every Belle Époque building destroyed
by war, several were demolished by postwar speculators, who made a quick buck
replacing ornate villas with bland apartment blocks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Like a lot
of British seaside towns, Ostend’s tourist trade was undercut by cheap flights
to Spain, and the Eurostar scuppered its cross-channel traffic. It shares the
same fitful climate as southern England, and if the weather’s foul (which it
often is) it can feel pretty bleak. However, when the sun shines it’s a lively
place, with some delightful Art Deco relics hidden amidst the modern high-rise:
most notably the Hotel du Parc, a nice place to stay, with a stylish brasserie.
There are some superb places to eat — try Belle de Jour, which doubles as a
cosy B&B.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet it’s
James Ensor which makes Ostend special, and the more time you spend here, the
more his ghost seems to come alive. There are too many tales to recount, but
one story stands out for me. In 1914, on the eve of the First World War, two
brilliant young German artists, Franz Marc and August Macke, made a pilgrimage
to Ostend to visit Ensor, an artist they’d always admired. They knew war was
near, and Ensor was in his fifties. They figured this might be their last
chance to meet him. They were right, but not in the way that they’d imagined.
Marc and Macke both perished on the Western Front, fighting for the Kaiser’s
army. Ensor, on the other hand, lived on until 1949.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
imagination of Ensor : The great Belgian painter could enliven the most mundane
scenes. By William Cook. <a href="https://thecritic.co.uk/the-imagination-of-ensor/">The Critic</a>, December 31, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpgEF9TCeUEJararRpYKx2hmM4MUjd1Sjx4VTrRryXscwvn2AYXwf7ODv9eEfXtnYpV7dtCrEG5lFr7bhOnwAE7ql_rohd_3ib-pITT2p21rV0Ebehzq0JqWrbYKOpb_zHKDhDoG1V-pSSA9EFuoXYacZ4br98sIqLFyzTS-hmaUP4F67cAEWhlYz2Nc/s600/article03_large-20.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpgEF9TCeUEJararRpYKx2hmM4MUjd1Sjx4VTrRryXscwvn2AYXwf7ODv9eEfXtnYpV7dtCrEG5lFr7bhOnwAE7ql_rohd_3ib-pITT2p21rV0Ebehzq0JqWrbYKOpb_zHKDhDoG1V-pSSA9EFuoXYacZ4br98sIqLFyzTS-hmaUP4F67cAEWhlYz2Nc/s16000/article03_large-20.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: inherit;">Depending on
how</span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: inherit;">you look at things, contemporary
satire is experiencing either a golden age or a period of impotence. Never in
recent memory have public figures acted like such buffoons. But comedians have
the unenviable task of making fun of people who are already caricatures of
themselves. How to parody someone whose persona already amounts to a malicious
burlesque?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was in
this general mood of resignation and despair that I visited the recent James
Ensor exhibition at Gladstone Gallery’s uptown space in New York, and to my
pleasant surprise I left with a slightly renewed sense of hope for the power of
humor in art.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A
contemporary of the Neo-Impressionists and Symbolists who belonged to neither
group, Ensor reached his artistic maturity in 1880s Belgium and was, along with
Daumier, one of the first European artists since Goya to respond to the crises
of modernity with laughter, in the deepest sense of the word. Known primarily
for his gargantuan masterpiece L’entrée du Christ à Bruxelles (Christ’s Entry
into Brussels in 1889), 1888, where the painter’s full arsenal is on
display—masked figures, acid colors, a jarring clash of fantasy and reality,
the depiction of the urban crowd—Ensor only exhibited this summa of his work in
1929, when he was sixty-eight. One of the benefits of the Gladstone show, besides
providing an intimate setting in Edmund Durell Stone’s old apartment (whose
elongated yet elegant proportions resemble those of a Belgian town house), was
to showcase what Ensor was known for in his own lifetime, a wildly inventive
and diverse body of work in smaller-scale drawing, etching, and painting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What struck
me immediately was an acerbic visual wit that spared no one, not even fellow
artists, family, or friends. A small etching, peste dessous, peste dessus,
peste partout (Plague Above, Plague Below, Plague All Around), 1904, based on a
photograph of Ensor’s friends, is a case in point. The original image depicts a
congenial gathering, but the print imagines an unconcerned public expelling
clouds of virus into the air with little regard for the nearby (masked!)
barefoot woman carrying a child who has seemingly succumbed to the plague. The
blatant disregard for public health by those with means—and the inordinate
burden shouldered by those without them—could not have been made clearer. Many
of Ensor’s mockeries of late-nineteenth-century Belgian society are equally
pertinent today, almost three-quarters of a century after his death in 1949.
His grotesque portraits of judges, gendarmes, and doctors could be easily
replaced with the faces of today’s Supreme Court justices, policemen, and
anti-vax “experts” without losing any of their biting force.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The comic in
Ensor extends well beyond timely social critique. Theorists of laughter from
Baudelaire to Bakhtin have argued against reducing humor to contemporary
satire. For one, jokes about current events can become meaningless once the
events in question are no longer current (although they can feel relevant again
when circumstances, such as a pandemic or a broken judiciary, return). But more
important, topical humor implies the superiority of the lampooner over the
lampooned. To use Baudelaire’s example, we may laugh at someone who trips and
falls, but only because we ourselves retain our footing. For post-Romantic
thinkers, such aloofness was symptomatic of the introverted and detached irony
of the modern city dweller.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6z0lKJEhE5PWYiDwA3GW84iEryQPB92nilg1Q1eUp0vYz6TUOLtEKTs2v-kfjQHDU728lZqsM26ZmEQtFiIB-AUrce0_FSDAxUFA3BjgmPfF6B-SVnKWyleTLJJoiyKGYZBkL-8ghpYlfDJ5_gDzeMvs6V6nApZEI85z6xwB6V8QbNzvQgwmQ_L0CuU/s600/article01_large-34.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6z0lKJEhE5PWYiDwA3GW84iEryQPB92nilg1Q1eUp0vYz6TUOLtEKTs2v-kfjQHDU728lZqsM26ZmEQtFiIB-AUrce0_FSDAxUFA3BjgmPfF6B-SVnKWyleTLJJoiyKGYZBkL-8ghpYlfDJ5_gDzeMvs6V6nApZEI85z6xwB6V8QbNzvQgwmQ_L0CuU/s16000/article01_large-34.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For sure,
there is political commentary aplenty in Ensor, but interwoven into his oeuvre
is another kind of comedy, a tradition of folk humor dating back to the Middle
Ages. Historically, the carnivalesque, according to Bakhtin, engendered a less
divisive, more collective form of laughter. In the medieval counterculture of
the carnival, people still laughed at others. But they also laughed with them,
because everyone laughed at and with themselves. And that was OK. Laughter was
universal and endemic to a culture in which, for a short period before Lent,
the world was turned upside down and inside out: Devils became kings, beggars
became priests, the everyday became the ceremonial, the poor became the rich,
ridicule became praise, and sorrow became joy. In fact, such overturning of
norms was necessary for the survival of culture because it opened possibilities
usually denied to the populace by official rules and regulations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
preponderance of skeletons and pantomime characters in Ensor’s work is evidence
of this carnival spirit. So, too, is the grotesque element. Among the things
that drew Bakhtin to the French writer Rabelais were the abundant references in
the latter’s writing to exaggerated and deformed bodies, with a frequent focus
on the digestive and excretory functions, locomotion, and
materiality—everything below the belt, as it were. Ensor’s persistently
corporal distortions and scatological imagery are not limited to evildoers.
They apply to everyone, because for him they constitute a utopian condition in
which identity is constantly in flux and resistant to the forces of repression.
Corrupt officials may have gruesome faces, but so do Ensor and his patron
friends in an almost touching triple portrait from the exhibition in which the
artist appears in drag, M et Mme Rousseau parlant avec Sophie Yoteko (Mr. and
Mrs. Rousseau Speaking with Sophie Yoteko), 1892.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTGeYA6DKbRbwhFWLkehlG9qzfgLXup4PSAELHWJCVfSBswuk-NDDfPTMJAsFT7KOTSCOCODs-JX9EzaYxw9Wzu0yrHgGebiXGeXcZ6jS7fdp3JWEe_-FyDlsQ5_dI2rTyURutwqGyLFMmWNrsIcFobE1N6cu1bTciopPQnHw4CNxTQUCcad8mwbiKjPs/s600/article02_large-26.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTGeYA6DKbRbwhFWLkehlG9qzfgLXup4PSAELHWJCVfSBswuk-NDDfPTMJAsFT7KOTSCOCODs-JX9EzaYxw9Wzu0yrHgGebiXGeXcZ6jS7fdp3JWEe_-FyDlsQ5_dI2rTyURutwqGyLFMmWNrsIcFobE1N6cu1bTciopPQnHw4CNxTQUCcad8mwbiKjPs/s16000/article02_large-26.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In Ensor, the
primary mode of the carnivalesque is the mask, which combines bodily
exaggeration with the tropes of becoming and ambivalence. Like the grotesque
body, the mask is not static and instead is composed of morphing protuberances
and nooks. A mask can be an alternate identity and, in diametric opposition, an
avatar of the “real” person behind it, their “true” self. The emotions the mask
evokes are equally dual-natured. A fake face can be both an object of ridicule
and a source of joy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet what
ultimately gives Ensor’s art its vitality is the convergence, if not the clash,
of the two different models of public life on view within it, the medieval
carnival and the modern crowd. In Ensor’s time, the representation of the urban
multitude was a relatively new phenomenon and took the form of a scene of the
official parade, of bourgeois leisure, or of class revolt. In all three cases,
the individual was effaced: subordinated to the state, lost in the crowd,
consumed by the mob. Ensor learned important lessons from Breughel, Rembrandt,
and Goya about how to pictorially organize such groupings. But he also took
from those artists a sense of the individuality-within-collectivity of the
marketplace festival and made it proliferate within the anonymous modern mass.
At the festive end would be his drawing of tourists bathing at coastal Ostend
(where Ensor lived for most of his life, working at one point in a studio above
his family’s shop, which sold masks for carnival). In a scene straight out of
Where’s Waldo?, tiny figures cavort across the page, some of them bumping bums
while others fart into the sea. In contrast, at his most explicitly political,
Ensor depicted police in the same town intervening in a dispute (eerily
reminiscent of one of Brexit’s major debates) over fishing rights between
Belgian and English boatmen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHNPqu78OIOwa4v5xrJpClUfzZgp1YdO-vzXSX3sVNYTWPQctEMlk3OdR9ZOn2DmXICsmWt7G0sVyBjbdCI41O9ENFL_5k2kLl4n9KjVsNeI8_RqD2ybzjUI1tGYS9JE5c1l064tPy61U5Y7jrMgys-OY997EUu1zNmdRx6M_tdYmuY6EfPQZEYIiC6Kw/s600/article00_large-105.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHNPqu78OIOwa4v5xrJpClUfzZgp1YdO-vzXSX3sVNYTWPQctEMlk3OdR9ZOn2DmXICsmWt7G0sVyBjbdCI41O9ENFL_5k2kLl4n9KjVsNeI8_RqD2ybzjUI1tGYS9JE5c1l064tPy61U5Y7jrMgys-OY997EUu1zNmdRx6M_tdYmuY6EfPQZEYIiC6Kw/s16000/article00_large-105.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I don’t think
Ensor was so naive as to actually believe in the comeback of carnival in its
traditional form. But neither did he take comfort in either the contemporaneous
mysticism of Gauguin or the unrelenting scientism of Seurat, both of whom
exhibited with Les XX, the artists’ group Ensor helped found. The heterogeneity
of folk humor, its serious playfulness, lived on in his art, not simply in his
satires of the world around him but in his nonconformist attitude, as one would
expect of an anarchist. Thus, most refreshingly, his work mocks those for whom
one would have expected him to have the most sympathy. The artists of Les XX
were taken to task for being too easily enthralled by pointillism. Though
Ensor’s salacious print Alimentation doctrinaire (Doctrinal Nourishment),
1889–95, depicts the leaders of the state, the church, and the military
defecating into a street teeming with people, the artist does not identify
wholeheartedly with the victimized crowd. On the contrary, the masses eagerly
consume the bullshit being fed to them by those in power. Even today, Ensor has
the last laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Paul Galvez
is a research associate at the Edith O’Donnell Institute of Art History at the
University of Texas at Dallas. His book Courbet’s Landscapes: The Origins of
Modern Painting (Yale University Press) is forthcoming this spring.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Funny Games :
Paul Galvez on James Ensor. </span></span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By Paul Galvez. <a href="https://www.artforum.com/columns/paul-galvez-on-james-ensor-2-251570/">Artforum</a>, vol. 60, nr.7, March 2022</span>. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9eERGsN4sB3WhNa1KTFF1RYFepU9BpPIvmcx9ASxhNO13GMGsKBZfTLDwxwQp20WKOLv7F73bPBHfrK3Ay9bZMI4W7-ACwgxcPxrsUrlqUYwhgRXO7kw-LtivgE7YcVArIn7fTdy2Iqsz_nQRyOtSMztUVbDXs_iV8UztM3qFaU3sqr47j_1tA1sPGU/s600/clar05_3823_01.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9eERGsN4sB3WhNa1KTFF1RYFepU9BpPIvmcx9ASxhNO13GMGsKBZfTLDwxwQp20WKOLv7F73bPBHfrK3Ay9bZMI4W7-ACwgxcPxrsUrlqUYwhgRXO7kw-LtivgE7YcVArIn7fTdy2Iqsz_nQRyOtSMztUVbDXs_iV8UztM3qFaU3sqr47j_1tA1sPGU/s16000/clar05_3823_01.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Ensor
exhibition at the Royal Academy (until 29 January) is for me the event of the
autumn. It is twenty years since Ensor had a show in London, and another sixty
years before that since the Leicester Galleries’ retrospective of 1936 (the artist
was still alive, but the handful of years round 1890 when most of his best work
had been done must already have seemed remote). Luc Tuymans has chosen
wonderfully for the present survey – thirty paintings, fifty merciless drawings
and prints – and Antwerp and other Belgian collections have lent with touching
generosity. I hope the Belgians will forgive me if I say that looking at Ensor
in the Academy struck home as hard as it did partly because the paintings
seemed to me to connect so deeply, and so variously, with the line of French
art from Delacroix to Cézanne. This is the art from which Ensor drew his
strength. I know he was fond of saying in his later years that ‘J’entends
ignorer mes influences,’ and ‘Paris m’est totalement inconnue,’ but he did not
expect anyone to believe him. His imagery was rooted in the traditions of the
Low Countries, with Brueghel and Bosch constant companions; but as a painter –
as a colourist, as a manipulator of impasto – Ensor spent his life dreaming of
Delacroix and Monticelli and Moreau, and what the Impressionists had done,
especially the high-speed Manet of the 1870s. I’m sure he must at some point
have seen early Cézannes – The Orgy, perhaps, or Achille Emperaire, or a
Temptation of St Anthony – and thought about repeating them in the key of late
Turner. But Delacroix was always the presiding genius. The Fall of the Rebel
Angels in the show is a wild précis of Delacroix’s Apollo ceiling (with
Brueghel in the background). Adam and Eve Expelled from Paradise draws from the
same source. The great anarchist Entry of Christ into Brussels in 1889 – too
big and fragile to travel to London, but represented by an unrepentant etching
Ensor did of it six years later (only the blood-red banner reading ‘Vive la
Sociale’ has been suppressed) – recasts Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People
as an endless crowd of carnival Crusaders Entering Constantinople.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps it
is true that an artist’s influences should not interest us much (Ensor’s wish
to drop the subject has my sympathy) unless what they give rise to in the work
before us is baffling, yet immediately coherent in its own right, and also an
achievement that, once seen, appears to upend our view of the tradition being
drawn on, putting that tradition in a new light. This is the Ensor effect. Who,
without The Intrigue or Skeletons Fighting for the Body of a Hanged Man, would
truly have grasped how much it mattered to French painting all through the 19th
century – and still in the age of Picasso and de Chirico – that the ordinary, daily,
material life of modernity be seen to be haunted by the unreal, the deathly,
the disguised, the predatory, the phantasmagoric? The famous tagline Walter
Benjamin borrowed from Leopardi – ‘Fashion: Madame Death! Madame Death!’ –
seems made for the world Ensor shows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Look again
at The Intrigue and Skeletons Fighting. What seems to me stupendous about them
(and thoroughly Boschian) is their ability to convince us that horror and
absurdity are familiar events, behaviours we all recognise from our daily
round. The colour and touch Ensor brings on to support that intuition do both
hover, yes, on the edge of the showy. But in the years round 1890 that edge was
where a renewed modern realism seemed possible. Garishness and matter-of-factness
were faces of the same coin – never more painfully than in pictures like these.
Which of the two concepts just tried on for size – garishness and everydayness
– applies, for instance, to the charity-shop outfit of the figure on the left
in Skeletons Fighting? Or the mouldy yellow fur of the man in The Intrigue?
(His mask-face as frightened and disconsolate as a face in painting has ever
been.) Or the ward-doctor whites belonging to the hanged man? (The ‘CIVET’
pinned to the corpse’s chest is presumably the kind Lear asked the apothecary
for, ‘to sweeten my imagination’. The line of dried blood leading from tongue
to placard is happily unreproducible.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfIfksHSnWr3oFXr6NP5OvoYlVMW4Vm3CVjdz3nyQHG1sE5MNG4-biZt8HsCm4Z9cQR2ihlMzQo9IKT0JtOcUEDIHQRB2CHnX55TemgCvsm33bLWzTihQztIOnEw171_0-CtCBXCQBauEyiiBfEWkuH632IZ7W9NA2hY3-tk-u89G-Ze5qXFbSakRbfA/s600/skeletons%20fighting%20for.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfIfksHSnWr3oFXr6NP5OvoYlVMW4Vm3CVjdz3nyQHG1sE5MNG4-biZt8HsCm4Z9cQR2ihlMzQo9IKT0JtOcUEDIHQRB2CHnX55TemgCvsm33bLWzTihQztIOnEw171_0-CtCBXCQBauEyiiBfEWkuH632IZ7W9NA2hY3-tk-u89G-Ze5qXFbSakRbfA/s16000/skeletons%20fighting%20for.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">I concede
that once I start describing a good Ensor I can’t stop piling on gory detail.
But this is not what happens in front of the real thing: the pictures are not
chambers of horrors. Their detail may regularly be disgusting or tawdry or
delectable (almost in the way of Baudelaire’s ‘Une charogne’), but by and large
it is firmly contained, almost neutralised, by the whole painted rectangle,
that is, by the ordinariness of the masqueraders’ surroundings, and the sober
underlying view of bourgeois society being proposed. What makes Skeletons
Fighting so chilling, to put it another way, is the grim seedy decency of the
picture’s colour: the force of its ice-cold blues, greens and whites, one of
the blues entombing a skull staring up at us reproachfully from ground level;
and above all the schoolroom joylessness of the picture’s floorboards and back
wall. No theatre of cruelty has ever been provided with a less glamorous stage.
Ensor’s whole sense of space in these 1890s pictures is unerring. The nastiness
and pathos of his bourgeois undead – there is a picture (not in the show,
though again a later etching is there as reminder) where the skeletons huddle
for warmth round a woodstove, one of them clutching a painter’s maulstick and
palette, another with a violin – would be infinitely more dismissible, put down
as mere whimsy, if Ensor had not, in ways just described, so completely
realised the bare rooms and bric-à-brac and dismal ‘hangings’ in which his
maskers seek their thrills. In the third of the great 1890s paintings lent by
Antwerp to the show, L’Etonnement du masque Wouse, the room is enlivened by an
evanescent green and pink Oriental landscape, with birds of paradise and mystic
lilies, the kind Ensor’s art-world particularly treasured. ‘Etonnement’ here –
the title is Ensor’s, given when he first showed the painting in Brussels – is
difficult to translate. The masqueraders are certainly not astonished by their
own or anyone else’s behaviour – that’s part of Ensor’s point – just
disoriented, maybe interested for a moment, then bored, resentful, smug,
sneering, nihilistic. A critic in La Jeune Belgique in 1890 struck the right
note: Ensor’s colours, he wrote, reach back essentially to Goya’s, and so does
his view of life. </span><span lang="FR">‘Il fait
penser à cette lignée terrible et maudite: Maldoror, Rimbaud.’ </span><span lang="EN-GB">He has given us a new set of Black
Paintings reimagined by a cackling van Gogh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And yet
there is tenderness in Ensor – an unmistakable fellow feeling for his
marionettes. He would be an immensely lesser artist (as would Goya and Rimbaud)
if there were not. The Intrigue is drenched in pity – almost to its detriment,
but not quite. Those who care about Ensor as an artist have always been
fascinated by the length of time he lived on after his six or seven years of
inspiration – he died in 1949. He became, I would say entirely knowingly and
deliberately, a ghost or simulacrum of himself, more and more accepting the
role of dead ornament to a regime his art had once savaged. Baron Ensor,
eventually. But hadn’t his art always predicted such a future? Wasn’t one form
or another of undeadness what Ensor believed – felt – bourgeois society had in
store for all of us? Isn’t the intimacy of these paintings with desperation and
aimlessness – with false vitality – what gives them enduring power?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor is
one of the strangest artists to have emerged from a socialist and anarchist
milieu – stranger even than Platonov or Pasolini. That socialism of some sort
was the context that mattered in his case is clear. The first serious piece of
writing about him appeared in 1891 in the socialist journal La Société
nouvelle, published in Paris and Brussels: it was written by a novelist friend,
Eugène Demolder. When Demolder followed up with a short book a few months later
it was titled James Ensor, la mort mystique d’un théologien. (The great Verhaeren,
poet of the revolutionary crowd, lent his name to a second monograph in 1908.)
You have to work hard to find Demolder’s 1892 subtitle acknowledged in the
art-historical literature, but it is important, and only half ironical. In
Belgian socialism at fin de siècle, Christ and La Sociale (the anarchists’
codeword for the coming social revolution) were inseparable. Demolder in La
Société nouvelle has Ensor’s Christ ‘step down into the crowd and slap the
ridiculous bishop with his stigmatised hands’. There is a ferocious Man of
Sorrows in the show, painted the same year as Demolder’s essay, whose Christ
seems fully capable of doing the job. He is best looked at in tandem with a
panel hung nearby, also dated 1891, titled Skeletons Fighting over a Pickled
Herring. No doubt the panel’s strip-cartoon pessimism is all-encompassing –
‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do’ – but at the same time it
resonates specifically with Ostend and class struggle. Ostend in the late 19th
century (it was Ensor’s home, and he rarely stirred far from the place) shared
its bathing beaches with a hard-scrabble fishing industry – it was Bognor with
a large dash of Grimsby. In August 1887 fish packers set on three English boats
trying to undersell the locals, and gendarmes shot dead six or more of the
rioters, wounding scores of others (the numbers are disputed) before order
returned. There is a drawing at the Academy called The Strike, but its first
title seems to have been Le Massacre des pêcheurs ostendais. Notice that one of
the skeletons in the Pickled Herring picture is sporting a busby. Ensor did a
painting in 1892 of fishermen’s wives warming themselves over individual
braziers shoved under their skirts, in a room as wintry and miserable as the
room in Skeletons Fighting for the Body of a Hanged Man; naturally, skull
people peer in through a window. One of them carries a heartless placard: ‘A
Mort! – Elles ont mangé trop de poisson.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
sensibility – the precise strain of anarchistic socialism – that issues from
this pattern of sympathies has always been hard to pin down. Demolder’s
subtitle speaks to that. Looking again at The Intrigue or L’Etonnement du
masque Wouse, I find Ensor’s general attitude to his subject matter – his tone
– fundamentally baffling, but also compelling. He is clearly alarmed and amused
by bourgeois society, and trying to see – to insist on – masquerade and
massacre as its necessary two faces. But how seriously? How compassionately
(remembering sweet Jesus, but also his vision of Christ’s entry into Brussels)?
With what admixture of class panic?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It happened
that the day I first visited the Academy show I was reading Dostoevsky’s
novella The Eternal Husband, and as I stood in front of The Intrigue I couldn’t
shake off the memory of Velchaninov’s dream:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “”He dreamed of some crime he had committed
and concealed and of which he was accused by people who kept coming up to him.
An immense crowd collected, but more people still came, so that the door was
not shut but remained open. But his whole interest was centred on a strange
person, once an intimate friend of his, who was dead, but now somehow suddenly
had come to see him. What made it most worrying was that Velchaninov did not
know the man, had forgotten his name and could not recall it. All he knew was
that he had once liked him very much. All the other people who had come up
seemed expecting from this man a final word that would decide Velchaninov’s
guilt or innocence, and all were waiting impatiently. But he sat at the table
without moving, was mute and would not speak. The noise did not cease for a
moment, the general irritation grew more intense, and suddenly in a fury
Velchaninov struck the man for refusing to speak, and felt a strange enjoyment
in doing it. His heart thrilled with horror and misery at what he had done, but
there was enjoyment in that thrill. Utterly exasperated, he struck him a second
time and a third, and, drunk with rage and terror, which reached the pitch of
madness, but in which there was an intense enjoyment, he lost count of his
blows, and went on beating the man without stopping. He wanted to demolish it
all, all.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think
this gets us into Ensor’s world. Proximity and crowding are two of his themes,
especially in The Intrigue – above all the kind of proximity that confirms each
individual’s deep loneliness. Masks only make the choreography more distinct.
Of course what the ‘it’ ultimately amounts to, for people like Velchaninov,
will never be clear – that is partly Dostoevsky’s point. And Ensor similarly
was a sufferer from rage he couldn’t put a finger on – he was a frozen,
frightened ‘case’ (like Kafka or Maeterlinck). There is always too much guilt
and horror to go round: putting the names ‘sin’ or ‘godlessness’ or ‘bourgeois
society’ to them is bound to be desperate shorthand. But the atmosphere of the
it – that’s what counts in art. That’s what art ought to register. And for a
while Ensor’s did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPInT2U3Ws0JoKzuAS1RaYrxB-NE8eWcIHo_bTkYNNlCax7X6RXMqQ8XjkEL4hvhCV7pmlI1G_HNS-Rp0QZ6xxy-p4fGx7I-1VB7n-gHzkz7c3KsYP8gFHUyJu9dN6_jJdeuHZ38nBbtyA-fSFdubEHRFNlRPkrP9nSpS5nSnd7rafwEcdVa6muIvsz8/s520/tell%20tale%20heart.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPInT2U3Ws0JoKzuAS1RaYrxB-NE8eWcIHo_bTkYNNlCax7X6RXMqQ8XjkEL4hvhCV7pmlI1G_HNS-Rp0QZ6xxy-p4fGx7I-1VB7n-gHzkz7c3KsYP8gFHUyJu9dN6_jJdeuHZ38nBbtyA-fSFdubEHRFNlRPkrP9nSpS5nSnd7rafwEcdVa6muIvsz8/s16000/tell%20tale%20heart.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is a
tremendous drawing in the exhibition which the catalogue entitles, peculiarly,
Revelatory Heart. Something went astray here along the road from American to
French back to English. The episode Ensor is illustrating comes from Poe’s
story ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’: we are at the moment when the murderer manages to
focus a beam of light in the darkness, searching for his victim, an old man
asleep; and the beam bounces off the victim’s wide-awake eye. It is a typical
Ensor subject: something we’d assumed was inanimate or insensible suddenly
looks back at us with malignant life. There are other things based on Poe in
the exhibition – notably a sizzling Hop-Frog’s Revenge. But I prefer Ensor’s
glum version of the Poe crime story. Again the bleakness of the bedroom is
essential. The ghosts and masks have all but vanished in the murk. The Poe of
the hellish city whodunits, then, seems relevant to Ensor (not forgetting his
Masque of the Red Death); and the Dostoevsky of The Double and The Eternal
Husband (with maybe The Grand Inquisitor’s Christ thrown in); and the Redon who
lithographed Les Fleurs du mal and Flaubert’s Temptation of St Anthony; and
Cézanne swearing to the end of his life that he would do a full-scale
Apotheosis of Delacroix. ‘J’entends ignorer mes influences.’ It all adds up, in
Ensor’s painting, to a heart-stopping sane brew.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the
Royal Academy : James Ensor By T.J. Clark. <a href="https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v38/n23/t.j.-clark/at-the-royal-academy">The London Review of Books</a>, Vol. 38 No. 23 · 1 December 2016<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkLw5nhhwIZbY81Py34neG23KAtFl1IRnJelvOc08EUV9gvo4xsv_6mmTXjMXeM3uxSsV4y033TmNtwVyGSTNHZxLoYE-GXhIl1hVKDx0bgFpwn5OreODpDldqy-zjZzKQQyuPcY0WQZhpPI2mCIKireFNh0_cZIxAFhLT_ULghBRpiT2xK_0EAoUgsU/s600/James_Ensor_-_Still_life_with_skate_-_(MeisterDrucke-1455476).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkLw5nhhwIZbY81Py34neG23KAtFl1IRnJelvOc08EUV9gvo4xsv_6mmTXjMXeM3uxSsV4y033TmNtwVyGSTNHZxLoYE-GXhIl1hVKDx0bgFpwn5OreODpDldqy-zjZzKQQyuPcY0WQZhpPI2mCIKireFNh0_cZIxAFhLT_ULghBRpiT2xK_0EAoUgsU/s16000/James_Ensor_-_Still_life_with_skate_-_(MeisterDrucke-1455476).jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">There is
far more to Belgian misfit James Ensor than masks and skeletons, as this
exemplary show reveals</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is a
painting of a skate in this startling exhibition that amounts to nothing less
than a portrait. It shows the voluminous fish sprawled flaccidly on a table.
The ruffed white body spreads like fancy dress around the head, which is
propped up so that the eyes are staring straight at the viewer. The fish wears
a tragicomic expression, slightly humiliated, as if caught drinking too much.
Or perhaps it had only just dined, before becoming dinner itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Skate
is very famous in Ensor’s native Belgium and pretty much the opposite here –
and the same is true of the artist. James Ensor (1860-1949) was born in Ostend,
the son of an English engineer; he had a British passport and spent time in
London. But while we may think of him as the master of the masks – literally:
he appears surrounded by them in one self-portrait – he is regarded as
infinitely more various across the Channel, and so he now appears in this Royal
Academy show.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here is a
frightening painting of a bathing hut, solitary and remote – number 164 all
alone on the cold grey shore; what happened to the others? Here is Ensor’s
mother on her deathbed in a most delicate and loving portrait, the nose taking
prowess in the sinking face. Here are dark figures receding through the Ostend
fog, and a spectacular painting of Adam and Eve fleeing an avenging angel in
the form of a gigantic firework reaching out of the sky. Eden is low-lying
Flanders.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Christ
hangs on the cross surrounded by a crowd of Ostenders, not all of them duly
solemn. A colossal storm of paint builds above the rooftops and high-tide flags
of this port. Afternoon in Ostend is more like night, an arsenical green glow
to this bourgeois interior in which two women take tea – one looking helplessly
out at the painter, as if in hope of escape from this prison of disaffection
and boredom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-y4wP4HECqbBK1XOJ7vErhe47j3vIshymCr2dSDOdCG6sMHVnsauvVkuGAaE60iI7Mro8zt-4-tW0Q5-dqtQjFW8gq3J0qG5dyaZLNMzb261IZW28vmvGP8RPARf6Tp9J29sdytc1pmdkkRVar3XhynaXnmTWTlFxkiiHGa3Sfi36nS13hZG30iTtUQ/s600/james-ensor-adam-and-eve-expelled-from-paradise-1887.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-y4wP4HECqbBK1XOJ7vErhe47j3vIshymCr2dSDOdCG6sMHVnsauvVkuGAaE60iI7Mro8zt-4-tW0Q5-dqtQjFW8gq3J0qG5dyaZLNMzb261IZW28vmvGP8RPARf6Tp9J29sdytc1pmdkkRVar3XhynaXnmTWTlFxkiiHGa3Sfi36nS13hZG30iTtUQ/s16000/james-ensor-adam-and-eve-expelled-from-paradise-1887.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What unites
such disparate images is their peculiarly exuberant energy. Ensor is festive
even when devastating or macabre. His drawing is lithe and precise, unfurling
prolifically in vibrant space; his painting is celebrated for its gorgeous
beauty, the brushmarks radiating across the canvas in lavish density. With the
masks, his palette turns to exhilarating hues of pink, white, ochre, mint green
and bright, seaside blue.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ostend is
for Ensor what Cookham was for Stanley Spencer: a real place, but also a
microcosmic land of myth and parable. Ensor spent his entire life as a bachelor
living above various shops in this seasonal resort. His mother sold souvenirs,
carnival masks, dolls and chinoiserie; Ensor grew up in her curiosity shop,
delighted by the “opulent colour, reflections and sparkling rays of light… an
inextricable jumble of assorted objects constantly being knocked over by cats,
and deafening parrots”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everything
his mother sold he painted, jumbled to a purpose. His Ostend is crowded with
walking dolls, masks and goggling Chinese ceramics, sometimes witnessing a
great moment – the appearance of Christ – sometimes a great farce, as skeletons
wage war over the corpse of a hanged man, or the fish in a grotesque banquet
turn upon the diners, biting their greasy lips. These surrogate people are both
actors and audience in Ensor’s show.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzRpVtSxvGuWJU-aPL_koWgWHHshsgDvgK_JPhtsDF_2W9vIpCGPRDujBIK7E2GbjxfmdtHwyPn-QeHLVeJIKmoZb_9aKR0ZVUvRr-VfjczSFonMuXbuf-CsfoorqbWbTLo3BKyxHCaHqryLw49JGRT2JBA5-qRTa-0RQqvO0lKpR8u-A7imdtAj8gws/s600/25646_ca_object_representations_media_113_large_15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzRpVtSxvGuWJU-aPL_koWgWHHshsgDvgK_JPhtsDF_2W9vIpCGPRDujBIK7E2GbjxfmdtHwyPn-QeHLVeJIKmoZb_9aKR0ZVUvRr-VfjczSFonMuXbuf-CsfoorqbWbTLo3BKyxHCaHqryLw49JGRT2JBA5-qRTa-0RQqvO0lKpR8u-A7imdtAj8gws/s16000/25646_ca_object_representations_media_113_large_15.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As a
teenager he was taught by a caricaturist and a landscape painter, and his art
often shows it – there are elegiac seascapes, and coruscating satire in his
Seven Deadly Sins. Sloth shows the longest lie-in ever, with devils swinging on
the clock hands above the sluggards and poking at their sleepy eyes while
snails slime up the bedspread. In Gluttony, the next course is a head on a
platter – the artist’s own.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor had
some right to his victim complex. His works were banned from exhibitions, he
was repeatedly excluded from avant-garde groups, and the critics tortured him
in print. Other than his father, who died of drink at 52, his family disliked
his work, and some pictures were partly executed in household paint because he
couldn’t afford oils. In 1893 he even tried to sell his room and its contents;
there were no buyers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Success –
and there was eventually much of it, culminating in a title – came just around
the time when his ideas were beginning to circle back on themselves in his late
40s.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But it is
too easy to make a satirist of him, savagely guying his compatriots. The whole
Halloween pageant of masks, devils and irate skeletons is not so simple. And
this is what makes the RA’s show exemplary. Curated by Ensor’s fellow Belgian
painter Luc Tuymans, it clears away the repetitions, allows more space for
portraits and landscapes, and gives the sharpest sense of Ensor’s evergreen
originality and his singular vision of the world from above the shop.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wSO2mMlDVu0WkHApzRGJcKuHOWxPe_Gy8wMbqLx88bMhPyw8IerpDVT5btrC9SBzhy4_9T2X2xDsJcHjowPx2jut6QppyoXY8QTr-DeFF7ckyyin7MEKlhpSMvu3ks5jNGoJKmqf8ax4qeLppm_F1G7C5faV0sjY06j7hE1792NMYQx1YnK6F16vvko/s600/Astonishment_of_the_Mask_Wouse,_1889.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wSO2mMlDVu0WkHApzRGJcKuHOWxPe_Gy8wMbqLx88bMhPyw8IerpDVT5btrC9SBzhy4_9T2X2xDsJcHjowPx2jut6QppyoXY8QTr-DeFF7ckyyin7MEKlhpSMvu3ks5jNGoJKmqf8ax4qeLppm_F1G7C5faV0sjY06j7hE1792NMYQx1YnK6F16vvko/s16000/Astonishment_of_the_Mask_Wouse,_1889.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The masks
are perverse – an unmasking, you might say. Is anything behind them? A masked
old lady entering a room is astonished by a heap of masks on the floor
(disgraceful untidiness, or a massacre of her fellow beings?). Two masks, one
laughing heartily, the other weeping, are affably hugged by a skeleton wearing
a parrot like a raffish feather hat – how short is the distance from happiness
to grief, via death…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In The
Intrigue, one of Ensor’s largest masterpieces, a throng of masks is seen
sharing some hugger-mugger news with a mother whose baby is a doll. They appear
clamorously energetic. The central figure is a man in an opera hat and evening
dress – if one can call him a man: what he seems, more than anything, is a
figure in a phantasmagoria staged by the artist, a drama of forceful
personalities and riveting inventions; a theatre where the masks can live their
own existence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Many
scholars (and practically all Belgians, according to the catalogue) have
pondered the mystery of these masks. But Ensor himself was candid. The mask
meant an opportunity for extravagant gesture, expression and decoration, but
above all for “exquisite turbulence”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here is a
paradox to carry in mind through this show, where the tone can be so hard to
catch, falling far from obvious psychology. When the masks give way to skulls,
for instance, it might seem as if Ensor was preoccupied by death. But skulls
regularly turned up on the beach at Ostend (130,000 Flemish were massacred
there in the 17th century), and they stand in for children, art critics,
carnival-goers and – regularly – the artist himself. They’re almost anyone
except the dead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To find
oneself burled up in life’s turbulence – single cells metastasising in
unpredictable throngs – that is Ensor’s modern danse macabre. His predecessors
may be Bosch and Goya, and perhaps Watteau in the eerie loneliness of certain
pictures. But the sustained energy of his pen and brush, the graphic freedom of
his theatrical scenarios is all his own. To be oneself when the onslaught is
going the other way: that is his lifelong principle. In one of his many
self-portraits, Ensor appears surrounded by evil spirits. He looks mildly
perturbed, but not much frightened by this alien crowd. He is nothing like
these figments. As in life, so in art: James Ensor doesn’t fit in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Intrigue:
James Ensor by Luc Tuymans review – exquisite turbulence. By Laura Cumming. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2016/oct/30/james-ensor-royal-academy-luc-tuymans">The Guardian</a>, October 30, 2016<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkz1qMYY8N2Mc6zTTmgrpzCoM60paPgb8sP3xe1FzSzSDq3VeHPDasBC-Iytw884Xvhadv6DPNza0CoputXobb7e6-RYT98dmzeBfFBqPAbLkaQ_K2dEejJnH-RBCDVRFY_JcOhyphenhyphen5xFIdwxZ7_2nOllZgnJSKbY01ARbnrTNIxgZqo9UzX4j7AMHGPy0g/s600/Badkoets_op_het_strand,_James_Ensor,_1876,_Koninklijk_Museum_voor_Schone_Kunsten_Antwerpen,_2972.001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkz1qMYY8N2Mc6zTTmgrpzCoM60paPgb8sP3xe1FzSzSDq3VeHPDasBC-Iytw884Xvhadv6DPNza0CoputXobb7e6-RYT98dmzeBfFBqPAbLkaQ_K2dEejJnH-RBCDVRFY_JcOhyphenhyphen5xFIdwxZ7_2nOllZgnJSKbY01ARbnrTNIxgZqo9UzX4j7AMHGPy0g/s16000/Badkoets_op_het_strand,_James_Ensor,_1876,_Koninklijk_Museum_voor_Schone_Kunsten_Antwerpen,_2972.001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Opinionated
yet solitary, James Ensor made use of disguises in life as he did in his
pioneering paintings. A new show at the Royal Academy unmasks Belgium’s master
of darkness<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1888 the
still-young James Ensor etched a self-portrait “in the year 1960”. Accompanied
by an outsize spider (Ensor hated spiders), the 100-year-old artist’s skeleton
lounges casually on a divan, the skull sprouting remnants of his thick, curly
hair. As so often with this playful master of the macabre, the moods of the
cabaret and mortuary collide. In contrast, his actual resting place looks
rather staid.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just outside
the pretty medieval church of Our Lady of the Dunes, on the edge of Ostend’s
seaside sprawl, the tomb of Baron James Ensor (the king of Belgium ennobled the
veteran mischief-maker in 1929) keeps itself aloof and apart – as the artist
did during a long life spent in the North Sea fishing port turned holiday
resort. In 2006, however, one of the mammoth spiders sculpted by Louise
Bourgeois and entitled Maman disturbed his peace when it came to squat over his
grave during Ostend’s Beaufort festival of art. Ensor, who had as troubled a
relationship with maternal figures as he did with arachnids, should have
enjoyed the joke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB">This month
Ensor will take a starring role in Britain for the first time in two decades
when Intrigue: James Ensor by Luc Tuymans opens at the Royal Academy. Curated
by Tuymans, Belgium’s subversively deadpan master of figurative painting, the
exhibition gathers 70 paintings, drawings and prints, mostly from Belgian
collections. Ensor had an English father, retained his British nationality
until he scented the prospect of a Belgian title, loved Turner, Gillray and
Hogarth, and once wrote: “I feel more English than most of the English artists
now slavishly imitating the early Italians.” (He detested the pre-Raphaelites,
along with the impressionists, pointillists and almost every other late 19th</span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-US">‑</span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB">century school.) But his father</span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB">’</span></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB">s country has not paid enough
attention to the great maverick – at least since, three years before his death,
aged 89, in 1949, the National Gallery displayed a selection of his works.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The RA show
will rectify that neglect, even if the proud, prickly Ensor might have pointed
out that he has to play second fiddle to the abstract expressionist blockbuster
now running at the same address. Tuymans calls this juxtaposition “a beautiful
contradiction”. Ensor, who in 1911 boasted that he had “anticipated all modern
tendencies … in every direction”, would probably claim paternity of Jackson
Pollock, too. Look, for instance, into the delirious vortex of burnt and
scorched colours of his Fall of the Rebel Angels (1889), and you might be
tempted to agree.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglxFsM4TREMyNgaJBRXiirx4Pse2427kDmEQlSBO5oRGNwsNszxohmGd1NHSzSsHnrqo1DjkchgXU3Zlvf9J-URbv08cldpAyHqttZin4HFCSpuLmngRpBo6PRVQdLYPnIgGMQ1cgmL14S5LCGKxwrecI7ttElhmqulfHfV5jor61w1_flkTzLb3pSdQ0/s756/james-ensor-self-portrait-with-flowered-hat-1883-1888.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglxFsM4TREMyNgaJBRXiirx4Pse2427kDmEQlSBO5oRGNwsNszxohmGd1NHSzSsHnrqo1DjkchgXU3Zlvf9J-URbv08cldpAyHqttZin4HFCSpuLmngRpBo6PRVQdLYPnIgGMQ1cgmL14S5LCGKxwrecI7ttElhmqulfHfV5jor61w1_flkTzLb3pSdQ0/s16000/james-ensor-self-portrait-with-flowered-hat-1883-1888.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: inherit;">You could
stuff a student textbook with the “isms” that Ensor arguably pioneered, from
surrealism – always at home in Belgium – to symbolism, expressionism, fauvism,
even post-modernism. A stylistic nomad, he not only roved among landscape,
portraiture, still life, fantasy, satire and caricature, but often whisked them
together into a tipsy burlesque of skewed and addled forms. In The Skate
(1892), a still life with seafood morphs into a bizarre quasi-erotic reverie,
the flatfish splayed like an odalisque as the seashell exposes its crimson
gash. Critics always yoke Ensor to the spirit of the carnival – a big deal
everywhere in Belgium, and in Ostend in particular. Yet his whirling panoply of
masks, costumes and disguises dances on the edge of nightmare more often than
it summons up a spell of careless joy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: inherit;">In The
Intrigue (1890), which lends Tuymans’s show its title, a gang of freakishly
masked faces converge on a couple – she with a flowered hat, he in a topper –
in a livid parody of bonhomie rendered in violent slabs of clashing colours.
Death, in a yellow hat, saunters in stage-right. As in Edvard Munch’s
near-contemporary vision of ghostly evening strollers on Karl Johan Street in
Oslo – and Ensor does regularly bring Munch to mind – these rituals of
middle-class sociability have been hatched in hell. It was once thought that
the painting depicts Ensor’s beloved sister Mitche and her Chinese husband, who
later abandoned her, but the pair met only after its creation. Ensor’s bilious
dismay at the bourgeois dance of death needed no external prompts.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A visit to
Ostend, his lifelong home and yet the abode in his eyes of “a hostile public”
that “detests art”, helps to focus the tensions that drove Ensor’s brush. As a
sparkling late-summer day dips towards sunset, the ever-changing flash and
gleam of sea and sky reminds you that Ensor worshipped light as deeply as
Turner did. For him, “light distorts contour”, and its myriad effects in
bending line and shape opened “an enormous realm that I could explore”.
However, a few paces away from this shimmering seafront, the door of the Ensor
House opens on to a scene of gloom and fret. These dark interiors conditioned
his outlook as much as the boundless shores outside. Ensor inherited the narrow
house on Vlaanderenstraat from his aunt and uncle in 1917, and moved out of his
parents’ (now destroyed) home across the street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His English
father, a well-educated man but known in Ostend as an idler and drinker, had
settled on this coast after he married Marie Catherine Haegheman. Her family
owned curio shops that catered for the town’s crowds of trippers and
vacationers. The carnival masks, seashells, dolls, knick-knacks and oriental
vases that made up the Haeghemans’ stock cram Ensor’s works. This repertoire of
domestic exotica feels more sinister than picturesque. Skulls and skeletons –
often added to finished works as a mocking appendix – also fill the
idiosyncratic prop box of imagery that he rifled throughout his career. As much
as it did for his medieval Flemish and Netherlandish forebears in the age of
Bosch and Brueghel, death leads this carnival parade.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The wastrel
father encouraged young James in his artistic career; the hard-headed mother
and aunt, less so. Ensor never married, although he kept up a decades-long
liaison with a local innkeeper’s daughter, Augusta Boogaerts, and later grew
close to patrons and supporters such as the writer Emma Lambotte. After 1903,
Lambotte helped his trademark works of the 1880s and 90s find buyers and
acclaim. She wrote warmly of her friend as “a skinny Don Quixote sporting the
goatee of a valiant Spaniard … tall, with dark curls, a pale skin, a piercing
glare, moustache in the wind”. His occasional air of raffish misogyny – common
enough among the late-Victorian avant garde – seems to conceal a fearful
solitude. Eccentric, opinionated, the future Baron Ensor at once played to the
gallery and skulked in the wings. In the claustrophobic house on
Vlaanderenstraat, both stage set and hidey-hole, you can sense the lure of the
mask to a cowed rebel imprisoned in a stuffy dressing-up box.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ostend suited
this gregarious loner. From 1883 to 1893, after his studies in Brussels, he
helped spearhead the group of Belgian progressive artists founded by Octave
Maus and known as The Twenty (Les XX) – but fell out with them, as with other
allies. In Ostend, he first resented but then befriended another local talent:
Léon Spilliaert, whose haunting and introspective night-pieces complement
Ensor’s more garish palette in a wing dedicated to the pair at the town’s fine
museum, Mu.ZEE.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzlLoTZHHAT6AONOlrrkM-_mqwrhbmsa_Iav11754RtiDPm3LDaKrpjB5pjIw4j65vTgkaU8bttUGPzQt8RBWjOnTQpW6LXUFEm82ZRmQd-V6aKPsOhTo0t1g8LzCdj54fVeRu1WeFZ5h7b8vaxTS3AzTBv_046SZn_0kL07gVfapqS2NBPyvgh-eXKt4/s600/img-james-ensor162252437699.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzlLoTZHHAT6AONOlrrkM-_mqwrhbmsa_Iav11754RtiDPm3LDaKrpjB5pjIw4j65vTgkaU8bttUGPzQt8RBWjOnTQpW6LXUFEm82ZRmQd-V6aKPsOhTo0t1g8LzCdj54fVeRu1WeFZ5h7b8vaxTS3AzTBv_046SZn_0kL07gVfapqS2NBPyvgh-eXKt4/s16000/img-james-ensor162252437699.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At home, he
could swagger along the front, a frock-coated, acid-tongued lord of misrule,
ready with a quip but quick to take offence. For all his versatility, and his
innovation, Ensor expended too much time and talent on feuds and quarrels. His
Goya-like caricatures often revert to his spats with the critics, as in
Skeletons Fighting Over a Pickled Herring. He is the hapless fish, torn between
two long-forgotten arbiters of taste. No one now cares about the parochial row
that fuelled this piece; the image endures in its dream-like weirdness, set
against a rosy Ostend sky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tuymans, his
co-curator Adrian Locke reports as we lunch in a cafe-gallery above the sands,
“wanted to look at Ensor with a critical eye. It’s not all about adulation and
admiration.” Brilliantly executed, grotesque and provocative, Ensor’s antic
performances transmit the contradictions of a scurrilous satirist who craved
status and respect. “He was definitely anti-establishment in that he was not
prepared to accept the norms,” says Locke. “On the other hand, he had a family
who were willing to support him.” Here, on the margins of his society and
gazing out across the sea he never crossed (save for a brief visit to London),
the local hero alchemised the art he admired – from Rembrandt and Rubens to
Goya and Turner – into something strange and unique. For Locke, “The enigma of
Ensor is that he looked at other artists, and was influenced by them, but
distils this so that it comes out in a very different way.” In the end, Ensor
neither follows nor sires any “ism”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aged 28, the
curmudgeonly renegade painted the vast Entry of Christ into Brussels in 1889,
with its swirling, threatening rabble of masked figures around a saviour who
has the features of … James Ensor. Confined to his attic studio, Ensor couldn’t
even unroll the entire 2.5 metre x 4.3 metre canvas until he inherited the
house on Vlaanderenstraat almost 30 years later. Since 1987, it has hung in the
Getty Museum in Los Angeles – which it never leaves. In bulk, Ensor’s
sepulchral dandyism and morbid vaudeville can repel as well as fascinate, for
all its virtuoso dazzle. Then, as in the radiant Adam and Eve Expelled from
Paradise (1887), the North Sea light will blaze through the cynicism. At such
moments, the solitary scoffer transports us from Ostend to eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Intrigue: James Ensor by Luc Tuymans is at the
Royal Academy, London W1, until 29 January 2017. royalacademy.org.uk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p>
<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Behind the facade: how James
Ensor mastered the art of the macabre. By Boyd Tonkin. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2016/oct/28/behind-the-facade-how-james-ensor-mastered-the-art-of-the-macabre">The Guardian</a>, October
28, 2016. </span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYiOpgLNeZiqd3iVIko-Z08vKzqPf59VPrv0ghyhQNCSPIPd6ifOwReSy_MtTgeCDphXLtaAXRwNZnHSQ4QMxjuUIEmJQE-TCTrVqBsYjBQk2FvjJrRYv9q9fLfIaX_cs-W1yvAFCBTAOZE_nlDLhg6vvxp8SKfHETIq082pewPOCctzlcXQrDnjtvW8/s1017/126-6a79dc244eca4f358b8bef74257516b8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1017" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYiOpgLNeZiqd3iVIko-Z08vKzqPf59VPrv0ghyhQNCSPIPd6ifOwReSy_MtTgeCDphXLtaAXRwNZnHSQ4QMxjuUIEmJQE-TCTrVqBsYjBQk2FvjJrRYv9q9fLfIaX_cs-W1yvAFCBTAOZE_nlDLhg6vvxp8SKfHETIq082pewPOCctzlcXQrDnjtvW8/s16000/126-6a79dc244eca4f358b8bef74257516b8.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Of the more than 100 paintings, etchings and drawings in the Getty Museum‘s sprawling exhibition devoted to 19th century painter James Ensor, “Skeleton Looking at Chinoiserie” is the sort of work that you just might miss if you cruise through the galleries a little too quickly. It’s small, with muddy colors. In a show filled with bright, reverberating, practically hallucinatory works, it comes off as dim.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“The interior setting kind of evokes traditional genre paintings -- Dutch interiors,” says Getty paintings curator Scott Allan, who organized the show. “But it’s painted in a rough way. It almost looks unresolved or incomplete.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">In fact, Ensor worked on the painting at various points in the mid- to late 1880s.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">But the skeleton, who gazes earnestly at what appears to be a sheaf of Japanese prints, marks an important moment for Ensor, an artist who went from painting moody seascapes and portraits to producing almost garish, scathingly satirical works in which bare bottoms rain poop from the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“The painting illustrates a transitional moment for him,” Allan says. “In the late 1880s, he had all of these paintings that he had started painting earlier in the decade, then he revised them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">When Ensor first painted “Skeleton Looking at Chinoiserie” it contained a human figure.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“There have been technical examinations of this picture,” Allan says. “They were able to determine that there was originally a live figure underneath the skull, at least evidence of a head. Ensor actively skeletized the scene.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">At this moment, he says: “He was turning away from the early naturalist mode and moving into more satirical, moralizing work.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span>In the 1880s, Ensor was a well-ensconced member of the Belgian bourgeoisie. His family owned a shop from which he earned a comfortable living. He had achieved some renown as a painter for the ways in which he employed color and light and for the realistic manner in which he portrayed individuals. (Even if at times he was described, critically, as a “mason” for the ways in which he layered on thick layers of paint.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">But at some point in the 1880s, a switch flipped. And Ensor began to make highly politicized -- though always humorous -- works that satirized the government, the Catholic Church, the bourgeoisie, the art establishment and even the art avant-garde.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">There were images of the wealthy sitting casually amid poopy pestilence, skeletons descending from the heavens to pursue their human prey, and a legendary over-sized canvas called “Christ’s Entry Into Brussels,” from 1889, that shows a chaotic carnival swallowing the figure of Christ, who seems almost an afterthought amid all the over-the-top pageantry. (This truly epic latter work is in the Getty’s collection and it has pride of place in the show.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Allan says there is a whole cottage industry devoted to divining what exactly made Ensor shift from painting traditional scenery to creating works that so mischievously and relentlessly attacked the powers that be. As in any artist’s work, it was likely a confluence of things.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">In 1887, the artist lost both his father and his grandmother -- significant emotional milestones. But, as Allan points out, the shift didn’t just lie in his personal life. There were a lot of other things going on, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Belgium was experiencing a decade of political instability. The secularized left was having it out with the religious right. (Sound familiar?) Belgium was pillaging the Congo. And suffragists were pushing for the right to vote for all men, whether or not they were property owners. In 1880s Belgium, only 10% of men were allowed to vote. You can forget about the women.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The late 19th century brought a lot of upheaval to the art world, too. In France, in the 1860s, artists had banded together to create the Salon des Refuses as a way of protesting the conservatism of the Academy. Artists regularly attacked affectation and hypocrisy. In Belgium, they banded together in an another outsider group called Les XX (“The Twenty”), of which Ensor was a part.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“In the second half of the 1880s, a lot of artists are frustrated with and over naturalism,” Allan says. “They’re trying to push into more subjective and fantastical directions.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">All of this comes on the heels of the work of people such as satirist Honore Daumier, who regularly skewered the powerful in his illustrations, and Francisco de Goya, whose “Caprichos” series took on the gassiness of the powerful. (Like Ensor, Goya loved giving high society the metaphorical finger -- and he loved depicting a good fart.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">These factors, along with many others, came together in the 1880s and led to a seismic shift in Ensor’s work. He painted skeletons engaged in all manner of activity and put people in grotesque masks, often influenced by those he’d seen in Japanese prints.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span>“Rather than something that conceals, it becomes something that reveals,” says Allan. “He reveals something of absurdity and stupidity. He distorts the features to satirize.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">All of this makes Ensor’s work feel terrifically contemporary: the raw humor, the comic book color palette, the off-the-charts levels of disdain for every kind of authority. If he were alive today, he could have ruled Comic-Con.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Moreover, Ensor’s practice sketches of masks, which I’ve embedded above, feel like studies for proto-emoji. (Which makes me think that if the Getty really wanted to create a cool gift shop item, they’d start with some downloadable Ensor emoticons.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">This all began with paintings such as the one at top: a skeleton, sitting quietly in a comfortable domestic setting, reminding us that even in the most mundane activities, we aren’t free of ourselves.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“The Scandalous Art of James Ensor” is on view at the Getty Center through Sept. 7, 1200 Getty Center Drive, West Los Angeles, getty.edu. On Aug. 7 at 7 p.m., a group of contemporary artists -- Marc Trujillo, Tom Knechtel and Laurie Lipton -- will discuss the ways in which Ensor’s work has inspired them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Object Lesson: When James Ensor turned to skeletons and satire. By Carolina A. Miranda. <a href="https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/arts/miranda/la-et-cam-object-lesson-james-ensor-skeleton-painting-satire-20140728-column.html">Los Angeles Times</a>, July 31, 2014. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1dJ8dCoHuKmMdIptXh27ZioCxyLQ52D52kLC1DaQjjc575XF65ETjn6Qq0NmHZqTuu3rrBbK-y46v35o1u7VYE_GlyGAwhMi6_4cKM3shAtLHSEuyb9gqESL-KMOYOAkh7tQXS1mKQuZWvUAevB9dwktOJT6TaTj6Ey0yyfL4pg5h0QNKwbOoGDTI5o/s600/090706_r18618_p646.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1dJ8dCoHuKmMdIptXh27ZioCxyLQ52D52kLC1DaQjjc575XF65ETjn6Qq0NmHZqTuu3rrBbK-y46v35o1u7VYE_GlyGAwhMi6_4cKM3shAtLHSEuyb9gqESL-KMOYOAkh7tQXS1mKQuZWvUAevB9dwktOJT6TaTj6Ey0yyfL4pg5h0QNKwbOoGDTI5o/s16000/090706_r18618_p646.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The James
Ensor retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art will affect many viewers like
the detonation of a bomb whose fuse has been fizzing inconspicuously for a
century. It concerns a titanic exception to standard accounts of Western art
since the late nineteenth century. The maniacal Belgian Ensor (1860-1949) was
an outlier on purpose. He rarely strayed far, during a career of seventy-six
years, from the attic of his family’s house and souvenir shop—it sold
seashells, Chinese goods, carnival masks, and whatnot—in the small seaside
resort town of Ostend. Some of his imagery is familiar enough: cavorting
skeletons; demonic figures; moma’s own delicately brushed and colored
nightmares, “Tribulations of Saint Anthony” (1887) and “Masks Mocking Death
(Masks Confronting Death)” (1888); and the overwhelming, mural-size magnum
opus, “Christ’s Entry Into Brussels in 1889” (1888), which swamps a diminutive
Jesus, on a donkey, in mobs of grotesques and flurries of incongruous banners
and signs—one for Colman’s Mustard greets the Saviour. (That painting never
leaves the Getty Museum, in Los Angeles.) But I doubt that anyone not a
specialist will be fully prepared for this show’s violent grandeur. I wasn’t,
though I’ve always liked Ensor, considering him nearly the peer of Edvard Munch
as a fugitive shooting star of the Northern European fin de siècle. For many
years, I kept a flimsy poster of an 1898 Ensor etching, “Hop-Frog’s Revenge,”
illustrating a gaudy tale by Edgar Allan Poe, Scotch-taped to the back of my
office door, until it disintegrated. I never quite knew why, but now I see that
the tableau of figures chained together, and being burned alive, in the air of
a cavernous hall, before masses of tiny onlookers, distills in its dense web of
energetic marks an elixir of pure, sweet malice—lending comfort to crotchets
that aren’t scarce among writers in peevish solitude. The moma show affirms
Ensor as a driven comic of the innocently malevolent id: part Lenny Bruce, part
Richard Pryor, all sneering cheek. He employed his first-rate aesthetic acumen
to pound home one nasty joke after another.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor’s
life story makes his eccentricity predictable and his greatness astonishing.
Except for his father, an English drunk who died of exposure in a doorway when
Ensor was twenty-seven, he grew up in a family of women: grandmother, mother,
aunt, sister. His sexuality is opaque. He could be stunningly misogynistic,
characterizing womanhood, in a poem from 1925, as a “horrible cesspit, teeming
with leeches.” He could also be gallant, as in recounting his nativity on “the
day of Venus,” a Friday: “At my birth Venus came toward me, smiling, and we
looked long into each other’s eyes. She smelled pleasantly of seawater.” From
the age of twenty-eight, he had a lifelong companion, Augusta Boogaerts, an
innkeeper’s daughter whom he did not marry and with whom he never cohabited. A
painting from 1891 or 1893, not in the show, displays her as a heavyset woman
trying to lure him into the water at the beach, as he shrinks back. It calls to
mind James Thurber’s theme of matronly battle-axes and hapless
milquetoasts—though this particular wuss wasn’t shy about casting himself, on
occasion, as Jesus Christ. (That’s him on the donkey in the “Entry Into
Brussels” and nailed to the Cross in a drawing from 1886, “Calvary.”)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWOIhScmCv3CqzUJHSSnyrCIV2Bvq-VI_UiF5SlCz8ZVQnE0vkF2YmfJbyRxKz9PkPq3KYK0CQEiL3zVsAKvSCozXvcVWxqW1mVEN0zcisvaKkwtiJ6joR99iJDzfZhZtjFQhKkzQj-XLCFm67enS4SeELu1sd1VxRofa2bcIQNqEG3mq6hFaGKW_-p4/s600/1280px-Christ's_Entry_into_Brussels_in_1889.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWOIhScmCv3CqzUJHSSnyrCIV2Bvq-VI_UiF5SlCz8ZVQnE0vkF2YmfJbyRxKz9PkPq3KYK0CQEiL3zVsAKvSCozXvcVWxqW1mVEN0zcisvaKkwtiJ6joR99iJDzfZhZtjFQhKkzQj-XLCFm67enS4SeELu1sd1VxRofa2bcIQNqEG3mq6hFaGKW_-p4/s16000/1280px-Christ's_Entry_into_Brussels_in_1889.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nor was he
an easygoing friend to members of his own sex. Having achieved leadership, in
1883, of a Brussels-centered group of avant-garde painters, the Twenty, he
seethed when his comrades shifted their fancy from developments of his early
style—thickly layered, dark-hued paint, suffused with smoldering light—to the
shimmering Neo-Impressionism of Georges Seurat. He became “an alienated army of
one,” the show’s curator, Anna Swinbourne, writes in the catalogue, and he
holed up in Ostend for good, decisively turning his attention from naturalistic
interiors, portraits, and other things of this world to stuff of another that
was visible only to himself. He specialized in funny and frothing satirical
assaults on doctors, judges, priests, politicians, King Leopold II (who
nonetheless knighted him, in 1903), and humanity as an unlovely whole. As often
happens with intensely febrile young talents—including Munch, who, like Ensor,
took to repeating the motifs of his early masterpieces, to mediocre effect—he
calcified as he approached middle age. Ensor’s art after 1900 or so is
generally feeble, though sometimes still infectious. Having got into your head,
even once, he stays there like unforgettable music.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor
painted like an angel while conceiving like a devil. His ability is apparent
from the start, in conventional parlor scenes, landscapes, and cityscapes
marked by phenomenal tonal subtlety, coloristic charm, and visceral touch. He
absorbed, and turned to fine account, influences of Courbet, Manet, Turner, and
Whistler. An 1882 picture of a woman at lunch, “The Oyster Eater,” rehearses
virtuoso effects of light on food, flowers, and glassware with contemptuous
nonchalance. Ensor’s gifts suited him for any number of stylistic directions.
“Children Dressing” (1886)—oddly titled, given that no clothes are evident in
the scene of naked kids in a hotly colored bourgeois interior—anticipates the
mature Bonnard. And the amazing “Skeletons in the Studio” (1900), with a
harmonic clutter of individually piquant items in a sun-washed room, calls so
strongly to mind certain works by Matisse that it might dent, a little, one’s
appreciation of the Frenchman.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But
weirdness proved to be destiny for Ensor. It is announced in the show by the
peculiar identity of an enraptured connoisseur: “Skeleton Looking at
Chinoiseries” (1885/1888). Why paint reality when irreality presents so many
richer possibilities? Here he connected with deep traditions of his Northern
Renaissance forebears Bosch and Brueghel. This orientation, outfitted with the
visual inspirations that were ready to hand in the snazzy kitsch of his
mother’s shop, the extravagant local Mardi Gras, and popular broadsheet
illustration, channelled his ambition and gave it tremendous propulsive force.
All that was needed was a formal repertoire that would invest fantasy with the
downrightness of fact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor’s
breakthrough came, between 1885 and 1887, by way of drawing: big scenes (one is
nearly seven feet high) from the life of Christ, done mainly in crayon. The
subject is incidental to the technique. Ensor practiced varieties of line that
alternately congeal into solid matter and, thinning, dissolve into light, with
emphases ranging from shouts to whispers. This prepared him to be one of the
foremost modern masters of etching, as in “Hop-Frog’s Revenge” and the
delectable “My Portrait in 1960” (1888)—as a skeleton. Assimilated to painting,
the exercise fostered a prehensile feel for a oneness of figure and ground:
foregrounds shoved back and backgrounds yanked forward, with unearthly light
their unifying element. Ensor’s best compositions register fully, with a bang,
at first glance, leaving you to savor at your leisure their details of
description and graces of execution. He strengthened the effect with dauby, greasy
paint surfaces you can practically taste and smell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsxQXX8x2mlqfrrS0YU7QGR_DtAnnJF7YUZe6Ynfw7bS7mFKI09klajkXBG4b89fYeTy1BMnECQffysY0vMIdCmMFA5RlUl66_XxGygYsCyqPjmhLJ70virhkSagu_STYR8_39XiLKXwnxm6NxD0hxeAqPNNJdP2Y10L-v3OxyfoYYRlV7Us0UzPN65rk/s600/james-ensor-the-skeleton-painter-1896-obelisk-art-history.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsxQXX8x2mlqfrrS0YU7QGR_DtAnnJF7YUZe6Ynfw7bS7mFKI09klajkXBG4b89fYeTy1BMnECQffysY0vMIdCmMFA5RlUl66_XxGygYsCyqPjmhLJ70virhkSagu_STYR8_39XiLKXwnxm6NxD0hxeAqPNNJdP2Y10L-v3OxyfoYYRlV7Us0UzPN65rk/s16000/james-ensor-the-skeleton-painter-1896-obelisk-art-history.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor was a
far more substantial painter than Munch, though, I believe, a lesser artist.
Munch’s rushed crudities of style direct attention to the emotional urgency of
his subjects, which pertain to specific experiences of life, love, anxiety, and
death: modernity as an affliction of the heart. With Ensor, we sense
psychological pressures too unbearable to be confronted except indirectly, by
defensive means of mockery and rant. Not for nothing was he obsessed with
masks. Another handicap is an occupational hazard of comedy: how quickly and
utterly fashions in humor become dated. Ironies pertinent to clowns and
masquerade have long since been fairly exhausted for us (unless drolly
humanized, à la the Muppets). It would take a susceptible soul to reward the
moma show with Ensor’s strenuously sought response of laughter out loud. You
had to be there, in a Belgium that the artist evoked with lyrical sarcasm in
1924: “Yes, our actions are pictorial, our inventions are enormous, our
thoughts are tragicomical, our temptations are burlesque, our desires are born
of the flatlands, our paradises are made of dough and condensed milk, and our
endearments are made of butter.” </span><span lang="EN-GB">♦<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Id
Factor. By Peter Schjeldahl. <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2009/07/06/the-id-factor">The New Yorker</a>, June 29, 2009</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvo4xkHbaZtgeUiQ_a9iYQKX9Ew1CGeC96RzbpuUCianmklFco2kRkKRT1azCH-G4K1J_1YwKskfLroO1B81HeC3wX9C9ZOrrrGgx4JwRZLMqooFbPU1p2DQTssyCa2rxWhFKgSTKTlocudDpxXQM1m9zhQrHUV5GdgzwobcYW4cDPU9koyBerDo9g_w/s600/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="483" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvo4xkHbaZtgeUiQ_a9iYQKX9Ew1CGeC96RzbpuUCianmklFco2kRkKRT1azCH-G4K1J_1YwKskfLroO1B81HeC3wX9C9ZOrrrGgx4JwRZLMqooFbPU1p2DQTssyCa2rxWhFKgSTKTlocudDpxXQM1m9zhQrHUV5GdgzwobcYW4cDPU9koyBerDo9g_w/s16000/download.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Urban
avant-gardist or small-town loony? The Belgian painter James Ensor, who has a
survey of hilarious, gruesome beauty at the Museum of Modern Art, is a puzzle
to fans and strangers alike, a classic insider-outsider.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He knew all
the right art-world people but hated most of them and was sure they hated him.
He was an aggrieved traditionalist with a pop-culture itch, equally entertained
by Rubens and tabloid cartoons. He was a sophisticated artist who helped shape
early Modernism, not in a Paris studio but in an attic room over a novelty shop
in a resort town on the North Sea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although
Ensor has long been a fixture in the art canon, he is also a fugitive presence.
My guess is that a lot of people know his name without knowing quite who he is.
Who can blame them? He’s hard to pin down. Gothic fantasist, political
satirist, religious visionary: one minute he’s doing biblical scenes, the next
the equivalent of biker tattoos, in a style that veers between crude and
dainty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just
consider his self-portraits. Within the span of five years in the late 1880s he
depicted himself as a cross-dressed dandy, a rotting corpse, a bug, a fish,
Albrecht Durer and a crucified Jesus. Clearly that attic room was a crowded,
cacophonous place, and the MoMA show, though airily installed, puts us right
inside it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor was
born in Ostend, Belgium, in 1860, and his life began with uncertainties. His
father, an Englishman, was probably an alcoholic and a bankrupt. The family’s
main income came from the Ostend shop owned by his Belgian mother’s family, an
antiques-and-souvenirs emporium selling china, taxidermic specimens and grotesque
carnival masks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor
studied at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Brussels, immersing himself in
Bosch and Rembrandt, as well as in modern realists like Courbet and Manet. Goya
and Turner, artists “obsessed with light and violence,” as he put it, became
favorites. He aligned himself with a circle of painters who were politically
leftist </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> anti-imperial,
anti-clerical, pro-worker </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> and
aesthetically progressive. In 1883 they formed a group called Les Vingt, or the
20, and organized a salon that drew contemporary artists from across Europe,
including Monet and Seurat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDaC_jaGEPwdITIRZBkeK41iXgOHmAfb0o_t6PoMmHWOKNfrYVCBJwO3_0zQwUzirgeyaspS-q_y9DFs5D9lC-HtYpnyXT4od1ZHsqaTWRCV7TzH7mWons0-jJTGWWOJ4f2_9sil_D6TFUuyqwJ5l6f6zNRLvbJI99X3fbR_M_w8TmhJzjlRC8YU65xw/s740/fTLORZVHoppeh67l8Mm5azu9o1_640.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDaC_jaGEPwdITIRZBkeK41iXgOHmAfb0o_t6PoMmHWOKNfrYVCBJwO3_0zQwUzirgeyaspS-q_y9DFs5D9lC-HtYpnyXT4od1ZHsqaTWRCV7TzH7mWons0-jJTGWWOJ4f2_9sil_D6TFUuyqwJ5l6f6zNRLvbJI99X3fbR_M_w8TmhJzjlRC8YU65xw/s16000/fTLORZVHoppeh67l8Mm5azu9o1_640.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor
exhibited in the salon for a decade, but he had a bitter parting of ways when
several of its members converted to neo-Impressionism, while he held firm to a
dark-hued realist path. The early paintings at MoMA, crumbly still lifes and
gravy-brown interiors, are in this style and get things off to a lugubrious
start.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of the
interiors are of Ensor’s family home. After a few years in Brussels, Ensor
moved back to Ostend; he would never leave again for any extended period. He
had many friends, and a long-term romantic attachment, but never married. His
top-floor studio was over the shop, and from there he could look down on narrow
streets and see beach and sea, and a grand expanse of sky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The space
was cramped, but that was O.K. It encouraged up-close, detailed work and led
him to develop a method for making large-scale drawings from pasted-together
sheets of paper. He brought lots of masks up from the shop, along with old
clothes, and improvised models from them. With reproductions of art he admired,
along with his own pictures, on the walls, and a human skull perched on his
easel, the sources for his work were in place.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All these
sources began to cohere in the painting called “The Scandalized Masks” from
1883, a kind of stripped-down, bad-dream version of a family portrait. A man
sits at a bare table in a bleak room, a wine bottle at hand. A woman enters
brandishing what looks like a flute or a stick. Both figures wear big-nosed
masks. He cowers; she stares through dark-tinted spectacles. It is a chilling,
hilarious moment in a drama that is also a farce, a Punch-and-Judy skit
scripted by Zola. Death, in the guise of an avenging grandmother, comes to
claim an incautious tippler.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Around the same
time Ensor was painting from nature: cloud-filled landscapes, or skyscapes,
filled with the North Sea’s churning weather. But these too implied threatening
stories. In a painting called “Fireworks” the night sky is a curtain of fire.
In “Adam and Eve Expelled From Paradise” the banishing angel explodes like a
midair bomb. And there’s the extraordinary “Tribulations of Saint Anthony,” in
which sky and sea dissolve into one great fetid pool.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All three
pictures date from a single year, 1887, when some eschatological strain in
Ensor’s thinking was reaching a fever pitch. A year later he would complete his
grandest epic, “Christ’s Entry into Brussels” in 1889, which isn’t in the show.
(It’s owned by the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles and didn’t travel.) But
he had already produced, a few years earlier, drawings of comparable ambition
and heat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One, called
“The Lively and Radiant: The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem,” from 1885, is
gigantic: nearly seven feet tall and done on a giant piece of paper. The setting
is an immense proscenium theater, which is also a city street, with an army of
helmeted extras marching toward us, the panicked audience. Signs hang
everywhere, advertising art (“Les Impressionistes”), commerce (“Charcutiers de
Jerusalem”), politics (“Mouvement Flamand”) and celebration (“Hip hip hurrah”).
In the middle of the tumult, like a tiny light, is Jesus riding an ass.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An Ensor
scholar could probably crack all the coding. And anyone who lingers over its
scrim upon scrim of graphite lines will recognize a formal tour de force. But
it’s more than that: it’s an entry point into conceptual and emotional realms
with few clear guideposts. The drawing is, after all, absurd and freakish, like
Rembrandt’s “Hundred Guilder Print” turned into wallpaper. Is the result in any
way a devotional image? A social statement? A take-no-prisoners travesty?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor
didn’t say, but was convinced that the art world despised it. He was acutely
sensitive to what he saw as a wholesale critical rejection of his art, impelled
by a “viciousness beyond all known limits.” Much of his work from the late
1880s onward was a response to this perception, a statement of exultantly
defiant martyrdom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">He depicted
himself beheaded, dissected, nailed to the cross. In one tiny painting he becomes
a pickled herring pulled apart by two grinning critic-skeletons. In an etching
we see him urinating against a public wall on which is scrawled “Ensor est un
fou” </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">“</span><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor is a nut job.</span><span lang="EN-GB">”</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oddly,
gradually, his fortunes changed. In 1895 the Belgian government he mercilessly
lampooned bought one of his early paintings. Collectors began to show interest.
Writers said nice things. There were retrospectives. Ensor began to soften.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnWkZsjn1d4H2Oot8lYGbvlQfO_LJ-ddZLWVooYRm5pT_t3NRT4f_luEPv7NK6bnw6vIfe4SsOpY8FuqdKkI-R2I5HBRf0gTdOfw0um2-kgzK1dI-eIOGQ9wK5sNOdcpT18kqlBt-kyBjPWZubx-PPJi3EPGNOzc3qBx5su2qKJ8ys9KLK0FGpM_bAT8/s600/Portrait_of_James_Ensor_in_1921_(cropped).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnWkZsjn1d4H2Oot8lYGbvlQfO_LJ-ddZLWVooYRm5pT_t3NRT4f_luEPv7NK6bnw6vIfe4SsOpY8FuqdKkI-R2I5HBRf0gTdOfw0um2-kgzK1dI-eIOGQ9wK5sNOdcpT18kqlBt-kyBjPWZubx-PPJi3EPGNOzc3qBx5su2qKJ8ys9KLK0FGpM_bAT8/s16000/Portrait_of_James_Ensor_in_1921_(cropped).jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He spent
time, as always, in his studio, hemmed in by masks and other props, mostly
painting duplicates of his own past works, both to earn money and in the hope
that, with copies, his art had a better chance of physically surviving. (He
made prints for the same reasons.) In 1929 the king named him a baron. By the
time he died in Ostend in 1949 he was a national hero.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">I find this
story of official adulation astonishing. Were people really looking at his art </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> at the death</span><span lang="EN-GB">’</span><span lang="EN-GB">s heads, the Jesus pictures, the figures of defecating rulers and
ministers perched like crows on a fence </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> and understanding what they saw? Maybe it all made sense after the
killing field that was World War I. Or were they clueless, or just
uninterested, as many quick-looking viewers today may be, for whom Ensor is a
piece of cultural arcana preserved beyond its useful time?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">He will
certainly never be popular. He’s as much a visionary as van Gogh and a far more
imaginative neurotic than Edvard Munch. But he was inconsistent in matters of
style and polish. And he didn’t paint a “Starry Night” or a “Scream.” What he
did paint </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> basically a
medieval dance of death choreographed in personal, topical modern terms </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> most of us don</span><span lang="EN-GB">’</span><span lang="EN-GB">t relate to or want to hear about, though I suspect some artists do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The MoMA
survey, which has been organized by Anna Swinbourne, an assistant curator at
the museum, with Jane Panetta, and the art historian Susan M. Canning, is an
artist’s-artist show. It will appeal to anyone trying to negotiate an
insider-outsider perch, anyone obsessed by violence and light, anyone who knows
that loony is relative, that art is reality seen from a high small place, that
the distance from a joke to a shock to a prayer is short.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From
Ensor’s Curiosity Shop, Nightmares of Gruesome Beauty. By Holland Cotter. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/26/arts/design/26ensor.html">The New York Times</a>, June 25, 2009</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvBWeubZssvvcM_xPm64t2zpFsvUNdPbHb0xBL3-ZyQrKrH5ZgzSya6v2UQzO-MA1d0BOsy13u2gI2Fa5ipZgoM1U4K6ZeSygngYNGvtVAMjM0R5SnaX2GJNMi3p0rD0VDkS85ELHZA0jJ5WX476Ntg-TQ_VdMFAS8gZo9rik9wKBBR1KXDCSI-DX0uM/s600/Tribulations_of_Saint_Anthony_1887.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvBWeubZssvvcM_xPm64t2zpFsvUNdPbHb0xBL3-ZyQrKrH5ZgzSya6v2UQzO-MA1d0BOsy13u2gI2Fa5ipZgoM1U4K6ZeSygngYNGvtVAMjM0R5SnaX2GJNMi3p0rD0VDkS85ELHZA0jJ5WX476Ntg-TQ_VdMFAS8gZo9rik9wKBBR1KXDCSI-DX0uM/s16000/Tribulations_of_Saint_Anthony_1887.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The painter Terry Winters first came upon James
Ensor’s “Tribulations of Saint Anthony” in the mid-1960s as a teenage art
student wandering through the Museum of Modern Art. The unsettling vision stuck
out, he said, amid the Cézannes, Gaugins and van Goghs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor’s
merging of real-life imagery and abstract forms eventually inspired Mr. Winters
to pursue a parallel course, using magnified images of algae, cells, embryos,
fungi and hives. His admiration for Ensor never abated, as is now evident in an
audio tour that he recorded to accompany the current Museum of Modern Art
retrospective of Ensor’s work. “Everything he touched, he transformed into
something remarkable,” Mr. Winters said recently in an interview in his TriBeCa
studio.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Among
contemporary artists such fascination with Ensor is hardly rare. Born in 1860,
in the seaside resort of Ostend, Belgium, he spent much of his life sequestered
in a cluttered apartment above his family’s curiosity shop. His carnivalesque
scenes of crowds viewed from his attic window; his irascible portrayals of the
monarchy, the clergy, the military and society in general; his shimmering
depictions of the external world amid his own inner demons; and his use of
light to add or dispel romance are credited with presaging the Surrealists and
German Expressionists in the early 20th century. And 60 years after his death
he is making his mark on the 21st.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ensor’s
work, the best of which offers wickedly funny, fantastical twists on the master
painters he spent his youth copying </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> Rembrandt,
Turner, Daumier, and Manet </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> has surged in
popularity among a new wave of contemporary artists who are incorporating
elements of his across various mediums.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Ensor
would take what was considered low art </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> popular imagery, and illustration </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> and put it in a high-art context of a drawing or a painting,” said
Susan Canning, an art historian and a consultant for the MoMA show, who is
writing a book about Ensor. “A lot of artists today see that accent on process.
They are trying to bridge that gap, incorporating a cartoony style in their
artwork.” She added that Ensor speaks to an interest among today’s artists in
making socially aware depictions of contemporary experience.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">A defining
aspect of his current vogue is the tremendous range </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> in age, nationality and artistic styles </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> of the artists claiming his work as inspiration. Jakub Julian
Ziolkowski, whose nightmarish paintings are in the New Museum</span><span lang="EN-GB">’</span><span lang="EN-GB">s </span><span lang="EN-GB">“</span><span lang="EN-GB">Generational:
Younger Than Jesus” exhibition in Lower Manhattan, was an eager young artist
attending high school in Poland when he stumbled across reproductions of
Ensor’s work in a magazine he coveted called Great Painters. The sculptor Huma
Bhabha, 46, discovered Ensor’s work while studying art history in high school
in Karachi, Pakistan, where she grew up. And Mr. Winters, 60, counts as a
pioneer in the current wave of Ensor disciples.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As Mr.
Ziolkowski noted recently, “For every one of us Ensor’s works have a different
meaning.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;">For Ms.
Bhabha, “what attracted me to Ensor’s work was the idea of the grotesque in
it,” she said, adding that she was also impressed by his aggressive
brushstrokes, and garish colors. In a way, she said, “you could describe what
I’ve been doing in my recent work as taking a face from a crowd, and examining
it in three dimensions.” Referring to her sculptured heads as masks </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;"> an Ensor trademark </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;"> she pointed out that they simultaneously reveal “what is in the front,
and what is behind, and what you can see through.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">George
Condo, whose paintings present virtual funhouses of art historical references
and distortions, compares Ensor’s “strange cast of characters,” to Modigliani’s
“long necks and blue eyes,” and Picasso’s iconic women. “I like when an artist
invents his own identifiable species,” he said, during a recent interview. In
his own 2005 painting, “Symphony #1,” Mr. Condo said, “I thought about the cast
of characters I’ve been working with throughout my career, all sitting together
in a kind of audience.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The artist
Tony Oursler, recalling how “the skeletons, clowns and puppets floating off
into space” looked like effigies, in works like “Tribulations of Saint Anthony,”
painted in 1887, claimed Ensor as a fellow “above-the-shoulders kind of
artist.” Mr. Oursler, best known for his videotaped projections of talking
heads on pillows, added, “His work signals the birth of psychiatry, of
analysis, and the exploration of the mind.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">Anna
Swinbourne, the curator of the Ensor show at MoMA, said it is precisely this
scope that she attempts to highlight in her selection of works by the artist
most commonly referred to as “the painter of masks.”</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I was
working on the show for maybe two months,” she said, during a recent interview,
“when my husband was doing The Times’s Sunday crossword puzzle.” The clue, she
said, was “Belgian artist, James, painter of masks.” The answer required five
letters. “I was so tired of this limited, stereotyped context for him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">According
to Ms. Swinbourne, it was the resounding response to a 2001 show, “Between
Street and Mirror: The Drawings of James Ensor,” at the Drawing Center in SoHo,
that proved a more full-scale retrospective at MoMA was urgently needed. “There
was a tremendous outcry,” she said, adding that this outcry could be heard
particularly volubly among contemporary artists.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ensor spent
the latter half of his life engaged in a very careful stewardship of his own
legacy. When his uncle died in 1917, Ensor moved into his house. There he
created a shrine to himself, which prominently showcased his earlier works,
considered highly controversial when he made them. Wassily Kandinsky and Emile
Nolde were among the many artists who trekked to Ostend to pay Ensor homage.
And in a nearby town Ensor famously lunched with Albert Einstein. Major museums
began acquiring and exhibiting his works. And in 1929 the king of Belgium
deemed Ensor a baron, and a major retrospective of his work was held at the
Palais des Beaux-Arts in Brussels.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Still, it
is the early works, created from 1880 to the late 1890s </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> during what is now generally considered his
prolific, and combative, golden period </span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB"> that have been most embraced by contemporary artists. They are the
focus of the MoMA show. Some of his devotees have already imagined the prospect
of seeing them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnkE-QIAFl1tudZ9y1RzPv81OfpiS7Gcc9lqRRSNSewzAWboX7akO9x6IqrC0N0SOpupDyNrO7rsTElZdc5hHdHykgFcCS8KkWClxTI1KKdWnc034k2craGGPi3pG5AavDXQXlc_hht4B1A3fxBmVmd01NynK5jzzLUYm6d9lscjPHpond9OnrPuHH58/s600/the-dangerous-cooks-1896.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnkE-QIAFl1tudZ9y1RzPv81OfpiS7Gcc9lqRRSNSewzAWboX7akO9x6IqrC0N0SOpupDyNrO7rsTElZdc5hHdHykgFcCS8KkWClxTI1KKdWnc034k2craGGPi3pG5AavDXQXlc_hht4B1A3fxBmVmd01NynK5jzzLUYm6d9lscjPHpond9OnrPuHH58/s16000/the-dangerous-cooks-1896.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Argentine artist Guillermo Kuitca, who saw his first Ensor as a child in Buenos
Aires in the late 1960s, said recently that he feared seeing so many Ensors at
once “might feel afterward like you ate too many sweets.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mr.
Winters, though, relished the chance. During Ensor’s 20-year period of frenzied
productivity he “was possessed by such consistent genius,” Mr. Winters said.
“It’s so rare. He had perfect pitch.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
continued interest of his hallucinatory, adversarial works among contemporary
artists would have no doubt pleased Ensor, who in the mid-1890s wrote in a
letter to a critic, “In the distortion that light inflicts upon the line, I saw
the immensity waiting to be explored and a new vision to be established.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How
Grotesque (but How Inspiring). By Dorothy Spears. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/28/arts/design/28spear.html">The New York Times</a>, June 23, 2009<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-24805366397973714792024-02-11T09:51:00.002+00:002024-02-11T09:55:32.765+00:00Talking About The Zone Of Interest, A Film By Jonathan Glazer<div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOiSvlf6GouCwVdpBxORaQkNZIqItu3FBI82K1LBeXvAmuHQMRVBIQ4qcTWCQ-E2kcTKMQN8KtAtSWZp7_GyO5EKUkq9WMcbK2V9S6ShqwfpYS0u8kAlhUQVlW1FW-SYR3AuTTmmm-9bvGo3ng23duZw-oYyP7BDWAf8IYvLVQYlTAky-rLEe07U58aI/s600/Zone_of_Interest3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOiSvlf6GouCwVdpBxORaQkNZIqItu3FBI82K1LBeXvAmuHQMRVBIQ4qcTWCQ-E2kcTKMQN8KtAtSWZp7_GyO5EKUkq9WMcbK2V9S6ShqwfpYS0u8kAlhUQVlW1FW-SYR3AuTTmmm-9bvGo3ng23duZw-oYyP7BDWAf8IYvLVQYlTAky-rLEe07U58aI/s16000/Zone_of_Interest3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">“The idea of the project was: how can we tell this in
a way that is present tense?” asks </span><span style="mso-fareast-language: NL;"><a href="https://thatshelf.com/tiff-2023-the-zone-of-interest-review/"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;">The Zone of Interest</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"> director
Jonathan Glazer. The filmmaker, speaking during a virtual press conference,
reflects upon the contemporary resonance of <span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">The
Zone of Interest</span>. The film tells the story of Auschwitz Commandant
Rudolph Höss, who devised a systematic killing machine that took over a million
lives during the war. Glazer’s film, however, interprets history outside of
Auschwitz’s walls. <span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">The Zone of
Interest</span> offers a domestic story of Höss and his wife, Hedwig
(Sandra Hüller), as they enjoy their dream home next door to the camp.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">It’s a chilling portrait in which the sense of
normalcy makes the undertone of evil doubly sinister. The film is now an award
season favourite with accolades that include three </span><span style="mso-fareast-language: NL;"><a href="https://thatshelf.com/golden-globe-nominations-its-barbenheimer-round-2/"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Golden Globe nominations</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"> including
Best Picture and wins for Best Picture and Best Director from the </span><span style="mso-fareast-language: NL;"><a href="https://www.cp24.com/entertainment-news/zone-of-interest-wins-toronto-film-critics-association-award-for-best-film-of-2023-1.6693196?cache=yesclipId10406200text%2Fhtml%3Bcharset%3Dutf-80404%2F7.516026%2F7.298829%2F7.298829%2F7.298829"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Toronto Film Critics Association</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">. It’s not
the most conventional choice amid studio awards bait, but a testament to
Glazer’s audacious artistic vision.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">Glazer says that shifting the drama of Martin Amis’s
book, which features a character inspired by Höss, lets audiences sees
themselves in the story. “We could make a film that talks about something
primordial, something [about] the human capacity for violence that we have as a
species, and the familiarity of these perpetrators,” reflects Glazer. “They
weren’t anomalies. They were normal people who step by step became mass
murderers and became so disassociated from their crimes that they didn’t see
them as crimes. The methods we used to make the film had to serve that idea of
something that was a 21st century lens.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-fareast-language: NL; padding: 0cm;">Adapting Amis<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">Producer Jim Wilson adds that he and Glazer optioned
Amis’s book in 2014 shortly after they collaborated on </span><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-fareast-language: NL; padding: 0cm;"><a href="https://thatshelf.com/under-the-skin-review/"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB">Under the Skin</span></a></span><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-fareast-language: NL; padding: 0cm;">. </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">The duo
notes that they were already exploring a Holocaust story through an alternative
lens and stumbled upon a preview of the book in the newspaper.<o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><br clear="all" /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">“What was captured in that preview was this perspective on the life of a
concentration camp in the book,” observes Wilson. The producer echoes Glazer
that Amis’s fictionalization of the commandant’s work and family life piqued
their interest. “That is a 180 from the way that the Holocaust is traditionally
narrated in culture, which is stories of its victims and the horror of the
victims, and then the triumph of the human spirit.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">Glazer admits that prior to encountering <span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">The Zone of Interest</span>, he
struggled to find the framework for a perpetrator-based Holocaust story. “The
novel almost gave me permission to take it on. It’s an extremely uncomfortable
place to put oneself artistically, for obvious reasons, but there was something
very courageous in Amis’s attempt. I think that helped me with mine, really,”
says Glazer. The film adapts Amis’s novel quite radically. Where Amis’s book
offers three storylines—one with the commandant puttering about his work, one
with his protégé seducing his wife, and the other with a member of the
Sonderkommando plotting his death—the film zeroes in on the domestic story. In
stripping it back, though, Glazer gets to the heart of what makes the story’s
exploration of the banality of evil so effective.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SA16-xXnQdlN13VE2lRymNKWwcDHMrDtLBwGz89WA7KgnjsFlb0AWCuG9kS4s_qB7-9Vu_37ODJSMFCubONutlEg4Z-LB11-bLsrun2KPCdX2cxOCkpJ4aMlhTb_V0eDRRsmLOf-WG5UbvvTMuH5X0osEpykDDnKy6yU9WBHTNY2TO0y9luMyl-z0bg/s600/Zone_of_Interest4-1024x576.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SA16-xXnQdlN13VE2lRymNKWwcDHMrDtLBwGz89WA7KgnjsFlb0AWCuG9kS4s_qB7-9Vu_37ODJSMFCubONutlEg4Z-LB11-bLsrun2KPCdX2cxOCkpJ4aMlhTb_V0eDRRsmLOf-WG5UbvvTMuH5X0osEpykDDnKy6yU9WBHTNY2TO0y9luMyl-z0bg/s16000/Zone_of_Interest4-1024x576.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">Responding to History<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">“I had a really powerful feeling from it and started
to investigate the source text,” adds Glazer. “The fictional commandant that
Martin Amis had written was based on the real commandant of Auschwitz, Rudolph
Höss. As I started to read about the real man and, by extension, his wife and
his family and his private world, the more I started moving towards the real
history as opposed to the fictionalised version.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">Wilson says that this history-based approach was key
to avoiding a “sacralization” of Holocaust stories that risk mythologizing it.
“We were working with a German script editor in the early part of the
development and he had a great criteria about the script that John had
written,” notes Wilson. “He said, ‘Perhaps the question of this film is not how
could these ordinary people do such terrible things, but how much like them are
we?’ As John said, it’s about now. It’s about before these events. It’s hundreds
of years of history.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;">Glazer adds that this framing of the portrait
ultimately helped sway actors like Friedel and Hüller, who were initially
reluctant to play Nazis. “Both of them had a real, and rightly so, antipathy
towards that because sometimes somebody just puts on an S.S. uniform and a hat,
and it’s like cosplay,” says Glazer. “When I explained to them how I was going
to do the film, they understood that there was no fetishization involved whatsoever.
Quite the opposite. We shared the same doubts going into the project, and I
think that’s actually what galvanised us all.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_VGa8Xp1QfgTLXsZg_UP-H-g2KzsDo8sKnZfOi0Ngl9Ot3hg36GQdqFHtN8QumC5cT-usNMkelb-KFDCAMnyTJ0NbH8IjVP7fvyN9UbI7Vlk3Sx0qaO_OgxV5tNDaP2S8gucSA5eA-MFVRIav2vPwAg_nQ0dm3ymQMLxkGp8etb3uN3L8qUzpHLWLY0/s600/ZOI_Still2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_VGa8Xp1QfgTLXsZg_UP-H-g2KzsDo8sKnZfOi0Ngl9Ot3hg36GQdqFHtN8QumC5cT-usNMkelb-KFDCAMnyTJ0NbH8IjVP7fvyN9UbI7Vlk3Sx0qaO_OgxV5tNDaP2S8gucSA5eA-MFVRIav2vPwAg_nQ0dm3ymQMLxkGp8etb3uN3L8qUzpHLWLY0/s16000/ZOI_Still2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: NL;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On
Location<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
director says that synergy extended to the crew as well during a powerful shoot
on location at Auschwitz. “There were plenty of times when we would privately,
or in groups, talk about our own journey where we had found ourselves,” says
Glazer. “We weren’t in a movie studio a thousand miles away from these events.
We were 50 metres from the walls of Auschwitz. There was undeniably a power and
a focus that came with that proximity. I’m convinced that atmosphere is in
every pixel of this film.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">While
The Zone of Interest draws great power from its location, it boldly refuses to
go inside the camp’s walls. Action unfolds in the Höss family yard and the
surrounding area, an idyllic landscape of fields, streams, and verdant gardens.
Only the sounds that punctuate the peaceful silence—screams, gunshots—remind
viewers of the reality that the Höss and Hedwig deny.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“There
was no desire from me whatsoever to recreate the atrocities visually with
extras and actors,” explains Glazer. “The interpretive nature of sound can give
us those pictures in our minds. We don’t need to re-enact them. The sound
design needed to be, well, hell in a sense. It needed to represent the range of
horrors and industry and confinement that one would expect to hear if one was
in that garden.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
Sights and Sounds of Auschwitz<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
immersive soundscape comes thanks to meticulous work by sound designer Johnnie
Burn. Glazer says that Burn and his team created the sounds of these horrors
through extensive field recordings. “They’d walk the streets at night until
they heard things that piqued their interest,” says Glazer. “There could be
people in distress, or someone shouting for a taxi at three o’clock in the
morning. But the quality of that sound is re-appropriated in this soundscape
and it becomes real. Everything you are hearing is real, but it’s
re-appropriated. We work with sound the way we work with pictures. It’s as
rigorous and as thorough as the picture edit.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0un3er1mDW0L7YtDDZnYCKgYAB8PYk804ZxdGqwdC3yhX_Gv49fL5VPoE4eTrPGonyEFeBeBIYDH13yFBEx3Ho7CPxj11Eq0C-tUCMAHBZSkuNHYjADMdh9wZIeMIWHee0G1mSWX7_b2GazSmjHNt1rV4W0HKnSuxVFjcpwFy_m-NvGao-AEyXXxwIGQ/s600/Zone_of_Interest5-1024x576.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0un3er1mDW0L7YtDDZnYCKgYAB8PYk804ZxdGqwdC3yhX_Gv49fL5VPoE4eTrPGonyEFeBeBIYDH13yFBEx3Ho7CPxj11Eq0C-tUCMAHBZSkuNHYjADMdh9wZIeMIWHee0G1mSWX7_b2GazSmjHNt1rV4W0HKnSuxVFjcpwFy_m-NvGao-AEyXXxwIGQ/s16000/Zone_of_Interest5-1024x576.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For the
film’s striking visuals—cold, austere, and unsentimental views of Höss’s
world—Glazer says that he and cinematographer Lukasz Zal (Cold War) favoured
natural light. Glazer observes that only one scene used artificial lighting: a
haunting shot in which Hedwig’s mother becomes bathed in the glow of fires
emanating from Auschwitz’s incinerator as she finally deduces what’s happening
on the other side of the wall. The shock of colour accentuates the weight of
her awakening.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Notes of
Hope</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Moreover,
the challenge to use natural light injects The Zone of Interest with its most
haunting yet hopeful moments. Select sequences depict Alexandra, a young Polish
woman who works for Hedwig, escaping into the night to leave food for
prisoners. The sequences appear via thermal cinematography with the warmth of
the fruit that Alexandra leaves peppering the fields with notes of hope.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2dqOcN4kxM3hzM3Hms2rqyypAjUSzgWcZTJ2bHpr-smL5nMlWJ9fjDEd2RXRnTzQz0aPddQih9HLIPIsBUbVMn1v14KIzvi-cRBAWt7qJWKm8f8abN4TzhAw1txjeh2c0XUGL3oJq5x2bhb_vaFVXPZ86J1K8Yr-czqb1qhY9EkOACiNXGa7oSUX-as/s600/TheZoneOfInterest_UHD_SDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2dqOcN4kxM3hzM3Hms2rqyypAjUSzgWcZTJ2bHpr-smL5nMlWJ9fjDEd2RXRnTzQz0aPddQih9HLIPIsBUbVMn1v14KIzvi-cRBAWt7qJWKm8f8abN4TzhAw1txjeh2c0XUGL3oJq5x2bhb_vaFVXPZ86J1K8Yr-czqb1qhY9EkOACiNXGa7oSUX-as/s16000/TheZoneOfInterest_UHD_SDR.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Glazer
says that the emphasis on natural light partly works to “serve the
authenticity” of the story, but also to avoid “fetishization or glamorization”
in a Holocaust tale. “You are left with a simple question of [how] to shoot a
girl in 1943 in a field where there isn’t enough ambient light to see her,”
explains Glazer. “Then you research the available thermal imaging technology,
which leads you to a camera system, which then is redeveloped by the geniuses
I’m very fortunate enough to work with until we see a picture that could bring
the temperatures of everything from the girl and the rocks that she’s walking
on to the foreground. That grey scale was really about serving this idea of the
21st century lens.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Glazer,
however, says that despite all the horrors implied within The Zone of Interest,
the film ultimately invite hope by calling upon humans’ ability to change. “I
think we have to evolve out of our capacity for violence in thought and in
action,” he observes. “I refuse to believe that we can’t evolve out of it,”
observes Glazer. “The film is about the possibility each of us being a
perpetrator, what we choose to love, who we choose to love, who we choose to
empathise with and who we decide not to. It’s a very complex circumstance, but
I think, fundamentally, it is an interior examination.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jonathan
Glazer on The Zone of Interest and History in Present Tense : The director
talks about telling a new kind of Holocaust story. By Pat Mullen. <a href="https://thatshelf.com/jonathan-glazer-on-the-zone-of-interest-and-history-in-present-tense/">That Shelf</a> , January
6, 2024. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXNp-rmkVJa9x6jC1b26BFpTQo48Hhd61__aCVB1cJvLkQ3DfHMEQg502Ln6lCjTNBLusJOEqghi83hNh9HLeSX8arMiuIbWDi_up6TpsNA-t3UA6IwdEjh030q9rbtXNDTOqlVxX_rqxIKG1jA5E4xHGHJCI5Se37lRZdge6CSVr6hGS08TTZKq_yqk/s600/https___cdn.sanity.io_images_xq1bjtf4_production_34c5133bd5f5a02746af304e6020314e7f086a44-1920x1080-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXNp-rmkVJa9x6jC1b26BFpTQo48Hhd61__aCVB1cJvLkQ3DfHMEQg502Ln6lCjTNBLusJOEqghi83hNh9HLeSX8arMiuIbWDi_up6TpsNA-t3UA6IwdEjh030q9rbtXNDTOqlVxX_rqxIKG1jA5E4xHGHJCI5Se37lRZdge6CSVr6hGS08TTZKq_yqk/s16000/https___cdn.sanity.io_images_xq1bjtf4_production_34c5133bd5f5a02746af304e6020314e7f086a44-1920x1080-1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Poetry
makes nothing happen, W.H. Auden said in 1939, when words must have seemed
especially impotent; but cinema is another matter. For several decades after
the end of the Second World War, what’s come to be seen as its central
catastrophe — the near-total destruction of the European Jews — was consigned
to the status of a footnote. The neglect was rooted in guilt: Many nations
eagerly collaborated in the killing, while others did nothing to prevent it.
Consumed by their own suffering, most people simply didn’t want to know, and a
conspiracy of silence was established.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">What
definitively broke it, in the late 1970s, was — of all things — an NBC
miniseries starring Meryl Streep. Crude, contrived and overblown, “Holocaust”
is not a work of art; by today’s standards, it is barely even a work of
television. Nonetheless, the show’s graphic depiction of the death camps,
unprecedented at the time, shocked a vast global audience into belated
recognition. Fifteen years later, the process of mnemonic restitution was
completed by “Schindler’s List.” Released to stratospheric acclaim in 1993 and
seen by hundreds of millions of people around the world, Steven Spielberg’s
movie triggered a commemorative boom. For members of the newly united,
post-Cold War Europe, Holocaust remembrance became an unofficial civic creed,
or in the words of the historian Tony Judt, “the very definition and guarantee
of the continent’s restored humanity.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Not
everyone took this moral U-turn at face value. The British philosopher Gillian
Rose, who advised the Polish government on how to redesign the
Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum after the fall of Communism, believed that the
new regime of memory was mired in bad faith. By framing the Holocaust as an
unfathomable evil — “the ultimate event, the ultimate mystery, never to be
comprehended or transmitted,” as the writer Elie Wiesel once put it — we were
protecting ourselves, Rose argued, from knowledge of our own capacity for
barbarism. “Schindler’s List” was a case in point. For her, Spielberg’s
black-and-white epic, which sentimentalizes the Jewish victims and keeps the
Nazi perpetrators at arm’s length, was really just a piece of misty-eyed
evasion.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A richer
work, she suggested, would present the Holocaust as something legibly human and
goad the viewer into asking an uncomfortable question: Could I have
participated in this? In a startling passage from her final book, “Mourning
Becomes the Law” (1996), Rose called for a film that would center on “the life
story of a member of the SS in all its pathos, so that we empathize with him,
identify with his hopes and fears, disappointments and rage, so that when it
comes to killing, we put our hands on the trigger with him.” Instead of
eliciting “sentimental tears,” like Spielberg’s production, such a film would
leave us “with the dry eyes of a deep grief.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“The
Zone of Interest,” the astonishing new film from Jonathan Glazer, one of
England’s most talented and unpredictable directors, can feel at times as if it
were made to fulfill Rose’s desideratum. The action, such as it is, charts the
daily round of what appears to be a normal German family. The paterfamilias, a
baby-faced bureaucrat with a high-and-tight hairdo, goes off punctually to work
each morning, while his blond and fertile wife — a mother of five — stays home
to raise the kids. On weekends, there are parties in their walled garden, with
its wading pool and beds of dahlias and roses, or excursions to their nearby
lake house. From a distance, they seem to be living a version of the good life,
and as the hausfrau insists during a rare moment of disharmony (the prospect of
a move has just been raised), “We’re living how we dreamed we would. ... Beyond
how we dreamed.” There’s just one catch: Her husband is none other than Rudolf
Höss, the long-serving commandant of Auschwitz, and their attractive villa
looks out over the camp.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Such a
premise may strike some viewers as unsalvageably grotesque, and Glazer himself
spent a good part of the nine years it took to make the film wondering if he
was doing something he ought not to. His doubts were assuaged only during
postproduction, when he discovered Rose’s essay, with its appeal for a
cinematic treatment of the Nazi mind. She seemed to be describing the film he’d
just shot — or, as he put it, the one he was currently “rewriting” in the edit
suite.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“It was
incredibly reassuring,” he told me. “It gave me the confidence to believe in my
own instincts, the confidence to complete the film.” Glazer, a gangly man in
his late 50s with hazel eyes and a mop of graying hair, had met me at the Getty
Center in Los Angeles, where he was spending time between appearances at film
festivals in Telluride and Toronto in early September. So far, it seems, his
instincts have been validated. “The Zone of Interest” won the Grand Prix at the
Cannes Film Festival, where it received a six-minute standing ovation, and the
early reviews have been rapturous.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Audaciously,
the German-language film invites us to regard its central couple not as
calculating monsters, the way we’re used to seeing Nazis depicted onscreen, but
as ordinary people acting on recognizable motives. For the most part, the
Hösses want the things we want: comfort, security, the occasional treat. In an
early scene, we see them chatting in their twin beds. Hedwig (Sandra Hüller)
asks Rudolf (Christian Friedel) if he will take her back to the spa they once
visited in Italy. “All that pampering,” she says, her head propped up on her hand,
beginning to reminisce. “And the walks. And that nice couple we met.” Suddenly
she succumbs to laughter as a further, Chekhovian detail bubbles up: “And that
man who played the accordion to the cows.” Rudolf replies, “They loved it.” The
conversation is so mundane and universal — this could be any wife addressing
any husband — that it’s possible to forget, if only for a moment, just whose
pillow talk we are listening in on.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsc4Cx1J_eUROm5B2RLZZiYvZhOsF25jwzmGAPiUkmPxz16oJNAvcAmsn6GbOGMmCAe_nzCoQZAqt6fj3FBz97pTyisLPZv7g2EagZVSZXC5DRh0ru73wa5UQhOehU7umcpMbu8SS6NI38BZLC_DsZh5ttw4s6DXoTwTFaBHTy_NVOTQIp8PxtU0uExyw/s600/zonesa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsc4Cx1J_eUROm5B2RLZZiYvZhOsF25jwzmGAPiUkmPxz16oJNAvcAmsn6GbOGMmCAe_nzCoQZAqt6fj3FBz97pTyisLPZv7g2EagZVSZXC5DRh0ru73wa5UQhOehU7umcpMbu8SS6NI38BZLC_DsZh5ttw4s6DXoTwTFaBHTy_NVOTQIp8PxtU0uExyw/s16000/zonesa.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “I wanted to humanize them,” Glazer, who is
Jewish, said — in the sense, he quickly clarified, of showing the Hösses as
only human, all too human. “I wanted to dismantle the idea of them as
anomalies, as almost supernatural. You know, the idea that they came from the
skies and ran amok, but thank God that’s not us and it’s never going to happen
again. I wanted to show that these were crimes committed by Mr. and Mrs. Smith
at No. 26.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In doing
so, he is pushing back against an edifice of conventional wisdom. Thinkers as
varied as Jewish theologians and postmodern theorists have conceived of the
Holocaust as a singular, almost transcendent disaster — Wiesel’s “ultimate
mystery.” This impulse to sequester the Nazi Judeocide from the rest of human
experience is understandable, but in the words of the historian Robert Jan van
Pelt, it inadvertently consigns the death camps “to the realm of myth,
distancing us from an all too concrete historical reality.” It is this concrete
historical reality that “The Zone of Interest” seeks to recover.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bracing
for a backlash that had yet to transpire, Glazer was surprised at the film’s
positive reception. “I suppose to some extent it must be due to the state of
the world,” he mused, referring to the fit of racist populism seizing the West.
“When I first started on this, I genuinely couldn’t get my head around how a
society could have gone along with these hideous ideas. During the time of
making the film, it’s become blindingly obvious.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Whether
or not you believe the Holocaust was an exceptional event — different in kind,
not just degree, from all genocides before or since — will naturally determine
how you think it ought to be portrayed, or whether you think it ought to be
portrayed at all. “We see long, endless processions of Jews marching toward
Babi-Yar,” Wiesel wrote of NBC’s “Holocaust” in a coruscating piece for The New
York Times. “We see the naked bodies covered with ‘blood’ — and it is all
make-believe.” Such techniques may be appropriate for other historical films,
but when it came to the subject at hand (which was “not just another event”),
they amounted to a kind of sacrilege. “Auschwitz cannot be explained,” he
insisted, “nor can it be visualized.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Of
course, you don’t have to be an exceptionalist to sense there may be something
morally dubious about making entertainment out of mass death, or in the
complacent assumption that the means of cinema are commensurable with that
task. Claude Lanzmann’s magisterial documentary “Shoah” (1985), which famously
abjures archival footage of the camps in favor of oral testimony from
survivors, perpetrators and bystanders, can be understood in part as a rebuttal
to the guileless verisimilitude of “Holocaust.” At nine and a half hours, it
was never going to reach as wide an audience as the American TV show, but the
way it foregrounds the limits of its representational powers set a standard of
artistic integrity against which all subsequent Holocaust films would be
measured.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Most of
those films, it must be said, have taken their cues more from the NBC series
than from Lanzmann’s documentary. “Schindler’s List,” “Life Is Beautiful”
(1997) and “The Pianist” (2002), to name just a few, are unalike in many ways,
but they all take for granted that the horrors they portray are accessible to
cinema. These films have, to their credit, contributed to the de-erasure of the
Holocaust, but they have also produced a distorted and simplistic understanding
of history. To center the victims, as most films do, makes both moral and
commercial sense, but it leaves us in the dark about the perpetrators. In
general, the Nazis are drawn as stock villains: They do evil because they are
evil.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Some may
say that there is wisdom, and decorum, in leaving it at that. In an addendum to
his Auschwitz memoir “The Truce” (1963), the writer Primo Levi tries to answer
the question “How can the Nazis’ fanatical hatred of the Jews be explained?”
but ends up drawing an eloquent blank. “Perhaps one cannot, what is more one
must not, understand what happened, because to understand is almost to
justify,” he wrote. To understand someone means, in some sense, to identify
with him, but for a normal person to identify with Hitler and the Nazi top
brass, Levi continues, is impossible. “This dismays us, and at the same time
gives us a sense of relief, because perhaps it is desirable that their words
(and also, unfortunately, their deeds) cannot be comprehensible to us. They are
nonhuman words and deeds, really counterhuman.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This
timeless-sounding passage, it’s worth remembering, was written at a specific
historical moment, some 30 years before the belated boom in Holocaust memory
got going. To grant understanding to the perpetrators in the 60s, before their
victims had been widely recognized as such, may have struck Levi as improper.
It’s instructive to compare his proscription with the words of another great
chronicler of Auschwitz, the Hungarian novelist Imre Kertesz, who admired him
deeply. “I regard as kitsch any representation of the Holocaust that is
incapable of understanding or unwilling to understand the organic connection
between our own deformed mode of life ... and the very possibility of the
Holocaust,” Kertesz wrote in an essay from 1998, which condemns “Schindler’s
List,” among other works, in terms that echo Rose’s critique. He was thinking,
he continued, of “those representations that seek to establish the Holocaust
once and for all as something foreign to human nature; that seek to drive the
Holocaust out of the realm of human experience.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Glazer,
who steeped himself in Holocaust cinema and history, told me that he is not an
exceptionalist. “I don’t like getting involved in a genocide-off,” he said. A
few days before we met in Los Angeles, he was in Telluride, where the traces of
Native American culture reminded him that Hitler had drawn inspiration from
Manifest Destiny, an ideology whose death toll, by conservative estimates,
numbers in the tens of millions. When I asked why he decided to tackle the
Holocaust, he said it was probably rooted in his family history. Glazer’s
grandparents were Eastern European Jews who fled the Russian Empire in the
early 20th century. Although his parents weren’t religious, they sent him to a
Jewish state school in their North London neighborhood. Bricks were sometimes
tossed into the playground by local children bleating slurs.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">His
first knowledge of the Holocaust arrived early, at age 10 or 11, when he came
across pictures of Kristallnacht, the Nazi-led pogroms of November 1938, in an
old issue of National Geographic. Without understanding what he was looking at,
he noticed his physical resemblance to the people in the photos — the ones on
their knees, that is, scrubbing sidewalks and sweeping up debris. The
expressions on the faces of the bystanders, some of whom seemed exhilarated by
what they were seeing, others merely indifferent, left him in a state of
bewildered alarm.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Glazer’s
work often yields a similar response. His signature dread is present in its
rawest form in some of the music videos he made at the start of his career. In
the video for Radiohead’s “Karma Police,” a car pursues a fleeing man down a
country road at dusk. The camera, which looks out from the driver’s seat over
the car’s sharklike hood, seems to take a lingering delight in the man’s
flailing limbs and heaving torso — and to tempt us into doing the same. The
unnerving suggestion of collusion recurs throughout Glazer’s acclaimed, and
utterly dissimilar, feature films: “Sexy Beast” (2000), a gangster
movie-cum-surrealist nightmare; “Birth” (2004), a supernatural melodrama; and
“Under the Skin” (2013), a work of sci-fi mumblecore with visionary intent. In
the latter, Scarlett Johansson, disguised in a black wig, plays a dead-eyed alien
who drives the streets of Glasgow in search of eligible men to take home with
her. Once she gets them there, things turn deadly, and aggressively surreal.
Glazer used hidden cameras and nonprofessional actors, most of whom had no idea
they were participating in a film. (Chris Oddy, Glazer’s longtime production
designer, described his freewheeling M.O. as one of “jazz filmmaking.”) It
sounds like a Situationist prank and, in lesser hands, may well have become
one. Instead, Glazer spun his materials into a kind of extraterrestrial
docufiction, which bristles with the random poetry of street life.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Shortly
after finishing that film, Glazer came across a newspaper preview of a
forthcoming Martin Amis novel, “The Zone of Interest.” Another story about an
enigmatic predator, the book is narrated in part by a fictional commandant of
Auschwitz. The perspective intrigued him, and after reading the novel in
galleys he optioned it. To call the film an adaptation would be putting it too
strongly, however. Much of the novel, which centers on a love triangle
involving the commandant, Paul Doll; his wife, Hannah; and one of Doll’s
subordinates, struck Glazer as superfluous, including the love triangle itself.
He seems to have been more interested in Amis’s source material than in what
Amis did with it. The Dolls were based, loosely, on the Hösses, and Glazer’s
first big call was to revert to the originals. Before starting work on the
script, he spent two years researching them, during which he came across a
staggering data point: The garden of their villa shared a wall with the camp.
What feats of denial, he wondered, would it have taken to live in such
proximity to the damned?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjfvcM0A8iBggoL4uFtgB5GW-BldapzDd7ekvb9heSWngfe9DYHk_KMwPJ3wAzm5SpLqxG2iZAhVCFvjNgnHAWcw4qGf7W1840gvGGtXkTndKRoHWIhpAF6iiYZNQKwhx2yiOBSmTf0-m_logPyxJIOWWjfy1UiIuiVn95owD_69-EmjzBDbPKIorwx8/s600/Auschwitz-Birkenau-26-1024x576.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjfvcM0A8iBggoL4uFtgB5GW-BldapzDd7ekvb9heSWngfe9DYHk_KMwPJ3wAzm5SpLqxG2iZAhVCFvjNgnHAWcw4qGf7W1840gvGGtXkTndKRoHWIhpAF6iiYZNQKwhx2yiOBSmTf0-m_logPyxJIOWWjfy1UiIuiVn95owD_69-EmjzBDbPKIorwx8/s16000/Auschwitz-Birkenau-26-1024x576.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Glazer
found a clue to the answer in the archives of the Auschwitz-Birkenau State
Museum, which he’d hired a pair of researchers to scour for information on the
Hösses, the more quotidian the better. According to the testimony of the family
gardener, the couple had a blowout argument one day in the summer of 1943 after
Rudolf learned he was about to be transferred to an SS office near Berlin.
Hedwig, the gardener recalled, was apoplectic at the idea of leaving their
rural hideaway. For the Hösses, who in their youth were members of an
idealistic back-to-the-land movement, life in Auschwitz was something of an
idyll, Glazer came to grasp. This stunning reality comes through in his
imaginative reconstruction of their quarrel. “They’d have to drag me out of
here,” Hedwig says after hearing the news. “Everything the führer said about
how to live is how we do. Go east. Living space. This is our living space.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In his
book “Black Earth” (2015), the historian Timothy Snyder argues that the concept
of living space, or lebensraum, carried two distinct but related meanings: on
the one hand, “a living room, the dream of household comfort”; on the other, a
“habitat, the realm that must be controlled for physical survival, inhabited
perhaps temporarily by people characterized as not quite fully human.” Glazer
read the book while working on his script, and his depiction of the Hösses as
both creatures of household comfort and pioneers on a grand historical mission
clearly chimes with Snyder’s thesis. It’s indicative of just how thoroughly he
inhabits their moral universe that neither husband nor wife at any point betray
the slightest hint of bad conscience. The idea that they lost sleep over what
they were doing, Glazer said, is without foundation, as is the assumption that
we are ethically superior to the Germans of the Nazi era. “If states were
destroyed, local institutions corrupted and economic incentives directed toward
murder,” Snyder writes, “few of us would behave well.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Lanzmann’s
“Shoah” has spawned a slender but vital countertradition in Holocaust cinema,
one founded on the principle that formal rigor is inseparable from moral truth.
You can see the principle at work in a recent film like “Son of Saul” (2015),
by the Hungarian director Laszlo Nemes, which follows a day in the life of an
Auschwitz sonderkommando, a member of the group of inmates who were forced to
remove the corpses from the gas chambers. The film consists of smothering
close-ups of the lead actor, Geza Rohrig. The horrors of the camp remain either
out of focus or outside the frame: We read them off Rohrig’s reactions, or more
often, his lack of reaction.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
influence of “Shoah” is also palpable in “The Zone of Interest,” which makes a
similar formal choice: to keep the camera on the civilian side of the wall. “I
don’t think they should be represented,” Glazer said of the film’s unpictured
atrocities. “I don’t think they can be represented.” The idea of simulating
violence (“extras in striped pajamas being beaten”) struck him not only as
distasteful (“and then the extra is there later in the catering tent, eating
his apple and custard”) but also as redundant. Forty-five years after NBC’s
“Holocaust,” images of the camps have become a cheapened visual currency. The
stifling sound design, by Johnnie Burn — an aural froth of gunshots, dog barks
and human shouts and screams — is all we need to visualize the horror for
ourselves.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXduFd9xWF6ZYW-cQVBsYltjO4s2js0FZhtg-3M9IRiscuRGoN5bR3LwdQNBcfq_BgQbvP-Y6uWEdI-eU5KyF-XuzKd9VyW4DE7fAtLd0FBVgtSuEzDyscV7MssowUr5bcX3l6FwFZs1S4Rkg8EoeqHwbviiPNtNziaysO1D8GGo7O7FDi06bCMcwMzY/s600/ZOI_04915-EMBED-2023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXduFd9xWF6ZYW-cQVBsYltjO4s2js0FZhtg-3M9IRiscuRGoN5bR3LwdQNBcfq_BgQbvP-Y6uWEdI-eU5KyF-XuzKd9VyW4DE7fAtLd0FBVgtSuEzDyscV7MssowUr5bcX3l6FwFZs1S4Rkg8EoeqHwbviiPNtNziaysO1D8GGo7O7FDi06bCMcwMzY/s16000/ZOI_04915-EMBED-2023.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Glazer
shot most of the film in summer 2021. Drawing on extensive research, Oddy spent
the previous few months meticulously converting a derelict home just beyond the
camp’s perimeter wall into a replica of the Höss house. (The actual house, a
few doors down, which would have been Glazer’s first choice, has been a private
residence almost since the end of the war.) Oddy began planting the garden,
previously a stretch of wasteland, in early April, so that everything flowered
in time for the shoot. When Friedel, Hüller and the rest of the cast and crew
arrived, they were taken aback. “It was like walking into 1943,” one of them
told me.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The goal
was an immersive naturalism, and Glazer went to great lengths pursuing it. By
using multiple stationary cameras running simultaneously throughout the house,
he gave his actors an extraordinary freedom to improvise; they were often
unaware if the cameras were even rolling. Glazer remained outside, holed up in
a shipping container decked out with monitors. “Cinema is at odds with
atrocity,” he said, explaining his approach. “As soon as you put a camera on
someone, as soon as you light them, or make a decision about what lens to use,
you’re glamorizing them.” Lukasz Zal, his cinematographer, arrived early to the
shoot and made some initial studies of the house. Glazer told him they were
“too beautiful.” He wanted the images to seem “authorless.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Friedel’s
first major role came in 2009, when he appeared in “The White Ribbon,” Michael
Haneke’s haunting film about a German village on the eve of World War I. He
told me that the two directors could not be less alike. “Haneke knows
everything from the beginning,” he said. “When I read the script of ‘The White
Ribbon,’ I thought, This is perfect. The shooting process was to shoot the
script, and there were no surprises.” Glazer, by contrast, is more open to
chance. “He wasn’t thinking, OK, this is a great script, let’s do it,” Friedel
went on. “He was searching every moment. He was always asking, Is there
something I don’t know?”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Often
there was. The moment when Rudolf breaks the news to Hedwig that he is being
transferred away from Auschwitz comes during a casual get-together in the Höss
garden. Glazer’s open-ended instruction to the supporting cast of friends and
family was simply, “Have a party.” For the next three hours, they mingled on
the lawn and splashed in the pool as Friedel and Hüller moved among them,
trying out their lines. Occasionally Glazer stepped in to offer notes, but
mostly he allowed them to improvise and experiment. “It’s like children
playing,” Friedel said of the director’s hands-off approach. “You forget where
you are and just be in the moment.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">So, too,
does the audience. Little happens in the film, dramatically speaking. Instead
of exposition, conflict and rising action, its rhythms are those of lived
domesticity. In a succession of medium-wide shots, which resemble surveillance
footage and encourage us to view the Hösses less as characters than as human
case studies, we see the family go about its daily business. Here they are
gathered around the dinner table. Here they are lounging in the garden. At
moments — or rather, for extended stretches — these vignettes sail close to the
wind of sheer tedium, but there is method in the drabness. Rather than taking
you out of yourself, as most movies do, “The Zone of Interest” provokes a
disquieting self-awareness. As the minutes ticked by and little of note
occurred, I found myself asking the unwholesome question: When are we going to
see behind the wall?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">By
staging acts of obscene cruelty — a pair of sociopaths breaking a man’s leg
with a golf club as his son looks on, a married couple murdering their own
daughter before themselves committing suicide — Haneke’s films seek to shock us
into an awareness of our conditioned appetite for such spectacles. In “The Zone
of Interest,” which Friedel described as a kind of spiritual sequel to “The White
Ribbon,” Glazer uses different means to pursue a similar end: It’s by
withholding violence that he shocks us into recognizing just how much it
fascinates us. The effect, at least on me, was a shaming apprehension of
complicity. As you watch the film, you slowly come to realize what Glazer is
suggesting: that in its ways, the Höss house, where ordinary life goes
unconscionably on, is as much a scene of horror as the camp itself. Unlike the
abjection unfolding “over there,” this kind of contented obliviousness has
rarely been portrayed onscreen. The average viewer is unlikely to see himself
in the figure of a death-camp C.E.O., but a family that sleepwalks through
their own lives, heedless of the suffering that surrounds them, may feel closer
to home. To a greater or lesser extent, we all ignore and deny the pain of
others, including — perhaps especially — when that pain is inflicted by our own
governments on designated enemies.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As “The
Zone of Interest” receives its theatrical release, the mass murder of Jews is
back in the headlines, and many seem indifferent, if not outright thrilled.
Glazer was revulsed by Hamas’s killing spree in southern Israel on Oct. 7,
which left a body count of roughly 1,200, according to Israeli authorities,
including at least one Holocaust survivor; some 240 hostages were also taken.
“It makes everything else seem so frivolous by comparison,” he said of the
attack a few days later, from his home in central London. “I’ve lost interest
in the film and everything surrounding it.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">At the
time, he was reluctant to say more, but when we corresponded in late November,
he expressed his growing anger at the way that Israel was invoking the specter
of the Holocaust to explain what happened and to justify its response. Now in
its third month, Israel’s retaliatory assault on Gaza — “a struggle between the
children of light and the children of darkness,” in the words of Prime Minister
Benjamin Netanyahu — has so far killed over 18,000 people, most of them
civilians, according to local health officials. That assault, accompanied by
exterminationist rhetoric — “We are fighting human animals, and we act
accordingly,” Defense Minister Yoav Gallant said, while advocating for
electricity, food, water and fuel to be cut off from Gaza — has itself drawn
comparisons to earlier campaigns of mass violence.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">To
identify as victims, in Rose’s words, “turns us into strangers to ourselves as
moral agents and social actors.” A vacuum of self-knowledge is soon filled by
the desire for violent revenge, especially if you’re convinced your enemies are
“counterhuman,” in Levi’s term. By inviting us to consider our resemblance to
the culprits, “The Zone of Interest” is an attempt to short-circuit these
ingrained responses and to open up space for self-criticism and doubt. Though
it’s unlikely to have the same effect on history as “Holocaust” and
“Schindler’s List,” it might chip away at the crude binary thinking — the
children of light versus the children of darkness, and so on — that those
movies have instilled in our culture. “It isn’t a partisan film,” Glazer told
me. “It’s about all of us.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Unlike
“Schindler’s List,” which leaves us, Rose says, “piously joining the survivors
putting stones on Schindler’s grave in Israel,” “The Zone of Interest” is short
on consolation. Though Höss was convicted of war crimes in 1947 and hanged at
Auschwitz later the same year, the film ends in early 1944, as he learns he’s
being transferred back to the camp and reunited with his family, who had
remained there. It is a moment of personal vindication. “I’m pleased as punch,”
he tells Hedwig on a long-distance call. In his final months in charge, the
deadliest in the camp’s existence, he oversaw the murder of nearly 400,000
Hungarian Jews. The action was named Operation Höss in his honor.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyef8zR-uLr0VjGu7gZ8tzKEtt42KNknVfMobrO5fe8l9Hqoc5k4DS49HtGGkfDNvrl-PmIPtGGdNEBCdPJVS5b32uSJpsD_8Grgc_s-RCNJstwuqbtTZQl-ESx21-jG936UjA9XQycIyQpg0dScru0gmu2-yCL6hXuRWOD2akumpeS2LyzCPM7Q0Wdg/s600/the-zone-of-interest-official-trailer-65ba1b71034d3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyef8zR-uLr0VjGu7gZ8tzKEtt42KNknVfMobrO5fe8l9Hqoc5k4DS49HtGGkfDNvrl-PmIPtGGdNEBCdPJVS5b32uSJpsD_8Grgc_s-RCNJstwuqbtTZQl-ESx21-jG936UjA9XQycIyQpg0dScru0gmu2-yCL6hXuRWOD2akumpeS2LyzCPM7Q0Wdg/s16000/the-zone-of-interest-official-trailer-65ba1b71034d3.jpg" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Before
the film ends, though, we are finally shown behind the wall. In a disorienting
sequence, Glazer cuts to present-day Auschwitz, where we see cleaning ladies at
work in the former gas chambers and crematories. Here, at last, are the
victims, or what remains of them: piles of shoes and suitcases displayed behind
glass panels, a corridor hung with black-and-white mug shots. Is this a bravura
instance of jazz filmmaking, an unexpected formal flourish designed to catch
the audience off guard? Or is it something humbler than that, an admission of
artistic defeat? Glazer has taken great pains to construct an airtight
historical realism, but in the end he’s reduced to shooting photos of the dead,
to showing us an image of an image. Perhaps, above all, this interpolated
footage should be read as a warning. Be vigilant, it seems to say: The door of
history can swing open any moment.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">During
Glazer’s childhood, the Holocaust was rarely discussed. A few years ago, when
he first mentioned to his father that he was making a film about Auschwitz, he
was met with a blunt response.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“What
are you doing that for?” his father asked. “Let it rot.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“It’s
not rotting,” Glazer replied. “It’s not even dead. Read the paper. It’s in the
world.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">How Do
You Make a Movie About the Holocaust? : </span><span lang="EN-GB">With
“The Zone of Interest,” Jonathan Glazer is just the latest director to confront
the problem.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB">By Giles
Harvey. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/19/magazine/movies-holocaust-zone-of-interest.html">The New York Times</a>, December. 19, 2023</span></span></div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7rtjRt8y4wb_8xI8DZCpk_znco1ZKH-FO1x5cKaEBer5TECZZEq5Wn58wxlDtU6Yz8jMg8sAK71MXajkAezO4NQ7wKMQ0xx_ZLtGfunZ66L-cOZyZlLiTMtwrmVM7Aoh1IzTKxq3SvYqhnx7MyLcH3FuA29WnsbbnFVnEBp9Q3434cib30OVd-qS6ZF8/s600/TheZoneOfInterest_UHD_SDR_FTR_Sub_2398_3840x2160_OAR_178_Rec709_20231101.01_06_30_08.Still003.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7rtjRt8y4wb_8xI8DZCpk_znco1ZKH-FO1x5cKaEBer5TECZZEq5Wn58wxlDtU6Yz8jMg8sAK71MXajkAezO4NQ7wKMQ0xx_ZLtGfunZ66L-cOZyZlLiTMtwrmVM7Aoh1IzTKxq3SvYqhnx7MyLcH3FuA29WnsbbnFVnEBp9Q3434cib30OVd-qS6ZF8/s16000/TheZoneOfInterest_UHD_SDR_FTR_Sub_2398_3840x2160_OAR_178_Rec709_20231101.01_06_30_08.Still003.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">The
British director’s acclaimed, audacious new film about the family life of
Auschwitz’s commandant was 10 years in the making. He explains how it was made
– and the importance of finding light in the darkness<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Jonathan
Glazer grew up in Hadley Wood, close to Barnet on the northern outskirts of
London, where his family were part of a thriving Jewish community. “There were
all these fantastic characters, who were in and out of my house when I was a
little boy,” he says. “Many of them were East End Jews who had moved to the
suburbs for a better quality of life, not super-intellectual people, but
incredible entertainers – vaudeville musicians, writers and the like. As a
child, I loved and absorbed the richness of that culture.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
Holocaust, he says, was never openly talked about in his home, but “it was
always present”. When his late father found out years ago that he was making a
film about Rudolf Höss, the Nazi commandant of Auschwitz, his reaction was
anger mixed with dismay. “He said: ‘I don’t know what you’re doing this for,’”
recalls Glazer, “‘Why are you digging it up? Let it rot.’ Those were the three words
he used. His feeling was very much that it was gone, that it was in the past. I
remember saying to him: ‘I really wish I could let it rot, but, no, Dad, it’s
not in the past.’”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It took
Glazer almost 10 years to make The Zone of Interest (the characteristically
neutral term used by the Nazis to describe the immediate area around the
concentration camp), which will be released in UK cinemas in early February and
which won the Grand Prix at this year’s Cannes film festival. During that time,
there must have been moments when his father’s words echoed in his head, when
the subject seemed so daunting that giving up and letting it rot may have
seemed like the best option.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“I had a
very strange relationship with the project right from the off,” he says, as we
chat over coffee in a London hotel. “This was the road I was going down and I
couldn’t stop myself going down it, but at the same time I was ready to pull
back from it at any moment. I almost wanted to hit a brick wall so I could turn
around and say: ‘You know what? I tried and I can’t do it.’ I was almost
willing that to happen.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOsselrMBG2JRCFKX6h01PBNB3gjC1UxIXJjesaFc_QyKLuYIXq166SVxTSTatZ3yDnWLiXToyYD-v8kPtCAcq30mls2IsUEWrLJ0CgqqLwaQq7YZrt_qbtcz4cuaIwiMVJ9hWGAJNTeXl8JapX1YJonMWUUNmfdkhEVPISQIfds0OaM1RC2upgMFk_U/s600/1600x_657886e996bccab3681bf1894795ad6ca6317dc395020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="254" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOsselrMBG2JRCFKX6h01PBNB3gjC1UxIXJjesaFc_QyKLuYIXq166SVxTSTatZ3yDnWLiXToyYD-v8kPtCAcq30mls2IsUEWrLJ0CgqqLwaQq7YZrt_qbtcz4cuaIwiMVJ9hWGAJNTeXl8JapX1YJonMWUUNmfdkhEVPISQIfds0OaM1RC2upgMFk_U/s16000/1600x_657886e996bccab3681bf1894795ad6ca6317dc395020.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The end
result is an audacious film, formally experimental and with an almost
clinically detached point of view. Mainly shot on hidden cameras, it
concentrates on the domestic life of the Höss family (Rudolf, his wife, Hedwig,
and their five children), whose house stood just outside the perimeter of the
concentration camp, the horror within suggested in glimpses of smoking chimneys
but, more disturbingly, through an almost constant ambient soundscape of
industrial noise and human shouts and cries. It is an unsettling film: a study
in extreme cognitive dissonance. It stayed with me for weeks after I watched
it, so much so that I attended another screening to try to decipher its uneasy
merging of almost clinical observation and moments of abrupt and jarring
experimentalism – the screen turns blood red at one point. On both occasions,
it fulfilled Glazer’s aim “to make it a narrative that you, the viewer,
complete, that you are involved in and ask questions of”.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It was
shot on location at Auschwitz, where, having gained permission from the
trustees of the site’s museum, Glazer’s team took over a vacant house just
outside the perimeter of the camp and, using archive photographs and survivors’
testimonies, meticulously recreated the villa that the Höss family lived in for
almost four years. Unlike other films about the Holocaust, it focuses on the
perpetrators rather than the victims, the camera never straying beyond the wall
that separates the commandant’s garden from the camp itself.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Instead,
under Glazer’s dispassionate directorial gaze, we witness the myriad ways that
the couple’s domestic life adhered to a kind of ordered normality in the
literal shadow of Auschwitz’s smoking chimneys. While he oversees the clinical
business of mass extermination, she entertains friends, tends to her garden and
is waited on by local women who carry out domestic chores at her bidding. In
the evenings, he reads bedtime stories to his children and, before he retires
to bed himself, makes sure all the house lights are turned off and the doors
locked. Together they celebrate birthdays, hold picnics by the garden pool and,
across separate beds, reminisce about their past and plan for their future. “To
acknowledge the couple as human beings,” says Glazer, shaking his head, “was a
big part of the awfulness of this entire journey of the film, but I kept
thinking that, if we could do so, we would maybe see ourselves in them. For me,
this is not a film about the past. It’s trying to be about now, and about us and
our similarity to the perpetrators, not our similarity to the victims.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">He says
it is not so much about examining Nazi ideology as something deeper within
humanity. “You have to get to a point where you understand [the ideology] to
some extent in order to be able to write it, but I was really interested in
making a film that went underneath that to the primordial bottom of it all,
which I felt was the thing in us that drives it all, the capacity for violence
that we all have.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Since
the release of his debut feature, the stylishly edgy British crime thriller
Sexy Beast in 2000, Glazer has gained a reputation as the most formally
ambitious and obsessively single-minded British director of his generation. He
has cited Stanley Kubrick as an influence and said that he feels closer to the
Russian and Italian cinema traditions than to the British one. Having studied
theatre design at college, his route into film-making came through directing a
series of acclaimed advertising campaigns in the 1990s, including the famous
Guinness surfer ad in which white horses emerge out of rolling waves, as well
as ambitious pop promo videos for the likes of Radiohead and Massive Attack.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxhVC5NL9dhqmCVzI8KWMaq3gcnmBRR-pjuWrXHNagZSvMxB9Wzmz54hag2-YBeq-WyxaJg6UcUqae-YBTSxPPLlW0d3i2Kvj622O5R8Y9tiXOmmuSlMr0FIlHPyHWYmkFesLN2Agzo69hhdBfbyW33ayxmCa4eqyYirmUxXVQCaMmn_IOfegcKdA5qD0/s600/pna0fq5ib2i.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxhVC5NL9dhqmCVzI8KWMaq3gcnmBRR-pjuWrXHNagZSvMxB9Wzmz54hag2-YBeq-WyxaJg6UcUqae-YBTSxPPLlW0d3i2Kvj622O5R8Y9tiXOmmuSlMr0FIlHPyHWYmkFesLN2Agzo69hhdBfbyW33ayxmCa4eqyYirmUxXVQCaMmn_IOfegcKdA5qD0/s16000/pna0fq5ib2i.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the
23 years since Sexy Beast, he has made just three films (including this new
one), each one more ambitious in terms of its subject matter, more formally
complex, and more painfully protracted in its journey from idea to fruition.
His second feature, Birth (2004), which starred Nicole Kidman as a grieving
wife in thrall to a young boy who convinces her he is the reincarnation of her
dead husband, took four years to make. Another nine passed before the release
of Under the Skin (2013), a noirish sci-fi story based on a Michel Faber novel
and starring Scarlett Johansson as a beautiful alien who stalks Scotland in
search of impressionable men whom she seduces and then submerges in an amniotic
netherworld.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For that
film, Glazer hired non-actors for the supporting roles and used hidden cameras
to shoot several scenes in which Johansson’s character approaches young men on
the street. Its unsettling atmosphere was heightened by disorienting sound
design by Johnnie Burn, and an insistently ominous score by the young
experimental musician Mica Levi, both of whom have worked closely with Glazer
on The Zone of Interest. When I ask Burn about the level of sustained
commitment it takes to work on a Jonathan Glazer movie, he says: “Under the
Skin almost killed me. I was so sick from overwork by the end of filming from
intense 10-hour shifts and lack of sleep. Once you start working with Jonathan,
you begin thinking about the film the way that he does. It’s all-consuming.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In
person, Glazer, who, lives in Camden, north London, with his wife and three
children, comes across as both affable and quietly intense. When I ask him if,
like Kubrick, he is utterly obsessive in his approach to film-making, he
answers without hesitation: “Yes, I am.” He first started thinking about The
Zone of Interest when he read Martin Amis’s novel of the same name not long
after its publication in 2014. Having secured the rights with his producer, Jim
Wilson, the pair began what would become several years of intense and
meticulous pre-production preparation. “Our reading actually took us away from
the book and deep into Amis’s primary sources,” he says, “The more fragments of
information we uncovered about Rudolf and Hedwig Höss in the Auschwitz
archives, the more I realised that they were working-class people who were
upwardly mobile. They aspired to become a bourgeois family in the way that many
of us do today. That was what was so grotesque and striking about them – how
familiar they were to us.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Played
by German actors Christian Friedel and Sandra Hüller, the couple are the
embodiment of the Jewish writer Primo Levi’s insistence that it is ordinary
people, rather than monsters, who are capable of committing atrocity. “Monsters
exist,” wrote Levi, a Holocaust survivor, “but they are too few in number to be
truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to
believe and to act without asking questions.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
couple’s ordinariness is conveyed in a series of scenes that were sometimes
scripted, sometimes improvised and filmed on small, static cameras concealed
throughout the house and garden. The actors were not aware of exactly where the
cameras were positioned. Glazer and his crew remained off-set throughout, watching
the results on a bank of screens in a separate building. The result is a cinema
of ultra-naturalistic candid surveillance that Glazer jokingly describes as
“like Big Brother in the Nazi house”.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">His aim,
he says, was to make the film appear “un-authored”. Given that he is the
director and it is his vision that we are watching, I ask him if it is possible
to achieve a detached point of view. “Well, no. You can’t retreat to that
point, although I wish you could. But the ambition is there. The reason that I
was not on set was because I wanted to stand back from the characters and look
at them anthropologically. I wasn’t interested in their dramas. I just wanted
to watch them in as unimpeded a way as possible to see how they behaved and
acted, to see who they were.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbX_NKvDcwGgW1fXxeD5pjWGEyA54HnpVKCSSJNqxIjGVKYQyvfecBylr6bzGEr4h2jgY1bX0WCSkXcubLZ15InuMRK5gKV-MKu_Xq137hDplIjftzEV1iMnIFntO9CVkgqCDMiqKYvkK5n9uTOU5ELX79c5-zEkqW8WGMgAmupvez-ZV9eRbgcMzYaiE/s600/the-zone-of-interest-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbX_NKvDcwGgW1fXxeD5pjWGEyA54HnpVKCSSJNqxIjGVKYQyvfecBylr6bzGEr4h2jgY1bX0WCSkXcubLZ15InuMRK5gKV-MKu_Xq137hDplIjftzEV1iMnIFntO9CVkgqCDMiqKYvkK5n9uTOU5ELX79c5-zEkqW8WGMgAmupvez-ZV9eRbgcMzYaiE/s16000/the-zone-of-interest-2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As
Glazer acknowledges, the decision to take on the lead roles was a huge one for
the two actors, given the subject matter and the fact that that it was shot, as
he puts it, “on the soil of Auschwitz”, and required them “to portray people
who could have been their grandparents”. Friedel, who played the schoolteacher
in Michael Haneke’s The White Ribbon, a complex allegory about the roots of
Nazi ideology, portrays Rudolf Höss as an essentially unknowable individual
given to ruminative silences and long stares off into the distance, during
which you wonder what exactly he is thinking about.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hüller,
who is receiving rave reviews for her role in Justine Triet’s complex courtroom
drama, Anatomy of a Fall, inhabits the role of Hedwig so completely that it was
disorienting to see her take the stage a few weeks ago after a New York film
festival screening looking glamorous in a geometric designer suit. There, she
spoke frankly about her initial revulsion on discovering the film’s subject. “I
have to say, it made me feel sick. To me, it was a shock. I never planned to be
involved in this kind of narrative or to portray someone like Hedwig Höss.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It took
Hüller, whose background is in leftwing German theatre, a full year to commit
to the film, but she is the most compelling presence in it: a ruthlessly
narcissistic individual entirely untroubled by conscience and so lacking in
empathy or self-awareness that she poses before her bedroom mirror in a fur
coat and lipstick taken from a Jewish prisoner and boasts laughingly to her
mother: “Rudi calls me the Queen of Auschwitz.” When she receives the news that
he is to be transferred to oversee a death factory elsewhere, she becomes
frantic with anger at the thought of leaving, shouting: “You can’t do this to
me! We’re living as we dreamed we would.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hedwig
is constantly busy, whether ordering her minions about or fretting about her
husband’s status in the ever-shifting loyalties of the Reich’s inner circle.
When writing the part, Glazer says, he was constantly thinking of the
philosopher Hannah Arendt’s description of the Nazis as essentially
non-thinking. “There was the sense that nothing should stop and no one should
stop,” he says. “Everyone had to be occupied with activity all the time,
because if you stop, you think. And, if you think, you reflect. With Hedwig,
there is no reflection, no consideration at all for anything or anyone except
herself. She is constantly, relentlessly busy in order not to think.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The horror
that exists beyond her garden wall is suggested though myriad small but telling
visual details: a Polish worker washes Rudolf Höss’s leather boots under a tap
and the water runs red; a garden labourer spreads ashes from the camp over the
soil of Hedwig Höss’s lovingly tended flower beds; the couple’s daughter
sleepwalks. At one point, their eldest son bullies his younger brother, locking
him in the greenhouse and mimicking the hiss of gas. Even the family dog seems
on high alert at all times, racing through the garden and sniffing at the earth
beneath the wall.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When he
first visited Auschwitz, Glazer went to the Hösses’ house and, to his surprise,
found it inhabited by a Polish family who had lived there since the end of the
war. “I saw the remnants of the garden, and its proximity to the camp, and the
wall, and it was chilling,” he says quietly. “Afterwards I entered the camp and
looked at the wall from the other side, trying to imagine what the prisoners
must have heard. There is no doubt that they would have heard happiness and
gaiety as the Höss children laughed and splashed around in the pool. The film
became about the proximity of the horror and the happiness, how one person’s
paradise is another’s hell.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In a
film haunted by absences, the suffering of the victims is powerfully evoked by
Burn’s soundscape: the constant hum of machinery, the barked orders of SS
guards and the cries and screams of prisoners herded towards the gas chambers.
“There are, in effect, two films,” elaborates Glazer. “The one you see, and the
one you hear, and the second is just as important as the first, arguably more
so. We already know the imagery of the camps from actual archive footage. There
is no need to attempt to recreate it, but I felt that if we could hear it, we could
somehow see it in our heads.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">To this
end, Burn spent a year researching and amassing a vast sound archive. “It was
essentially a document of every single sound that would have emanated from the
camp,” which, he says “was a place of heavy industry as well as human
suffering.” The task was “incredibly difficult”. “I remember saying to my wife
after just a few weeks that it was starting to get to me. And, even though you
don’t ever see the horror, it is by far the most violent film I have ever
worked on.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The Zone
of Interest begins disorientingly with two minutes of darkness as Levi’s
ascending electronic overture fills the cinema then retreats slowly to the
screen, where the sound of wild songbirds accompanies a long shot of the Höss
family picnicking in bright sunshine by the shores of a Polish lake. “The
music, like the dark screen, is a way of preparing you for what follows as you
enter another reality,” Levi tells me. “It slowly descends in pitch as it takes
you down into the story. All through the film, the music is taking you to a
place below or beyond what you are seeing, almost a nowhere place beyond
logical comprehension.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
film’s release was foreshadowed by horror. The New York screening I attended
was held just days after the Hamas attack on Israel on 7 October in which 1,200
people were killed and 240 hostages taken. One could sense a feeling of
uncertain anticipation as the film began and a palpable nervousness emanating
from the stage in the short Q&A hosted by the film festival curator that
followed the screening. I spoke to Glazer a week later when the Israeli assault
on Gaza that, as I write, has claimed 15,000 lives, was in its early stages. It
is, I suggest, a heightened moment in which to release the film. He nods. “Yes,
and it’s weighing on all of us. The sickening thing about this film is it’s
timely and it’s always going to be timely until we can somehow evolve out of
this cycle of violence that we perpetuate as human beings. And when will that
happen? Not in our lifetime. Right now, it seems to be reversing and I’m
mindful of that, too, in terms of the film and its complexity.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I ask
Glazer if he is prepared for a degree of negative criticism centring on the
ethics of holocaust representation? “I am prepared, yes, but I’m also
interested to hear what the arguments are. I believe you absolutely should
tackle the subject, but the essential question is not should you do it, but
how? Personally, I think the story has to be told and retold and, to do so, you
have to find new paradigms to retell it, to restate it generation after
generation particularly as the survivors diminish in numbers and it shifts from
living memory and becomes history.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The Zone
of Interest’s single moments of hope occur at night and were shot on a thermal
imaging camera of the kind used by the conceptual photographer Richard Mosse
for his ambitious refugee film, Incoming. A young woman, rendered almost
ghostlike by the camera, clandestinely moves through a construction site
beneath a railway that runs into the camp. She places apples in the earth for
the starving prisoners on work duty to find the following day. While doing so,
she finds a scroll of music notation in a tin buried in the earth.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_kNIMhDiMetSqFFL2pxtlmzTg3nPHVEMtR3WItV2D1CCe7Ta7P81D8lFciH2aN0hb7SveH-u99z4I-RnPsBaFFITFDQ1J-rF_YCMM1u48CbTelwRMLsqz8G4lrpBQAfS6APIn1u8FAhSK9UaYQcdnAzEfWSUX2bNd0pfYllkZYQomkKx-ThSYNLkVMI/s600/TheZoneOfInterest_UHD_SDR_FTR_Sub_2398_3840x2160_OAR_178_Rec709_20231101.01_10_10_07.Still001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_kNIMhDiMetSqFFL2pxtlmzTg3nPHVEMtR3WItV2D1CCe7Ta7P81D8lFciH2aN0hb7SveH-u99z4I-RnPsBaFFITFDQ1J-rF_YCMM1u48CbTelwRMLsqz8G4lrpBQAfS6APIn1u8FAhSK9UaYQcdnAzEfWSUX2bNd0pfYllkZYQomkKx-ThSYNLkVMI/s16000/TheZoneOfInterest_UHD_SDR_FTR_Sub_2398_3840x2160_OAR_178_Rec709_20231101.01_10_10_07.Still001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
scene came about as a result of Glazer meeting a 90-year-old woman called
Alexandria, who had worked for the Polish resistance when she was just 12. She
recounted how she had cycled to the camp to leave apples, and how she had found
the mysterious piece of written music, which, it turned out, had been composed
by an Auschwitz prisoner called Thomas Wolf, who survived the war. “She lived
in the house we shot in,” says Glazer. “It was her bike we used, and the dress
the actor wears was her dress. Sadly, she died a few weeks after we spoke.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">He
pauses for a long moment. “That small act of resistance, the simple, almost
holy act of leaving food, is crucial because it is the one point of light. I
really thought I couldn’t make the film at that point. I kept ringing my
producer, Jim, and saying: ‘I’m getting out. I can’t do this. It’s just too
dark.’ It felt impossible to just show the utter darkness, so I was looking for
the light somewhere and I found it in her. She is the force for good.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I ask
Glazer what made him persevere with the project each time he felt the urge to
give up and walk away. “I don’t know for sure. My heritage, maybe.
Inter-generational trauma. Fear. Anger. All of that stuff. Most Jewish families
have a history with the event because it was so enormous. Just looking through
the archives of Auschwitz and going though my family names, I discovered there
are a lot of them. So, I think it’s just in you.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">He
pauses again. “The reason I made this film is to try to restate our close
proximity to this terrible event that we think of as in the past. For me, it is
not ever in the past, and right now, I think something in me is aware – and
fearful – that these things are on the rise again with the growth of rightwing
populism everywhere. The road that so many people took is a few steps away. It
is always just a few steps away.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Jonathan
Glazer on his holocaust film The Zone of Interest: ‘This is not about the past,
it’s about now’. By Sean O’Hagan. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2023/dec/10/jonathan-glazer-the-zone-of-interest-auschwitz-under-the-skin-interview">The Guardian</a>, December 10, 2023. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhld-bgAkpUTeqAa95VM6UoI4-wUziuf6NGiA17rErbBzd0ikCX9Uh0i6K3_Zqzgb5Q6mjd56j_OcL7dJzl2O-VGy168UmpA3qkV1zsIUNMgUZ7kpolm6fLkxWEkEX6hBLndiIFTCnc_6hmcslf6z5Izj0WM3JOzzlKYboT6MtisD4KWHn38KyV-3ZOvA/s600/1411442_jonathanglazer_btsonthezoneofinterest_creditkubakaminski_73344_crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhld-bgAkpUTeqAa95VM6UoI4-wUziuf6NGiA17rErbBzd0ikCX9Uh0i6K3_Zqzgb5Q6mjd56j_OcL7dJzl2O-VGy168UmpA3qkV1zsIUNMgUZ7kpolm6fLkxWEkEX6hBLndiIFTCnc_6hmcslf6z5Izj0WM3JOzzlKYboT6MtisD4KWHn38KyV-3ZOvA/s16000/1411442_jonathanglazer_btsonthezoneofinterest_creditkubakaminski_73344_crop.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">With
only his fourth feature in more than two decades, Jonathan Glazer explores the
banality of evil in The Zone Of Interest, set right at the edge of the
Auschwitz concentration camp. Screen reports on what propelled him to tell this
story.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As both
Jewish and a visual artist, Jonathan Glazer had long considered tackling the
Holocaust in his work. But even now, having written and directed The Zone Of
Interest — a film set in Auschwitz, home to the most infamous extermination
camp of all where more than 1.1 million people, mostly Jews, were murdered by
the Nazis in the Second World War — Glazer is still struggling to understand
his interest in such bleak subject matter.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“I
genuinely don’t know why it’s in me,” the UK writer/director reflects, the
morning after The Zone Of Interest received its UK premiere at the BFI London
Film Festival. “I’ve thought about it, a lot, since I started making the film.
People said to me, ‘Why do you want to spend time with this imagery and this
darkness?’ I’m still processing that. I’m Jewish and it’s sort of in you
anyway. I don’t know why you take something on, really. I started to feel, was
there something I could contribute, a corner that hadn’t been explored? I was
already thinking about the perpetrator perspective but couldn’t figure out
how.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Then, in
2014, Glazer read Martin Amis’s recently published The Zone Of Interest, which
told a fictionalised account of a camp commandant and his family. (The term
‘zone of interest’ was used by the Nazis to describe the 40-square kilometres
surrounding Auschwitz in German-annexed Poland.) “Amis had done it in a way I
hadn’t come across, and it became the kernel of it,” he says. “[But] I didn’t
read the book and think, ‘I want to make that.’ I also didn’t read the book and
think, ‘I didn’t want to make that.’”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Together
with his longtime producer Jim Wilson, Glazer optioned Amis’s novel using their
own funds. “We try not to connect ourselves to anything or anyone else at that
stage, because we want to stay completely free with it, because I don’t know
what it’s going to end up being,” says Glazer, who made his name in the 1990s
with ingenious music videos — his promo for Jamiroquai’s ‘Virtual Insanity’ won
video of the year at the 1997 MTV Video Music Awards — and stylish commercials
(Guinness, Levi’s), before moving into features with 2000’s gangster thriller
Sexy Beast. “It may end up being a 10-minute film. It may end up being a sound
installation.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Initial
steps<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Glazer
began by making the first of many trips to Auschwitz and researching the
archives, quickly realising that Amis had based the book on the camp’s
commandant Rudolf Höss and his family, who lived onsite. “It became more and
more fascinating how grotesquely familiar these people were, so I veered
towards the history of it.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">At
Auschwitz, Glazer visited the Höss family home, which he would later recreate
on film, 50 metres from the real thing. “Saw the garden, saw the wall that
divided the garden from the camp, then started looking at these pictures he had
taken of his family in their golden summer days together, with a pool and
everything.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
photos were key. “I realised we were going to put ourselves on the perpetrator
side of the wall and tell a story from there. And we were going to hear the
atrocities being committed in the camp, but not see them.” But Glazer still did
not have a story to tell. “I knew that, domestically, there’d be something so
interesting about nothing going on; the more nothing it was, the better it was.
Nonetheless, I needed something to propel on some level.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Glazer
and Wilson commissioned two archivists to search for any mention of the Höss
family, from people who had worked in their house or camp survivors. “There
were three lines here, a paragraph there, it was extraordinary every time we
received this stuff,” he says. In the testimony of Stanislav Dubel — a gardener
who was present the day Höss told his wife, Hedwig, he was being transferred to
another camp and his family would have to leave with him — Glazer learned how
Hedwig “hit the roof”. She refused to leave, saying she would have to be
dragged out of Auschwitz. “That felt like that was going to be the axiom of it
all,” he explains. “The idea that her home life, her bliss, her garden, her
house, was just too wonderful to give up. The disassociation was so
extraordinary.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Once
Glazer finished writing his script, he and Wilson approached several interested
financiers, eventually going with A24, which had distributed their previous
film Under The Skin in the US, and will release The Zone Of Interest in both
the US and UK/Ireland; the UK’s Film4, which had financed Sexy Beast as well as
Under The Skin; and the British Film Institute.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“It
wasn’t necessarily the most money, but it felt like the right money,” notes
Glazer. “We went with the people we knew, and people who knew us. I felt they
would trust me enough to let me go on this journey until I got to a point where
I could give them something that made sense of their trust. Because the way I
film is very much a gathering of stuff. I don’t have all the answers until I
finish. And even then, there are many questions.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWq5GbgyC54FbHNSVfjDBA8qxfeftsDeKT-RBUfxAlZs5V8oot0O0B1EkFk3E0_r0mpaWsNqpjOAjPYU4Gh0uveCBOf9cNHCGerKvz2OcWgS8c_5lsqbm4omo_4YSS968egWkVD4yJgxGAvmBPpU-jMPRsK2MVk24gUJNDc-6TOdNxUIDTXuZP8TqTV0/s600/ThezoneofinterestBTSimagebig5992.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWq5GbgyC54FbHNSVfjDBA8qxfeftsDeKT-RBUfxAlZs5V8oot0O0B1EkFk3E0_r0mpaWsNqpjOAjPYU4Gh0uveCBOf9cNHCGerKvz2OcWgS8c_5lsqbm4omo_4YSS968egWkVD4yJgxGAvmBPpU-jMPRsK2MVk24gUJNDc-6TOdNxUIDTXuZP8TqTV0/s16000/ThezoneofinterestBTSimagebig5992.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
shoot<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
production filmed for 55 days across 18 months at Auschwitz (aka Oswiecim in
Polish), in both summer and winter months. “It was awful,” says Glazer of
filming at such an emotionally charged location. “There were days when you’re
absolutely flattened by it, others where you just do your job. Where do I put
the camera? Does that dress look good? You busy yourself with practice.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“I
didn’t take this on lightly,” he continues. “I’m still in its grip. It’s still
a very palpable and profound set of feelings I am uneasy with, but I tried to
do everything I could to make a film that would remind us of our capacity for
violence, how similar the perpetrator is to us, and how frightening that is. At
the same time, honouring the memory of the people who perished there.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Glazer’s
directing approach was “to stand back and look at their actions,
anthropologically, factually”. To achieve this, he and Polish cinematographer
Lukasz Zal positioned up to 10 cameras inside and outside production designer
Chris Oddy’s reconstruction of the Höss house and garden. They then filmed the
actors — who included Christian Friedel and Sandra Hüller as Rudolf and Hedwig
— in long, unbroken takes, to capture a reality rather than create drama, often
shooting several scenes at once, which he dubbed “Big Brother in the Nazi
house”.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“I
wanted to remove as much of the artifice of filmmaking as possible,” says
Glazer. “I wanted to put the viewer in the house with these people in real
time; to feel this was happening now. That we were in the present tense. And it
wasn’t fetishised in the way it’s very easy to do with the tools of cinema —
close-ups and beautiful lighting. So we’d block very carefully, work out where
those 10 cameras could go, and all the microphones.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Once
action was called, he would watch the scenes play out on a bank of monitors
housed in a separate building. “I let them get on with it, then go in, talk to
whoever I needed to talk to, adjust whatever we needed to adjust, retreat. Do
the next. The great thing about filming this way is they’re not playing to any
one camera, so there’s no self-consciousness, no performance, it’s just an
existence,” says Glazer, who did something similar with the driving scenes in
Under The Skin, in which Scarlett Johansson’s alien rode around Glasgow in a
van fitted out with hidden cameras, picking up real people. “I didn’t want to
dramatise. I was making every effort to avoid drama.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But for
a director as exacting as Glazer, it was a method that could be frustrating.
“You would have this incredible scene where everything’s working and it’s
miraculous, then something goes wrong and you would have to do it again,” he
admits. “You couldn’t use the first part that went brilliantly because it’s
trapped in the same real time as the rest of it that didn’t, because the
light’s different, the movement’s different.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZg4RibB6DjCLaXTbAVQenzr-KjdC8S-jd-KxTWocowLDhRtu_b91eZ-TUa-t1sj8qOQuL02Y8zDOSuJe66TW0FyarWVg9_uuSi9EOpz7RPaLLN1v1NhuW-ZquCWGrOKIoVaDItMJBoVsANWdQRHYlUtWedeMWilBXx3VYIWVV9CEHz9h4lQJngag-Z1s/s600/1411440_tzoi_hedwig_929115.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZg4RibB6DjCLaXTbAVQenzr-KjdC8S-jd-KxTWocowLDhRtu_b91eZ-TUa-t1sj8qOQuL02Y8zDOSuJe66TW0FyarWVg9_uuSi9EOpz7RPaLLN1v1NhuW-ZquCWGrOKIoVaDItMJBoVsANWdQRHYlUtWedeMWilBXx3VYIWVV9CEHz9h4lQJngag-Z1s/s16000/1411440_tzoi_hedwig_929115.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Language
barrier<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Filming
was complicated further by the fact his actors spoke German, and Glazer did
not. “I couldn’t try to recreate this as accurately as possible and have
English or American actors play these roles, so they had to be German. I
started trying to learn German early on and failed miserably. To understand the
nuance of a language, it must be your language, and I knew I could never get to
that point.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It
helped that most of his cast spoke English. “So communication with them was no
problem,” he says. “My first, naive thought was as long as they stay true to
the script, and I’ve got my translator standing next to me to give me a thumbs
up or thumbs down, we’ll be fine. But, within an hour, they were improvising.
And I was encouraging them. We deviated from the script very quickly. When we
started editing, I had to pick through it all with my editor and sound editor
to see what I’d got.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For
Glazer, sound is as important as the visuals. With The Zone Of Interest, there
is the film that is seen, and the film that is heard.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“They
are different, intentionally,” he says. “The foreground film, the one we see,
is largely uneventful, largely undramatic. But it is imbued by everything you
hear. And what you hear bears down on every frame. The atrocities committed in
the camps are perpetual, so there’s no quiet moment. There are certain scenes
which are all about the sound. In other scenes the sound is ambient. A writer
used the term ‘ambient genocide’, which I thought was very appropriate to this
and what we protect ourselves from, what we disassociate from, to have our
comfortable lives. The sound was a huge part, the sound is the other film, and,
arguably, the film, for me.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The Zone
Of Interest — which won the grand prix at Cannes, and is the UK’s submission
for the best international feature Oscar — took Glazer almost nine years to
make, and is only his fourth feature in 23 years. “I can’t do it casually,” he
explains of his slow and measured approach to filmmaking. “I have to be
compelled to do it. There must be something in it that’s driving me forward.
And often I’m not even sure what that is.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“I also
don’t think I would be good at doing something I didn’t feel that way about,”
he adds. “I genuinely don’t know where I would put the camera, or what I would
say to the actor, or how I would put it together. To some extent I could do it,
but I wouldn’t be engaged enough to do a good job. So, I guess I’m just on my
path, whatever that is.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Jonathan
Glazer on ‘The Zone Of Interest’: "I wanted to remove the artifice of
filmmaking". By Mark Salisbury.
<a href="https://www.screendaily.com/features/jonathan-glazer-on-the-zone-of-interest-i-wanted-to-remove-the-artifice-of-filmmaking/5188230.article">Screen Daily</a>, November 27, 2023. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRu52vi-zFFE90_7yVACJAHQIaUsrFLetvt-prIqOv_Y5qG5r6ihzt6fmNZCZBnRtD4Gp4Qb-1ANm9Fc1s__RluIY8eI_-CnV82uLnXu3a9I58Rgk9hr6acf2C2PaZ47AspPDdMP4nOkGCKrpdr3iGjWrFnHKCpGZgx0vqZj_Lk2X-eqtRrpTXHq-3D7w/s600/the-zone-of-interest.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRu52vi-zFFE90_7yVACJAHQIaUsrFLetvt-prIqOv_Y5qG5r6ihzt6fmNZCZBnRtD4Gp4Qb-1ANm9Fc1s__RluIY8eI_-CnV82uLnXu3a9I58Rgk9hr6acf2C2PaZ47AspPDdMP4nOkGCKrpdr3iGjWrFnHKCpGZgx0vqZj_Lk2X-eqtRrpTXHq-3D7w/s16000/the-zone-of-interest.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">In a
way, The Zone of Interest has been a lifetime in the making for Jonathan
Glazer. Descended from Bessarabia Jews who fled the Kishinev pogrom and settled
in the U.K., the filmmaker has said the subject matter was "something that
I was always going to take on at some point in my life."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">His
journey on The Zone of Interest began in earnest a decade ago, once Glazer had
completed Under the Skin in 2013. At the time, a preview of Martin Amis' novel
of the same name, about a Nazi officer who falls in love with the Auschwitz
commandant's wife, was published in a magazine, and the unconventional
perspective on the Holocaust spoke to Glazer. The British filmmaker shared the
book with his producer, James Wilson, and they optioned it that same year.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">"He's
always trying to be in a place that feels unprecedented, a place that feels
fresh and not like it's repeating something that's been done," Wilson
illuminates. "With this one in particular, you're talking about a subject
matter where there is a pantheon of films and books, art of all sorts. But
certainly films, from Schindler's List to Son of Saul to Night and Fog and The
Pianist and Sophie's Choice — all shades of Holocaust films that have cast a
giant shadow. And so, what to do in that? We didn't want to restage things that
had been done in other films, so there was a very strong filter of what it
could be."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Glazer
is a notoriously exacting filmmaker — The Zone of Interest is only his fourth
feature film in more than 20 years — so the adaptation process was not a simple
case of translating Amis' novel into a screenplay. In fact, Glazer's film bares
little resemblance to the author's fictionalized account of the Shoah; the most
obvious connection is that both tell their story from the point of view of the
perpetrators, not the victims.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The Zone
of Interest, as adapted by Glazer, forgoes the fictionalization and centers the
story on Rudolph Höss, the real-life commandant at Auschwitz, and his wife,
Hedwig — played by Christian Friedel and Sandra Hüller — as they build a life
for their family at a home next to the camp, at willful odds with the genocide
occurring just over the garden wall. The film is a portrait of the banality of
evil, and the audience is made to pay witness.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">At the
96th Oscars, The Zone of Interest is nominated for five Oscars: Best Picture,
Best International Feature Film, Best Directing and Best Adapted Screenplay for
Glazer, and Best Sound for Johnnie Burn and Tarn Willers. In conversation with
A.frame, newly-Oscar nominated producer James Wilson reflects on the making of
The Zone of Interest.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A.frame:
Do you remember the first time that Jonathan mentioned The Zone of Interest to
you, or his interest in making a film about the Holocaust?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">James Wilson
: I remember when he mentioned The Zone of Interest very clearly. We'd been
talking for a while about making a film with the subject of, I suppose you
might say, the Holocaust. You might say the Nazi project. It was something we
were both interested in in our lives, before even we met and before we were working
in film. It had always been a big thing for the both of us, especially for Jon,
of what to say, of what to do that was singular. What jumped out to him from
this preview was the idea of a Nazi death camp, but you are looking at it
through the point of view of the commandant. There was a light bulb with that.
That point of view was the spark. It was the doorway that Jon pushed through,
and it became the film. I do remember that point very well, and then there was
this huge journey.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Jon
decided what was in the story — what was in the Amis novel — was not what he
wanted to adapt, almost fundamentally. Because the story is like a marital
triangle and Auschwitz is a backdrop for that, and almost immediately, Jon was
like, 'I don't want to do a film in which the conceit of the film is an A
story, but we're in Auschwitz.' So, we started researching what Amis' novel was
based on, because it's fictional. It's not named as Auschwitz. It's not Rudolf
Höss. Nothing that happens in the book is in the film. There's the title and
one line in the book is transformed into a line in the film. But in researching
Auschwitz, we discovered the Hösses, the real family. We saw pictures of the
Höss garden: The kids in the paddling pool and playing with toys on the lawn,
Hedwig standing with them by a water slide, and the greenhouse in the
background. That was the epiphany. Over that wall that the pool and the water
slide is in front of is the first gas chamber at Auschwitz, 100 meters away.
Jon was like, 'I want to do that. I don't know what that is. I don't know what
the story is. I don't know what that is at all, but I want to do a film about
them and that idea.' At that point, we put the book in a drawer and then we
were into this world of research to create that world.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A: What
is the one line that remained from the book?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">JW : It's
repurposed but the line is in the last part of the film, when Rudolf moves from
Auschwitz to Oranienburg, where the concentration camp headquarters was. He
gets the call that they want him back to supervise the extermination of the
Hungarian Jews, because he is the only man for the job who knows how to do
that. He calls Hedwig and says, 'Good news, I'm coming back,' and then he goes
to a party. He calls Hedwig late that night to excitedly say that he's found out
they're naming the operation after him, which is true. They called it Action
Höss. It ended up being the murder of about 450,000 people in three months. It
was Auschwitz at its most obscenely, violently horrific. And it was called
Action Höss.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">He says,
'They're naming it after me,' they have a little chat, and she says, 'Who was
at the party?' He says, 'To tell you the truth, I can't remember. I was too
busy thinking how I'd gas everyone in the room. It would be pretty difficult
because of the high ceilings.' That's a line from Amis' novel, where the
commandant character, Paul Doll, has gone to an opera in Kraków. He's bored in
the opera, and Amis writes that he distracts himself by thinking about how much
Zyklon B it would take to gas everyone in the theater. That's the line. I
genuinely don't want to downgrade the importance of the book, because the book
was the spark. The book was the doorway. The core was this point of view, and
all the questions the film is trying to pose, we think, are about that point of
view. To put you in that perspective and ask the viewer, ask us — including me
— are we closer to that perpetrator perspective? To look for the similarities
rather than the differences in that perpetrator, rather than the perspective of
the victim. Which, of course, should be an uncomfortable and a dangerous
question.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEf5AiK3WOE1tmhyN2A7UCP9WqpMAds14MNUvbbwKQlcb0XpGz1Icsl4YzAvFeHOuFiUa7FxNz3GLdJeaKYEs3Y0V5zApjABqtIAJkdTf2U6lDE6tP2VoDqg-IIoU6Sop7Ma1YjcvBi-GhwMu5fDZsSTsRCAXjtE7vHECduTkma9rxtLPw8roR_9F9lPk/s600/opera.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEf5AiK3WOE1tmhyN2A7UCP9WqpMAds14MNUvbbwKQlcb0XpGz1Icsl4YzAvFeHOuFiUa7FxNz3GLdJeaKYEs3Y0V5zApjABqtIAJkdTf2U6lDE6tP2VoDqg-IIoU6Sop7Ma1YjcvBi-GhwMu5fDZsSTsRCAXjtE7vHECduTkma9rxtLPw8roR_9F9lPk/s16000/opera.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A: Was
Jon's vision for how he wanted to shoot it based on how the sound design would
work in the film? Was that there from early on? Or was that something that was
discovered in the adaptation process?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">JW : Visually,
it wasn't fully formed, no. The way that it was made, which was quite an
unusual shooting method, we arrived there after Jon had written the script. In
fact, I remember, as a producer, I got the first draft budgeted, and Jon
budgeted for a conventional shoot, which is one or two cameras. It definitely
wasn't budgeted for a 10-camera multi-camera thing; that was an experiment that
he'd started in Under the Skin — we used eight cameras in the van with Scarlett
Johansson, to shoot her continually in perfect continuity. No, there were
visual ideas early on that were completely different from this kind of 'Big
Brother in the Nazi house' idea. Some of them were actually really heightened
and expressionistic and you'd be quite surprised, because it was not this hyper
present-tense realism. They were quite theatrical. But in a way, that is a
snapshot Jon's process, which is that everything is always open.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">With the
sound design, I would say it was always a given that the sound would be the
core part of the DNA of the film. There was always this idea that you were
staying on this side of the wall. Earlier versions of the script actually did
go into the camp a bit, and then, there was a real decision to make it all be
in the house, in the garden. Therefore, by definition, you were not seeing the
crime. There is no act of violence depicted visually in the film. But you hear
it. As Jon has said many times, there is the film you see, and the film you
hear. And the film you hear is the crime, is the horror, is the systematic
violence, is at the core of the film. Which is, what do we tune out? What do we
occlude? What do we turn a blind eye to? The prominence of the sound design was
always there, because without the film that you hear that dramatizes the
gargantuan crime, The Zone of Interest doesn't work.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A : From a production point of view, when you
think back on making The Zone of Interest, what was the biggest challenge that
you overcame?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">JW
: Wow. The biggest single challenge? I
feel like I'm breaking the rules, because I've got to break it into two. Number
one would be how to make the physical place — how and where to make that house
and make that garden — to film what Jon had written. We started by thinking we
would do it in the real Höss house, and I don't know if people know this, there
is one scene in the film where you are in the actual house of the Hösses, which
is a private house next to Auschwitz. It's still there. People are sometimes
shocked that it's not part of the museum. But the scene in the basement, where
he scrubs his genitals after he had this assignation with this woman in the
camp, you're in the basement of the real Höss house. The tunnels he walks
through are real tunnels that Rudolph had built so he could go into and out of
the camp. Then we thought about completely building the house somewhere else in
Poland, but we realized that we had to be next to Auschwitz. We had to make it
where it happened. We found this derelict house right next to Auschwitz, there
was no garden, and I sometimes think the production design in The Zone of
Interest is almost too good, especially for an independent film. I've never
seen a set like it. The entire garden was built and grown out of nothing;
trees, plants, beehives. That was extraordinarily challenging, navigating all
the complexities of doing that in Poland. We were extraordinarily helped and
backed, and the Auschwitz Museum allowed us to be there, but I would say that
was the single most difficult physical production challenge.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
biggest creative challenge, but it was a good one, was that long period I
described from 2014, from reading the book and optioning it on our own, to
having a script that we thought was worth making, and then our amazing
partners, Film4 and A24 and Access saying, 'We'd like to make this film,' which
was in 2019. And actually, I realize I'm editing out the scary parts of it.
Because there were times in that where it was like, 'Are we going to do it?'
Jon was in and out of faith, losing his religion on it sometimes and getting
back into it. As a producer, because I'd invested a lot of time in it and my
own money, to put it bluntly, that was very challenging, too. I think I've
forgotten that actually. You've made me remember it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A : The
film received five Oscar nominations, including your first nomination for Best
Picture. What has it meant for you, personally, and for the film?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">JW
: I hope it doesn't sound too cute, but
what it means to me personally is what it means for the film — I think Jon and
I both feel that — which is this attention and visibility and recognition that
is, again, without sounding clichéd, beyond what we ever would've thought of
for the kind of films we have worked on. The part of the ecosystem that we are
in of cinema, and this film particularly, in terms of what type of film it is —
formally, the feeling of it, the idea of it — in some ways, we probably didn't
think it was the type of film that normally would be recognized by the Academy.
Credit to them. So, it was a real sense of both huge surprise and a thrill, and
a slightly, almost thrilling bewilderment at this recognition. But certainly,
we're experiencing what that does for the film in terms of that awareness of
it. Because it's a film not in English.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It hasn't
got famous people in it, although Sandra Hüller is now famous for being in
these all-extraordinary films through this year. It hasn't really got a story.
It hasn't really got characters in a traditional sense. It's not a biopic. It's
a film about an idea and a set of questions. It's not emotionally,
cathartically pleasing, and structurally, it's odd in terms of what happens. It
ends in a series of documentary shots about workers in the Auschwitz Museum.
So, we're just blown away by the recognition.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Personally,
I can't pretend I'm not tickled. I'm absolutely thrilled and tickled to be the
producer of a nominated Best Picture. I want to mention that I have a producing
partner in Poland, Ewa Puszczyńska, whom I produced the film with, and I
couldn't have done it without her there. It was a really hard and long and
challenging process for all of us. On a personal level, it feels like an
amazing validation of all of our work, after spending nine years on a film.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A : As
you mentioned, this is a film by an English filmmaker, produced by an English
and a Polish producer, and shot in Poland with a German cast. It is
multinational. What does it mean for The Zone of Interest to be representing
the U.K. for Best International Feature Film?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">JW
: You're right, it was British and
Germans and Poles, those were the nationalities coming together in a
collaboration. We brought our work and our ideas across borders and across
languages and came together. There was a real spirit and esprit de corps there.
I felt that in Poland. Sometimes I've thought, 'Will it count against the film
that it's in German, but we're British?' Jon and I talked a lot early on,
actually, about when the film came out, would there be any effrontery at the
idea of a British writer-director making a film in German, but not being a
German speaker — which neither of us are. We were actually dreading that,
always thinking that would be the first question at the first press conference.
Like, 'Who do you think you are?' But actually, it hasn't come up, and I don't
know if it's a testament to the quality of the film, but it feels like there's
something in it that transcends the idea of foreign language. It sounds too
corny, but the common language was cinema and the idea of this film.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">'The
Zone of Interest': Inside the Making of Jonathan Glazer's 'Singular' Holocaust
Film. By John Boone. <a href="http://A.Frame">A.Frame</a>, February
9, 2024. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH_4gvkdfIuA_o4QYjUNE7jhFcwvrXd9PNh7UVrtoFd1QE3CEiPEIpKZ4oEb5YodLFEh_Zjkrm0qmSIsXlUjotJWwqP_gbp6kSopYxFZlf74zxnldFtj-HCOMpv5Bf5TPtLADIL1l9NP3ClZ95XcVOVE6h8NYAT_57kZ7xzXZWhjl1nPROAhuhoa3jHU/s600/3f946c6e-0f85-4122-b990-99cba4841af5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH_4gvkdfIuA_o4QYjUNE7jhFcwvrXd9PNh7UVrtoFd1QE3CEiPEIpKZ4oEb5YodLFEh_Zjkrm0qmSIsXlUjotJWwqP_gbp6kSopYxFZlf74zxnldFtj-HCOMpv5Bf5TPtLADIL1l9NP3ClZ95XcVOVE6h8NYAT_57kZ7xzXZWhjl1nPROAhuhoa3jHU/s16000/3f946c6e-0f85-4122-b990-99cba4841af5.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">The
German actors play Hedwig and Rudolf Höss in Jonathan Glazer’s brilliant new
film about the Auschwitz commandant and his wife. They discuss the challenging
shoot, ancestral guilt – and what persuaded them to take on the roles in the
first place<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Can you
put a face to the banality of evil? How about two? On a bright London morning,
Sandra Hüller and Christian Friedel are back from having their picture taken.
The German actors are here to discuss The Zone of Interest, the film they have
made with the director Jonathan Glazer (Under the Skin), loosely inspired by
Martin Amis’s 2014 novel of the same name. But for a moment, we talk instead
about Friedel’s liking for porridge; how Hüller, by contrast, doesn’t eat this
early. And they smile and pause, aware of what comes next.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In The
Zone of Interest, Hüller and Friedel play a couple exhumed from history: Hedwig
and Rudolf Höss, who, during the second world war, raised five children in a
sturdy villa with a pretty flower garden. It stood over a wall from the death
camp at Auschwitz, where Rudolf was commandant. So the chit-chat ends.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The pair
are dressed for the photograph: Friedel, 44, cherubic in a polo neck, Hüller,
45, self-contained in black, a veteran of the circuit since her recent bravura
performance as a writer accused of murder in the thriller Anatomy of a Fall. “I
try to flow through it like water,” she says of the attention. “Like Bruce
Lee.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Both are
brilliant in a film that would overwhelm most actors. On screen, we never see
the gas chambers or anything else of the camp, although we always hear it.
Instead, Rudolf frets about the state of his career and Hedwig tends the
azaleas.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hüller
didn’t want to play her, she says. When approached, she recoiled. She had seen
too many German actors dressed as Nazis in banal period dramas. “Also I feel no
urge to investigate this sort of character. Cruelty and violence don’t interest
me.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As heard
in Anatomy of a Fall, Hüller speaks fluent English. Friedel is more hesitant.
His voice is gentle. He says later he has never drunk alcohol “or taken a
drug”. His first film was Michael Haneke’s The White Ribbon, set before the
first world war. Casting him as a kindly teacher, Haneke told him he had a
“historical face”. He first met Glazer and the producer Jim Wilson in London in
2019. He felt daunted by the film they described, but compelled, too.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “Even in kindergarten, I loved to bring ideas
to life for others with singing, dancing, hand puppets. This was part of that
same journey. Even though the idea is unbearable – a killer of millions who
plays catch with his children.” He asked if they had yet cast Hedwig. “Because
it had to be someone so good, but who wouldn’t think” – he gives a diva-ish
flourish: “‘Here I will do something spectacular.’ So I said: ‘Do you want
Sandra?’”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“You
never told me this,” Hüller says. “How sweet.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The pair
first met in 2013, acting together in the deadpan 19th-century romance Amour
Fou. They stayed friends. They had much in common. Both grew up in the former
East Germany: Hüller in small town Freidrichroda, Friedel in Magdeburg. As
adults, each embraced the rigour of German theatre. (Both still perform on
stage.) They are also talented singers. Friedel fronts art-rock band Woods of
Birnam; 2016 absurdist comedy Toni Erdmann gave us Hüller’s remarkable version
of Whitney Houston’s The Greatest Love of All.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">And yet.
“They’re so different, aren’t they?” Wilson says. “Christian is pure sweetness.
Unmediated. And Sandra is complex. She can be so funny, but she roils with
inner life.” Despite Hüller’s reluctance, Wilson says there was no real Plan B
if she or Friedel passed. They were the only actors he or Glazer wanted.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hüller
changed her mind on learning what the film wouldn’t be. “Meeting Jonathan, I
realised it wasn’t actually about the Hösses. It was about people ignoring
terrible things right where they live. A film to make us unsafe in the cinema.
As we should be. We should ask: is this also us? Do we do this, too? Do we do
this every single day?” Hüller’s speech has taken on the pulse of a monologue.
“So yeah,” she says, abruptly. “This made it interesting.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I say
the film made me confront the Holocaust and other inhumanities: even the
climate crisis. “My daughter told me she doesn’t want children because the
world is dying,” Hüller says. (She is the mother of a 12-year-old.) How did she
reply? “I said I took her seriously, though her age means it is not a decision
for now. But there is smartness in her thought. Even a certain beauty. Maybe it
should all fall apart.” Friedel looks a little sad.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The Zone
of Interest was filmed during the summer of 2021. Preparation was not so
different from any historical drama; Friedel learned to ride horses. But the
location underscored the movie’s singularity: not the Höss villa, now decrepit,
but another house on the Auschwitz site that also adjoined the camp.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Inside,
10 hidden cameras filled the building in lieu of a crew, so Friedel and Hüller
could perform without the artifice of film-making. (Glazer has called the setup
“Big Brother in a Nazi house.”) Creatively, they say it was fascinating.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It was
also hard. Some pressures were professional; others personal. The abyss gazed
back. “There was a cocktail of darkness,” Friedel says. “We were so close to
the camp. We felt responsibility to the victims. My subconscious rose up.” He
suffered nightmares. The Friedel who Hüller says “just cannot be an asshole”
strove to find inside himself a man who could administer the Holocaust.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hüller
was tested, too. On Anatomy of a Fall, she implored the director Justine Triet
to tell her if her character was guilty. Historical evidence makes clear Hedwig
Höss knew exactly what was happening beyond her garden. Usually, Hüller builds
her characters from empathy. “But I gave her nothing.” Hedwig, she believes,
never looked inward herself. You sense this is among the worst things Hüller
could say of anyone.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
shoot, they say, was “lonely” and “uncomfortable”. Friedel watched Money Heist
for distraction. Each evening, he and Hüller ate together. “It was important to
have a colleague.” That winter, however, he shot further scenes without her. “I
was in that uniform again, and now it was just me.” He broke down in tears.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I ask
how they felt finishing the shoot. Disappointed to end a unique exploration? “I
was so happy it was over,” Friedel says. Actually, he beams.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hüller
nods. “And I’d love to work with Jonathan again, in 15 years.” Only joking.
Sort of.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But
nothing is over, really. There are still the interviews. For Hüller, the
spotlight has already been cranked by Anatomy of a Fall: Vanity Fair snapped
her in Los Angeles in lilac Prada. The next time we meet is over video call.
She is back home in Leipzig, where she lives with her daughter and a dog. Now
she wears a baggy T-shirt that says, from what I can see: God Loves Me.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Awards
buzz surrounds both her recent performances. I think of her at film industry
parties and recall her remark about channelling Bruce Lee.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“I can
own the conversation at a party. I can talk about whatever I like. But no, it
doesn’t feel like home. And it shouldn’t. It’s work. Like now. My ego is
flattered you want to know about me, but soon you will want to know about
another person.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Yet work
and life can blur for actors. Despite her revulsion at Hedwig, Hüller’s dog
doubles as the family pet in The Zone of Interest. And the credits of Anatomy
of a Fall featured her own teenage years, glimpsed in personal photographs.
Triet, she says, first asked for them as detail for set dressing. Hüller only
learned the plan had changed much later.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“So it
was a shock. But I love Justine, and I’m fine with it.” And she makes a face
that makes me laugh. “Anyway, it is important to accept your 14-year-old self.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">She
talks about her routine in Leipzig: time spent with her daughter, and time
alone. She speaks highly of both. She enjoys the city’s energy; likes watching
people in supermarkets. She says she was able to shake off the Hösses, but the
shoot stayed with her: a reminder of German “ancestral guilt”. She was moved,
too, by the kindness of staff at the Auschwitz site, and that of the wider
local community.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I wonder
out loud about her T-shirt. God loves me? She bursts out laughing, then reads
the slogan in full: “God Loves Me – And There Is Nothing I Can Do About It.”
She stands to show me the rest. A teddy bear stares out, stuck in a hideous
Halloween pumpkin. “Yes. I saw this T-shirt on the internet. And I found it
very funny. So I bought it.” She is still laughing when she sits back down. She
might also be blushing.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Friedel
is also in Germany when we speak again, at home in Dresden. He was up late
rehearsing with his band. No drink or drugs, of course. “No, my drug is
ice-cream. Less dangerous for my mind. Just my body.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">He
admits he is still haunted by The Zone of Interest. “The emptiness hasn’t left
me completely. I still need time to check it out of myself.” He tells me now he
had a panic attack while shooting. But he likes to discuss the film, he says.
“It helps.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">He has
found others keen to talk about it, too. One was the actor Josh O’Connor, who
met him after seeing the movie, failed to recognise him and urged him to see
it. Inevitably, after screenings, there have also been questions about Israel
and Gaza. “It makes me even more aware the film is about right now,” Friedel
says. “The message is timeless and universal. A darkness is inside us all. And
history repeats.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The film
comes out in Germany next month. Hüller is curious to see the response. Across
the country, the far-right Alternative für Deutschland are having startling
electoral success.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“They
are a fascist party. We should just say fascist. And now fascists no longer
encourage Germans to simply forget the past. They justify it. They say, again,
‘It is good to clean this country up.’ So the rest of us must talk of humanity
instead.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">To
Hüller, you sometimes simply draw a line. In Leipzig, she tells me, she was
walking her dog when three boys of about 17 began shouting insults. Had they
recognised her? She smiles. “Nooo. Anyway, I showed them the middle finger.
Because I thought: ‘This is not how you talk to me.’” Her manner is tickled
now. “They told me to – well, let’s say, they cursed at me. Then they threw
something! And then they said something bad about my mother. Who they don’t
even know! So I laughed at them. I thought: ‘Do you really think this is how
you walk through the world? Well. You will not.’”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">She
makes it sound simple. Was she not scared things might turn violent? She grins.
“Oh yeah. But I just thought: ‘No. Their way is not going to work.’ And I had a
moment of faith it would all turn out good.”</span></span></div><p>
</p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">‘This is a film to make us
unsafe in the cinema. As we should be’: Sandra Hüller and Christian Friedel on
The Zone of Interest. By Danny Leigh.<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2024/jan/19/this-is-a-film-to-make-us-unsafe-in-the-cinema-as-we-should-be-sandra-huller-and-christian-friedel-on-the-zone-of-interest"> The Guardian</a>, January 19, 2024. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-25462664933592052032024-02-04T17:57:00.007+00:002024-02-05T08:17:54.146+00:00Playlist : MIZU, Adult Jazz, Nailah Hunter, Amiture, Kim Gordon, Bipolar Architecture, Discovery Zone, Kinbote, Laetitia Sadier, Glass Beach, Water From Your Eyes, The Soft Moon, Drahla, Blue Bendy, BIG|BRAVE, Julia Holter, Villagers, Alison Cotton, Delusive Relics, Tomato Flower, Porij, Skydaddy & Tyler Cryde, Tapir!, Feeo, Daudi Matsiko, Logic1000 ft DJ MJ Nebreda & DJ Plead, Craig Wedren, Vera Sola, L'objectif, Meth Math, Stone Sober<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7RXYYmtcBPcRj09uhz6pZJi-0jrmj7ImQxAuBGpMWoJqSvK6-Pp2yXwvKCUBUZ5_fWlnQZGDOPTeOLEFDZ1PnfQufbqbPHPgjd0c2tpZdsTQZyQMSig8BU9Rej6pS8zyuHBPSWGwuOWa8VkM-QPXX7Bbd9A5yOpJLCCsrQIR79w-NnIAmNCLbAWQ22c/s600/big%20brave%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS7RXYYmtcBPcRj09uhz6pZJi-0jrmj7ImQxAuBGpMWoJqSvK6-Pp2yXwvKCUBUZ5_fWlnQZGDOPTeOLEFDZ1PnfQufbqbPHPgjd0c2tpZdsTQZyQMSig8BU9Rej6pS8zyuHBPSWGwuOWa8VkM-QPXX7Bbd9A5yOpJLCCsrQIR79w-NnIAmNCLbAWQ22c/s16000/big%20brave%202.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">My choice of music videos from January 2023. Ths post is dedicated to the memory of Jose
“Luis” Vasquez, a musician who found fame with the post-punk project The Soft
Moon. He died January 18, 2024. He died with John “Juan” Mendez, a Los Angeles DJ who performed as Silent Servant and Simone Ling, the
partner of Mendez, due to a drugs
overdose. May they rest in peace. </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Play Loud & Enjoy. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">MIZU – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSVYNDDTgSU">Pavane</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHKYU1idFQMQMPoazQBDWuYLqdL5TEUhc2UfIlyc3AjL5tgQjTNGX4c_9PbNm7wXBYLes6DKiPJ1q3GpdnG8HvBEGR8ZvTgxPQ2bELhYkv3dH1ueqKAjzeSJnBd5MEgY7O8CuhmkgmHjSEUSFuSPx4l1ZOhzSwu_GyLk7CsapJ97wiYPAXk7CU8AO4F0/s600/Mizu.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHKYU1idFQMQMPoazQBDWuYLqdL5TEUhc2UfIlyc3AjL5tgQjTNGX4c_9PbNm7wXBYLes6DKiPJ1q3GpdnG8HvBEGR8ZvTgxPQ2bELhYkv3dH1ueqKAjzeSJnBd5MEgY7O8CuhmkgmHjSEUSFuSPx4l1ZOhzSwu_GyLk7CsapJ97wiYPAXk7CU8AO4F0/s16000/Mizu.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><br /></span>Adult Jazz - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkBJSYo0Dkk">Dusk Song</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqdk-tDOR8_-7bJdUoGUaOWu8Vm8EzDxZ4mM8DMgFUKYshx1ozsda96O0TumZv7FFVhQMfuAaD3NUtI3Q2Z_xSsJheX8FaHwt4sn7qNuoNRs1crj3TMEnMKwnhjwdc-4mlD04eOTECemtxFhu2TuuWhPym9cTAXcKOY42sZ3_l91Fkr_zEAlxHJu6xZu8/s600/adult%20jazz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqdk-tDOR8_-7bJdUoGUaOWu8Vm8EzDxZ4mM8DMgFUKYshx1ozsda96O0TumZv7FFVhQMfuAaD3NUtI3Q2Z_xSsJheX8FaHwt4sn7qNuoNRs1crj3TMEnMKwnhjwdc-4mlD04eOTECemtxFhu2TuuWhPym9cTAXcKOY42sZ3_l91Fkr_zEAlxHJu6xZu8/s16000/adult%20jazz.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nailah Hunter – <a href=" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOcQhaBjBC4">Bleed</a> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Q6ImIbPYITj7LkwoaJm9I1skHxb2W0RiPM8hu9ClVvanMxBHOFRKurrw01i0PXNUZ5ZK52gbrnOBI9tCRo_NXLwbwcHe9BsOqFDFkI3HLckm5At-FYLGDqtJTqumLn350HK1lYHfbXYGYNxWXzXgm4M5CCf2J1xB3Rp5umPzbbmfiptnG8AB-Ab2w_I/s600/nailah.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Q6ImIbPYITj7LkwoaJm9I1skHxb2W0RiPM8hu9ClVvanMxBHOFRKurrw01i0PXNUZ5ZK52gbrnOBI9tCRo_NXLwbwcHe9BsOqFDFkI3HLckm5At-FYLGDqtJTqumLn350HK1lYHfbXYGYNxWXzXgm4M5CCf2J1xB3Rp5umPzbbmfiptnG8AB-Ab2w_I/s16000/nailah.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Amiture – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aASERfFB3o">Dirty </a></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2H9BFU70FQLn7E-ptgpgL1BZGW5fN_oofK1Mr-VDr8mPAkrU5R8QcUHL9BEjnWa3VWLLkAr5Qbovv5jMtLLyZpb9xq0xGPKKD4YJOcvb-H3I79uHLQX_IvzNbiamEzMztTMNmy7MLHrbngLBBCTQv-X-pUp3PGjKEZOUWvWEKZQjq1vlISQp8hOeI7eU/s600/amiture.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2H9BFU70FQLn7E-ptgpgL1BZGW5fN_oofK1Mr-VDr8mPAkrU5R8QcUHL9BEjnWa3VWLLkAr5Qbovv5jMtLLyZpb9xq0xGPKKD4YJOcvb-H3I79uHLQX_IvzNbiamEzMztTMNmy7MLHrbngLBBCTQv-X-pUp3PGjKEZOUWvWEKZQjq1vlISQp8hOeI7eU/s16000/amiture.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="FR"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kim Gordon -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZ3i80B0qKg">Bye Bye </a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xgZDSSZgAt8X9piiuB5NnuDOdHrnu5HHw_QQqaYkE01znRiNxJ0nJfQmyQBDVyqMX6B2Zy_eEpn_XTn1XFHwE7YWKRjuFGb5EUPNzeuvFraAV8JOLHum5g90Eg-UNQb9TqkcKLu88nUhGOqMNZ2mrnhn7OZqgtYj7WW05_LfoPrCjIOcYOxigTyW53I/s600/kim%20gordon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xgZDSSZgAt8X9piiuB5NnuDOdHrnu5HHw_QQqaYkE01znRiNxJ0nJfQmyQBDVyqMX6B2Zy_eEpn_XTn1XFHwE7YWKRjuFGb5EUPNzeuvFraAV8JOLHum5g90Eg-UNQb9TqkcKLu88nUhGOqMNZ2mrnhn7OZqgtYj7WW05_LfoPrCjIOcYOxigTyW53I/s16000/kim%20gordon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bipolar
Architecture - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHnV8KFUyKo">Metaphysicize</a></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmyRQhvuEYiIqmRKORgM3jFnt4Z1UpaLWjzByy5MoKltxE1LrGFhuifGw5CAtKX6GHqdxsR9jt5cp4EstlDoBmeTqfpUVEgbTZUOzAI1L3zaWnMXtOhKqDTBMDl7HeVeTyLxwfrvT-7T0JA6VPTkaibxa8oUvmUNOkpWASe3XvPmDdRtQhPT385JwPqo/s600/bipolar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="347" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmyRQhvuEYiIqmRKORgM3jFnt4Z1UpaLWjzByy5MoKltxE1LrGFhuifGw5CAtKX6GHqdxsR9jt5cp4EstlDoBmeTqfpUVEgbTZUOzAI1L3zaWnMXtOhKqDTBMDl7HeVeTyLxwfrvT-7T0JA6VPTkaibxa8oUvmUNOkpWASe3XvPmDdRtQhPT385JwPqo/s16000/bipolar.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Discovery
Zone - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvBBV8g4bzM">All Dressed Up With Nowhere To Go</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGCxW4OIdoi4SGa7kU_JeqcqdfaQ9uaJzDLeUHNbhOMArT6JjxfrhxIX0Vlq1qboCyT4M8-J8jmZTem-MPfgbQXY63QDiftU4CMfEa3rVgHmT4m73GarGozgoFsfrXqhe0I8pBLV2QG2pCcFxL_eAw_60IIKz0_sus9gx6bC8CKPqTndX8QuhisnByRE/s600/discovery%20zone.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGCxW4OIdoi4SGa7kU_JeqcqdfaQ9uaJzDLeUHNbhOMArT6JjxfrhxIX0Vlq1qboCyT4M8-J8jmZTem-MPfgbQXY63QDiftU4CMfEa3rVgHmT4m73GarGozgoFsfrXqhe0I8pBLV2QG2pCcFxL_eAw_60IIKz0_sus9gx6bC8CKPqTndX8QuhisnByRE/s16000/discovery%20zone.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kinbote - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KiN_CviSiKw">Lowe
Sunsmasher</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjIRL_XbmK18dlSjYQ2K_Fb8qLe4z8CO2nVS7D1v42xu-xqJdAHsDMl22V6A4fQKiEKiDouv4t5-_auAP8eA5U9BXO970L7QErvfefEYZygIVObfaaiznkHo4KWQW43LK-kIysDoNrEtZdbbkljUEveDRf-sLdu0Rvpfs9rO4cY60Uvj6tYkwA7aV2s_Y/s600/kinbote.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjIRL_XbmK18dlSjYQ2K_Fb8qLe4z8CO2nVS7D1v42xu-xqJdAHsDMl22V6A4fQKiEKiDouv4t5-_auAP8eA5U9BXO970L7QErvfefEYZygIVObfaaiznkHo4KWQW43LK-kIysDoNrEtZdbbkljUEveDRf-sLdu0Rvpfs9rO4cY60Uvj6tYkwA7aV2s_Y/s16000/kinbote.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span color="windowtext" lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Laetitia Sadier -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSVHzs9fC4k">Panser L' Inacceptable</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9K7TkxtAoDvHX5bPfXszOKW0-WjLyj326coPgsim6e3Vv_L9CwiPvxaosjYCjj_ff2gvISVOmYCvXkuHvOdbv6NEld9qYWJVzRIvlGYqSdf_RJcsArZGfOEqfWrrBHMvBLEP6ONJuDbrDbEf9Nx4Mv3Uw2Hu_hV4dsuyOIrcgPKTt24AqHNkzFe-lNY/s600/laetitia%20Sadier.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9K7TkxtAoDvHX5bPfXszOKW0-WjLyj326coPgsim6e3Vv_L9CwiPvxaosjYCjj_ff2gvISVOmYCvXkuHvOdbv6NEld9qYWJVzRIvlGYqSdf_RJcsArZGfOEqfWrrBHMvBLEP6ONJuDbrDbEf9Nx4Mv3Uw2Hu_hV4dsuyOIrcgPKTt24AqHNkzFe-lNY/s16000/laetitia%20Sadier.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Glass
Beach – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYwm2yFXWg8">Coelacanth</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_YnuGTBqXZsJ81OqFf9YnRMOaf8HFmuH4q8qK2s_LXQwIlhajjnTfG_Wa3gqgriyertSCsDtQRYRqa0BHeRATHAw-RZjwj94ZtaUipiAOGjbb1QLlBUwwXCy6LmuXeqkBkdfBrKD5dpk5YKJ7CnOikYhyphenhyphenlTx-deLKTE2TdNKNe2Dpf11u_MuMoxvL7Q/s600/coelacanth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_YnuGTBqXZsJ81OqFf9YnRMOaf8HFmuH4q8qK2s_LXQwIlhajjnTfG_Wa3gqgriyertSCsDtQRYRqa0BHeRATHAw-RZjwj94ZtaUipiAOGjbb1QLlBUwwXCy6LmuXeqkBkdfBrKD5dpk5YKJ7CnOikYhyphenhyphenlTx-deLKTE2TdNKNe2Dpf11u_MuMoxvL7Q/s16000/coelacanth.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Water From
Your Eyes - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeL4dLSo6B0">Out There</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1MaTXA5GL8cf7FtT6-qsA_Nes1zIXS0GCdhRO-u25rKiaal11pIO7zXGBgT1uDiZE4lR9kaPquOLo_V65P91pPzltGSSPWDHcrxvrTz9mNbrqc53evXbTYVt-TqYBQ4rDjBeq8W7I0mnQfiGDZ4X1WctNHMcRLSsu7gU4jCULTzvnkSCUHfdokp3OtQ/s600/water%20from.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1MaTXA5GL8cf7FtT6-qsA_Nes1zIXS0GCdhRO-u25rKiaal11pIO7zXGBgT1uDiZE4lR9kaPquOLo_V65P91pPzltGSSPWDHcrxvrTz9mNbrqc53evXbTYVt-TqYBQ4rDjBeq8W7I0mnQfiGDZ4X1WctNHMcRLSsu7gU4jCULTzvnkSCUHfdokp3OtQ/s16000/water%20from.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Soft
Moon – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDHdo0Sqem4">NADA</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6wCsBsNkAg0tw8MkKwSvBD1BLXIaroIv6SKr1ToQe11vu_gfu3Oym7hwBenjNZ1fuHPV8544Yz-hj2QteYhx2BWR8NshslaZPeYBHQYnqI8Rhr4oxL_Td-UEHZLHVxkEfw_xTtfxbBp1QuiPbIPYhPzJNDYgb95o4ZTN_01-Higq4e07do_y6cF12Ls/s600/softmoon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6wCsBsNkAg0tw8MkKwSvBD1BLXIaroIv6SKr1ToQe11vu_gfu3Oym7hwBenjNZ1fuHPV8544Yz-hj2QteYhx2BWR8NshslaZPeYBHQYnqI8Rhr4oxL_Td-UEHZLHVxkEfw_xTtfxbBp1QuiPbIPYhPzJNDYgb95o4ZTN_01-Higq4e07do_y6cF12Ls/s16000/softmoon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Drahla - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QgfKjucWeXM">Default Parody</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholKVl3G96ZvMSsP_btBYeoB3TVMeIerRGcNAmtgiHR0P2F2idoRqZ1e10xZge4hVfaXDSc6k4WH8nZeSkga51S9tc9iPDAEcfB97jfx6vAl2KUg4AzHM0JzeqWmjP5E9i4SDzTgFUM3bW4vKYFlSvlQcpJWIh3baStI0nRMHbgnyOOAuMPLH6FSIJ9Ts/s600/drahla.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholKVl3G96ZvMSsP_btBYeoB3TVMeIerRGcNAmtgiHR0P2F2idoRqZ1e10xZge4hVfaXDSc6k4WH8nZeSkga51S9tc9iPDAEcfB97jfx6vAl2KUg4AzHM0JzeqWmjP5E9i4SDzTgFUM3bW4vKYFlSvlQcpJWIh3baStI0nRMHbgnyOOAuMPLH6FSIJ9Ts/s16000/drahla.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Blue Bendy
– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dJjOMwM9So">Come on Baby, Dig !</a></span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-bkmC-Wa0xvl1jW-jA9GMTyt_s6pquoeKaq55j97dFx5Ra8ilhv6GOuGz-oRltY1YwxDTOqOa7W5tV8l6h5_ReejOSoEuabxGWszbuibKu-MjkZ5_62qm558LXZlp-YglbEjtWG99NAnM63rqZ7ds0qOEEtGneSf7AAl8SC2pdJe7nBTB4lb3geUW6dI/s600/blue%20bendy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-bkmC-Wa0xvl1jW-jA9GMTyt_s6pquoeKaq55j97dFx5Ra8ilhv6GOuGz-oRltY1YwxDTOqOa7W5tV8l6h5_ReejOSoEuabxGWszbuibKu-MjkZ5_62qm558LXZlp-YglbEjtWG99NAnM63rqZ7ds0qOEEtGneSf7AAl8SC2pdJe7nBTB4lb3geUW6dI/s16000/blue%20bendy.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">BIG|BRAVE - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY0CDcLURRU">I Felt A Funeral </a></span></span></div>
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWa-sKByLFABaBqVhvdSqdB7Azu8jN5S5xzUYgd4jGyi1p_lOH-BnvThS3T8HHJjOpSy_2GQoRp-SLFlH1jn2gUnSERF-TJ4GdtIJIbPQj9Ewh8hoBuZ4hY84Qwe6cvaLzy_TLpKkWTL_eL4LmBf9UCoh51EYO9b757iDCQqpo_p7E6oljIPvyZHeRKKw/s600/bigbrave.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWa-sKByLFABaBqVhvdSqdB7Azu8jN5S5xzUYgd4jGyi1p_lOH-BnvThS3T8HHJjOpSy_2GQoRp-SLFlH1jn2gUnSERF-TJ4GdtIJIbPQj9Ewh8hoBuZ4hY84Qwe6cvaLzy_TLpKkWTL_eL4LmBf9UCoh51EYO9b757iDCQqpo_p7E6oljIPvyZHeRKKw/s16000/bigbrave.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Julia Holter –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQWtznaAIYE">Spinning</a></span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWAR1KiGsrDFSjYp6lsKoXfSQ8ucjmbbG8FjeTRu3vwR4klg0il-5d_6VEsX-O6OHDwT-j1MU9qMn2BGX2LtQxRR5IPTXfJxmKLh7sa5p9Um6IlWzKdqIYhRY7OJ2s7HtNgRmTwg5YFQkD0CbDMLjYItKCSUv7H1JE62cmqbYzDaBttbJs3q5MxmWH1w/s600/julia%20holter.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWAR1KiGsrDFSjYp6lsKoXfSQ8ucjmbbG8FjeTRu3vwR4klg0il-5d_6VEsX-O6OHDwT-j1MU9qMn2BGX2LtQxRR5IPTXfJxmKLh7sa5p9Um6IlWzKdqIYhRY7OJ2s7HtNgRmTwg5YFQkD0CbDMLjYItKCSUv7H1JE62cmqbYzDaBttbJs3q5MxmWH1w/s16000/julia%20holter.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Villagers -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3QuyNcOWDQ">That Golden Time</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg065syK7H2fcGNE1XllAV1kzulbzqquGC4wXPfj_17oUtsGfy6n0BsPGqeqN38yN_sIYVkIKh5qHXTgzrjcNgnrIm9br6Iu_ThyPcMnqst4XLop9bGA_foMRWt6UmFMN1zvC6DSFSg_3o00mW3qgSMBaf5ernCotxRECBUaeBrQlQBK_ReCx7NTG5WwOo/s600/villagers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="321" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg065syK7H2fcGNE1XllAV1kzulbzqquGC4wXPfj_17oUtsGfy6n0BsPGqeqN38yN_sIYVkIKh5qHXTgzrjcNgnrIm9br6Iu_ThyPcMnqst4XLop9bGA_foMRWt6UmFMN1zvC6DSFSg_3o00mW3qgSMBaf5ernCotxRECBUaeBrQlQBK_ReCx7NTG5WwOo/s16000/villagers.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alison
Cotton –<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvxHnz3LTNM"> The Letter Burning</a> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDqva7HG6_Xm7eed2ROyGXPPC2oHQ9EyOxEC9QoddjHQz1kD0oo9BtfBDjEv67EaiuUgbUlN6iT7RYTvTTufgqFHixY8lO-ymlDycZPtgmjey1QCfT6paSP0lhKap8rDEEi6F1fDhdq1QWqWyRTtIdBmQ6DmdkTXnB0uX3mqtRIiacHtkJI_KsfzyOFs/s600/alison%20cotton.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDqva7HG6_Xm7eed2ROyGXPPC2oHQ9EyOxEC9QoddjHQz1kD0oo9BtfBDjEv67EaiuUgbUlN6iT7RYTvTTufgqFHixY8lO-ymlDycZPtgmjey1QCfT6paSP0lhKap8rDEEi6F1fDhdq1QWqWyRTtIdBmQ6DmdkTXnB0uX3mqtRIiacHtkJI_KsfzyOFs/s16000/alison%20cotton.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Delusive
Relics - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7B3eLckkHjE">Fairy Ring</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zLmZkyg6BICs3KYUiJo2L2RGnBNRgBhS5yyuq5kH-3kx0Ng2mf_tEz6EEzbf5XzTDQW7hbbV5yfseEU-RVzhahjknwdM5ImBuekJZghZLk9BaRIxAf0WOW2VtG89ACcj2mAwnX5a-QXgrWfbWJyPLFWCgPQKVRPfldnrSeX9pjPoYGgndVcUeQ3jA-g/s600/delusive%20relics.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="254" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zLmZkyg6BICs3KYUiJo2L2RGnBNRgBhS5yyuq5kH-3kx0Ng2mf_tEz6EEzbf5XzTDQW7hbbV5yfseEU-RVzhahjknwdM5ImBuekJZghZLk9BaRIxAf0WOW2VtG89ACcj2mAwnX5a-QXgrWfbWJyPLFWCgPQKVRPfldnrSeX9pjPoYGgndVcUeQ3jA-g/s16000/delusive%20relics.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tomato Flower
– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yz1wn8Cwg-g">Saint</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTb_W05V1FLoMU_fVlrkwrFX5oXV5981Wd0XtqPWNy6H_SjSGvq5QUPd0NEgSF6_0ohLG3kxR7S0PiVunoTYonu51AJAAN8bPexHGgHIFT4nHEAlQC3e6UJtooecKlOvwL2dpOmeXajveBBUpKOADltnHHRC4LyLvxJybI899fm_6hMiTev2Wn7XO38Ws/s600/tomato%20glower.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTb_W05V1FLoMU_fVlrkwrFX5oXV5981Wd0XtqPWNy6H_SjSGvq5QUPd0NEgSF6_0ohLG3kxR7S0PiVunoTYonu51AJAAN8bPexHGgHIFT4nHEAlQC3e6UJtooecKlOvwL2dpOmeXajveBBUpKOADltnHHRC4LyLvxJybI899fm_6hMiTev2Wn7XO38Ws/s16000/tomato%20glower.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Porij - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbhsXCyXaR4">My Only Love</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRi2omHb0uXZCKYXBgd4CA6SX8VyT9fkGnEMz-bp-Jfwqc-BkJJqU2SDaWzTJrEo60riyNE1x7DMvo93hVNRSCebv_a0FaWrI-_rC0vlahk6nyFa_NEWh9W3mujmiGT3iyG8QEA71mkR7AhPSEZozwXhGZ2veVuKwwAIYe0EeM8aGrhMMeICkHZBrBuu0/s600/porij.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRi2omHb0uXZCKYXBgd4CA6SX8VyT9fkGnEMz-bp-Jfwqc-BkJJqU2SDaWzTJrEo60riyNE1x7DMvo93hVNRSCebv_a0FaWrI-_rC0vlahk6nyFa_NEWh9W3mujmiGT3iyG8QEA71mkR7AhPSEZozwXhGZ2veVuKwwAIYe0EeM8aGrhMMeICkHZBrBuu0/s16000/porij.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skydaddy
& Tyler Cryde - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqdq9kj4wZI">Tear Gas</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6lmrqElLFFGUXgfgwhru_TqzEtQTpBBvWzkP7j0EL5uzFFZRodP6Gex_yqopS02_S1CquV3ACDe-rdu8QSokXiaWbwJ8AYeX8kLli0Tl2zxH5tnoLLc7tNRBt7k_vafamXX7hX_gyWv22Aam9jagEgO2b5xN0MtxIQvs8aMYgCacjWl-Seji_M4-ChE/s600/skydaddy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6lmrqElLFFGUXgfgwhru_TqzEtQTpBBvWzkP7j0EL5uzFFZRodP6Gex_yqopS02_S1CquV3ACDe-rdu8QSokXiaWbwJ8AYeX8kLli0Tl2zxH5tnoLLc7tNRBt7k_vafamXX7hX_gyWv22Aam9jagEgO2b5xN0MtxIQvs8aMYgCacjWl-Seji_M4-ChE/s16000/skydaddy.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tapir! - <span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNs6ODTfjhs">Untitled</a></span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_ZB3UigBfrVQ6LIaaYp0z7DdFGLMw4EmpZtmvhGv4eLmSyQFrmSUngMfnvfYen-JHQQwllK2zIgf0Z7ri6tu6cvhkmh7aLdKdzB5OFdSHT1vUe1r2SrBepMsT2_FqD43zkgiG2z1DO8i5uElfceu-HiwBxLQ0gD1RXisucC2ySveAnsN_U87lXScVqM/s600/tapri.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_ZB3UigBfrVQ6LIaaYp0z7DdFGLMw4EmpZtmvhGv4eLmSyQFrmSUngMfnvfYen-JHQQwllK2zIgf0Z7ri6tu6cvhkmh7aLdKdzB5OFdSHT1vUe1r2SrBepMsT2_FqD43zkgiG2z1DO8i5uElfceu-HiwBxLQ0gD1RXisucC2ySveAnsN_U87lXScVqM/s16000/tapri.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Feeo - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIrm5fRO9-o">It Was Then That I</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwxqQkz3Au32E3jbt5y9DqqBVn41ZuNADQJFfK7N_Cwv_uEfp-pLccckcDTkJLseP-vFFVyfJP6LPfR3bT90uOyRv1hj7t8sGLlESDupLdPU_kw__SWwfbffJkGBvJSwXFfePBWj9BsbeBMhKNwhncTH8tWydXAGi-l4ZcHNOrvVLoL9j0gILW2_imXA/s600/feeo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwxqQkz3Au32E3jbt5y9DqqBVn41ZuNADQJFfK7N_Cwv_uEfp-pLccckcDTkJLseP-vFFVyfJP6LPfR3bT90uOyRv1hj7t8sGLlESDupLdPU_kw__SWwfbffJkGBvJSwXFfePBWj9BsbeBMhKNwhncTH8tWydXAGi-l4ZcHNOrvVLoL9j0gILW2_imXA/s16000/feeo.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daudi Matsiko
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1Z1TFiWmaY">Derby's Dose</a></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7L8wWZYovgiRf1leV2fxzquHGgYKiUflGdF9h4kPRQMIUDMGKGZPmHnis10wnOsDhE_SLmTuQFawnyEm9XcPerFwsASHjZwvNWBTG3uhFr4_DqNmVCf5-SRc-omfWddIXQm2jo9e4wBLm4Am1ZiwQz8nE0ijX7JGL9F2_1b4ynPTwGsDKfq_XiPjEw0w/s600/daudi.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7L8wWZYovgiRf1leV2fxzquHGgYKiUflGdF9h4kPRQMIUDMGKGZPmHnis10wnOsDhE_SLmTuQFawnyEm9XcPerFwsASHjZwvNWBTG3uhFr4_DqNmVCf5-SRc-omfWddIXQm2jo9e4wBLm4Am1ZiwQz8nE0ijX7JGL9F2_1b4ynPTwGsDKfq_XiPjEw0w/s16000/daudi.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Logic1000
ft DJ MJ Nebreda & DJ Plead - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueS7-ywgK9o">Every Lil </a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf4-PlzGArUwybYK3bYyVyuL7U1cAmIFb9SV2wXcTczfkhIfQCuEEqpks6N_iBNXQ7lz7vTNz-h6WEv6BwJk1YMQI6qwQRA1CVOP60s-Oaj2nhpNXBtm9KHo-wLFMYzgSzcXiobBk4yjLgCab1hCisolC9gkLfdbcoGcDaSOPa8b8b3IlyhskG5gJUVk/s600/logic1000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf4-PlzGArUwybYK3bYyVyuL7U1cAmIFb9SV2wXcTczfkhIfQCuEEqpks6N_iBNXQ7lz7vTNz-h6WEv6BwJk1YMQI6qwQRA1CVOP60s-Oaj2nhpNXBtm9KHo-wLFMYzgSzcXiobBk4yjLgCab1hCisolC9gkLfdbcoGcDaSOPa8b8b3IlyhskG5gJUVk/s16000/logic1000.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Craig Wedren - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GygDLB12h-k">Pronouns</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoEA7DR_n5hL_WQFHHYjsoV_gltRFDET5NG-KeiGtdBIJ8Sj0IPd51L0kkZgYpORfcRFTvYU_pxhyphenhyphenI_YaeT2jisPO9XS60fCse5obSQZF5SkDbkKSX3JaU8D_t4QyGFTw8-_oPtCtc8mq4Mxl8pZx8ntZQylXYZ4VGcEDdM2gN1dCRZ0bNkJqYN8EfdSE/s600/craig%20wedren.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="318" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoEA7DR_n5hL_WQFHHYjsoV_gltRFDET5NG-KeiGtdBIJ8Sj0IPd51L0kkZgYpORfcRFTvYU_pxhyphenhyphenI_YaeT2jisPO9XS60fCse5obSQZF5SkDbkKSX3JaU8D_t4QyGFTw8-_oPtCtc8mq4Mxl8pZx8ntZQylXYZ4VGcEDdM2gN1dCRZ0bNkJqYN8EfdSE/s16000/craig%20wedren.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Vera Sola -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ug-1Dof5U8">Bad Idea</a></span></span></div></span></div></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp-sTHPeMlY4X4l87EqERj4misEucyEBvgC4W3hoewyzXvp28OrTA_sVrhZWGpwDychVggO_QDCXm9YWO3iXk9oUjRBR5VEK3GfbItA_o_E1cAr4X6njj_Mt6XezKpmOOSTrXBWismhhyphenhyphenNVupX5HDGiWoMAJVOK2VT2dHa7yTHqpUBGcpIqGicMiI39Lw/s600/vera%20sola.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp-sTHPeMlY4X4l87EqERj4misEucyEBvgC4W3hoewyzXvp28OrTA_sVrhZWGpwDychVggO_QDCXm9YWO3iXk9oUjRBR5VEK3GfbItA_o_E1cAr4X6njj_Mt6XezKpmOOSTrXBWismhhyphenhyphenNVupX5HDGiWoMAJVOK2VT2dHa7yTHqpUBGcpIqGicMiI39Lw/s16000/vera%20sola.jpg" /></a></div><div><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FO"><span style="font-family: inherit;">L'objectif –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1whjE-WkMY">Puppy</a></span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1whjE-WkMY"> </a></span></div></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoCd24iPfAlpUb0YX73mP9gv4_eqPG6-nrCi1kDXLcJQ3G3uE73qGTHZ-8oRRSbdqokva36QIlI_Ez9mzNBAJUHv7x8QpMx6ZOU2505jCyeVUarVd5GA8O31ACU5Xnae02-MOKriV_YHB4v41XvpvkXtKADFHnpofa4egutNn0MzOsd6vHJdK3efrMT0/s600/lobjectif.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoCd24iPfAlpUb0YX73mP9gv4_eqPG6-nrCi1kDXLcJQ3G3uE73qGTHZ-8oRRSbdqokva36QIlI_Ez9mzNBAJUHv7x8QpMx6ZOU2505jCyeVUarVd5GA8O31ACU5Xnae02-MOKriV_YHB4v41XvpvkXtKADFHnpofa4egutNn0MzOsd6vHJdK3efrMT0/s16000/lobjectif.jpg" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meth Math -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22xxNQZRRkc">Axila</a></span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22xxNQZRRkc"> </a></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyD4kHKryUtZfRstZ8xw-agnho4sFV_RfCGDhA5eS1dMNXVFrMAx_RHgZj0iPb0HQ3oJgxKk_NEBD_mkyowAVWxdMTWDsw3rIPgzgXwk6FN7kZUVYqR_bDUSrv5Qdq2kgPZgwo7CImrtSnRQZVCVw8QeYQWbtMfROUkb16i4HJPwXYLorPhFiWqo5qjCs/s600/meth%20math.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyD4kHKryUtZfRstZ8xw-agnho4sFV_RfCGDhA5eS1dMNXVFrMAx_RHgZj0iPb0HQ3oJgxKk_NEBD_mkyowAVWxdMTWDsw3rIPgzgXwk6FN7kZUVYqR_bDUSrv5Qdq2kgPZgwo7CImrtSnRQZVCVw8QeYQWbtMfROUkb16i4HJPwXYLorPhFiWqo5qjCs/s16000/meth%20math.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stone
Sober - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3u2-EPf-agw">Tricks Together</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rYZYbEg2x-a1VMJFRxD4qdai4i-q_M6xzpyRpGGfC1qFO5RSFtc5mEcZYdlsAXZEywy7oZ0l_qbdBxOnGcIjUOQWid-UfCz8zObuCHXIZHqfTo-X3NpED7XuAgXXV2MgUMyv_KVp_HWY-_3rT7Q7T5bnntKjOODS65jC7j2hmhKXjqJuGIsLmCL1Gsw/s600/stone%20sober.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rYZYbEg2x-a1VMJFRxD4qdai4i-q_M6xzpyRpGGfC1qFO5RSFtc5mEcZYdlsAXZEywy7oZ0l_qbdBxOnGcIjUOQWid-UfCz8zObuCHXIZHqfTo-X3NpED7XuAgXXV2MgUMyv_KVp_HWY-_3rT7Q7T5bnntKjOODS65jC7j2hmhKXjqJuGIsLmCL1Gsw/s16000/stone%20sober.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div></span></div></span></span></div></span></div></span></div></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-40023083890314391822024-01-28T14:50:00.001+00:002024-01-28T14:50:42.204+00:00Lady Clementina Hawarden Photography<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Soon after
Clementina Hawarden began taking photographs in the mid-19th century, her eye
caught on doubles, reflections, her daughters glimpsed in the mirror. Stassa
Edwards examines the role that reproduction — photographic, biological — plays
in this oeuvre, and searches for the only person not captured clearly: Hawarden
herself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIt033W1OUHBAXiR1AUMEfP9xbemQ2Reai4ZyfZIrmcu63LG4r5j35yqBTv5DqWxZ5V79W5p6v66hSwt4jpQHvXbmBiZww4hSQAZdk0k3ZWrKbvaaS7QbE74wVg2vPKx-5BNNePvngiuQB6Z_oc7GqRShK5fP_n5Te8-FWmwMkZOmnKWRaPvTWEXxq-fY/s600/01-Clementin-Maude-5-Princes-Gardens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIt033W1OUHBAXiR1AUMEfP9xbemQ2Reai4ZyfZIrmcu63LG4r5j35yqBTv5DqWxZ5V79W5p6v66hSwt4jpQHvXbmBiZww4hSQAZdk0k3ZWrKbvaaS7QbE74wVg2vPKx-5BNNePvngiuQB6Z_oc7GqRShK5fP_n5Te8-FWmwMkZOmnKWRaPvTWEXxq-fY/s16000/01-Clementin-Maude-5-Princes-Gardens.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photograph
by Clementina Hawarden of her daughter, also named Clementina, taken in her
home studio at 5 Princes Gardens in South Kensington, London, ca. 1862–63. The
Victoria & Albert Museum’s description of this photograph conjectures that
“possibly there is a slight suggestion of a hand in the act of removing and/or
replacing the lens cap to begin and end the exposure”</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Does Lady
Clementina Hawarden’s hand hover, disembodied, next to her camera in this
photograph? It seems to exist in an indeterminate state. At once present and
absent, her hand is, as the Victoria & Albert’s labeling indicates, a
“slight suggestion”, a blurred historical reproduction or a trick of the
present-day viewer’s eyes, as they produce the history we want to see.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
ghostly outline appears in one of the many photographs Hawarden took of her
daughter Clementina, who wears a typically fussy Victorian dress, her right
forearm leaning against a large mirror, fingers grazing her temple.
Clementina’s contemplative pose frames the full-length mirror, demanding that
the viewer’s gaze linger on both the reflective object and what is or is not
captured in it. It is an unusual image: though roughly 775 of her photographs
survive, this ghostly remnant is one of only two possible photographic traces
left of the viscountess.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_r6kmP5FmrtS6kDFGCwWRNjucaj6QtGObFLfV_XQ67bl2aI24JR6TOCZEpB58hp6jN4lO9_2Ig1Ra46sdGQGI-s0RqOAtDnvwSH8dusIf-q0P-kFM2kHyNrZkmloKBKGXUb7vt2kALAGc9kCBi8eu8XETbw_vS8Uydu4Ar7gnGXB6kgyZAK27BeUX-LE/s600/02-Hawarden-hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="497" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_r6kmP5FmrtS6kDFGCwWRNjucaj6QtGObFLfV_XQ67bl2aI24JR6TOCZEpB58hp6jN4lO9_2Ig1Ra46sdGQGI-s0RqOAtDnvwSH8dusIf-q0P-kFM2kHyNrZkmloKBKGXUb7vt2kALAGc9kCBi8eu8XETbw_vS8Uydu4Ar7gnGXB6kgyZAK27BeUX-LE/s16000/02-Hawarden-hand.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span>Detail of
the camera reflected in a mirror from Clementina Hawarden’s photograph of her
daughter Clementina, ca. 1862–63. The “suggestion of a hand” is supposedly
visible here on the left side of the camera, wrapping the lens.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In this
accidental (or apocryphal) self-portrait, taken between 1859 and 1861, one can
see a confluence of various forms of reproduction: that of biology, in the
subject of her daughter, and that of the visual, in the technology of
photography and the reflecting mirror. Hawarden is the source of this
reproduction — creator of both the photograph and her daughter; her
“authorship” is underscored by the placement of her camera in the mirror, and
made uncanny by her spectral presence, real or imagined. The full-length mirror
appeared regularly in Hawarden’s photographs, emerging as one of her favorite
props in the makeshift studio she created in her South Kensington, London home
located at 5 Princes Gardens. Within the frame of the photograph, the labor of
motherhood and the labor of photography are compositionally bound by
mirror-adjacent effects: doubling and reproduction, a rare coupling by one of
early photography’s rare woman practitioners.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If
Hawarden’s “self-portrait” is nothing but a faint suggestion, then so is the
surviving knowledge of the viscountess herself: In both official records and
sparse family letters, she is little more than a ghostly impression. Few
letters by her hand survive and there are no extant records of her social life
as a member of the Victorian elite. Letters written by various family members
are unsurprisingly focused on “Clemy’s” domestic life, particularly mothering,
work that would have undoubtedly consumed the majority of her time. On her
photography, the historical record is silent. As far as we know, she left no
letters or diaries that shed light on her artistic practice. If she ever titled
her photographs or depicted scenes from certain works of literature or art,
those have been lost to time (the few photographs she exhibited were simply
titled Photographic Studies or Studies from My Life). With what little that
survives, the photographs are the only tangible material trace left of
Hawarden; part of their allure is not simply their beauty or formal mastery but
their mysteriousness. That is true of Hawarden, too: she is unknowable, little
more than a spectral presence that haunts her work — a presence presumed rather
than seen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3i8C64XSetBUOB6vL8LgCYJah2VdQpwixK6G2A_u3wNcBw588N4WO7GsVhgJib79SHjwhbw4-PuyhIj-LaP9EXMg63M7XlfjIiePqluWWFE5cXoJSHIxF2XB6g02WKFlIwDMftDkA3dGVxNDZHtGr8ewOvd6U2MDIYvMpa8NEfNA1CwaUko9wovD_T0/s600/03-2008BT8644-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3i8C64XSetBUOB6vL8LgCYJah2VdQpwixK6G2A_u3wNcBw588N4WO7GsVhgJib79SHjwhbw4-PuyhIj-LaP9EXMg63M7XlfjIiePqluWWFE5cXoJSHIxF2XB6g02WKFlIwDMftDkA3dGVxNDZHtGr8ewOvd6U2MDIYvMpa8NEfNA1CwaUko9wovD_T0/s16000/03-2008BT8644-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Two
photographs by Clementina Hawarden of her daughter Clementina taken in the 5
Princes Gardens studio, ca. 1862–63.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQU-dkJOajYBMNmajD4R-4amcmdzMH5Zu5DmYj5oc4XqvPXQNWNFB3yXCAvL04GIsIRCQYw4-5lvLp4t24Xm1eXJ3FaCcPmbksmCMdGWL37dKjUymbi8ZUdE2NM0VYcJIy2SLgxTVM_pumStvWf-sz15dCdb0R614ViZ08mvgV4A5YqO2jx8tSYO70WJE/s600/04-2008BT8483-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQU-dkJOajYBMNmajD4R-4amcmdzMH5Zu5DmYj5oc4XqvPXQNWNFB3yXCAvL04GIsIRCQYw4-5lvLp4t24Xm1eXJ3FaCcPmbksmCMdGWL37dKjUymbi8ZUdE2NM0VYcJIy2SLgxTVM_pumStvWf-sz15dCdb0R614ViZ08mvgV4A5YqO2jx8tSYO70WJE/s16000/04-2008BT8483-edit.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p>Stereograph
by Clementina Hawarden of her daughter Isabella Grace posing in profil perdu
(lost profile), ca. 1859–61.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before
Hawarden was a ghost she was a girl. The daughter of a Navy admiral and a
Spanish woman regarded for her beauty, Hawarden’s (née Fleeming) childhood was
unremarkable. Virginia Dodier recounts that Hawarden and her sisters were
“trained and encouraged in what is now termed ‘accomplishment art,’ the type of
arts education then available to young girls of the middle and upper classes.” After
some obligatory time on the continent, she returned to London and met her
future husband. At twenty-three years old, she married Cornwallis Maude, the
future fourth Viscount Hawarden, significantly elevating her social status if
not her immediate financial status. Hawarden’s in-laws objected to the match.
Her cousin, John, 13th Lord of Elphinstone, described the situation in an 1845
letter: “Poor Clemy!” he wrote, “I hope she will be happy, but it is a sad
thing to marry into a family that is unwilling to receive you–& it requires
a great deal of love on the part of the husband to make up for the want of it
in the others”.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite the
disapproval, Hawarden understood that her primary occupation as a future
viscountess was to produce an heir, a job she undertook with enthusiasm.
Between 1846 and her death, aged forty-two, in early 1865, Hawarden gave birth
to ten children, eight of whom lived to adulthood and one of whom had the good
sense to be a boy. Her three eldest daughters, Isabella, Clementina, and
Florence, became her most familiar models, assisting their mother in her
photographic endeavors. Her sister Anne once described her in a letter as a
“great baby lover.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJguPSTem_w5IJ-3Z9YgIhxeodZtE6nQ8Eo18nfCvduuxY6XNCIueJfNm862NBYfoa6KLdGg81FAD1RqvvJRA3sJ4woCgRiCe_nsP0OXuIiJRrpkYozFdumxI_0iuQKcq4j4rNsAhdxY2cW5Mb3IOjXFi9aw4G7idZ_YbsfPZ6TCgH70DPG4ZCKaL4v0/s666/Photograph_by_Clementina_Hawarden_8-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJguPSTem_w5IJ-3Z9YgIhxeodZtE6nQ8Eo18nfCvduuxY6XNCIueJfNm862NBYfoa6KLdGg81FAD1RqvvJRA3sJ4woCgRiCe_nsP0OXuIiJRrpkYozFdumxI_0iuQKcq4j4rNsAhdxY2cW5Mb3IOjXFi9aw4G7idZ_YbsfPZ6TCgH70DPG4ZCKaL4v0/s16000/Photograph_by_Clementina_Hawarden_8-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Photograph of Clementina Hawarden’s daughters, Clementina (left),
Isabella Grace (middle), and Florence Elizabeth (right), taken in a photography
booth at the Horticultural Gardens in South Kensington, London, 1864. </span><span style="background: white;">They are dressed in harlequin and shepherdess fancy
dress</span>.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is a
point worth emphasizing that Hawarden would have spent most of her adult life
pregnant or with an infant in arms. Nearly twenty years separate her eldest and
youngest daughters, and it was in that fertile domestic landscape that Hawarden
began experimenting with photography, no idle pastime but a labor-intensive
process. The work of motherhood and photography were inextricable, as suggested
by her surviving prints. In an 1854 letter, by which point Hawarden had five
children, her uncle remarked on her maternal care: “I never saw nicer children
or better brought up. . . . It seems strange [that] Clemy who could never keep
her own shawl in order & whose devotion to her children seemed to spoil a
whole generation, but her good sense and regard to duty has kept all right.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is
unknown why Hawarden decided to become a photographer, a laborious and messy
pursuit that would have been an unusual undertaking for a woman of rank. Nor is
it known when exactly Hawarden began taking photographs, or how she learned the
complicated wet collodion process she preferred, but as Dodier notes, “the
speed with which she became proficient is impressive.” The earliest surviving
images are from 1857, taken at Dundrum House, the family’s estate in Ireland.
Hawarden’s husband inherited Dundrum when he assumed his title in October 1856,
making the couple some of the wealthiest landowners in the British Isles and
drastically altering their financial circumstances. Dundrum features
significantly in her early works: Hawarden took stereoscopic photographs of the
landscape around the estate, perhaps suggesting an early interest in the
medium's doubling effect that would define her mature art. Her early figural
photography had an unsurprisingly amateurish quality, showing a photographer
who was still learning the subtle manipulation of light and shadow. In many of
these photographs, her family proved themselves eager models, dressing up as
picturesque peasants and playing stock roles before her camera. Even their dogs
had parts. As tableaux vivants, the images are charming records of an
aristocratic family at play, but they show little of the sophisticated
photographer who would emerge a few years later.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8JCsjF17GZfr-31weOi-Jnw7RElv-Bv2BIkj0rpmAHIDnM5dVKbLUrepsf46OszTDgatbdXRYJbQXg8ARhN_p_vd95oelDlHYELoMpHWft9pIMssbLfAekXYTMSDlc4vLitYXMinXW4GE__7W5LONF6nrNgB6D9WpvIkKvH9LEwiaBbAtrSx9XC_tIRo/s600/05-2008BT8456-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8JCsjF17GZfr-31weOi-Jnw7RElv-Bv2BIkj0rpmAHIDnM5dVKbLUrepsf46OszTDgatbdXRYJbQXg8ARhN_p_vd95oelDlHYELoMpHWft9pIMssbLfAekXYTMSDlc4vLitYXMinXW4GE__7W5LONF6nrNgB6D9WpvIkKvH9LEwiaBbAtrSx9XC_tIRo/s16000/05-2008BT8456-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white;">Stereograph by Clementina Hawarden of the west wing of Dundrum House in
County Tipperary, Ireland, ca. 1857–60. </span><span style="background: white;">The
man posing with a camera is unknown</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0_EqDKRSv2qmp2ZflVp03BimZhzgLhyphenhyphenjyUYKHLTOYtT5sRCqjaakWN0EI_iyQf0VLOe5hpCeRR8yCid4gOZlBc4gMy7oaRCzHFj2gQZsLhDWC2CnKYvdwVliX1Ev4XFaI62P5XSAQJ3BIftX_bpCMwbjNovaw8JqN6kBEULq-JljpsaOWfUTkP1DRKw/s600/06-2008BT8654%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0_EqDKRSv2qmp2ZflVp03BimZhzgLhyphenhyphenjyUYKHLTOYtT5sRCqjaakWN0EI_iyQf0VLOe5hpCeRR8yCid4gOZlBc4gMy7oaRCzHFj2gQZsLhDWC2CnKYvdwVliX1Ev4XFaI62P5XSAQJ3BIftX_bpCMwbjNovaw8JqN6kBEULq-JljpsaOWfUTkP1DRKw/s16000/06-2008BT8654%20(1).jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photograph
by Clementina Hawarden of her daughters, Clementina and Florence, and husband,
Cornwallis, enacting a peasant scene on the grounds of Dundrum House in County
Tipperary, Ireland, ca. 1859–61.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqweiqEqcrrZGMaItMWppGq99D960_2CwQnMtSgPeCyiHSov-KJFFfJRIavB7G2GpsgM1KnKOvlYcmAd3JSGAjwDad4on5t6OUkO4fM8Tidek4rid40p-r-_pnKRtYF5NEa80hBA1QkOrZLxVo9jDALc2j-rRN1BeP1qL16W5oszibW9LQOl2OQNfq_WQ/s600/07-2008BT8209-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqweiqEqcrrZGMaItMWppGq99D960_2CwQnMtSgPeCyiHSov-KJFFfJRIavB7G2GpsgM1KnKOvlYcmAd3JSGAjwDad4on5t6OUkO4fM8Tidek4rid40p-r-_pnKRtYF5NEa80hBA1QkOrZLxVo9jDALc2j-rRN1BeP1qL16W5oszibW9LQOl2OQNfq_WQ/s16000/07-2008BT8209-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photographs
by Clementina Hawarden of her family and their dogs on the grounds of Dundrum
House in County Tipperary, Ireland. Left, Cornwallis with a cocker spaniel;
right, her daughters Florence Elizabeth and Clementina, each with a pomeranian,
ca. 1858–61.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hints of
Hawarden’s interest in mirroring began to appear in photographs she took of
Clementina on the grounds of Dundrum. In one particularly compelling
photograph, her daughter is outside, dwarfed by a massive tree, her body and
face turned to offer the camera her profile. Clementina’s straight stance is
mimicked by the tree’s trunk, even as one of the tree’s massive branches seems
to purposefully bend to cradle and frame Clementina’s form. The contemplative
pose, combined with Hawarden’s compositional coupling of her daughter and
nature, conjures up the romantic tone of Thomas Gainsborough’s portraits from
the previous century.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8oiVKcRY2mXnQiYI5s23Sk6L-HEkhWAilRpy81lV1_uiqJPzWynNCQ8Of1Ogo35mrqfkl9dBu_Qc9pFXRDI0vQwjzJWriKERpxMKPTSGfs_4-CSp_VokCvQ9eY8ANninGRcHP2Eb-iSfXzXcpn3gdE6hkke7ccqsI7-WVbkwsOaNIJ43SdvmvfDXxm1A/s715/08-2008BT8126-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="715" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8oiVKcRY2mXnQiYI5s23Sk6L-HEkhWAilRpy81lV1_uiqJPzWynNCQ8Of1Ogo35mrqfkl9dBu_Qc9pFXRDI0vQwjzJWriKERpxMKPTSGfs_4-CSp_VokCvQ9eY8ANninGRcHP2Eb-iSfXzXcpn3gdE6hkke7ccqsI7-WVbkwsOaNIJ43SdvmvfDXxm1A/s16000/08-2008BT8126-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photograph
by Clementina Hawarden of her daughter Clementina, taken by the Multeen river
on their Dundrum House grounds in County Tipperary, Ireland, ca. 1858–61.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1859,
Hawarden and family moved to the newly constructed home in South Kensington.
There, it seems, she was able to secure a governess for her children, giving
her more time and space to devote to photography. She converted rooms on the
second floor of the house into her studio and shifted primarily to indoor
scenes. Although there are numerous photographs of her younger children,
husband, and other relatives from 1859 until her death, her three eldest
daughters stood most regularly in front of her camera’s lens.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hawarden,
Isabella, Clementina, and Florence must have spent a significant amount of time
in the studio, producing and posing for photographs. The space was innately
gendered — one where a mother and her daughters collaborated, artfully
arranging and costuming themselves. In Hawarden’s studio, “women”, Lindsay
Smith writes in Politics of Focus, “play all the parts.” While the photographs
might look like play, particularly the fancy dress scenes in which the narrative
or inspirational source has been lost, producing a photograph was difficult and
time-consuming. It seems that Hawarden’s daughters helped her develop her
prints as well, laboring alongside their mother from conception to realization.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8n-1zPgVjzWCUn6Lx2FIBOi1Rqaio-9QiqdXikp3sPC1WL2xiuZkxbJQsB-vMTc18lDFTwMTHfFrclSJKFpGhxhwoCtMpZmSjxUOF6E9tqKZgBFZYKA1FB4ABB3_pHqM_ybECRJADErszAyYo2HtrsBgNCWS1eEolLHWctv3Nfv524H6m3tr9ZtlK_g/s600/09-2008BT8323-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8n-1zPgVjzWCUn6Lx2FIBOi1Rqaio-9QiqdXikp3sPC1WL2xiuZkxbJQsB-vMTc18lDFTwMTHfFrclSJKFpGhxhwoCtMpZmSjxUOF6E9tqKZgBFZYKA1FB4ABB3_pHqM_ybECRJADErszAyYo2HtrsBgNCWS1eEolLHWctv3Nfv524H6m3tr9ZtlK_g/s16000/09-2008BT8323-edit.jpg" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photograph
by Clementina Hawarden taken at 5 Princes Gardens, London, of her daughters
Clementina and Florence Elizabeth in fancy dress, ca. 1863–64.</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBnoNTmauUSLYYAuHI0q11aeVN6ipYy1NojXCAwa5Qvpi4PPjeGN4zsJIdsa8pJRDlSvlgTlP79CU7TkCnXqASLzE9pWC6jIr496efRourVgMCOqrucGkz1wo2M-cRPWW6FTt6K9c4DVKLRt3_MlvIGuCwCD-WcS9F08YokazIFRXXIiAydQHV5mT2yk/s600/10-2008BT8660-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBnoNTmauUSLYYAuHI0q11aeVN6ipYy1NojXCAwa5Qvpi4PPjeGN4zsJIdsa8pJRDlSvlgTlP79CU7TkCnXqASLzE9pWC6jIr496efRourVgMCOqrucGkz1wo2M-cRPWW6FTt6K9c4DVKLRt3_MlvIGuCwCD-WcS9F08YokazIFRXXIiAydQHV5mT2yk/s16000/10-2008BT8660-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photograph
by Clementina Hawarden taken at 5 Princes Gardens, London, of her daughters
Isabella Grace and Clementina in fancy dress, ca. 1863–64.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She appears
to have been exceptionally interested in posing her eldest daughters in front
of mirrors — it was a motif she returned to repeatedly. Again and again, the
photographs allude to the visual concept of doubling. In one particularly
sophisticated example, taken between 1861–62, Hawarden captured Clementina
gazing into the same full-length cheval mirror, hair bound to show her neck, a
white blouse arranged to reveal a bare shoulder. The light from the balcony
windows on Hawarden’s second-floor studio gives the photograph a tenebristic
contrast, illuminating Clementina’s shoulder and the folds of her skirt while
simultaneously throwing the reflection of her face into darkness. In 1863,
after seeing Hawarden’s prints in an exhibition, a writer for the Photographic
News remarked on Hawarden’s “darling lighting” and “artistic effects of light
and shade”, comparing her manipulation of light to the techniques of Rembrandt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWy98lCHmJScFsxyi1XQrMyMIwXFW5t4DMsQxLCqadWvYwPQlWzm-ZkrGU_BTAWGjPmC68M6ahrh1VD5I9QfHttc3xhuVLxQqm9KZMTEpJ9fzv8kXanj-0zXnYn5l48d2QoITDc_4vEi73DF3sREEuhthOsyU4R2MOLh2qBx9ndKMweMPCa8RJPljAxmg/s600/11-2006AF3718-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWy98lCHmJScFsxyi1XQrMyMIwXFW5t4DMsQxLCqadWvYwPQlWzm-ZkrGU_BTAWGjPmC68M6ahrh1VD5I9QfHttc3xhuVLxQqm9KZMTEpJ9fzv8kXanj-0zXnYn5l48d2QoITDc_4vEi73DF3sREEuhthOsyU4R2MOLh2qBx9ndKMweMPCa8RJPljAxmg/s16000/11-2006AF3718-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Photographs
by Clementina Hawarden taken at 5 Princes Gardens, London, ca. 1861–62. Left,
her daughter Clementina gazes into a mirror; right, Isabella Grace does the
same while brushing her hair.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW-zFoYHiqkAOr4ZSVnWLqjN9N4OYzqrXGWvxmdUZeTCUaNrBU48xYZTxIqJRpQXJYgqIdEtwzEbawyQ-gWZuJ1fSJFNmXoxdrGb2g6NaB-gq3j5PWaVquqLIa81LjeqmYxBV0RlawEcp3K3CWwfZ-SCkUIfnwGG5xGeCwOLBB4vJFa9yf9ZhbSy89OY4/s600/12-2008BT8633-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW-zFoYHiqkAOr4ZSVnWLqjN9N4OYzqrXGWvxmdUZeTCUaNrBU48xYZTxIqJRpQXJYgqIdEtwzEbawyQ-gWZuJ1fSJFNmXoxdrGb2g6NaB-gq3j5PWaVquqLIa81LjeqmYxBV0RlawEcp3K3CWwfZ-SCkUIfnwGG5xGeCwOLBB4vJFa9yf9ZhbSy89OY4/s16000/12-2008BT8633-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span>Photographs
by Clementina Hawarden of her daughter Isabella Grace in fancy dress taken at 5
Princes Gardens, London, ca. 1862.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An
attractive young woman gazing into a mirror is, of course, a recurring motif in
the history of art. Venuses like Diego Velazquez’s gazed into mirrors and so
did penitent Magdalens who warn viewers of the fleetingness of life. Painters
were no doubt drawn to mirrors because of the visual tricks they could explore
and, for artists like Velazquez, reflective glass allowed the painter to
simultaneously show his attractive model from a variety of angles. For
photographers in the nineteenth century, however, the mirror was rich with
meaning about their very medium.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Since
William Henry Fox Talbot published the six volumes of The Pencil of Nature
(1844–46), describing his calotype photographs as “the agency of Light alone”,
photography was perceived to be unique because it was anchored in its fidelity
to detail. But Victorian photographers also understood that those very details
— flattening and still — often rendered a photograph otherworldly. They dubbed
the camera a “magic mirror”. As Susan Fagence Cooper writes, the description
“not only commented on its mimetic accuracy but also its power to make the
once-familiar mirror image strangely unfamiliar, the site of definition
oppositions, inversions, and ‘realistic’ apparitions.” In Oscar Rejlander’s
composite print, The Infant Photography Giving the Painter an Additional Brush
(ca. 1856), his allegorical representation of photography features a mirror in
which Rejelander and his camera are shown in reflection. Rejlander weds the
reproductive effects of the mirror with the medium of photography itself.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQrplFwt5y69sQkH2l9c4kNBJUJVK0r_VTx9tVxeq5T_7ive5aEdB7Ni9T1Nh3b8mDkTrwPkiPXeLCOpea4S0Ek6YwzoYq9ymP1kiTAcguleKzdIRQvTufdggGzxVTYgB4UyO-FDoB_mWMawb4URhVO212bqVyd2ux0fa3EX4rr1mSTm7_gP_N1Y71_TI/s600/13-80d392b0-d6c8-4bbc-b7c3-d54d6547b348_3000-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQrplFwt5y69sQkH2l9c4kNBJUJVK0r_VTx9tVxeq5T_7ive5aEdB7Ni9T1Nh3b8mDkTrwPkiPXeLCOpea4S0Ek6YwzoYq9ymP1kiTAcguleKzdIRQvTufdggGzxVTYgB4UyO-FDoB_mWMawb4URhVO212bqVyd2ux0fa3EX4rr1mSTm7_gP_N1Y71_TI/s16000/13-80d392b0-d6c8-4bbc-b7c3-d54d6547b348_3000-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> Oscar
Gustave Rejlander, “The Infant Photography Giving the Painter an Additional
Brush”, ca. 1856.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If
Rejlander made plain the link between mirror and photography, then Hawarden’s
formal interest in coupling her daughters with mirrors added yet another layer
to the allegory: reproduction extends not just to the photograph but to
Hawarden’s subjects. In two separate photographs of Clementina, both taken
sometime between 1862 and 1863, she leans against the full-length mirror, her
right arm supporting her elegant, nearly balletic contrapposto. In both she
wears her underclothes; in one photograph she is barefoot emphasizing her state
of undress. Though Clementina is shown from a variety of angles, her
contemplative gaze resists the camera, as if she is too absorbed to notice its
presence, grounding the image in the domestic sphere, a space that, for
Hawarden, was also a working photography studio. As Smith has written regarding
Hawarden’s photographic panoply of women, the “innocuous scenes of domestic
contemplation represent a profound questioning of all that the seemingly knowable
domestic sphere stands for in Victorian culture.” Hawarden’s photographs are
saturated with a sense of strange unknowability, as that magic mirror of
photography’s fidelity becomes something almost spectral.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7rWegIsSClDRlyQ6qtutZQDKUUQR8TnxThVIDAOyKrdwxhIi6KJDiUQwCoLhu0XwSAwqNxMfp2zITx5mPbHoaannR6I23PJIOhd9rcVNnqQSq4MlkokqrC845QGPxDcsidQUMjNQOMNy_r4QfbyieJLR6E3ozFfhHnXEOR5QzxzApNM7P62C6QGrRpiU/s600/14-2023NL1649-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7rWegIsSClDRlyQ6qtutZQDKUUQR8TnxThVIDAOyKrdwxhIi6KJDiUQwCoLhu0XwSAwqNxMfp2zITx5mPbHoaannR6I23PJIOhd9rcVNnqQSq4MlkokqrC845QGPxDcsidQUMjNQOMNy_r4QfbyieJLR6E3ozFfhHnXEOR5QzxzApNM7P62C6QGrRpiU/s16000/14-2023NL1649-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photographs
by Clementina Hawarden of her daughter Clementina taken at 5 Princes Gardens, London,
ca. 1862–63. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It seems
likely that the photographs were taken in the same session since their only
substantial differences are shoes, lighting, and the placement of a “negligee,
blouse or peignoir” dangling on the mirror. Between these two photographs,
Hawarden has posed and reposed her daughter, wedging her between the window and
mirror emphasizing the structural tension of the photograph itself; she is
posed between light and reproduction. “The mirror”, Craig Owens wrote in his
pivotal essay “Photography ‘en abyme’”, “doubles the subjects—which is exactly
what the photograph itself does—it functions as a reduced, internal image of
the photograph.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In these
two photographs, Hawarden has angled the mirror away from her camera; its
reflection only captures Clementina and a vague impression of the window. It is
as if she has purposefully removed any trace of herself. And yet, proof of her
“authorship” is tangibly evident in the photograph: Clementina exists, she
stands before the camera. This doubling of the meaning of reproduction —
underscoring Hawarden’s role as both biological and artistic creator — haunts
her photographs: it is evident in her use of mirrors, in a possibly disembodied
hand reflected in a mirror, and in her loving focus on her daughters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzOCJN6Ogmhx47Aexhtvc81a271vp4iyGeKJpqf9FD43YSVoUMRi8gv0l7xGJKAYT-RnyHJIpmlGpRpWLPHFMeoUn1a1dMQQVYfcjhHdgMHgO2dIU8YLsBNNcFOjcsl2wGs9sktM_SoTiCUz2jKF3aXymMAXfxK9h5u0Z47vatYGkb60fdYRsv39dW4E/s731/15-2008BT8630-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="731" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzOCJN6Ogmhx47Aexhtvc81a271vp4iyGeKJpqf9FD43YSVoUMRi8gv0l7xGJKAYT-RnyHJIpmlGpRpWLPHFMeoUn1a1dMQQVYfcjhHdgMHgO2dIU8YLsBNNcFOjcsl2wGs9sktM_SoTiCUz2jKF3aXymMAXfxK9h5u0Z47vatYGkb60fdYRsv39dW4E/s16000/15-2008BT8630-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photograph
by Clementina Hawarden of her daughters Clementina and Isabella Grace taken at
5 Princes Gardens, London, 1861–62. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In another
poignant portrait, this time featuring both Isabella and Clementina, the two
sisters are pressed close together, and Clementina wraps her arm around
Isabella’s shoulders in a moment of unguarded intimacy. Isabella sits facing
the camera while Clementina is captured in profile. They form a reflection of
one another; similar to the angles that would reflect in the studio’s
full-length mirror. Isabella holds in her hand a photograph (perhaps an image
of another sister) undoubtedly taken by her mother. Here again, Hawarden’s hand
haunts just outside the photographic frame. A photograph within a photograph,
the daughters who worked with their mother to create these images and ensured
their material survival.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
Hawarden’s quick and unexpected death from pneumonia, her photographs were
gathered and pasted into an album for safekeeping, likely by one of her
daughters since album-making was the province of women. It was passed to her
granddaughter and the photographs remained unseen by the public for decades,
eventually forgotten. Her granddaughter, Lady Clementina Tottenham, gifted
nearly eight hundred of Hawarden’s photographs to the Victoria and Albert
Museum in 1939. The edges of the photographs are torn because, at some point,
they were ripped out of the album. That Hawarden’s photographs continue to
exist is a testament to a different kind of women’s work, that of reproducing
knowledge through preservation and memory. Though the torn edges add to the
enigmatic mood of Hawarden’s images, they are also persistent reminders that
women “collect and keep photographs”, as Rosalind Coward observed, “guardians
of the unwritten history of the family.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Through the
Cheval Glass : Reproduction in the Photographs of Clementina Hawarden. By
Stassa Edwards. <a href="https://publicdomainreview.org/essay/through-the-cheval-glass/">The Public Domain Review</a>, January 24, 2024. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: left;">
<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">More information on Lady Clementina Hawarden here. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lady
Clementina Hawarden – an introduction. <a href="https://www.vam.ac.uk/articles/lady-clementina-hawarden-an-introduction">Victoria and Albert Museum</a>,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>no date.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><br /><p></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-41554920384552689262024-01-21T18:05:00.002+00:002024-01-21T18:05:16.964+00:00John Singer Sargent And Fashion <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1RfWEtijOycDDoQFZp5zoztnbAg8YYOKMJ_xUNuESUmxAwFseWgRniH4deEP_2SoPeZQS2rNpyDw_V9KeLG_Cf5dnJTOASIutbCWnGqTiYWOqG8TE5uTPBnk4B8IdsJfv5ec9shLJPZvqPDiPe2A-cSNyFv7LuiX3RP_H9MhsrrlzoTPf0b53aahh1g/s1140/madame%20x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1RfWEtijOycDDoQFZp5zoztnbAg8YYOKMJ_xUNuESUmxAwFseWgRniH4deEP_2SoPeZQS2rNpyDw_V9KeLG_Cf5dnJTOASIutbCWnGqTiYWOqG8TE5uTPBnk4B8IdsJfv5ec9shLJPZvqPDiPe2A-cSNyFv7LuiX3RP_H9MhsrrlzoTPf0b53aahh1g/s16000/madame%20x.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">In
February 2024, Tate Britain will open a major exhibition dedicated to the great
portrait painter John Singer Sargent (1856-1925). It will reveal Sargent’s
ground-breaking role as a stylist, fashioning the image his sitters presented
to the world through sartorial choices. Staged in collaboration with the Museum
of Fine Arts in Boston, the exhibition will feature 60 paintings – including
rare loans as well as works drawn from Tate and MFA’s extensive collections.
These will be shown alongside more than a dozen period dresses and accessories,
many of which were worn by his sitters. Several of these garments will be
reunited for the first time with Sargent’s portraits of their wearers, offering
a fresh perspective on the most celebrated portraitist of his generation and
the society in which he worked.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent
was renowned for the ability to bring his subjects to life. Rather than being
driven purely by the sensibilities of his wealthy clientele, he used dress and
fashion as a powerful tool to establish their individuality while proclaiming
his own aesthetic agenda. He worked collaboratively with his sitters, but also
took creative liberties, changing and omitting details as he saw fit. He
regularly chose their outfits or manipulated their clothing, as in Lady Sassoon
1907, which will be displayed at the start of the exhibition alongside the
original black taffeta opera cloak worn in the image, revealing how he pulled,
wrapped, and pinned the fabric to add drama to his portrait. In this respect,
Sargent was working in a similar way to how an art director at a fashion shoot
would today.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
exhibition will tell the stories behind the artist’s key patrons, including
nobility and influential members of the community. Collectively, Sargent’s
portraits of the elite offer a compelling representation of fashionable high
society at the turn of the century. Highlights will include Lady Helen Vincent,
Viscountess d’ Abernon 1904 and Mrs. Charles E. Inches (Louise Pomeroy) 1887,
which will be juxtaposed with the red velvet evening dress illustrated. The
regalia worn by Charles Stewart, sixth Marquess of Londonderry at the
Coronation of Edward VII 1904 will be reunited with the painting to show how
the artist conveyed both rank and personality through clothing. Sargent was
able to take even more creative freedoms with non-commissioned portraits, such
as his iconic painting of socialite Virginie Amélie Gautreau, Madame X 1883-4,
which caused a stir at the Salon by salaciously showing Mme Gautreau with one
diamond strap falling from her shoulder. The exhibition will present both Tate
and The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s versions of this infamous work. Sargent’s
artistic process and relationships will be further explored using photographs,
drawings, garments, and accounts written by his sitters. Key works such as Mrs
Montgomery Sears 1899 will be shown alongside Mrs Sears’ own dresses and her
photographs of Sargent at work, while Mrs Fiske Warren and her Daughter Rachel
1903 will be displayed with photographs documenting the portrait sittings in
process.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent
and Fashion will also explore the artist’s subversion of social codes and
conventions through portraiture. His clothing choices suggest the blurring of
characteristics that once defined masculine and feminine appearance, reflecting
the shifting ground of traditional gender roles at the end of the 19th century.
Sargent's portrait Vernon Lee 1881 exemplifies this approach. Lee was the
pseudonym of the British writer Violet Paget, who used the name professionally
and personally. Her preference for severe, almost masculine clothing, shows a
refusal to conform to conventional notions of femininity. The exhibition will
also feature one of Sargent’s most dramatic and unconventional male portraits,
Dr Pozzi at Home 1881, depicting the aesthete surgeon Samuel-Jean Pozzi in a
flamboyant red dressing gown and Turkish slippers.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMmrK5m5aJ5sqsGzEk8s0Zi4gqRD7WrIIECcBzsxgdX0KAob3iOlGZUCXWdiEmXwSYoyS29vewz9Vf0jZPEde-ezYRtqg07f81gZHZvSWAtpCbDRhG9M5jpVtVPJJ4fqTAD8BPdaepXbOAcB1H89N9F7j6CucBjcTR18-vtd0qV9kNOGGh4VuHdD_hzE/s970/hammer-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMmrK5m5aJ5sqsGzEk8s0Zi4gqRD7WrIIECcBzsxgdX0KAob3iOlGZUCXWdiEmXwSYoyS29vewz9Vf0jZPEde-ezYRtqg07f81gZHZvSWAtpCbDRhG9M5jpVtVPJJ4fqTAD8BPdaepXbOAcB1H89N9F7j6CucBjcTR18-vtd0qV9kNOGGh4VuHdD_hzE/s16000/hammer-1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In
addition to his wealthy patrons, Sargent chose to portray professional performers,
including dancers, actors, and singers, which allowed him to indulge his taste
for visual spectacle. His dramatic image of Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth 1889
will be shown alongside Terry’s dress and cloak, as well as La Carmencita 1890,
depicting 21-year-old Spanish dancer Carmen Dauset Moreno, who performed in
music halls across the United States, Europe, and South America. For the first
time, visitors will be able to view this stunning portrait next to the dancer’s
sparkling yellow satin costume. Together, this collection of paintings and
garments offer a new generation and those already familiar with his work the
chance to discover and reconsider Sargent and his enduring influence.</span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sargent
and Fashion, 22 February - 7 July 2024.
<a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/press/press-releases/sargent-and-fashion">Tate</a>, November 9, 2023</span>. </div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafb1k08kXY_5vxr0YtAIz7s5uNFUCr8Bcv4TZRjmNYLoOa_mCDyHdhI-qaTNMyFiGVg9rPmHeb4bca8aCPkgAy2v1cRvNkfitD79CMJp_oMYdDuBibUA6q2ekjnQ_P0zyopwxlUWWaQizQ2D78cdeOsBkMk5val7Z_bVZwOzIhskfbhkuQJ8NHPFaJ0M/s1027/1890-miss-elsie-palmer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1027" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafb1k08kXY_5vxr0YtAIz7s5uNFUCr8Bcv4TZRjmNYLoOa_mCDyHdhI-qaTNMyFiGVg9rPmHeb4bca8aCPkgAy2v1cRvNkfitD79CMJp_oMYdDuBibUA6q2ekjnQ_P0zyopwxlUWWaQizQ2D78cdeOsBkMk5val7Z_bVZwOzIhskfbhkuQJ8NHPFaJ0M/s16000/1890-miss-elsie-palmer.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Was John
Singer Sargent just a talented flatterer of his wealthy patrons or was there
more to him?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Two Arts
Fuse critics were interested in reviewing the same show— Fashioned by Sargent,
currently at the Museum of the Fine Arts through January 15, 2024. In the past,
the magazine has published more than one review of the same event, an
experiment meant to relive the era when there were many newspapers in every
large city and they all supported critics, leading to varied points of view on
every concert, play, performance, or art exhibition.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This
time we are trying something else, more like a conversation. We will post twice
on the Sargent show. The post below features Kathleen Stone’s brief initial responses
to the show, followed by a reaction by Peter Walsh before he has seen the
exhibition. The second piece will feature Peter’s longer survey of and thoughts
about the show followed by Kathleen’s longer response and summing up.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Readers,
please feel free to add your voices to the dialogue and our critics will
respond to you as well.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">— Editor
Bill Marx<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hi
Peter,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I’ve
just been to the Sargent exhibit at the MFA and can’t wait to hear your
thoughts, just as soon as you’ve had a chance to see it. For now, I’ll share
some of my reactions.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">If you
like the work of John Singer Sargent, this is a chance to indulge. More than 50
paintings are collected here, together with some of the clothing, hats, and
other accessories seen in his portraits. As a portrait painter, Sargent had a
reputation for commandeering the process: telling the person what to wear,
where to sit, and how to pose, all to capture his vision of the person.
Exploring that process, clothing choices in particular, is the animating idea
behind Fashioned by Sargent. But is the artist’s direction of clothing choices
— and how he painted the garments — a sufficiently compelling inquiry in which
to anchor an exhibit? I look forward to discussing that question with you.
Also, whether the exhibit fully explores the question.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
first portrait you see when entering the exhibit is stunning. It’s Lady
Sassoon, born Aline de Rothschild, of London. She’s wearing a black taffeta
opera coat, with salmon pink lining. The actual garment is displayed next to
the painting, giving you an idea of how it might feel to move about in
something so luxe, and inviting comparison to Sargent’s painted version, which
is slimmed down and draped to accentuate the glowing pink lining.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This is
a relatively minor manipulation, but a small photograph illustrates that
Sargent sometimes went to much greater lengths to stage a portrait. The photo,
from 1903, shows him painting the portrait of Mrs. Fiske Warren and her
daughter Rachel. Mother and daughter are perched on an uncomfortable chair in
the middle of the Gothic Room of what is now the Isabella Stewart Gardner
Museum. There is nothing homey or comfortable about the scene. Apparently, Mrs.
Warren wore a borrowed pink gown that did not fit, and Rachel was draped in
pink fabric that Sargent had to paint into a gown. But pink was the color
Sargent thought would best compliment their coloring, and he must have thought
the room’s details would provide an appropriately decorative background. In the
finished portrait, Rachel rests her chin on her mother’s shoulder, their pink
dresses plausibly sketched. The cold, open space of the Gothic Room is shrunk;
you are invited to assume that they are comfortably at home.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As I
moved through the rooms of portraits, I played a game with myself, imagining
which of Sargent’s subjects I would like to meet in a neighborhood coffee shop.
Silly as this sounds, it was a way of responding to the person presented on the
canvas. Of course, clothing is part of the presentation, but I tried to focus
on the face and the feeling that gave me. It turns out I would have liked to
meet a number of Sargent’s subjects, including Lady Sassoon. And of course, I’m
interested to hear how you respond to them.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">—
Kathleen Stone</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7L_KpxCQXdvdvX6499vo9unmtkYBz2JMJ6-_OXvfnk90Ug1NQVt3_8HwMiufxOFiYvKUfhZIp0L1BWQRvKNrq5YwFEY5UUBBYx-JWpGznorWap4GOyhVK5EzbF1_s8dewBdV3HB9zImO_sSkiMMb5F5gDQj7EvtI0Tij93aK5usp8ndVB8PRetThvTzQ/s923/John_Singer_Sargent_-_Portrait_of_Lady_Sassoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="923" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7L_KpxCQXdvdvX6499vo9unmtkYBz2JMJ6-_OXvfnk90Ug1NQVt3_8HwMiufxOFiYvKUfhZIp0L1BWQRvKNrq5YwFEY5UUBBYx-JWpGznorWap4GOyhVK5EzbF1_s8dewBdV3HB9zImO_sSkiMMb5F5gDQj7EvtI0Tij93aK5usp8ndVB8PRetThvTzQ/s16000/John_Singer_Sargent_-_Portrait_of_Lady_Sassoon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hi
Kathleen,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Thanks
so much for your email. As you know, I haven’t seen the show yet and am
responding from that point of view, having spent a fair amount of my book
reviewing time recently with Sargent and Sargent’s circle in Boston, especially
Isabella Stewart Gardner. To clue in our readers: we are engaged in a kind of
duo review. After I actually see the show, I will write up my reactions and you
will respond to those in a second posting (I’m giving you, I just realized,
both the first and last words!)<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In
anticipation of this project, I have been thinking about the changeable weather
of Sargent’s reputation and his rather peculiar influence on Boston’s art
community well after his death. Sargent started out in 19th-century Paris as a
youthful prodigy, known for his breathtaking technique and a certain raffish daring.
He overstepped that fashionable edginess in one portrait to create a huge,
unexpected scandal that almost ended his career and precipitated his move from
Paris to London. Some 50 years later, though, he was considered impossibly old
fashioned, stuffy, tame, and out of touch with the revolutionary art that
emerged after 1900. That stodgy image stuck to him for most of the 20th century
(except in Boston) until, in the last couple decades before the 21st, he made a
spectacular comeback. Once again his work was hailed as racy, sumptuous, and,
well, even sexy. He also attracted an enthusiastic band of youngish fans and
was widely admired and beloved as never before.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">One
cultural issue that has emerged since the last round of major Sargent shows,
though, is the “woke” awareness of historic racial and class domination in the
United States and Europe. Let’s face it, Sargent’s society portraits are just
dripping with white privilege in its most blatant forms, just when European
colonialism was at its peak. Sargent did make private watercolors of Bedouins
in North Africa, but people of color are never the subject of his formal
portraits in oil, even though one of Sargent’s most important models in Boston
was a local African-American man (Sargent always portrayed him, in works
intended for public consumption, as white). Will the new cultural attitudes
eclipse Sargent’s reputation yet again? Will he be canceled? So far I am seeing
no signs of this. Does the MFA allude to the issue at all?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I was
intrigued by your wish to meet some of Sargent’s more interesting-looking
female subjects. One of them, Lady Aline Sassoon, whose impressive portrait you
say opens the show, was, along with a number of Sargent’s British patrons,
associated with the Souls, a clique of high-powered men and women devoted to
the art-for-art’s-sake ideals of the Aesthetic Movement. The group also
included Evan Charteris, who became Sargent’s first serious biographer. I
suspect you would have found some interesting things to talk about.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><b><span lang="EN-GB">Kathleen Stone</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"> is the author of They Called Us Girls: Stories
of Female Ambition from Suffrage to Mad Men, an exploration of the lives and
careers of women who defied narrow, gender-based expectations in the mid-20th
century.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><b><span lang="EN-GB">Peter Walsh</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"> has worked as a staff member or consultant to
such museums as the Harvard Art Museums, the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the
Davis Museum at Wellesley College, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the National
Gallery of Art, and the Boston Athenaeum. He has published in American and
European newspapers, journals, and in scholarly anthologies and has lectured at
MIT, in New York, Milan, London, Los Angeles and many other venues. In recent
years, he began a career as an actor and has since worked on more than 100
projects, including theater, national television, and award-winning films. He
is completing a novel set in the 1960s.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Visual
Arts Review: “Fashioned by Sargent” — Round One. By Kathleen Stone and Peter
Walsh. <a href="https://artsfuse.org/282502/visual-arts-review-fashioned-by-sargent-round-one/">The Arts Fuse</a>, November 6 2023. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6_JtJ5D664_5rfDKuQzmNwl53W4cLBcGPYi_D5581ED1iWW2QSrGtIJj-UWQuNl1ngdU7U_JHD-x4dKi5GDlt3ColkL7Nhpy3cnIcDA0NPrwwg9AMv5Y6n91AL2K6c1HsemgRE8ka05liaVd4IlE5dgIPgx8lf1f3jOj-WLSSo_kanz5XYpkqsWS5bE/s600/800px-John_Singer_Sargent_-_Repose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6_JtJ5D664_5rfDKuQzmNwl53W4cLBcGPYi_D5581ED1iWW2QSrGtIJj-UWQuNl1ngdU7U_JHD-x4dKi5GDlt3ColkL7Nhpy3cnIcDA0NPrwwg9AMv5Y6n91AL2K6c1HsemgRE8ka05liaVd4IlE5dgIPgx8lf1f3jOj-WLSSo_kanz5XYpkqsWS5bE/s16000/800px-John_Singer_Sargent_-_Repose.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Was John
Singer Sargent just a talented flatterer of his wealthy patrons or was there
more to him?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Two Arts
Fuse critics were interested in reviewing the same show — Fashioned by Sargent,
currently at the Museum of the Fine Arts through January 15, 2024. In the past,
the magazine has published more than one review of the same event, an
experiment meant to relive the era when there were a number of newspapers in
every large city and they all supported critics, leading to varied points of
view on every concert, play, performance, or art exhibition.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This
time we are trying something else, more like a conversation. We will post more
than once on the Sargent show. The first installment features Kathleen Stone’s
brief initial thoughts about the show, followed by a reaction by Peter Walsh
before he has seen the exhibition. The post below features Walsh’s incisive
impressions of the exhibition and a response by Kathleen.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Readers,
please feel free to add your voices to the dialogue and our critics will
respond to you as well. The magazine has already had a provocative commentary
on Fashioned by Sargent from critic and artist Mary Sherman.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">— Editor
Bill Marx<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hi
Kathleen,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">So I
have finally, actually seen Fashioned by Sargent and am ready to write my
second post in our collaborative review.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This is
a very interesting, thought-provoking show of major works by one of the most
important artists in Western portraiture. There is a lot — too much — to write
about.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I’d like
to start by going back to a couple of points you made in your initial post (you
had already seen the show). Yes, this is an important exhibition: 50 works by a
great virtuoso of the brush, including several of his most famous portraits.
Anyone with even a passing interest in Sargent or portraiture should definitely
take this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and go see it. This is not to say
I didn’t have many reservations about the MFA’s framing and presentation of the
topic. Much more about this in a bit.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-5jchNWAgtvPL9GZE2u5AFacsXrDdRNbz_GWLc79XGfbCTpbffCmNzzkNcp9QwOxcc0Sbj-pRJyXcneb_0KL0u30t_6Oj-CF2dTOSzT4jzEwzlkR0tdmHtJV2MLeHfnvzCP3wApRGPOatUBiuEIMloCnvgs3Vf9dqUAUsgtI1JvwzKBqz4LnHypKp2Q/s751/John_Singer_Sargent_-_Self-portrait_(1892).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-5jchNWAgtvPL9GZE2u5AFacsXrDdRNbz_GWLc79XGfbCTpbffCmNzzkNcp9QwOxcc0Sbj-pRJyXcneb_0KL0u30t_6Oj-CF2dTOSzT4jzEwzlkR0tdmHtJV2MLeHfnvzCP3wApRGPOatUBiuEIMloCnvgs3Vf9dqUAUsgtI1JvwzKBqz4LnHypKp2Q/s16000/John_Singer_Sargent_-_Self-portrait_(1892).jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I have
always had a soft spot for artists with brilliant drafting skills: the ability
vividly to evoke the real world in brushwork or line while also displaying a
great command of art as art rather than simple reproduction. Michelangelo,
Bronzino, the Carracci brothers, Guido Reni, Rembrandt, Ingres, Degas, Picasso
— these are all artists who delighted in showing off their great gifts for
rendering life in line. Sargent is part of the tradition. The revival of
interest in Sargent that began at the end of the last century must owe a lot, I
think, to this sheer virtuosity. It is easy to delight in his rendering of
folded fabric, beautiful faces, rich costumes, and the human body, clothed or
nude, in a striking pose.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But was
Sargent just a talented flatterer of his wealthy patrons or was there more to
him?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
second point I would like to take up is your question “whether the artist’s
direction of clothing choices, and how he painted the garments, is a
sufficiently compelling inquiry to anchor an exhibit.” My conclusion is that,
yes, it is, but that the MFA probably hasn’t managed to pull it off, which
leads me to another question you asked: “whether the exhibit fully explores the
question.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent
was interested in clothes and dressing, but not particularly in high fashion.
As a portraitist, he was interested in clothing primarily as a painterly
effect. When he couldn’t find the right effects in a client’s ample and highly
fashionable wardrobe, he could resort to an ill-fitting, borrowed gown or even
a flourished length of untailored cloth. Or he just made things up, whole cloth
as it were, on the canvas.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">So the
name of the show, Fashioned by Sargent, despite its clever punning, gets things
off on the wrong foot. Besides falsely connecting Sargent to the glamorous
world of fashion and designers, the title vaguely suggests that he was some
kind of old school version of the contemporary Hollywood profession of “fashion
consultant” — people whom actors and other celebrities pay to tell them what to
wear to high-profile red carpet events like the Oscars, with an emphasis on
status-conferring designer labels. This is not what Sargent was up to at all.
He didn’t particularly care who made the dress; in fact, he often passed up the
glittering designer evening gown for something much more domestic and ordinary.
He did commission, for one portrait on view, a “fancy dress” gown from the
premier Paris dressmaker, House of Worth. Worth considered his creations to be
works of art, with “Delacroix’s sense of color.” The Worth gowns in the show
tend to reinforce his claims. He is an unexpected sidebar star of the show.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAuRGUEktXXhoF46HZHPJq90XhdtMKAl7cBq5YGE5Ia3i-k1E6leS6Jhe_gCDPWI0HW9b8MKNS-N4E6-rpjL5S6XrY4FuRNuPlUKoIdwiOEIz53ejL9PHkxt4IP4y706U-H5p2_B4B6XPn2M7w4YxqhCJlmwTXQDhpXw9PtpD-X7EASsXL3ixowOs-60g/s902/John_Singer_Sargent_-_Mrs._Fiske_Warren_(Gretchen_Osgood)_and_Her_Daughter_Rachel_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAuRGUEktXXhoF46HZHPJq90XhdtMKAl7cBq5YGE5Ia3i-k1E6leS6Jhe_gCDPWI0HW9b8MKNS-N4E6-rpjL5S6XrY4FuRNuPlUKoIdwiOEIz53ejL9PHkxt4IP4y706U-H5p2_B4B6XPn2M7w4YxqhCJlmwTXQDhpXw9PtpD-X7EASsXL3ixowOs-60g/s16000/John_Singer_Sargent_-_Mrs._Fiske_Warren_(Gretchen_Osgood)_and_Her_Daughter_Rachel_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
problem is that the exhibition ultimately fails to come up with an encompassing
theory of Sargent’s approach to dressing his sitters. Part of the difficulty is
just a lack of hard facts. Like most artists, Sargent made no formal record of
his sessions with his clients. So Fashioned by Sargent is forced to rely on
snippets gleaned from letters and “family lore,” which is not highly reliable.
The premise suggests that the physical fashions on view, posed in glass cases
near the portraits, are the ones Sargent painted. But this is only sometimes
the case. When the historic model is not available, the curators make
substitutions, sometimes using other dresses from the sitter’s wardrobe that
are not anything like what Sargent would have chosen himself. In other cases
only a fragment survives, or else the dress has been so altered over time that
it “is and isn’t” the garment in the painting.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
label copy describes the sitters’ costumes formally, using language similar to
that of a society reporter; there are extensive quotes from newspaper accounts
of the time. Sargent, the labels conclude, favored black and white, the latter
apparently because of the color variations and shapes he could render in paint—
an interesting observation, but not a particularly compelling one. A more
intriguing question, if one more difficult to answer, would have been why the
furious controversies over a handful of Sargent’s paintings always seem to have
been inspired by his sitters’ clothes — Madame X in particular, but also Dr. Pozzi at Home and
other works — rather than the lack of them, as had been the case a few years
earlier with Manet’s Déjeuner sur l’herbe and Olympia.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Fashioned
by Sargent is confusing in other ways as well. The labels wander off into side
issues, including gender roles, colonialism, cultural appropriation, and other
trending contemporary topics without ever really exploring them. They
frequently describe Sargent’s clients as “friends” and “close friends.” The
terms suggest Sargent lived beside his clients on comfortable terms, cocooned
in a world of affluence and high privilege. This glosses over a host of
complicating factors in late 19th-century social relations.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Socially,
who was Sargent to his sitters? People often assume that Sargent’s family, like
those of his sitters, was wealthy. It was not. Sargent’s father’s family had
had money but lost it; moreover, the elder Sargent had given up his career in
medicine when his family took up a life as perpetual tourists in Europe. Mrs.
Sargent had inherited enough — just — to support the family as long as they
stayed in Europe, where the cost of living was lower. There the Sargent’s
stayed in hotels and furnished apartments, moving to a different city every few
months, owning little more than their clothes.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The family’s
constant moves made it all but impossible for the young John Singer Sargent to
attend local schools. His parents were reluctant to send him to a boarding
school, perhaps because of the added expense. They also resisted art training
until John’s obvious talent and devotion made them relent. Though he spoke four
languages and knew the art history of Europe from firsthand encounters in
museums, Sargent’s only formal education began when he entered, at age 18, the
Ecole de Beaux Arts in Paris, the world’s most prestigious art school.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">All this
meant that, for all his continental polish and talent, Sargent’s socioeconomic
status was far below that of most of his society patrons, which included the de
Rothchilds and the Sassoons, two of the richest families in the history of the
planet. As a portrait painter, he was always “in trade,” always alert to the
next connection to the next client rich enough to pay his increasingly high fees.
It was, at least at first, a precarious life; he had nothing else to fall back
on. Sargent was prolific because he had to be. Relations with sitters could be
cordial and even warm, but they were essentially business transactions, much
like the relation of a stockbroker to his clients.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Given
his situation, what did Sargent make of his talents? Broadly speaking, he made
three kinds of portraits. There were the formal society commissions, which are
the focus of the MFA’s exhibition. For these Sargent received jaw-dropping
fees. There are the “spec portraits” like Madame X, that were not commissions.
Sargent made them from acquaintances or friends, sometimes from models he
encountered on his travels. These were intended as eye-catching compositions he
hoped would make a splash at the Paris Salon and other high-profile
exhibitions; this notoriety would bring him more sales and commissions (Madame
X was a serious miscalculation). Finally there were his portraits of close
friends and family that he seemed to make primarily for his own enjoyment.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-8Udr5m8xFeM8R5VDAZlrHP6ZPtRjFMaSy_imSKnVBXm4uCdIAukXX_ZWlGDUYoPFGCkUPAtbBTPoMqhE7edLiBlozOeFXlNtYuF-s6kZCrJ1jQerNMMCY-hd1rJ_OiagKf5rcYkuaOn7JLMGBLrUOToIgMm7bjhnid5ymKMpPf6ALTe_C4aYiesAtI/s650/37f6f8f67e68618ce1825c75fc0a70dd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-8Udr5m8xFeM8R5VDAZlrHP6ZPtRjFMaSy_imSKnVBXm4uCdIAukXX_ZWlGDUYoPFGCkUPAtbBTPoMqhE7edLiBlozOeFXlNtYuF-s6kZCrJ1jQerNMMCY-hd1rJ_OiagKf5rcYkuaOn7JLMGBLrUOToIgMm7bjhnid5ymKMpPf6ALTe_C4aYiesAtI/s16000/37f6f8f67e68618ce1825c75fc0a70dd.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
division is partly expressed, if a bit clumsily, in the exhibition’s design.
The show begins and ends with large, brightly lit galleries painted in pastel
shades. In between there is a series of long, narrow spaces like corridors. The
walls are painted dark shades, as if to evince the moody atmosphere of the
Aesthetic Movement interiors of the era. Some are covered in tendril-dense
William Morris wallpapers. The day I visited, though, the galleries were choked
with holiday visitors and the winding spaces created bottlenecks that forced
you to move fairly close to the paintings to see them. Unfortunately, the
dramatic lighting created hot spots at that distance, often obliterating the
faces.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">These
Gilded Age faces so rarely look relaxed. Only when the sitters and painter had
a genuinely cordial relationship, as Sargent had with the Wertheimer family, do
they seem to be happy with him watching them. The tension intimates the
Faustian bargain they have made with the celebrated painter: not only to make
them look handsome and impressive, but to make them immortal.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For all
its current romanticization, the Gilded Age lasted barely a generation. It was
a period of furious social climbing and competition, old money vs. new and new
money vs. newer, lavish displays of wealth, gigantic, grotesquely overdecorated
houses, and a complicated social code that could trip up the most confident
socialite. Life, especially for women, was an endless round of generally
tedious social obligations: interminable dinner parties with endless courses,
teas, outings, social visits, nights at the opera, each requiring a different
set of clothes. Edith Wharton brilliantly captured the ethos in her greatest
novel, The Custom of the Country. On top of this, the unregulated capitalism of
the 19th century was turbulent, with regular panics, bank runs, and crashes.
Even the grandest Gilded Age fortune could smash like a falling chandelier.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCVUQEF9U6jvK4lQ_7hEB5TuhyphenhyphentVSbWVdqtDWQfn4fR05kIvwNLfmammipZEz5H7OxuEh9Jp9bqZce3Me-4SifplFPc2xU79QHJiHSQW3IYYnJSZxLRLzNR5noINWGN8cTXpOcx1BNn20NLJjOD5SHvqq0kIYjj73xHvZEPfBhouT2DLv2fnMeBYYnm4E/s832/john_singer_sargent_albert_de_belleroche.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="832" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCVUQEF9U6jvK4lQ_7hEB5TuhyphenhyphentVSbWVdqtDWQfn4fR05kIvwNLfmammipZEz5H7OxuEh9Jp9bqZce3Me-4SifplFPc2xU79QHJiHSQW3IYYnJSZxLRLzNR5noINWGN8cTXpOcx1BNn20NLJjOD5SHvqq0kIYjj73xHvZEPfBhouT2DLv2fnMeBYYnm4E/s16000/john_singer_sargent_albert_de_belleroche.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">How
different are the portraits of Sargent’s true friends. Just before the last
gallery hangs a sensuous portrait of Albert de Belleroche, an old friend from
Sargent’s student days. Although the label doesn’t mention it, de Belleroche is
one of several close male friends that have been described as Sargent’s lovers.
The large sword in a sketch of de Belleroche reproduced on the label has even
been described by a Sargent biographer as a “phallic symbol.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
claims of homosexual affairs are all insinuations: there is not a scrap of hard
evidence to support any of it. Yet they are reinforced by the large number of
male nude studies Sargent made that began to be exhibited in the ’80s. These
frankly sensuous images have been sensationally described as “secret.” A better
word would be “private” or “unexhibited” or just “neglected.” After Sargent’s
death in 1925, his sisters gave stacks of nude studio studies to art museums,
including several institutions in Boston. Another set of male nudes decorated
Sargent’s dining room in London. They are partly just extensions of the formal
exercises of the Ecole de Beaux Arts’ curriculum, though their belated
revelation formed an important role in the process of reevaluating Sargent’s
achievements in the 1990s. After decades languishing in the dusty attic of the
Gilded Age, Sargent suddenly seemed edgy and cool again.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Presumably
because they are not wearing clothes, none of these male studies is included in
the MFA show. But they, like the portraits in the last gallery, suggest the
kind of career Sargent might have had if he had not been drawn into society
portrait painting. (He did eventually give up society portraits, but by then
the focus of his career had been set.) In these brightly lit images, mostly
exterior scenes, family and friends — and another reputed lover, long-time
model and valet Nicola d’Iverno — sprawl over the ground and each other in
poses that completely ignore the social proprieties of the day. If Sargent had
given himself to the subjects that gave him the most joy, what else might he
have fashioned?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Peter
Walsh has worked as a staff member or consultant to such museums as the Harvard
Art Museums, the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Davis Museum at Wellesley
College, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the National Gallery of Art, and the
Boston Athenaeum. He has published in American and European newspapers,
journals, and in scholarly anthologies and has lectured at MIT, in New York,
Milan, London, Los Angeles and many other venues. In recent years, he began a
career as an actor and has since worked on more than 100 projects, including
theater, national television, and award-winning films. He is completing a novel
set in the 1960s.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hi
Peter,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Your
comments about the Sargent show make for a delightful read.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Thank
you for reminding me of Sargent’s biographical background, familiar territory
for you, judging from your review last year of Paul Fisher’s biography, The
Grand Affair: John Singer Sargent in His World. Sargent’s life in Europe must
have provided access to a broad range of clients, both European and American.
That, together with his outstanding skill and social panache, made him the
sought-after portraitist for scores of wealthy individuals and families on both
sides of the Atlantic. He did not need to come from their world in order to
succeed among them.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As I
mentioned in the first round of our collaboration, I fantasized about which of
Sargent’s subjects I would have liked to spend time with, maybe over coffee in
a local café. This is my idiosyncratic response to the persons I perceived on
canvas. Since then, I have done a little research and decided to enlarge the
group of subjects I would invite for hypothetical coffee. Many of the women
were highly educated and talented but most were unable or unwilling to abandon
the role of society doyenne. Did they privately wish to spend their time in
other ways?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This
sort of musing brings a contemporary outlook to portraits painted more than a
century ago. I hesitate to push it too far because, in my experience,
“presentism” seldom enhances enjoyment of the art or deepens an understanding
of the artist. The museum, too, flirts with “presentism.” As you mention, a
number of wall labels refer to contemporary concerns, such as gender roles,
colonialism, and cultural appropriation, without really exploring these issues.
I found these references distracting and perfunctory, as though boxes had been
checked.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKk167-9xazhN1fLfFUzo7nXxd-KMLacgdfcbmDGrp3bvsowrbU2tHulddT0nt51luqHVpcOXKpvapp9-qnv1ztjkwFPyOieosqalt2bf6sImv8kB_gFVKCJ_7XBdfw6snzPD8LlxYmjJmArVRCWy2F3F0UAAGJw03M_DPrEgUXUF5VIv3krXmy1uhQOs/s929/Mrs.-Joshua-Montgomery-Sears-Sargent-John-Singer-1899-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="929" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKk167-9xazhN1fLfFUzo7nXxd-KMLacgdfcbmDGrp3bvsowrbU2tHulddT0nt51luqHVpcOXKpvapp9-qnv1ztjkwFPyOieosqalt2bf6sImv8kB_gFVKCJ_7XBdfw6snzPD8LlxYmjJmArVRCWy2F3F0UAAGJw03M_DPrEgUXUF5VIv3krXmy1uhQOs/s16000/Mrs.-Joshua-Montgomery-Sears-Sargent-John-Singer-1899-2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I
appreciate your taking up two of my questions — whether the exhibit is a
response to a sufficiently hefty question, and whether that inquiry has been
thoughtfully probed. I don’t have much to add, only one detail that underscores
how little is known about how Sargent interacted with his clients about
clothing. Sargent painted his friend Mrs. Joshua Montgomery Sears in a white
gown, but we are told that she loved color. The label poses a rhetorical
question – who decided what she wore? The insinuation is clear, but there is no
way to know the answer.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Two
final thoughts. The portrait of Edith, Lady Playfair, pulls together many
interesting facets of Sargent’s portraiture. Edith grew up on Beacon Street in
Boston and married a British man, an example of the cross-Atlantic society of
the era. She wears what is described as an afternoon dress. Even with its boned
bodice and huge bustle, an afternoon dress was more informal than evening wear.
Sargent posed her next to a bunch of chrysanthemums that reflect the peach
color of her bodice. But what I like best is the swath of peach-colored ribbon
perched on top of the black bustle. The satin and velvet textures are so
palpable and the colors are exquisite —
reminders of Sargent’s immense talent. Last, I agree with you that the
pictures in the final gallery are a highlight. Bright, informal, and often
staged outdoors, their creative spark was infectious.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Visual
Arts Review: “Fashioned by Sargent” — Round Two. By Peter Walsh and Kathleen Stone. <a href="https://artsfuse.org/283956/visual-arts-review-fashioned-by-sargent-round-two/"> The Arts Fuse</a>, December 8, 2023. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBcGA0qTFwWRKFdYZAUcQexQBdEnRtTukjmVmIdbMWMRDr8HmRR1SpRMIMvWVO_P7HBZ-_I1kik5sr05TCFtOxqrqlR4ep3rXtZRq0MB-tdtGHQpR7ALUaSPkV1hF1UHaNUuDAN4CAPvWEYnvL0NZfL0Z52L7zBXVfXeshwScsVvp4pspxxKO29-az14/s934/John_Singer_Sargent_(1856-1925)_-_Portrait_of_Ena_Wertheimer,_A_Vele_Gonfie_-_T07104_-_Tate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBcGA0qTFwWRKFdYZAUcQexQBdEnRtTukjmVmIdbMWMRDr8HmRR1SpRMIMvWVO_P7HBZ-_I1kik5sr05TCFtOxqrqlR4ep3rXtZRq0MB-tdtGHQpR7ALUaSPkV1hF1UHaNUuDAN4CAPvWEYnvL0NZfL0Z52L7zBXVfXeshwScsVvp4pspxxKO29-az14/s16000/John_Singer_Sargent_(1856-1925)_-_Portrait_of_Ena_Wertheimer,_A_Vele_Gonfie_-_T07104_-_Tate.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB">Fans,
gowns, beaded dress pumps, even a French hat ornament constructed from the
stuffed body of a bird-of-paradise, complement the 50 paintings assembled for
“Fashioned by Sargent” at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, currently on view
through January 15, 2024. The exhibition focuses on American expatriate artist
John Singer Sargent’s relationship to fashion, demonstrating how he used
costumes and textiles to frame his subjects and show off his artistic
virtuosity.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
costumes are splendid; some of them, such as the black taffeta and
pink-silk-lined opera cloak that belonged to Aline Caroline de Rothschild, Lady
Sassoon, are restored heirlooms kept in the families of the sitters for
generations. Others are approximations of the clothes Sargent’s subjects wore,
such as the piece of antique lace and swatch of tapestry that nearly match the
Velázquez-like costume that Jewish British collector Mathilde Hirsch posed in.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As you
go through the galleries, you can see how the artist draped shawls, pinned back
silks, and carefully arranged bulky hoop skirts to create windows for light and
color or opportunities to exercise the wild joy of his rapid brushstrokes. But
what actually stands out is the extraordinary lucidity of Sargent’s characters.
You can’t help feeling you’ve seen the faces before.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Even
though it might be the figure of a countess who lived well over a hundred years
ago, there is a resemblance, you think, to someone you know. Many of these are
Jewish faces, and this isn’t surprising, since Sargent had a number of Jewish
friends and Jews stood out among his most important supporters.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent,
who was born in Florence in 1856 and died in London in 1925, didn’t leave
behind a diary or journal. Most of what we know about his personal life, or his
relationship to his upper-class Jewish patrons living in late-Victorian or
Edwardian England, comes from people who knew him or from his own slapdash
correspondence, scribbled in an eccentric handwriting. At the turn of the
century, he was the most sought-after portraitist in Europe and America,
charging 1,000 guineas for a painting, equivalent to about $161,000 today.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Biographers
who knew him characterized Sargent as an autodidact who was meticulously
orderly with his work schedule but otherwise otherworldly, disengaged from
current events and uncomfortably shy in the highest society, where he was known
to “splutter” and grasp for words. He had grown up in an eccentric family that
left Philadelphia for Europe when they were in mourning after the death of
their first-born child. While his father was trained as a surgeon and his
mother had a small amount of inherited wealth, they were not rich and lived an
itinerant life in rented rooms, moving from city to city.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent
was not formally schooled until his talent as an artist was recognized. The
roots of his education were in museum galleries, where his mother taught him to
copy what he saw onto a drawing pad. When he was 18, he enrolled in the Paris
atelier of the portrait artist Carolus-Duran, who revered the work of Frans
Hals and Diego Velázquez. In the studio, Sargent was a star. Among
friends—those who shared his love of literature, theater, art and music (he was
a gifted amateur<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">pianist)—he
was genial and warm. His circle included members of several distinguished
Jewish families who are represented in the show: the Sassoons, the Meyers,
Mathilde and Leopold Hirsch, and Asher and Flora Wertheimer.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This was
the time when the wealth of England’s aristocracy was diminishing, and America’s
robber barons and Jewish financiers were perceived as a threat to the old
social order. Art historians have suggested that as an American living in
England and, most probably, as a closeted gay man, Sargent felt an affinity
with London’s assimilated and cosmopolitan Jews, who were insiders and
outsiders just as he was. Together they navigated racism and bigotry, since
they were living in the era when Oscar Wilde was sentenced to prison for
indecency and Parliament passed the Aliens Act, designed to restrict
immigration of the “wretched” Jews fleeing Russia and Eastern Europe.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8bPYdO1X69yLS_nwgWxwsPYm7Z9hBLyp4cCtO4_0VEIKApnOqBrYAugb_TvX6eNa3nb7MXgTyriXrfLzYSiki-6-4jvdrj_MSPljxM4QM-R1TU0z_hXBsmR7Wh2tv9mp5YwBbcVkG7LPLkkyZkBVjh-EMtTsvGodyWneGuuOu2_lMm0AqK_IBveT1Z0/s805/meyer1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="805" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8bPYdO1X69yLS_nwgWxwsPYm7Z9hBLyp4cCtO4_0VEIKApnOqBrYAugb_TvX6eNa3nb7MXgTyriXrfLzYSiki-6-4jvdrj_MSPljxM4QM-R1TU0z_hXBsmR7Wh2tv9mp5YwBbcVkG7LPLkkyZkBVjh-EMtTsvGodyWneGuuOu2_lMm0AqK_IBveT1Z0/s16000/meyer1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">One of
the tour-de-force paintings in the exhibition, Mrs. Carl Meyer and her
Children, from 1896, gives viewers a lot to think about, both in terms of
Sargent’s gift of imagination and the complexity of his relationship to his
Jewish patrons. At the time of the painting, Adèle Meyer was known as a
gracious hostess and philanthropist. Her father had made a fortune as a rubber
manufacturer, but she augmented her social status when she married Carl
Ferdinand Meyer, who was the foreign emissary for the British Rothschild bank
before becoming London’s chairman of De Beers. Although the Meyers had been
raised as Jews and were married in a Jewish ceremony, they chose to have their
three children baptized and were themselves buried in a Christian cemetery. The
rococo extravagance of Sargent’s composition, with its textures, colors and
richness of materials, acknowledges the family’s immense wealth as well as
Adèle’s abundant energy as a suffragette and benefactor of many charities
helping children and women.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
choreography of gestures at the crux of the painting is as complex as any scene
from a Henry James novel: A beautiful, self-assured woman holds an open fan in
one hand while her other hand reaches up to her children. Her beribboned arm
connects her world to theirs as she lightly touches her son’s fingers, and her
daughter protectively wraps an arm around the boy’s shoulder. Sargent has
caught the familial attachment with dexterity, all distilled in a single
narrative moment. The immense, peach-colored gown was apparently an artistic
invention, pieced together from the real gown Mrs. Meyer wore and a concoction
of dresses Sargent drew from his memory and imagination. It was daring for
Sargent to allow the billowing skirt to take up almost half the picture space,
while his unusual foreshortened perspective creates a sense of stable
instability. Art historians have wondered whether that was intended as a
reference to the precariousness of the nouveau riche Jewish family’s social
position. Though most critics acknowledged the achievement of Sargent’s
painting, that didn’t stop truculent remarks such as the one from The Spectator
that read: [Sargent had] “not succeeded in making attractive these
over-civilised European Orientals.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Two
years after Sargent painted the portrait of the Meyer family, he began work on
his largest commission, from the Jewish art dealer Asher Wertheimer, who had
Sargent paint 12 portraits of his wife, ten children and many dogs. Before the
commission, Sargent and Wertheimer had traveled in the same circles because of
Wertheimer’s business, which specialized in 18th-century French furniture and
Old Master paintings. But the friendship with the family grew over the many
years Sargent worked on their portraits; he was quoted at one point as saying,
“I’m in a state of chronic Wertheimerism.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdMC6_1ntjaYuut4Q-wCPLozxOtV9ZoC83BmXpepDPrd33ZrkaAG_wpN-eblaLDoj-kweZckf8-Kh48MwuG4b4Yh192IIiVxU8U0O-UD1tW9CzDm_RXQTObQgNMreleMmd3xmGAMGAzVJJgmkG1VNNDUYJ05VlWflLKYYKKyEb6o7UV_tU0O6a6XtUdI/s798/John_singer_sargent,_ena_e_betty,_figlie_di_asher_e_mrs._wertheimer,_1901,_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdMC6_1ntjaYuut4Q-wCPLozxOtV9ZoC83BmXpepDPrd33ZrkaAG_wpN-eblaLDoj-kweZckf8-Kh48MwuG4b4Yh192IIiVxU8U0O-UD1tW9CzDm_RXQTObQgNMreleMmd3xmGAMGAzVJJgmkG1VNNDUYJ05VlWflLKYYKKyEb6o7UV_tU0O6a6XtUdI/s16000/John_singer_sargent,_ena_e_betty,_figlie_di_asher_e_mrs._wertheimer,_1901,_01.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It was
said that Sargent especially admired the liveliness of the Wertheimer
daughters. The poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt wrote in his diary, “[Sargent] paints
nothing but Jews and Jewesses now and says he prefers them, as they have more
life and movement than our English women.” This, of course, is not accurate,
since Jews made up a small percentage of Sargent’s clients; out of the 1,400 or
so portraits he did during his lifetime, perhaps only 40 of them are of Jews.
But Sargent did become especially good friends with Ena Wertheimer, Asher’s
oldest daughter, and two paintings of her are included in the Boston show. One
has come to be known as A Vele Gonfie (Italian for In Full Sail). The painting
was a wedding present from her father, celebrating her marriage to the
financier Robert Moritz Mathias. Many years later, Ena secretly sold the
portrait in order to raise funds for an art gallery that she owned,
substituting a copy that had been made by one of Sargent’s assistants. When her
husband found out, he was furious; it took him years to track down the American
collector who had purchased it and to buy it back.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
exhibition catalog includes a photograph taken at Ena’s wedding. It shows her
serenely seated, dressed in a majestic beaded wedding gown with an extravagant
train. In contrast, Sargent’s three-quarter figure portrait of Ena, far from
bridal, captures her dash and ebullience. Apparently, she had rushed into his
studio one day, characteristically late and impatient about the tediousness of
posing for her portrait. Sargent noticed that her coat seemed to be billowing
with the wind and this gave him the idea to paint her in a way that would show
off her animation and vitality. The portrait that transpired grew out of a
collaboration, a theatrical play in which Sargent suggested she put on a man’s
ceremonial court coat and a cavalier’s plumed hat, transforming her from a
young Jewish woman into a dashing aristocratic man with the swagger of one of
Sargent’s beloved Frans Hals characters. The masquerade freed Ena from the
constraints of traditional portraiture and gave her the ability to move into
her own identity. Looking over her shoulder while stretching her gloved hand
across her chest, she grasps onto what appears to be a cloak that’s about to
blow away; she’s “in full sail.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">While
the monumental portrait of Lady Sassoon subsumed in her black taffeta opera
coat is hung at the start of the exhibition, the more intimate wedding
half-portrait of her daughter Sybil Sassoon, the Countess of Rocksavage, comes
at the end. Together, they form bookends to an exhibition that is as much about
friendship and patronage as about the expressive power of costume. Part of
Sargent’s genius lay in his ability to join forces imaginatively with his
subjects. Fashion and props could help him crystallize characters or draw out
fantasy. One of his favorite props was a Kashmiri shawl, which he used in Sybil
Sasson’s wedding portrait. In England at the turn of the century, such a shawl
would have been imbued with an array of ideas about the faraway Orient, a place
of imagined beauty, artistry and pleasure. What should we make of this portrait
Sargent painted of someone who might accurately be called a Mizrahi princess at
a time when the idea of an “Oriental Jew” was an antisemitic trope? Or that
Sargent gave Sybil the Kashmiri shawl as a wedding gift?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
painting is a demonstration of some of Sargent’s freest brushwork. The young
woman’s face seems almost to be built sculpturally, as if the bone structure
were modeled by clay rather than paint. The shawl, with its many draped folds,
is a riot of paint strokes. And when you look at Sybil Sassoon’s gaze, you see
nothing but trust in her intelligently serious eyes.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Visual
Moment | John Singer Sargent: Fashioning Art. By Frances Brent. <a href="https://momentmag.com/visual-moment-john-singer-sargent-fashioning-art/">Moment</a>, November 21, 2023.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5QVlR64dnnUXqhppxl36z1_SnfA3sF4hpIZ49TkpEvhzJp6q-bQOObHWxKBHJ_O5Z-smHod15PiKoErYr-rCBT1Kb1jnynU5exEeETIBW0QV7gR9Cyg2_k0h4lNdWRvPWa34-XjDsuaXWJIONENcet6RgGfi1CtxAHnoJ-cgv4j1UsOLRyPmD6SGGz0/s897/Sargent_Portrait_of_Lady_Helen_Vincent_1904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="897" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5QVlR64dnnUXqhppxl36z1_SnfA3sF4hpIZ49TkpEvhzJp6q-bQOObHWxKBHJ_O5Z-smHod15PiKoErYr-rCBT1Kb1jnynU5exEeETIBW0QV7gR9Cyg2_k0h4lNdWRvPWa34-XjDsuaXWJIONENcet6RgGfi1CtxAHnoJ-cgv4j1UsOLRyPmD6SGGz0/s16000/Sargent_Portrait_of_Lady_Helen_Vincent_1904.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Sensual
salmon-pink walls greet visitors in the first gallery of Fashioned by Sargent,
the current exhibition at Museum of Fine Arts, Boston that pairs over 50 works
by the much-loved American portrait painter John Singer Sargent (1856-1925)
with actual garments worn by the elegant subjects in his paintings.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
color is a fitting backdrop for a single work, a full-length, standing portrait
of Lady Sassoon (1907) displayed here alongside the flowing black taffeta opera
cape she wore in the painting.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“We put
great effort in researching the exact pink tone Sargent used in painting the
lining of Lady Sassoon’s opera cape," said Erica E. Hirshler, the exhibition
organizer and MFA Boston’s Senior Curator of American Paintings, in an animated
conversation with Art & Object. "The color we picked is called
‘Glamour Pink’. We intended to play with the dramatic aspect of Sargent’s work
throughout the exhibition.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It is
the inherent theatricality in Sargent’s approach to dressing and posing his
subjects that infuses the exhibition with a heightened sense of drama and adds
to the pure pleasure that viewing these masterworks of painterly bravura
invokes. Sargent was the most successful portrait painter of his generation.
Known for his exquisite ability to render the elegant soft fuzz of velvet or
the sheen of satin in the luxuriant folds of a well-dressed Edwardian lady’s
gown, Sargent used fashion not only to demonstrate his painterly skill but as a
powerful tool to depict identity and personality. He regularly chose the
outfits of his subjects or manipulated their clothing. This innovative use of
costume was central to his artwork.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">MFA
Boston had begun to conceptualize this exhibition in 2016 long before COVID
struck. “Our interpretive strategy was affected by audience input,” Hirshler
elaborates. “In 2018, we invited museum goers’ participation via our Exhibition
Lab: Sargent and Fashion. We gave people the opportunity to look behind the
scenes to see how exhibitions are created…. We asked the public what type of
manikin they preferred. [to display the garments]…. In offering five different
approaches to labeling we discovered the audience was eager for more story, so
the labels are longer. They wanted to know three things: 1. The identity of the
sitter, 2. The significance of the clothing, and 3. The relationship of the
sitter to the artist. More than just giving facts, my goal was to inspire
people to look.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Critics
of Sargent have long accused him of being the servant to his mostly wealthy
patrons. Hirshler, who is known as a Sargent scholar, was surprised to learn
this was not the case. “I became aware how in control he was. His sitters
repeatedly said that ‘Sargent told me what to wear,’” she said. In some cases,
he used his imagination. MFA Boston conservator Lydia Vaghts described his
preparation for the Portrait of Lady Helen Vincent (1904): “This is really an
invented garment," said Vaghts. "It was originally white, and Sargent
completely repainted it.” Known as a great English beauty, Lady Vincent wore a
flowing white dress to pose on the balcony of her apartment in Venice. Sargent
painted her wearing that white dress but was dissatisfied, and scraping off the
white paint, he proceeded to paint her in black which contrasted with her
swan-like neck and pearly white skin. He then wrapped her in a pink satin swath
of fabric that may never have existed. While many of the works come from the
MFA’s own extensive collection of Sargent, this painting is on a rare loan from
the Birmingham Museum of Art.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiIplRYbKjhrWK89CRXjH-BOuCDwcTW5O9EzUc3XXn71VkowdySelbh6b9r4zYI4bMJ6Wnef11X7wyrhqAwZTFYDVNXPrAiB3wR6O6Rs3dFCqqr3PXjz0R_oIPTsWK8MHCD76rKThnAJNf2SlsSDK_7S3CrbAqcuClXQno1DtLJKJ7Q2EUWLBRpj85x1Q/s724/Lady_Helen_Vincent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiIplRYbKjhrWK89CRXjH-BOuCDwcTW5O9EzUc3XXn71VkowdySelbh6b9r4zYI4bMJ6Wnef11X7wyrhqAwZTFYDVNXPrAiB3wR6O6Rs3dFCqqr3PXjz0R_oIPTsWK8MHCD76rKThnAJNf2SlsSDK_7S3CrbAqcuClXQno1DtLJKJ7Q2EUWLBRpj85x1Q/s16000/Lady_Helen_Vincent.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Although
white did not suit the Portrait of Lady Helen Vincent, Sargent frequently chose
to paint his sitters wearing white. He was influenced by the advances in color
theory and optics being explored in Europe at the end of the 19th century. He
used a rainbow of color, delicate tints of pinks and blues to paint the shadows
and light of intricate folds and pleats in his sitters white clothing. The
beautiful Lady Agnew of Lochnaw (Gertrude Vernon), (1892) was often ill and was
reportedly recovering from influenza when Sargent painted her. She reclines
against a flower-patterned armchair in her London home. The white organza
sleeves and ruffled bodice of her gown give a floating, ethereal sensation to
the portrait. Her slim waist is wrapped in a lilac taffeta sash. But her dark
eyes, gazing directly at the viewer, are riveting. She mesmerizes us with her
determined look, in contrast to what we know of her precarious health.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent also
painted families, children, and men with equal attention to dress. The full
length, red robed figure Dr. Pozzi at Home (1881) is a tour de force of red
against red. The esteemed Parisian doctor was a specialist in gynecology. This
unconventional portrait accentuates his striking male beauty that stands in
sharp contrast to the more staid, conventional portraits like the spare seated
figure of aging John D. Rockefeller.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
elegant standing full-length portrait known as Madame X (Madame Pierre Gautreau
[Virginie Amélie Avegno], 1883–84), is perhaps Sergeant’s most well-known
image. He considered it one of his best. The black gown with the plunging
neckline worn by Madame Gautreau was intended to show off her figure and she
considered the result a masterpiece. However, when it was displayed at the
Paris Salon in 1884 in its original state with one diamond strap falling from
her shoulder, the painting was ridiculed, called out as a vulgar attempt to
garner attention. Sargent repainted the strap in its proper place, on her
shoulder, in response to the uproar.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Fashioned
by Sargent, which runs through January 15, 2024, is so rich in storytelling it
immerses the viewer in a time and place that recreates the world in which the
artist lived and worked in a way that few other exhibitions have ever
attempted. In one of the exhibits labels describing the importance of dress in
Edith Wharton’s novel The Age of Innocence, set in the 1870s, Archer Newland
reflects on his wife’s wardrobe: “He was struck again by the religious
reverence of even the most unworldly American women for the social advantages
of dress. ‘It’s their armor,’ he thought, ‘their defense against the unknown,
and their defiance of it.’” Sargent captured that defiance in every stroke.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In John
Singer Sargent’s Portraits, Fashion Takes Center Stage. By Cynthia Close. <a href="https://www.artandobject.com/articles/john-singer-sargents-portraits-fashion-takes-center-stage">Art
& Object</a>, November 13, 2023. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbUkwfg4gg0JkcnsyltY7gyAJOugyyDk6gDp9ISsShe9Zq4K5qroclprQbUhVfmm0ACb6HUlwSyrYEY2Wr7ZQrxcGKakrdWTZWj4Dq_KTlGihdpMevcXY0OEn86irMt2ZEyENBazGhY61RydYgTD1OYyzx-IprvmGIy-POVtkBSQ_Vm1FAH_dyR_QCgg/s922/L01713_9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbUkwfg4gg0JkcnsyltY7gyAJOugyyDk6gDp9ISsShe9Zq4K5qroclprQbUhVfmm0ACb6HUlwSyrYEY2Wr7ZQrxcGKakrdWTZWj4Dq_KTlGihdpMevcXY0OEn86irMt2ZEyENBazGhY61RydYgTD1OYyzx-IprvmGIy-POVtkBSQ_Vm1FAH_dyR_QCgg/s16000/L01713_9.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">The
MFA’s Fashioned by Sargent alludes — only at whisper level — to the fact that
many of John Singer Sargent’s clients represent questionable ideals.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Portrait
painting is a strange genre. Its clientele is typically the rich and famous.
Its aim is to glorify these elites, immortalizing them for prosperity,
typically in a medium steeped in history, meaning oil paint. It is a form of
advertisement, and like all advertising, its aim is to project power, wealth,
seduction, and now and then, a dash of provocation.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Among
the best portraitists of his time was John Singer Sargent (1856-1925). By the
late 1800s, a new ruling class — the colonizers, the landed gentry and, in
America, the uber-industrialists — had risen to power. They, or better yet,
their wives and children, were Sargent’s subjects and now serve as the
marketing draw for the Museum of Fine Arts show Fashioned by Sargent (through
January 15, 2024). Here, viewers are confronted with dozens of paintings of
primarily upper-class Americans and Brits. These are presented in no particular
order, aside from grouping the portraits by such visual clues as people wearing
black and white. The fashions on view are treated nearly the same. Sadly,
combining this strategy with darkened rooms, patterned wallpaper, and harsh
spots, make it impossible to see such works as Lord Ribblesdale front on, which quickly leads to visual fatigue.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Nonetheless,
what can’t be missed is that Sargent’s job was to immortalize his sitters
— to cast them in the same light as the
greats before them, just as our founding fathers borrowed from Greek
architecture to reflect Ancient Greek ideals. Thus, when choosing to paint W.
Graham Robertson — the author, art collector, and sometimes set designer for
Ellen Terry (also portrayed in the show) — Sargent wrapped Robertson in a
full-length coat and set him against a backdrop that readily recalls the
portraits of his illustrious predecessor, the 17th-century painter Sir Anthony
Van Dyke. To further that aim, Sargent gave Robertson a jade-handled walking
stick and, at his feet, Robertson’s fluffed-out poodle, Mouton. By simplifying Robertson’s dress, which also
elongated his figure, and throwing in an elegant cane of an older man of ease,
Sargent presents us with a timeless picture of youth for whom having to toil
long hours to arrive at the leisure his props suggest had already been achieved
— in Robertson’s case, through family wealth.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When
Sargent paints these friends and clients, he is projecting both their
aspirations and his. And that is not surprising. Artworks are products of their
creators and, in Sargent’s case, that was particularly so. Sargent was born and
bred of society and had no desire to leave it. In fact, the opposite. During
his youth, there was hope that Sargent might become the next Diego Velázquez or
Van Dyke of his age. Glimpses of such hope appear in selected passages of
paint, such as the bold swipe of white that trails through the red of one of
the girl’s pinafores and then abruptly stops in The Daughters of Edward Darley
Boit (on view in the museum’s permanent collections). This stroke is a tour de
force of illusion. At the same time, it is a reminder that this is a painting
of a dress. In the hands of a lesser painter, that stroke would have been
finessed to death. But Sargent’s confidence with paint saves it. As does his
understanding of composition, which in this case is lifted straight from
Velazquez’s all-time masterpiece Las Meninas. Sargent’s years of studying
previous such artists, absorbing their lessons, and then adding to that his
natural facility gave his more radical friends, like Claude Monet hope that the
younger man might eventually do more than whip up one canvas of meringue-like
bravura brushwork after another.
Sargent, however, did not oblige.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmyeivFAOo4UHRO64ZAdISHswkYQbIA0vn4MqPoM8VamW_eYEnw0kHIYEQBl3VPy5PUZUn1-2i1_smvC2FSzHZl_BN_iWHT4kMpAfXO6yZZYmcdWqFYf5Tb58DbNtfPJTPsYzET9DpUQng36zcwp4OBL4dcU9k1AdaxHEH0rEpyr8RlQ8rmbdU0DmQLx0/s889/John_Singer_Sargent's_Madame_Ramon_Subercaseaux%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmyeivFAOo4UHRO64ZAdISHswkYQbIA0vn4MqPoM8VamW_eYEnw0kHIYEQBl3VPy5PUZUn1-2i1_smvC2FSzHZl_BN_iWHT4kMpAfXO6yZZYmcdWqFYf5Tb58DbNtfPJTPsYzET9DpUQng36zcwp4OBL4dcU9k1AdaxHEH0rEpyr8RlQ8rmbdU0DmQLx0/s16000/John_Singer_Sargent's_Madame_Ramon_Subercaseaux%20(1).jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent
quickly abandoned any adherence to radicality. Only now and then are there
signs of rebellion, as when he
transforms the carpet in the wonderfully painted Madame Ramón
Subercaseaux into a wall of pattern. He turned, even more quickly than his
Swedish equal Andres Zorn, to chronicling his own milieux, using the same
techniques as those before him, which suited his clientele just fine. Sargent
saw no reason to draw attention, as Monet does in Gare Saint-Lazare, to the
clotted coal-filled skies generated by the Industrial Revolution, or the plight
of the working classes, as depicted by the earlier French Realists Honoré
Daumier or Gustave Courbet. And certainly not the gritty New York alleys of his
American compatriots, the artists of the Ashcan School. Nor was Sargent about
to fracture reality with anything that might come close to Cubism.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">No,
Sargent’s desire was to revel in society, glorifying his friends, who were
shoring up monopolies, colonizing the world, amassing fortunes, and, in the
process, ignoring the growing protests against economic inequality, voter
disenfranchisement, unequal access to education, and increasing demands for
progressive reform. All of this might be fine — up to a point. It isn’t just
that the museum has skirted dealing with a true assessment of Sargent’s talent,
lumping together all the works as if they are equal (the last room ends up
making little sense). The show alludes — only at whisper level — to the fact
that many of Sargent’s clients represent questionable ideals. We should be
taking a hard look, for instance, at continuing to showcase people like Colonel
Ian Hamilton, whom Sargent painted to commemorate his role in storming
Pakistan’s Dargai Heights, or more clearly stated, serving the British’s
subjugation of that country.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9dB83z3AuCqVwR7kmY6vlsdHrWlOvmZuWkC5ZxUGfoD9B1vdXcjsZjTClAyUx1PWD6tqNIpFhWFBTqaqPP1Mz_IAZaai_e97rwFiqOTOaskLSInYUmu7n0B2IvDZGiFg24d78w0_-AdJCOos2erdVp86t6DHKK6BnrVqv57u96Xy5dYWAHpQhovy2ZUQ/s829/shashank-dalvi-sargent-study2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="829" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9dB83z3AuCqVwR7kmY6vlsdHrWlOvmZuWkC5ZxUGfoD9B1vdXcjsZjTClAyUx1PWD6tqNIpFhWFBTqaqPP1Mz_IAZaai_e97rwFiqOTOaskLSInYUmu7n0B2IvDZGiFg24d78w0_-AdJCOos2erdVp86t6DHKK6BnrVqv57u96Xy5dYWAHpQhovy2ZUQ/s16000/shashank-dalvi-sargent-study2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXaQyuh8lY3F8M3HAF68PRfUzzSuer83Eos0jlFBrcHQP83Nf5e54XStEvsKq4R46-Gh9K1m3iSi8D_DnaV4DN-vC8PPcnXWRWIU8xQAxmt7b7BFkTaUoO7cF2NmkliqfOUHpYBu2yeI0iQ-Vtp27rW-0m99eg6IZNfZWPhtoHCyYZQaha3XmBiIsXxS0/s775/sarget-slide-almina%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="775" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXaQyuh8lY3F8M3HAF68PRfUzzSuer83Eos0jlFBrcHQP83Nf5e54XStEvsKq4R46-Gh9K1m3iSi8D_DnaV4DN-vC8PPcnXWRWIU8xQAxmt7b7BFkTaUoO7cF2NmkliqfOUHpYBu2yeI0iQ-Vtp27rW-0m99eg6IZNfZWPhtoHCyYZQaha3XmBiIsXxS0/s16000/sarget-slide-almina%20(1).jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">We
should also not be so quick to absolve Sargent and his friends of callously
dressing up in the clothing of those their countries overran, essentially
treating these items as little more than colorful baubles. That this was a
craze at the time does not make the practice right. Nor is the MFA immune from perpetrating
the same. The wall label for Almina, Daughter of Asher Wertheimer, for
instance, suggests that Almina, the daughter of the Jewish art patron (whose
family is well represented in the show), was a willing accomplice in Sargent’s
fanciful depiction of her wearing a light over-garment from Turkey. That may
be, but it ignores the fact that Almina’s main dress – at least, according to
the painting’s owner, the Tate – is Persian, meaning that Sargent had no
qualms about throwing a Turkish overcoat over a dress of its long-time rival.
Worse, the wall text likewise ignores the same, making the show complicit in
asserting what it accuses Sargent of, a “perpetuation of . . . Orientalism,”
lumping together at least two vastly different cultures, under the rubric of
the East.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">On top
of this, the reality is that the more likely inspiration for Almina’s portrait
had nothing to do with the Ottoman Empire. It was most probably the great
French Romantic painter Eugène Delacroix’s numerous sketchbooks and paintings
of his time in Morocco, which was a French colony. Delacroix traveled there in
1832 on a diplomatic mission, commissioned by King Louis-Philippe. While there,
he chronicled harem life and made detailed sketches and paintings of the Jewish
communities, thanks to introductions by his interpreter. Delacroix was an
artist whose works the Francophone Sargent knew well. Like other, greater
artists before him, Sargent often
cribbed for inspiration, composition, and technique. Thus, it is most likely
that Sargent decided to create Almina’s portrait à la Delacroix – perhaps also
as a nod to the only other country Delacroix traveled to in his lifetime,
England. This explanation is certainly a more likely response to the MFA’s
text, which asks us to consider why a Jewish woman, living in England, would
don what they are questionably calling an Ottoman outfit.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
MFA’s fixation on the painting’s possible references to the Ottoman Empire is a
missed opportunity to place Sargent’s work in its proper art historical context
and to render the kind of respect to diverse cultures that Sargent’s ilk
withheld. It is this type of cultural insensitivity that, sadly, helped feed
the Western powers’ callous overthrow and then carving up of places like the
Middle East. This has led to the horrific wars and conflicts that we are
witnessing today. Isn’t it time for this to stop?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For two
decades <b>Mary Sherman</b> wrote about the
arts, beginning as a freelancer for the Chicago Reader, followed by being the
art critic for the Chicago Sun-Times and, later, as a regular contributor to
The Boston Globe, Boston Herald, and ARTnews among many other national and
international publications. In addition to writing, she is a widely exhibited artist,
a teacher at Boston College, and founding director of TransCultural Exchange.
Currently, Mary is at work on her first book And Then the Stars Aligned. It is
part memoir, part Cold War investigative journalism, prompted by the many
unexplained encounters she had with her late father, not the least of which was
his once showing up at an airport, a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.</span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Visual
Arts Commentary: “Fashioned by Sargent” — The Elephant in the Room. By Mary
Sherman. <a href="https://artsfuse.org/282652/visual-arts-commentary-fashioned-by-sargent-the-elephant-in-the-room/">The Arts Fuse</a>, November 9, 2023. </span></span></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDqPDMTl5QeQ1wMJbMyPcLnLM8sbVXYmpGvdIxEys7qzLGoT-jZCCUsFEmwd3X0qGuD0eAOU7tkLtRaaZlVx1CTNTH7sdfXn9Q2mT7zOt6WAgGYTh2ZRArmTeIicj3c8j0l8yC-OqCv-7ewXuzaBjgEkPD8tepS-Yl5GJIhaaUjylP9KE7XLlf4EO-Pk/s1000/12_Lady%20Sassoon's%20Opera%20Cloak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDqPDMTl5QeQ1wMJbMyPcLnLM8sbVXYmpGvdIxEys7qzLGoT-jZCCUsFEmwd3X0qGuD0eAOU7tkLtRaaZlVx1CTNTH7sdfXn9Q2mT7zOt6WAgGYTh2ZRArmTeIicj3c8j0l8yC-OqCv-7ewXuzaBjgEkPD8tepS-Yl5GJIhaaUjylP9KE7XLlf4EO-Pk/s16000/12_Lady%20Sassoon's%20Opera%20Cloak.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">This
October in Boston, two exhibitions shine a light on the American expatriate
artist John Singer Sargent, whose dazzling paintings have rendered him one of
the greatest society portraitists of all time. “Sargent is so often called a
‘fashionable painter,’ but people haven’t fully examined his engagement with
fashion,” says Erica E. Hirshler, Croll Senior Curator of American Painting at
the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (MFA), where “Fashioned by Sargent,” an
expansive show featuring about 50 paintings, just opened. Later this month, the
Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum will unveil its companion exhibition,
“Inventing Isabella,” centered by Sargent’s controversial portrait of the
avant-garde patron, who was as celebrated for her masterful collection as for
her Venetian palazzo-inspired home turned museum.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Organized
with Tate Britain, where the show will travel next spring, “Fashioned by
Sargent” represents a homecoming for the artist who, despite being born in
Florence and beginning his career in Paris, considered both Boston and London
his homes. With family in Gloucester, Massachusetts, and clients across the
Northeast, Sargent frequently visited Boston and even had his first-ever solo
show there in 1888. The artist also spent years working on large-scale mural
commissions for Boston establishments, including for the MFA, whose 600-odd
Sargent works represent the most comprehensive assemblage of his art in a public
institution.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Since
joining the MFA in 1983, Hirshler has researched and exhibited Sargent
extensively, but it was while writing a paper on the artist’s portraits of men
that she had a revelation. “I realized how much control Sargent had over the
compositions, and I began to see his portraits as performances where he was
selecting, posing, pinning, and draping, like a director,” explains Hirshler.
Of course, portraitists long before and after Sargent have exercised artistic
license when portraying their sitters’ attire, for both aesthetic and symbolic
purposes. “Sargent had so often been accused of being under the control of his
wealthy, aristocratic sitters, but in fact, he’s telling them what he wants,
and you can see this story through the clothes,” Hirshler continues.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As
reflected in the draped curtains at its entrance, Hirshler conceived “Fashioned
by Sargent” like a performance, too. Organized thematically, the show begins
with a nod to Sargent’s lifelong preoccupation with capturing the way that
light hits fabric: the 1907 portrait of Lady Sassoon, in which she’s swathed in
a black taffeta opera cloak whose voluminous sleeves are only rivaled by a
mammoth plumed headpiece. On display beside the painting is the epic cloak
itself, representing one of a handful of reunions between artworks and the
garments featured in them. “It’s amazing to see how Sargent rendered that
taffeta and how he arranged the cloak in a different way than it would fall
naturally,” says Hirshler, noting how the artist turned a side of the garment
outwards to expose its dramatic pink lining.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
second gallery, designed to evoke Sargent’s Tite Street studio in London,
focuses on his preference for painting sitters clad in black or white. The
theme carries through to the subsequent gallery, “The Art of Dress,” where
three stunningly preserved 19th-century gowns from the MFA’s collection are on
view. They belonged to Mrs. Sarah Choate Sears, an influential Boston painter,
photographer, and collector who was good friends with Sargent. Rather than
paint her in the sapphire silk-velvet walking dress or chartreuse silk-damask
Worth gown, each reflecting her penchant for rich color, Sargent intentionally
immortalized her in white. So, too, did he often opt for more informal-looking
clothes—think the iconic Dr. Pozzi in his fiery red dressing gown and Turkish
slippers—compared to a sitter’s very finest threads.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Starkly
contrasting Sargent’s fondness for black and white, however, is 1892’s Mrs.
Hugh Hammersley, one of several prized works from The Metropolitan Museum of
Art. When the painting debuted at London’s Royal Academy that same year,
viewers were appalled by the bold magenta hue of the sitter’s velvet dress. “I
think what the critics struggled with was how to reconcile the modernity and
fashionability of this dress with Sargent’s ambitions and his sitters’
ambitions in the canon and lineage of great portraiture,” James Finch, Tate
Britain’s Assistant Curator, 19th Century British Art, said during the
“Fashioned by Sargent” press preview. “The critics would say that a painting
like this will never last beyond the year…once fashions change.” More than a
century later, however, these critics must stand corrected.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNYSHFB0qGhM5RLQYugOEGzLob080fzoBfbHkVLpz64Kd2wRVkYBehFcGUfMwBMBmkJS3jEtN0l8WCuS-MT2hF2HS4HTc3N5QAygOAe-XjTq9VPhZUdBSSxBeFzgsHYjbzIUS4ZdqlKHusbUbruxdEkXlSznSGN5uWfz7EAh7U_wHNyNrW_ruzVmrKL9c/s600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNYSHFB0qGhM5RLQYugOEGzLob080fzoBfbHkVLpz64Kd2wRVkYBehFcGUfMwBMBmkJS3jEtN0l8WCuS-MT2hF2HS4HTc3N5QAygOAe-XjTq9VPhZUdBSSxBeFzgsHYjbzIUS4ZdqlKHusbUbruxdEkXlSznSGN5uWfz7EAh7U_wHNyNrW_ruzVmrKL9c/s16000/21.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A small
but mighty highlight of the show is a fragment of the velvet used in Mrs. Hammersley’s
dress, accompanied by a note from the sitter’s sister commemorating the
sitting. “There’s a tangible emotional connection to these clothes. The people
don’t survive, but some of the garments do,” says Hirshler, who is fascinated
by the sentimentality of clothing such as wedding dresses, and textiles saved
by families for generations. “The garments remind exhibition visitors that
these were real people.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent
further defies convention in the following gallery, which features portraits
that referenced, through dress, changing social norms during the late 19th
century. “As women take on more prominent public roles, you can see aspects of
menswear that give them authority,” says Hirshler. For example, in the 1898
portrait of Miss Jane Evans, one of the few women ever to head a residential
house at Eton College (England’s esteemed all-boys boarding school, with alumni
ranging from Prince William and Prince Harry to George Orwell), her austere
black wool outfit bears a close resemblance to the business suits worn by the
male figures in Sargent’s surrounding portraits.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBC0PQlYFtVRg5lmtKB4nsEgFfxVVS2XIhEvKQ8MMAy_CkGhbDZaMjPSiY5bzAyy46GbAv0bMliQyIYjSH1AAjQQjTC3IWwO1EsesmNUVzHseCUB7_hODEmpmu3HQlpkmPlxUigkGGL0uMR6a-HSU9wRKrbvItpHRCupwqja2PqokvQorMdsNCl35mN6E/s930/15_Miss%20Jane%20Evans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="930" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBC0PQlYFtVRg5lmtKB4nsEgFfxVVS2XIhEvKQ8MMAy_CkGhbDZaMjPSiY5bzAyy46GbAv0bMliQyIYjSH1AAjQQjTC3IWwO1EsesmNUVzHseCUB7_hODEmpmu3HQlpkmPlxUigkGGL0uMR6a-HSU9wRKrbvItpHRCupwqja2PqokvQorMdsNCl35mN6E/s16000/15_Miss%20Jane%20Evans.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
following gallery captures Sargent’s love of the performing arts. His circle
included actors, musicians, and dancers, whose costumes lent them entirely new
personas. Two of the most striking painting-and-garment pairings in the show
are 1890’s La Carmencita, of Spanish-style dancer Carmen Dauset Moreno, seen
alongside her glittering yellow ensemble, and 1889’s Ellen Terry as Lady
Macbeth, presented with her iridescent costume, adorned with hundreds of beetle
wings. These knockouts pave the way for arguably the artist’s most famous
painting, Madame X (Madame Pierre Gautreau), whose plunging neckline
scandalized the 1884 Paris Salon and prompted his move to London. (Originally,
Sargent had gone even further, painting her right strap sliding off her
shoulder.) That iconic portrait leads the “Fashioning Power” section, which
delves into sartorial signifiers of ancestral and national power, as well as
Sargent’s subtle allusions to past masters including Rembrandt and Velázquez.
Still, “Sargent’s paintings are absolutely portraits of their moment,” says
Hirshler, chiefly owed to his daring and singular sartorial direction.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_U4M7SmcFyCxiB8bNH8Qiz473FRN4vsIQGbRAlMiaM5MD__N3vRMuXDUo5gho9gBJS0d61yMVC5ae4FC2qdGGUUbGMMX-Ub1Q74yuYMs4XvdIv3u1ToLKIKifc2GTD3X_NWjDlZjxnwCFhp3G0dvxafAogc7BqvU7olsKyxJCUVCz6gK27wgyM30k3Qo/s1000/19_La%20Carmencita.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_U4M7SmcFyCxiB8bNH8Qiz473FRN4vsIQGbRAlMiaM5MD__N3vRMuXDUo5gho9gBJS0d61yMVC5ae4FC2qdGGUUbGMMX-Ub1Q74yuYMs4XvdIv3u1ToLKIKifc2GTD3X_NWjDlZjxnwCFhp3G0dvxafAogc7BqvU7olsKyxJCUVCz6gK27wgyM30k3Qo/s16000/19_La%20Carmencita.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_DCWO_-4lKv3G_IOkBZU4BFg_1LQM0kiqA0KVsPGquuL9PGVd33AoIvZvqrr72yENM4qk-uTEU5nreFm8D6xw5lCLZ0uHQRAjEwtOT9W99SsmBOTbwvbNLTt2_3f1m2ZhenpdoM0yeJNPGzmkc8MfkNl47IF4I5KACpm5kALZtPYPqfo7lk4NXchwck/s1000/20_Costume%20for%20Carmen%20Daucet%20Moreno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_DCWO_-4lKv3G_IOkBZU4BFg_1LQM0kiqA0KVsPGquuL9PGVd33AoIvZvqrr72yENM4qk-uTEU5nreFm8D6xw5lCLZ0uHQRAjEwtOT9W99SsmBOTbwvbNLTt2_3f1m2ZhenpdoM0yeJNPGzmkc8MfkNl47IF4I5KACpm5kALZtPYPqfo7lk4NXchwck/s16000/20_Costume%20for%20Carmen%20Daucet%20Moreno.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
final gallery marks Sargent’s departure from formal portraiture, which he’d
largely abandoned by 1907. And yet, even in more candid or pastoral scenes,
such as a series of paintings depicting his family in the countryside, fabric
consumes the compositions. In other works, women are wrapped in cashmere
shawls, popular in the early 19th century before largely falling out of favor.
The exhibition includes an extant example from Sargent’s personal prop
collection, deliberately laid out so that viewers can get lost in its
drapery—much like Sargent, in fact, who relished in the technical challenge of
capturing a textile’s dimensionality. “He separates himself from the
fashionable, yet he never loses interest in painting cloth,” says Hirshler. In
other words, you can take Sargent out of fashion, but you cannot take the
fashion out of Sargent.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In John
Singer Sargent’s Sumptuous Portraits, the Fashion Comes First. By Stephanie Sporn. <a href="https://www.vogue.com/article/fashioned-by-sargent-boston-museum-of-fine-arts">Vogue</a>,</span> <br /><span lang="EN-GB">October
11, 2023</span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyr6ExI3DSipd24-RMKWDBwilsnZZ8WgnetVeJnT3lFCbbhmvHIQjlQ5ISoJvylufLnHegffhPtmBfdy4GHmNt-oYI86lS89gsZClWEDZ93pxd1T8xkGdaacPWOP94rydm7X_sztuM-dq1KCdFfb0v8OJR2ugzVaWo-R5NPj3KaswDgpoDFiuUz1YQpA/s600/sarget-slide-inches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyr6ExI3DSipd24-RMKWDBwilsnZZ8WgnetVeJnT3lFCbbhmvHIQjlQ5ISoJvylufLnHegffhPtmBfdy4GHmNt-oYI86lS89gsZClWEDZ93pxd1T8xkGdaacPWOP94rydm7X_sztuM-dq1KCdFfb0v8OJR2ugzVaWo-R5NPj3KaswDgpoDFiuUz1YQpA/s16000/sarget-slide-inches.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix63Nqzxi6b9G-EyZQ8kivSNBowZm6dYI2ECIKx8O9b8K-ajnPMM_tnMA2PcPCEPCY_Q7fqh_52IkcfpCIg4NgMQCbvYb1nsHtMpSq1YlyG18w7m6jZt3N7bV5o9IjTQVvDcyBTH7o_vGskyBIqvFvBPUFEp9ZhLYZ4rGzy8ZRpf441lyoLgOb5eF01P8/s600/64926668-3621-47a5-8ba9-c5dc7be50340-wm202305tila03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix63Nqzxi6b9G-EyZQ8kivSNBowZm6dYI2ECIKx8O9b8K-ajnPMM_tnMA2PcPCEPCY_Q7fqh_52IkcfpCIg4NgMQCbvYb1nsHtMpSq1YlyG18w7m6jZt3N7bV5o9IjTQVvDcyBTH7o_vGskyBIqvFvBPUFEp9ZhLYZ4rGzy8ZRpf441lyoLgOb5eF01P8/s16000/64926668-3621-47a5-8ba9-c5dc7be50340-wm202305tila03.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">In the
Art Institute of Chicago, there’s a portrait by the Edwardian artist John
Singer Sargent of an extraordinarily commanding woman. She stands very upright,
one hand on a pink silk armchair, the other on her hip. Her lips are full, her
red hair is loosely piled up, and light ripples from a peach and silver wrap.
The more closely you look, the more this compelling figure appears to dissolve
into loose brushstrokes, a zigzagging tracery of creamy pink and soft smoky
gray.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This is
the mezzo-soprano and society hostess Mrs. George Swinton, known as Elsie, and
the great-grandmother of the actor Tilda Swinton. Elsie was born in Saint Petersburg,
Russia, where Swinton would later film scenes for Sally Potter’s 1992 epic,
Orlando. Though Elsie’s position in society prevented her from becoming a
professional opera singer, she was described by the composer Ethel Smyth in
1940 as “my favourite vocalist.” She hosted a salon in London with the composer
Gabriel Fauré and was painted by Walter Sickert as well as Singer Sargent.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When
Swinton was growing up in rural isolation in 1970s Scotland, two Sargent
drawings of this glamorous forebear hung behind the television, eyebrows raised
in distinctly saucy challenge, an antidote to the conventional entertainment on
the screen below. “She was my North Star,” Swinton remembered. “The
self-possession she represented, the glamour of her independence, just lit me
up and anchored me down.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKbNa49avvnXzdcwFLM59d7BeqJF3cjpaG5fGrJicWPzT9YUuHHdkXEj81KYNEhmx-5py58ghVycGfppbvzvAZs7xCp0hGR2NdtcmFni61jXfOU8LJpgwHLGLFLCDFCHXYysFpiclpeQMm9bn5UM5luZ9GtnyetWgNmpFpPkvu5losjGT5V37UCn7kTQ/s778/3169620106_7fdb5b66df_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKbNa49avvnXzdcwFLM59d7BeqJF3cjpaG5fGrJicWPzT9YUuHHdkXEj81KYNEhmx-5py58ghVycGfppbvzvAZs7xCp0hGR2NdtcmFni61jXfOU8LJpgwHLGLFLCDFCHXYysFpiclpeQMm9bn5UM5luZ9GtnyetWgNmpFpPkvu5losjGT5V37UCn7kTQ/s16000/3169620106_7fdb5b66df_b.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
power of this particular North Star never dimmed. Elsie is the presiding spirit
for Swinton’s latest collaboration for W with the photographer Tim Walker and
the creative director Jerry Stafford. For the past 12 years, the trio has been
meeting around the world for inventive shoots inspired by films and artists,
drawing on a deep well of shared obsessions that run from female Surrealists
such as Lee Miller and Leonora Carrington to the poet Edith Sitwell (who, as a child,
had been Elsie’s bridesmaid) to Nicolas Roeg’s alien masterpiece, The Man Who
Fell to Earth. “It’s always characters for Tilda to draw on,” Walker explained
in his studio, in East London. They’ve traveled together to Iceland; to the
Menil Collection, in Houston; and to Las Pozas, Edward James’s idiosyncratic
sculpture garden in the rainforest in Mexico.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
latest project came much closer to home. In the damp dog days of summer,
Walker, Swinton, and a close knot of collaborators went to a country house in
Scotland. They used the walled gardens as a magically sleepy backdrop for
imaginary scenes that riff on Swinton’s family history. In the greenhouses and
vegetable beds, they created a gallery of figures who could have stepped
straight from a Sargent painting, trailing stoles, their stockings gleaming.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Sargent’s
portraits had long fascinated Swinton. She was drawn to the intensity of his
sitters’ self-presentation, their capacity to look back fiercely at the viewer
in a way that half conceals the precarity of their position, at the edge of a
century and a whole way of life. “The level of dignity—however hard-won—and,
with it, a sense of representing a community of people living similar,
extinction-threatened lives at a time that must have been vibrating with
tension and defiant self-definition: This moves and intrigues me deeply,” said
Swinton. She and Walker quickly moved away from precise art-historical
reproduction, slipping instead into “a sort of instinctive detective trail on
the scent of atmosphere, attitude, and experience—and, as is almost always the
most interesting, the unsaid.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In
previous shoots, Swinton had been alone or accompanied by friends, but this
time the cast list included her two children, twins Xavier and Honor, now 25.
In a meadow starred with oxeye daisies, Swinton and Honor manifest long-dead
ancestors, sprawling amid a summery litter of discarded books and parasols, the
last gasp of the 19th century trapped by the camera’s fish-eye gaze. Swinton
resurfaces in the guise of a heavily rouged dowager, brandishing a freshly dug
beetroot and peering beadily through a beekeeper veil. Xavier, meanwhile, dons
his great-great-grandfather’s heraldic uniform as Lord Lyon King of Arms.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
project was intensely personal, a way for Swinton and her children to reckon
with their ancestors by temporarily embodying them. As an actor, Swinton has
always possessed an uncanny ability to shift age and gender, her pale face
subtly reassembling itself in a multiplicity of forms. Call it the Orlando
trick, birthed while she was playing Virginia Woolf’s gender-fluid hero/heroine
and refined ever since, though never in such an intimate context. Here she
embodies male as well as female members of her family tree, reincarnating as
mustached old generals, fey artists, and decaying society beauties swathed in
layers of pearly fabric so no inch of unpowdered skin could be seen.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Elsie
was by no means the only long-dead relative to have been part of Swinton’s
daily life in childhood, gazing from paintings and looking back from mirrors.
“My brothers and I grew up shoulder to shoulder with related ghosts and their earthly
remnants. Our ancestors were a special part of the playground of our lives,”
she said. Her father would casually leave old family diaries at the end of the
dining room table after breakfast, in case any of his four children were
interested. When she was 16, Swinton came across one written by a teenage
female ancestor 100 years earlier.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Swinton
became “absorbed in her account of any number of repeated days: ‘Took the trap
into the village (two and a half miles away). Played croquet with George. Papa
read Ivanhoe. Finished my sampler.’ ” It came at a time in Swinton’s life when
she was developing a powerful vision of her own very different future, one that
would include art-making and travel, and especially “finding the nourishing
companionship of an unrelated tribe of my own full-strength, moon-age
daydreaming.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
diary was a warning of sorts: Don’t get trapped. Elsie, meanwhile, offered
encouragement to seek a wider and wilder life. “She was maybe my first
experience of the company of artists, the universe of fellowship I was looking
for, the kinship of vagabonds and freaks,” said Swinton. “That she was present
through all those somewhat desultory moments in school holidays, when I was so
open and searching for renegade kinship, meant more than I can say.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
escape hatch she longed for was opened by the artist and filmmaker Derek
Jarman, a liberatory figure for a whole generation of vagabonds and freaks.
They met in 1985, when Swinton answered a casting call for his film Caravaggio.
Jarman welcomed her into his flat on Charing Cross Road with his camera already
rolling. From that moment on, Swinton found a parallel and lifelong home in the
anarchic world of queer art-making.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Jarman
was the ringmaster of a strange circus, and his skills of experimentation and
play continue to inform Swinton’s work today. One of several long-term
collaborators on this shoot was the costume designer Sandy Powell, whom Swinton
first met when they both worked on Caravaggio. Despite her Hollywood credentials,
Powell is a master of the shoestring illusion. Witness the Edwardian belle
posing, modestly gloved and veiled, in an empty polytunnel, its curved plastic
roof admitting a wash of cool gray light. What looks like historically accurate
costume, composed of acres of white tulle perhaps found in a trunk in a family
attic, is constructed entirely from assorted sheets of plastic.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">One of
the most compelling images shows Swinton as a soldier, lying on the earth in
what appears to be a glass coffin. It’s a melancholy update on her 1995
installation, The Maybe, in which she lay in limbo in a glass case for seven
days—though, in this instance, the coffin turns out to be a discarded cold
frame, used for protecting plants from the weather. Surrounded by heaps of
tiger lilies, this anguished figure in his greatcoat looks like a rural
memorial to the fallen. There’s intense contrast between the ceremonial heft of
military wear, with its shining gold buttons and elaborate frogging, and the
sober, troubled human inside, clutching a cap with bony, aging hands.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAKLNyh8ThpSgpgbSPEQ5Wb20VxjrUJsKIKZ1XnLGHfHTbJ8tFy4jOdq5LztuVq7hyphenhyphen_7LEZxx6JZjzoqlm8LjXqB68bTFbIQ00_6MuuLAvzX6EUeTLwVEboRCz-1K6sRkzKnTE4fzUKO0ciYVJdGzZC8rxtNti3rOoQbiImQTyx7ZOMwbDtb5Rbthfrw/s800/tilda4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAKLNyh8ThpSgpgbSPEQ5Wb20VxjrUJsKIKZ1XnLGHfHTbJ8tFy4jOdq5LztuVq7hyphenhyphen_7LEZxx6JZjzoqlm8LjXqB68bTFbIQ00_6MuuLAvzX6EUeTLwVEboRCz-1K6sRkzKnTE4fzUKO0ciYVJdGzZC8rxtNti3rOoQbiImQTyx7ZOMwbDtb5Rbthfrw/s16000/tilda4.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBjZBIPVu1Ma0zjnUuPQqFHUVMDi9_PPVpXYYwAAWo2Om0OT9Q1YcATlfoaw-8PNo5jZNSGsd2S2DfMo6baIlh2Sge8m6_pGeJT0YxVj43rN4eWcZMQ-dHwRzLr8HKDjneF-s7vOImb1Mf-BYKrPrx6KXIlyZpZFrE2aYNHsS9tRUnQ3PIWNCbtvCd0X0/s750/tilda1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBjZBIPVu1Ma0zjnUuPQqFHUVMDi9_PPVpXYYwAAWo2Om0OT9Q1YcATlfoaw-8PNo5jZNSGsd2S2DfMo6baIlh2Sge8m6_pGeJT0YxVj43rN4eWcZMQ-dHwRzLr8HKDjneF-s7vOImb1Mf-BYKrPrx6KXIlyZpZFrE2aYNHsS9tRUnQ3PIWNCbtvCd0X0/s16000/tilda1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Though
the mood on the shoot was decidedly merry, Swinton and her children experienced
an uncanny sense of being inhabited by “certain emotions and attitudes outside
of our conscious choice” while the photographs were taken. When Swinton saw the
image of the soldier in the glass case, she immediately recognized her late
father, who’d served as major general in the Household Division and lost a leg
during World War II. It had unveiled something at once familiar and
unacknowledged: “a deep mourning and loneliness, the dignity of service
dispatched, and the humility of taking his place, at last, in the long line of
the no longer upright,” she said.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
final image in the series shows Swinton as a crone, her face wizened as an old
apple, her bearing regal. Her dress is naggingly familiar: sea blue, sea green,
tight-bodiced, and falling into flounces. It’s one of Powell’s costumes from
Orlando, worn at the moment when Orlando discovers she’s been officially
identified as female and so has lost her inheritance, along with what Swinton
emphatically described as “all her independent social agency.” “It was the last
picture we did, just before the light went,” Walker added, though this doesn’t
quite explain the figure’s portentous mood.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAxBgBXaxsGZHzejnyfYoflygs4hY8SFkwBJOeHSkJ6eVeNZXahG7UTFbb6WPlj1PlPFdP3BMFfn7-AOCjlAO3MAftRvQWaAC8CkiIlCetxPNkHUiv-wMItMzC6N43IyIoh1e0z8fLNg59A2rZ_8us3W0jqJV_sBDIkQHXZD_CpnDM8QsY5OVAT35t0M/s800/tilda3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAxBgBXaxsGZHzejnyfYoflygs4hY8SFkwBJOeHSkJ6eVeNZXahG7UTFbb6WPlj1PlPFdP3BMFfn7-AOCjlAO3MAftRvQWaAC8CkiIlCetxPNkHUiv-wMItMzC6N43IyIoh1e0z8fLNg59A2rZ_8us3W0jqJV_sBDIkQHXZD_CpnDM8QsY5OVAT35t0M/s16000/tilda3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggF790cNOCXRl37ijwkCMFOzOD8aZnSlUP_91_6W3kbykGXYOq-knOuOLRtxHxD0UTGf0HM8smR2npiap1thsc-BX9d4JMiUZhT_ZG7BtUh_WuB3OL4NkeAmGAbYLlUxW8LhwkU8UAAnQsKNdVXz711I4Kdde6EKLHaRes9Z31A4AoK2QzzFxamOPaUA/s772/tilda2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggF790cNOCXRl37ijwkCMFOzOD8aZnSlUP_91_6W3kbykGXYOq-knOuOLRtxHxD0UTGf0HM8smR2npiap1thsc-BX9d4JMiUZhT_ZG7BtUh_WuB3OL4NkeAmGAbYLlUxW8LhwkU8UAAnQsKNdVXz711I4Kdde6EKLHaRes9Z31A4AoK2QzzFxamOPaUA/s16000/tilda2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Inheritance
can be a heavy burden. We all come trailing ghosts. If a novel as fluid and
encompassing as Woolf’s Orlando can be boiled down to a single message, it’s
about how to dance to the music of time, how to discard the stubborn and
sometimes deforming weight of the past and step instead into the ecstatic
uncertainty of the present. Something of this weird magic seems to have
accompanied Swinton’s own dance with time.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“For my
children and me,” she said, “this stepping into and moving through shapes made
by our ancestors has been peculiarly cathartic and empowering.” Stepping back
was a way to step forward, a liberating move in a complicated gavotte. She
hopes so, anyway. “The tracing of past iterations and inhabitations has, maybe,
offered us to the present, having had the opportunity to be somehow exorcised
and integrated, and, with our fingers crossed, capable of representing
evolution.”</span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tilda
Swinton Channels Her Ancestors in a John Singer Sargent–Inspired Fashion
Fantasy. By Olivia Laing. Photographs by Tim Walker. <a href="https://www.wmagazine.com/fashion/tilda-swinton-tim-walker-photos-family-history-john-singer-sargent">W Magazine</a>, October 4, 2023. </span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-28811343989694233682024-01-14T12:31:00.006+00:002024-01-14T19:47:30.794+00:00The Forgotten French Philosopher Rachel Bespaloff<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdz7fHlnhuhSNDfGS6lY8JSO9sDyIWjcMf5thgmxpbKyMfi7urTf-NensMUXbN6lGKnOyzgiFNNcBi1SR16Ka5E8w_IygCNY0J3g103mD3VoAayrhKDq3hbd0TVmidmti-5nhyc0lVe9jqdR0Cr5SpQBH5r9fEJmE8OSIJ9IqckDt4dGc8Ysto7A_H0is/s600/essay-par52840.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdz7fHlnhuhSNDfGS6lY8JSO9sDyIWjcMf5thgmxpbKyMfi7urTf-NensMUXbN6lGKnOyzgiFNNcBi1SR16Ka5E8w_IygCNY0J3g103mD3VoAayrhKDq3hbd0TVmidmti-5nhyc0lVe9jqdR0Cr5SpQBH5r9fEJmE8OSIJ9IqckDt4dGc8Ysto7A_H0is/s16000/essay-par52840.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">A dancer
(left) with choreographers Martha Graham and Erick Hawkins, New York, 1946.</span><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br /></span><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For
Rachel Bespaloff, philosophy was a sensual activity shaped by the rhythm of
history, embodied in an instant of freedom<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shortly
after Rachel Bespaloff’s suicide in 1949, her friend Jean Wahl published
fragments from her final unfinished project. ‘The Instant and Freedom’
condensed themes that occupied the Ukrainian-French philosopher throughout her
life: music, rhythm, corporeality, movement and time. One of Bespaloff’s key
ideas, ‘the instant’, is less a fragment of duration than a life-changing
event, a moment of embodied metamorphosis. In the midst of a noisy world, torn
between transience and eternity, the human being listens to the sound of
history. Had she completed and published it, ‘The Instant and Freedom’ might have
become the masterpiece of an important early existentialist thinker. Instead,
her name is hardly mentioned today.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet
Bespaloff was a brilliant and original thinker, among the first wave of
existentialists in France. Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre and Gabriel Marcel
all admired her. A professional dancer and choreographer, she had finely tuned
ears for the musicality of philosophical writing. For Bespaloff, philosophy is
a dynamic, sensual activity of listening to and engaging with the voices of
others, including those long dead. In dialogue with Homer, Kierkegaard,
Nietzsche and Heidegger, she found her own voice. At the heart of Bespaloff’s
world is an original conception of time shaped by embodiment and music: the
instant is a silent pause that suspends history’s repetitive rhythm. Through
our bodies, we experience that break from history as a brief moment of freedom.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her more
famous contemporary Simone Weil also used her body to express her philosophy:
Weil eventually starved herself to death in solidarity with friends and
compatriots in occupied France. Bespaloff shared Weil’s interest in attention,
listening and waiting as mystical practices of the body. For both thinkers,
philosophy was an existential embodiment of their ideas. However, Bespaloff did
not use her body as a weapon against itself; rather, she was interested in
dance as a creative alchemy of movement. Bespaloff’s philosophy of the body is
closely linked to the experience of time: it is our embodied day-to-day
existence that measures and gives rhythm to time. In an essay on Homer’s Iliad
written during the Second World War, Bespaloff captured the experience of
living through the horrors of exile and war. The human being, ‘bound to her
time by disorder and misfortune, acquires a new perception of the time of her
own existence.’ (All translations here from the French are my own.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bespaloff’s
own life was one of repeated displacement: she moved from Ukraine to
Switzerland, Paris to southern France, to Mount Holyoke via New York. Born in
1895 in Nova Zagora in Bulgaria to a Ukrainian-Jewish family, she spent her
childhood in Kyiv and then in Geneva where the family moved in 1897. Her mother
Debora Perlmutter was a philosopher who taught at university; her father,
Daniel Pasmanik, a surgeon, became a leading theoretician of Zionism in the
Russian Empire. A fervent anti-Bolshevik, Pasmanik fought for the White Army in
the Russian Civil War. In Switzerland, Bespaloff (then Rachel Pasmanik),
studied piano and composition at the conservatory, philosophy at the
university, and eurythmics with Émile Jaques-Dalcroze. These three areas of
study are all entwined in her existential philosophy of embodiment.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dalcroze
eurhythmics is a holistic method of musical education; it turns the body into
an instrument. Different temporalities are concretised through movements, arm
gestures and steps. For Bespaloff, eurythmics became an intimate practice of
listening with her entire body. Dalcroze’s favourite student, she was sent to
work in Paris in early 1919. She began teaching eurythmics at the Paris Opera
while also publishing short texts on dance. Bespaloff’s ‘plastic dance’ aimed
to restore a lost dynamism. Her method attracted the attention of Jean Cocteau
and Sergei Diaghilev, who introduced this new corporeality to his Ballets
Russes. If philosophy sharpened her ears, eurythmics sculpted her body towards
an embodied experience of temporality. She believed that a more authentic sense
of time, lost in modernity, still lurked beneath our skin.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1921,
Bespaloff was the choreographer of the ‘Royal Hunt’ scene in Hector Berlioz’s
opera The Trojans – a theme she would return to in her Iliad essay. In ‘Dance
and Eurythmics’ (1924), Bespaloff wrote that dance is a universe with ‘its
vocabulary, a fixed language, its own logic, its needs.’ Eurythmics is the
system of this universe, turning movement into existential experiences. Through
the plasticity of our bodies, we can reach new forms of being. In the fragment
‘The Dialectic of the Instant’, Bespaloff describes time consciousness as
‘nothing other than a certain way of grasping the relationship between finitude
and infinity in the instant.’ The instant’s brevity points us towards a lost
continuity that can be restored. Through music and dance, Bespaloff discovered
what she calls the experience of ‘magic interiority’. By externalising
movement, the subject of eurythmics plunges herself into an inner experience.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-HpfyLibSV8oiCdt_gSGJxqCP8wUr-3DVN18_mf5zq-iT6_aKdpJufU_fK5Pz6ONTNggXaPQ5sqisMWepGSV4mspfBrNE7jFkUXWbDZ6AWhsO0dl7tjGi5pupP0iWwZiEsVj1SbXwhAICfyar3nmvqGSke0EXCtGO0Ei1OwUMZ7uTDL3veKGdkIxsmQ/s600/Bespaloff-790x566.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-HpfyLibSV8oiCdt_gSGJxqCP8wUr-3DVN18_mf5zq-iT6_aKdpJufU_fK5Pz6ONTNggXaPQ5sqisMWepGSV4mspfBrNE7jFkUXWbDZ6AWhsO0dl7tjGi5pupP0iWwZiEsVj1SbXwhAICfyar3nmvqGSke0EXCtGO0Ei1OwUMZ7uTDL3veKGdkIxsmQ/s16000/Bespaloff-790x566.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bespaloff
met her second important teacher in 1925, the Jewish existentialist philosopher
Lev Shestov (born in Kyiv as Yehuda Leib Shvartsman). The encounter with
Shestov changed her life: Bespaloff the choreographer decided to become a
philosopher. This was a radical move but, by then, she was already married to a
Ukrainian businessman, which allowed her to quit her job at the Opera and soon
after have a daughter. Shestov was a central figure in the philosophical émigré
circles of interwar Paris. French existentialism gained fame much later through
the works of Sartre and Camus. However, Sartre was deeply indebted to Shestov’s
original synthesis of Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky and Jewish theology.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shestov’s
charisma and unsystematic thought magnetised young philosophers, among them
Georges Bataille. In many ways, the Shestov circle was the hotbed of French existentialism.
Along with the Romanian poet Benjamin Fondane, Bespaloff was at the centre of
Shestov’s salon. Her friend Daniel Halévy described her sitting on Shestov’s
sofa, completely motionless, while ‘she listened with her whole person: with
her hands, with her lips, with her eyes.’ One of the few women in the circle,
she soon became friends with the Christian existentialist writer Gabriel Marcel
and the Jesuit theologian Gaston Fessard who both admired her work. A female
philosopher in the 1930s was, as Olivier Salazar-Ferrer put it, ‘a bit like a
woman in the 19th century wearing men’s clothes.’ However, Bespaloff would soon
wear her own clothes. In 1929, she had dinner with Edmund Husserl whose
phenomenology she confidently attacked with Shestovian arguments.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bespaloff
caused another stir with the publication of her ‘On Heidegger (Letter to Daniel
Halévy)’ in La Revue philosophique in 1933. It was among the very first
discussions of Martin Heidegger’s thought in France. Fluent in German,
Bespaloff had read Heidegger’s Being and Time (1927) in the summer of 1932.
Heidegger’s greatness, she wrote, was that ‘he situates himself in the
inextricable; he does not want to detach himself.’ Similar to the experience of
eurythmics, Heidegger’s philosophy proposes our hopeless entanglement with the
world. It is not difficult to imagine a 28-year-old Sartre being drawn to
Bespaloff’s letter, where she wrote excitedly: ‘Existence projects itself into
the possible: choice is its destiny.’ For Bespaloff, interpreting Heidegger,
this choice is not a matter of free will but of irrevocable commitment. By
actively choosing, we dash beyond ourselves into an uncertain future.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As a
musician, Bespaloff ‘listened’ to Heidegger’s text as if to a performance of
Bach, a ‘monumental Art of Fugue’. She recognised that, as in a Baroque fugue,
all the motifs ‘bring us back to the central theme of Being taken up in all its
possible aspects, with increasing infinite variation, but always identical to
itself.’ Bespaloff’s enthusiasm for Heidegger’s musical metaphysics was soon
tempered by the discovery of another existentialist: Søren Kierkegaard. In
1934, she published notes on Kierkegaard’s Repetition (1843), a work that
emphasised the musicality of repetition as continuous transformation.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Repetition
does not add anything, it only accentuates what is irreducible to human
existence. Repetition in Kierkegaard is ‘the will to live again and the refusal
to survive’. Only by repeating can we become authentic subjects. In
Kierkegaard’s ‘beautiful moment’, Bespaloff found what she called ‘the
instant’: an experience of absolute, eternal silence. The absence of a path,
she wrote on Kierkegaard, is the only path his philosophy wants to follow. This
Zen-like image also perfectly captures the meandering trajectories of her own
thought, which Laura Sanò has called ‘nomadic’. A wandering cosmopolitan,
Bespaloff was forced to traverse the boundaries of various countries, languages
and cultures. Her philosophy mirrored that nomadism, with subtle attention to
the embodied experience of movement, melody and metamorphosis.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bespaloff’s
essay collection Paths and Crossroads (Cheminements et Carrefours) appeared in
1938. Dedicated to Shestov, the book includes texts on Julien Green, André
Malraux, Marcel and two essays on Kierkegaard. The chapter ‘Shestov before
Nietzsche’ declares war on her teacher’s total denial of any possibility of
truth. By refusing to think, she writes, Shestov had returned to another dogma
– a radical relativism that ultimately turned into nihilism. Against Shestov’s
rejection of reason, Bespaloff poses Nietzsche’s attempt to reach truth through
and within one’s life. Nietzsche’s concept of the Will to Truth, she thought,
could reconcile us to the tragedy of existence. Where Shestov saw an
unbridgeable gap, Bespaloff made a leap: in the instant, happiness is in our
reach. Bespaloff’s ‘happy consciousness’ made a deep impression on Camus who
read the book closely in the summer of 1939.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bespaloff’s
writings on Kierkegaard coincided with the publication of Wahl’s Kierkegaardian
Studies (1938) – a testimony to their friendship and lifelong collaboration.
Bespaloff and Wahl were trendsetters in Paris. Introducing Kierkegaard’s
anti-Hegelian philosophy into France, they prepared the ground for the
existentialism that flourished in wartime Paris. Their ventures into Christian
existentialism directly reacted to Hegel’s revival in France instigated by
Alexandre Kojève’s lectures, held between 1933 and 1939. Another émigré from
the Russian empire, Kojève was as pivotal as Shestov to the formation of French
modernism. It was these refugees from eastern Europe, among them Bespaloff, who
shaped the course of French culture by importing new currents to Paris,
including Surrealism, Marxism, phenomenology and existentialist philosophy.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
spring of 1938, Bespaloff began rereading the Iliad with her daughter Naomi.
Her extensive notes turned into a brilliant essay on Homer’s epic poem.
Shestov’s death that year deeply upset her. In a letter to Wahl, she calls
Shestov one of the few truly noble men she knew. The family moved to her
husband’s estate in southern France in 1939. Just before the Nazis occupied
Paris, she wrote a letter to Marcel: ‘But the worse it gets, the more I realise
that you can’t love life, the more I discover the urgent need to find new
reasons to love it. And I am afraid that this time I won’t be able to, which
would be worse than death…’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her work
on the Iliad essay became an existential ‘method of facing the war’. She soon
became aware of a similar text, written coincidentally, that appeared in
Cahiers du Sud in 1940: Weil’s ‘The Iliad, or the Poem of Force’. Bespaloff
began to revise her essay; she critically responded to Weil’s condemnation of
any use of force. Living as a Jew in Vichy France, Bespaloff became
increasingly desperate, and with good reason. In November 1941, she wrote to
Marcel: ‘I feel as if I am stuck in a sad, restless, absurd dream. And I am
very afraid of waking up.’ Her friend Wahl, also Jewish, had been imprisoned
and tortured by the Gestapo, and worse was to come for many Jews in Paris.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1942,
Bespaloff managed to escape, boarding one of last ships to leave Nazi-occupied
France, with her mother and daughter, her library and grand piano. Having
narrowly fled a concentration camp outside of Paris, Wahl joined them. With his
encouragement, Bespaloff began to rework her essay on the Iliad. She eventually
finished her notes in yet another exile, this one in New York. Published in
English translation in 1943, On the Iliad framed war as an absolute ‘question
of losing it all to gain it all’. In the words of Fondane’s letter to his wife,
war became ‘the moment to live our existential philosophy’. According to
Bespaloff, Homer felt both intense love and intense horror of war. Where Weil
claimed that force transforms subjects into objects, Bespaloff, emphasises
brief moments of beauty that occur in the midst of violence. With war being
waged all around, there are flashing instants of generosity and grace.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
Iliad, force is both a supreme reality and an illusion. It is the
superabundance of life itself, ‘a murderous lightning stroke, in which
calculation, chance, and power seem to fuse in a single element to defy man’s
fate.’ This does not mean that Bespaloff glorified violence. Far from it. But
the experience of the Second World War made her realise the inescapability of
force and its power to transform an individual’s understanding of the human
predicament. At the heart of her essay is Hector, the ‘resistance-hero’ who
embodies justice and courage. Like every human in the Iliad, Hector cannot flee
his fate – and he knows it. Hector’s flight from force is short but has ‘the
eternity of a nightmare’. That is the horrifying temporality of war that
Bespaloff experienced first-hand.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The most
crushing parts of Bespaloff’s Iliad essay are dedicated to Helen, a woman with
whom she clearly identifies. Clothed in long white veils, she is the most austere
character of Homer’s poem. Both unbearably beautiful and unfortunate, Helen
awoke in exile and felt ‘nothing but a dull disgust for the shrivelled ecstasy
that has outlived their hope.’ She is the prisoner of her own passivity, forced
to live in horror of herself. Ultimately, Helen’s promise of freedom, like
Bespaloff’s own, remains unfulfilled. Helplessly, Helen watches the men who
went to war for her, observing ‘the changing rhythm of the battle’. The breaks
that interrupt the fighting are rare instants of silence:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The battlefield is quiet; a few steps away
from each other, the two armies stand face to face awaiting the single combat
that will decide the outcome of the war. Here, at the very peak of the Iliad,
is one of those pauses, those moments of contemplation, when the spell of
Becoming is broken, and the world of action, with all its fury, dips into
peace.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">While in
New York, Bespaloff preserved her ties to Parisian intellectual life from her
exile by exchanging letters with Fessard and Marcel. She got a job with the
Voice of America’s French broadcast before moving to Mount Holyoke College in
Massachusetts, where she taught French literature. Mount Holyoke became an
important outpost for French culture in the US during the war. At gatherings of
exiled scholars organised by Wahl, Bespaloff met Jacques Maritain, André
Masson, Marc Chagall and Claude Lévi-Strauss.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
‘small, dark lady who wore white gloves’, as her translator Mary McCarthy
described her, also made an impression on Hannah Arendt who visited in August
1944 to deliver a lecture on Franz Kafka. Arendt’s reading of Kafka, later
published in Partisan Review, echoed Bespaloff’s existentialist despair. Under
the dark shadow of war, Arendt describes humanity as inescapably trapped in
history’s meshes. Kafka’s ‘nightmare of a world’ had become reality. In an
essay on Camus, her last published work, Bespaloff describes how history forced
her generation ‘to live in a climate of violent death’.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
the war, despite previously having been fêted by them, Bespaloff became a vocal
critic of the new generation of French existentialists, especially Sartre. In a
1946 letter to the musicologist Boris de Schloezer, Bespaloff wrote that ‘the
hollowness of subjectivity that Sartre opposes to what I call “magical
interiority” is much less the foundation of a new humanism than the harbinger
of a new conformity.’ She argued that, instead of liberating the individual,
Sartre’s existentialism destroyed the magical interiority through which humans
can authentically connect with one another. For Bespaloff, Sartre degraded the
subject into an object under the gaze of the Other. This objectified
‘subjectivity curiously aligns with American “individualism”, which unleashes
itself in action to mask the absence of the individual.’ Like Helen’s Troy, the
US felt both dull and hostile to Bespaloff.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bespaloff’s
journey to Mount Holyoke was her final exile. During term break, in April 1949,
for reasons not entirely clear, she sealed her kitchen doors and turned on the
gas oven. Her own complex fugue ended with a tragic cadence. She had written
earlier of the happiness that can be found in an instant. In her final note,
alluding to Camus’s claim, she wrote: ‘One can imagine Sisyphus happy, but joy
is forever out of his reach.’</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dancing
and time. By Isabel Jacobs, <a href="https://aeon.co/essays/for-rachel-bespaloff-philosophy-was-a-sensual-activity">Aeon</a>, December 22, 2023.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAaTXPuGN1AIh9asgf023V82vf8182AomIWChftNMtlyML487ihIh_gookeduUzfOB3xaHdwvLiridCY2Ffh-P1exsjOG0jlCI0sXgEKD-vE5HraPyq8BUYM24opByYzBXDZxqWkPHuxU6VNfAE2tHvC_U3XCwFRv26Q2klQrLKPcOyiZSwtj4OpRtnM/s614/IMG2019122713175182_1000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAaTXPuGN1AIh9asgf023V82vf8182AomIWChftNMtlyML487ihIh_gookeduUzfOB3xaHdwvLiridCY2Ffh-P1exsjOG0jlCI0sXgEKD-vE5HraPyq8BUYM24opByYzBXDZxqWkPHuxU6VNfAE2tHvC_U3XCwFRv26Q2klQrLKPcOyiZSwtj4OpRtnM/s16000/IMG2019122713175182_1000.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">'It is
true that our weakness could prevent us from defeating the force that threatens
to overwhelm us. But this does not prevent us from understanding it. Nothing in
the world can stop us from being lucid.'<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">— Simone
Weil</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">' </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Humility
before the real, before untamable existence, is what we learn from the grief
and supplications of the tragic poets and the exhortations and lamentations of
the prophets.'</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">— Rachel
Bespaloff</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
summer of 1939, two women visited an exhibition of Goya’s The Disasters of War
at the Geneva Museum of Art and History. Goya’s 82 etchings, graphic depictions
of the human cost of war, impressed each of them deeply, especially in the
shadow of looming European conflict. The day after the exhibition closed,
Hitler’s troops invaded Poland.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rachel
Bespaloff and Simone Weil did not know each other. They saw the Goyas in Geneva
on different days. But they had many things in common. Both were of Jewish
descent, and both were French, although Bespaloff had been born in Ukraine.
Both were philosophers, consumed by the questions of affliction and human
suffering. Both would die too soon—Weil at 34 from malnutrition and heart
failure in 1943, and Bespaloff at 53 by suicide in 1949. And both responded to
the outbreak of World War II with influential essays on the Iliad.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Homer’s
tragic epic, the founding work of European literature, bears impartial witness
to the creative and destructive forces at work in the finite historical world.
The poet sings of war, but his underlying theme is the complexity of human
nature and human experience. There is rage in the Iliad, and cruelty, but
wisdom and compassion as well.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">With the
Russian invasion of Ukraine, the reflections of Weil and Bespaloff on this
ancient epic provide a timely lucidity. For example, Weil’s analysis of
wrathful Achilles pinpoints the ultimate futility of force. In the Iliad, the
harder Achilles tries to enforce his will, the more resistance he generates.
Weil could have been describing Vladimir Putin:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Homer
shows us the limits of force in the very apotheosis of the force-hero. Through
cruelty force confesses its powerlessness to achieve omnipotence. When Achilles
falls upon Lycaon, shouting ‘death to all,’ and makes fun of the child who is
pleading with him, he lays bare the eternal resentment felt by the will to
power when something gets in the way of its indefinite expansion. We see
weakness dawning at the very height of force. Unable to admit that total
destruction is impossible, the conqueror can only reply to the mute defiance of
his defenseless adversary with an ever-growing violence. Achilles will never
get the best of the thing he kills: Lycaon’s youth will rise again, and Priam’s
wisdom and Ilion’s beauty.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Weil
argued that the Iliad’s true subject was not any one figure, but the fateful
dynamics of force to which both Greeks and Trojans were subject: “Force
employed by man, force that enslaves man, force before which man’s flesh
shrinks away. In this work, at all times, the human spirit is shown as modified
by its relations with force, as swept away, blinded, by the very force it
imagined it could handle, as deformed by the weight of the force it submits
to.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In her
opening paragraph of her essay, Weil sees both the victors and the vanquished
as dehumanized and uncreated by powers not of their own making. The victors are
“swept away” when force goes its own way, generating consequences they can’t
control. The vanquished are turned into “things,” stripped of the capacity to
think, or act, or hope. Even if a victim’s life is spared, he or she is as good
as dead. Force “makes a corpse out of [them]. Somebody was here, and the next
minute there is nobody here at all.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Goya’s
war images convey this truth. They grant no wider picture of strategy or
purpose, but only offer snapshots of an ambient violence, which seems to exist
independently of the anonymous actors caught up in war’s depersonalizing
horror. “What courage!” reads the artist’s caption, “Que Valor!” Was Goya being
ironic? One might interpret this etching as an image of resistance—a brave
woman standing on the bodies of her fallen comrades to reach the cannon’s fuse
and repel the oppressors. But I can’t help seeing a pile of indistinguishable
corpses, and a faceless figure whose own subjection to the laws of force has
but one future.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvgi3iGx3u-LmwfItcxPxsaN09N6_bsAYxmJ8yKdAusJB_ZBvBLtc39voB7g2odyotynaGFUrmzi2eYiA6rSvEPGc7VxxNrT7HiYdXnIaZ6mH5N8-4fwiEhB37ljgBgNPJR-25xDEy_YbHPJzK_91vq2OsMgtCxbocgCY_QaI3Vv2vxi1DYgPLBbFxR0/s600/goya-war-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvgi3iGx3u-LmwfItcxPxsaN09N6_bsAYxmJ8yKdAusJB_ZBvBLtc39voB7g2odyotynaGFUrmzi2eYiA6rSvEPGc7VxxNrT7HiYdXnIaZ6mH5N8-4fwiEhB37ljgBgNPJR-25xDEy_YbHPJzK_91vq2OsMgtCxbocgCY_QaI3Vv2vxi1DYgPLBbFxR0/s16000/goya-war-2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">As Weil
put it, “for those whose spirits have bent under the yoke of war, the relation
between death and the future is different than for other men. For other men
death appears as a limit set in advance on the future; for the soldier death is
the future, the future his profession assigns him.” [v] In his classic novel of
the American Civil War, Stephen Crane said the same thing even more chillingly:
War is “like the grinding of an immense and terrible machine.” Its “grim
processes” are designed to “produce corpses.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
pair of photos posted last week by a young Ukrainian couple on social media
feels both stirring and sad. Scheduled to be married in May, they realized they
might not live that long. So they rushed the wedding. As sirens sounded the
Russian attack on Kyiv, they made their vows of lifelong fidelity. Then they
took up arms to defend their city. Their courage is inspiring, like the man
before the tank in Tiananmen Square. But their vulnerability is heartbreaking.
May God protect them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Weil
describes the immutable laws of force, which has no regard for such “perishable
joys.” “To the same degree,” Weil says, “though in different fashions, those
who use it and those who endure it are turned to stone.” In battle, thought and
choice and hope are swept away. “Herein lies the last secret of war,” Weil
says, “a secret revealed by the Iliad in its similes, which liken the warriors
either to fire, flood, wind, wild beasts, or God knows what blind cause of
disaster, or else to frightened animals, trees, water, sand, to anything in
nature that is set into motion by the violence of external forces.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In other
words, everyone involved is a victim of war. That is why neither Homer nor Goya
seem to take sides. The unflinching visual witness of The Disasters of War may
have been undertaken in protest against the brutality of Napoleon’s army in
Spain, but as the series evolved it became harder to distinguish the
nationality of perpetrators and victims in the images. We only see human beings
equally deformed by the workings of force. There is no great cause in these
pictures, only suffering.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">For me,
one of the most disturbing images of the war’s first week was this video of a
Russian soldier taking evident pleasure in the firing of missiles into Ukraine.
As a Christian, I am obligated to see Christ in his arrogant face, but it is
not easy. He is smiling at the death of his fellow beings. The patch on his
uniform reads: “They will die and we will go to heaven.” Nevertheless,
understanding this man to be himself a victim of force plants a seed of
compassion in me. He has lost his humanity to the machinery of war. I must pray
for him as well.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTtlpfnsneO2uAk7xzMx0GhYvQpfqNK-M73UZQsVZcIgZvrZO3fycKtShq5dyb4Uz5oVCVUBAXbQDuNPaZSqN402R14n1smQbbZ8oPRaJ5izitih7KH2dZ-ltF-o6go3-WSl095sIAgciQn_CBUm5RXP8kj8014gx-IXA6-uSe7uSReGSMWCJJukNwBc/s899/img_6945.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTtlpfnsneO2uAk7xzMx0GhYvQpfqNK-M73UZQsVZcIgZvrZO3fycKtShq5dyb4Uz5oVCVUBAXbQDuNPaZSqN402R14n1smQbbZ8oPRaJ5izitih7KH2dZ-ltF-o6go3-WSl095sIAgciQn_CBUm5RXP8kj8014gx-IXA6-uSe7uSReGSMWCJJukNwBc/s16000/img_6945.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
writing about the Iliad, Weil was repeating Goya’s message that “violence
obliterates anybody who feels its touch. It comes to seem just as external to
its employer as to its victim. And from this springs the idea of a destiny
before which executioner and victim stand equally innocent, before which
conquered and conqueror are brothers in the same distress. The conquered brings
misfortune to the conqueror, and vice versa.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rachel
Bespaloff, writing during the Nazi invasion of France, attributes the Iliad’s
impartiality to the seeming impartiality of life itself:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“With Homer there is no marveling or blaming,
and no answer is expected. Who is good in the Iliad? Who is bad? Such
distinctions do not exist; there are only men suffering, warriors fighting,
some winning, some losing. The passion for justice emerges only in mourning for
justice, in the dumb avowal of silence. To condemn force, or absolve it, would
be to condemn, or absolve, life itself. And life in the Iliad (as in the Bible
or in War and Peace) is essentially the thing that does not permit itself to be
assessed, or measured, or condemned, or justified, at least not by the living.
Any estimate of life must be confined to an awareness of its inexpressibility.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
impartiality of Homer and Goya is echoed in one of the most remarkable battle
scenes in the history of cinema. In Terence Malick’s The Thin Red Line, U.S.
marines are trying to take a Japanese position on a Pacific island in World War
II. But instead of encouraging the viewer to take sides, the director presents
both the Americans and the Japanese as common victims of force, as if we were
seeing war through God’s eyes. On the soundtrack the gunfire and explosions
remain faint, barely there, while a slow elegiac score, like the music of
weeping angels, allows us to reflect on the tragedy of violence instead of
stirring our partisan emotions. One of the soldiers, a kind of Christ figure,
speaks in voice-over:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This
great evil, where does it come from? How does it still enter the world? What
seed, what root did it grow from? Who’s doing this, who’s killing us, robbing
us of life and light, mocking us with the sight of what we might have known?
Does our ruin benefit the earth? Is this darkness in you too? “</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Impartiality
is not the same as indifference. Although she favoured pacifism, Weil wrote her
essay after joining the fight against fascism in Spain (the near-sighted and
clumsy intellectual had to be sent home after accidentally stepping into a pot
of boiling oil). She spoke out in favour of struggles for independence in the
French colonies, and worked for the French Resistance. Similarly, Bespaloff
renounced her own pacifist sympathies when Hitler seized France. Both women
felt their ideals constrained by the “yoke of necessity.” Sometimes force
simply won’t let you abstain. Bespaloff would later lament that history had
forced her entire generation “to live in a climate of violent death,” amid “the
smoke of crematories.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">To see
everyone as a victim is to realize the limits of force and begin to discover
the power of compassion. “Those who live by the sword die by the sword,” said
Jesus. And Weil, who got to know Jesus pretty well in her final years, urged us
to “learn that there is no refuge from fate, learn not to admire force, not to
hate the enemy, nor to scorn the unfortunate.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is
not a prescription for passivity in the face of naked aggression. Along with
most of the world, including many of Russia’s own people, I support the
Ukrainian resistance, but it’s not enough just to take sides in the ancient
game of force. Even as we are swept up in the necessities of conflict, we must
strive to imagine a better way and a better world.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In late
1942, when Weil was working in the London office of the French Resistance, she
proposed a plan to parachute hundreds of white-uniformed nurses onto
battlefields, not only to tend to the wounded but also to provide an image of
self-sacrificial goodness in the midst of cruelty and violence. She herself
wanted to be in the first wave of this non-violent invasion. In submitting her
plan to the Free French authorities, she made a visionary argument:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There could be no better symbol of our
inspiration than the corps of women suggested here. The mere persistence of a
few humane services in the very center of the battle, the climax of inhumanity,
would be a signal defiance of the inhumanity which the enemy has chosen for
himself and which he compels us also to practice … A small group of women
exerting day after day a courage of this kind would be a spectacle so new, so
significant, and charged with such obvious meaning, that it would strike the
imagination more than any of Hitler’s conceptions have done.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Charles
de Gaulle thought her quite mad, and her plan of course went nowhere. But I
always find myself inspired by “impossible” visions which refuse the seductions
and delusions of force. When Hitler invaded Poland, W. H. Auden wrote a poem,
“September 1, 1939,” calling upon the lovers of justice to “show an affirming
flame” in the night of “negation and despair.” As we now weigh our best
measures against the worst possibilities, Auden’s key line is more urgent than
ever:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We must
love one another or die.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMTSY3uwn4ZcWhM7RscvFcDhPJzEIH_fBTc0yEkX05va2GGOKioeD_VwlsAEA0x_lLhiBqaLOTzVPE1CoRLT9-pzq88ofGthRht6GbgwEKI7hwLykTjrMhX2HBDao9how55TLcOHXCRk-oys314VWbsMEseVNI_HJY6MGrX3U_fQQLMmWsTQQX5C2wDw/s600/img_9206.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMTSY3uwn4ZcWhM7RscvFcDhPJzEIH_fBTc0yEkX05va2GGOKioeD_VwlsAEA0x_lLhiBqaLOTzVPE1CoRLT9-pzq88ofGthRht6GbgwEKI7hwLykTjrMhX2HBDao9how55TLcOHXCRk-oys314VWbsMEseVNI_HJY6MGrX3U_fQQLMmWsTQQX5C2wDw/s16000/img_9206.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We must
love one another or die”—What Does the Iliad Tell Us about the Invasion of
Ukraine? By Jim Friedrich. <a href=" https://jimfriedrich.com/tag/rachel-bespaloff/"> The Religious Imagineer</a>, March 1, 2022. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><br /><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwhVCSPOd_lNVWHhsvZMt1FnEEsI7gI97wUD2DDknYdpiLRtv8Vck1oM-vLjFpzndJj5m-4lfocGUpwvSDJjL0PArfaDc7t3d_EO-IjV_rZyV5sMtqxSwdrSgTic20gTdvmtmZ2nzFsa07jx1u3QIJ1WCSnOX901zqhPoIcrdNXTimMfrJt5HY0r7Lls/s600/divinity.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwhVCSPOd_lNVWHhsvZMt1FnEEsI7gI97wUD2DDknYdpiLRtv8Vck1oM-vLjFpzndJj5m-4lfocGUpwvSDJjL0PArfaDc7t3d_EO-IjV_rZyV5sMtqxSwdrSgTic20gTdvmtmZ2nzFsa07jx1u3QIJ1WCSnOX901zqhPoIcrdNXTimMfrJt5HY0r7Lls/s16000/divinity.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Rachel
Bespaloff and the Repetition. Faculty of
Divinity, <a href="https://vimeo.com/566569020">University of Cambridge</a>, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white; color: #70757a; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><b>23 Jun 2021</b></span></span></div><br /><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7VrIci3avqSDZtxlTwO39MfIXlZKurTJiVWIWUWEWlCOnyrN07OwZOx9aOqnT1cL1HxWs9Fqd7p0BJ9qYg-9onbZKYh5-_xJmWJsLXNn3j9BX8yAgP3IK2c5Mfal_uaxj-uqV-36LU59OZTKtdB5ECixv04GVHcbBgToIzyShl9yDZ534LYbJPtVH1o/s600/Achilles.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7VrIci3avqSDZtxlTwO39MfIXlZKurTJiVWIWUWEWlCOnyrN07OwZOx9aOqnT1cL1HxWs9Fqd7p0BJ9qYg-9onbZKYh5-_xJmWJsLXNn3j9BX8yAgP3IK2c5Mfal_uaxj-uqV-36LU59OZTKtdB5ECixv04GVHcbBgToIzyShl9yDZ534LYbJPtVH1o/s16000/Achilles.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">1.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Published
originally during the Second World War, Simone Weil’s “The Iliad, or the Poem
of Force” and Rachel Bespaloff’s “On the Iliad” are two of the last century’s
finest discussions of Western literature’s preeminent epic. The former, said
Elizabeth Hardwick, “is one of the most moving and original literary essays
ever written.” The other, wrote Robert Fitzgerald, “is about the best thing I
have ever read on the art of Homer.”1Penned in the author’s native French, the
essays were rendered into English by Mary McCarthy. McCarthy’s translation of
Weil’s appeared in November 1945, when Dwight McDonald published it in
Politics. Its appearance in McDonald’s journal came as no surprise to
Bespaloff, who was then negotiating with American editors about a plan to print
the two translations together in one volume, a plan unrealized until 2005, when
they were finally bound together by the New York Review of Books under the
title War and the Iliad.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“On the
Iliad” originated in 1938, when its author, a French-Jewish philosopher like
Weil, began making notes on Homer’s poem while rereading it with her daughter.As
France bore up under the Nazi occupation that ensued two years later, Bespaloff
labored to shape her observations into a formal composition, “my method of facing
the war,” as she put it. With the help of childhood friend and distinguished
editor Jacques Schiffrin, the essay was ultimately published in the United
States by Brentano Books upon Bespaloff’s desperate immigration to New York in
1942. The Brentano edition, De l’Iliade, was the basis of McCarthy’s
translation, which, in 1947, became the ninth volume of the distinguished
Bollingen series.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When,
during the winter of 1940, Weil’s “Poem of Force” first appeared as “L’Iliade,
ou le poème de la force” in the Cahiers du Sud, it temporarily unnerved
Bespaloff, who was then still completing her remarks on Homer’s masterpiece. At
a glance Weil’s essay seemed uncomfortably similar to her own. “There are
entire pages of my notes that might seem to be plagiarized,” she told Jean
Grenier. “What seems clear in retrospect,” says Christopher Benfey in his
introduction to War and the Iliad, “is that Bespaloff had written much of her
essay while unaware of Simone Weil’s work, but that she made revisions after
learning of [what she came to call] the ‘amusing coincidence.’”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It is
highly probable, Benfey informs us, that the strange coincidence of the almost
simultaneous writing of the two essays is attributable to the influence of Jean
Giradoux’s popular drama La guerre de Troie n’aura pas lieu. From the time of
its publication in 1935 to Germany’s invasion of Poland, the play was as much
in the mind of the French intellectual as the threat of war was in the air of
Europe, for its author foredoomed, in comical but no uncertain terms, the
inevitable conflict between the Gallic and the German peoples. By the time they
came to write on the Iliad, Bespaloff and Weil had internalized Giradoux’s
discomfiting themes and dramatized forebodings. The title of one of her early
opinion pieces, “Let Us Not Begin Again the Trojan War,” suggests the influence
of Giraudoux’s play on Weil’s political imagination. “At the center of the
Trojan War, there was at least a woman,” she observed here with reference to
the warmongering rhetoric entre deux guerres. “For our contemporaries, words
adorned with capital letters play the role of Helen.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Giraudoux
encouraged the French to think of themselves as assailable Trojans, of Hitler
and his forces as menacing Greeks at the gates of Troy. The urgency of the
play’s message was humorously conveyed by its title, which takes the form of an
“official” pronouncement: “The Trojan War will not take place.” In the opening
scene, Cassandra begs to disagree. “Doesn’t it ever tire you to . . . prophesy
only disasters?” scolds Andromache. “I prophesy nothing,” says Cassandra. “All
I ever do is to take account of two great stupidities: the stupidity of men,
and the wild stupidity of the elements.” To make Andromache see that war is
inevitable, Cassandra asks the queen to “[i]magine a sleeping tiger.” That
tiger, she says, has been prodded out of his sleep by “certain cocksure
statements,” of which Troy has been “full” for “some considerable time.” After
Germany’s invasion of Poland, the ominous parallel between the European crisis
and Homer’s epic, which commences with breached pacts and failures to appease
the wrath of Achilles, appeared frighteningly apt to Bespaloff and Weil.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">While
they both acknowledged the “tiger at the gates,” Weil and Bespaloff apparently
disagreed on what to do about it. Completed and published before Germany’s
defeat of France, the former’s essay condemned war outright and implicitly
advocated a pacifist stance toward Hitler. It is significant that McCarthy’s
translation was later printed by a Quaker press. Bespaloff’s essay, on the
other hand, revised after the occupation, made an implicit case for resistance,
and served, whether its author intended it to or not, as a response to Weil’s
pacifism. To condemn war, “or to absolve it, would be to condemn life itself,”
Bespaloff wrote. “And life in the Iliad (as in the Bible or in War and Peace)
is essentially the thing that does not permit itself to be assessed, or
measured, or condemned, or justified, at least not by the living.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil and
Bespaloff were finally concerned with something more than their own historical
moment, however. In the Iliad they sought a significance to history’s entirety,
a significance understood only in metaphysical or theological terms and
informed by an anthropology grounded in a Judaeo-Christian Hellenism. Their
appreciation of Homer’s poem, to find critical accompaniment in American
letters, is of the kind intimated in Lionel Trilling’s observation: “When we
read how Hector in his farewell to Andromache picks up his infant son and the
baby is frightened by the horsehair crest of his father’s helmet and Hector
takes it off and laughs and puts it on the ground, or how Priam goes to the
tent of Achilles to beg back from the slayer the body of his son, and the old
man and the young man, both bereaved and both under the shadow of death, talk
about death and fate, nothing can explain the power of such moments over us, or
nothing short of a recapitulation of the moral history of the race.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">II<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil’s
is considerably shorter than Bespaloff’s essay, which divides into seven parts,
each devoted to a separate topic. Its argument, articulated in the first
sentence, consists in this: “The true hero, the true subject, the center of the
Iliad is force.”11What it endeavors to show above all else is that in Homer’s
poem, and ever in human warfare, souls are utterly transformed by their contact
with force, shrunken, mastered, deceived by the force men mistakenly imagine
themselves able to handle, misshaped by the force to which men submit
involuntarily or otherwise as victims or wielders of it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Throughout
the essay force is understood as that which “turns anybody who is subjected to
it into a thing.” To be turned into a thing in the most literal sense, Weil
notes, is to be made a corpse. Here stood a man who lies now on the ground,
carrion for kites of the sky. There, rattling an empty chariot through the
swelling rout, a horse seeks its once splendid driver, whose mangled hulk lies
prostrate in a pool of coagulate black, dearer now to ravenous dogs than to his
wife. Behind another chariot drags the erstwhile hero, the ensanguined black
hair of that once-charming head now hoar with dust. Such is the deadly
spectacle of force in Homer’s pageantry of woes, and the “bitterness of such a
spectacle is offered us absolutely undiluted,” writes Weil. “No comforting
fiction intervenes; no consoling prospect of immortality; and on the hero’s
head no washed-out halo of patriotism descends.” Neither Weil nor Homer’s
combatants, who fight and perish for ulterior reasons known only to themselves
or to the gods, find death in the Iliad sweet or altogether proper.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">What
Weil deems to be entirely more poignant by contrast than the mere rubbing out
of life in the poem is what she calls “the sudden evocation, as quickly rubbed
out, of another world: the faraway, precarious, touching world of peace, of the
family, the world in which each man counts more than anything else to those
about him.” She finds an example of such
an evocation in the description of Andromache ordering her serving maids to
prepare a hot bath for Hector, soon to return from battle to his palace:
“Foolish woman! Already he lay, far from the hot baths, / Slain by grey-eyed
Athena, who guided Achilles’ arm.”The tragic sense of these lines derives from
one of Weil’s many insights into the human situation: As does nearly all the
Iliad, nearly all of human life transpires unfortunately far from the precious
joys of home.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil
contemns most of all the force that “does not kill just yet,” that “merely
hangs, poised and ready, over the head of the creature it can kill, at any
moment, which is to say at every moment.” Such is the force that turns
breathing, thinking men into stones. Countless are Homer’s depictions of this
form of force, wherein we see the once proud man, standing disarmed and naked
before the pointing spears of his adversaries, become a corpse before any fell
hand has touched him. Weil’s commentary on the dehumanizing effects of looming
force alludes to these depictions. It also evokes the imagery of notable war
poems of her time. What concerned Weil is perfectly represented, for example,
in three lines from “The Shield of Achilles,” W. H. Auden’s comment on the
spiritual deprivations of World War II: “What their foes liked to do was done,
their shame / Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride / And died as
men before their bodies died.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In her
analysis of Homer’s epic and its relevance to the permanent conditions of
history, Weil is quick to point out that even those who inflict violence, or
stand ready and able to inflict it, suffer the vitiations of force, for it “is
as pitiless to the man who possesses it, or thinks he does, as it is to its
victims.” Those in the Iliad who think they possess force are intoxicated by a
false sense of invincibility, a sense as fleeting as fortune is fickle. For one
of the poem’s many incontrovertible truths is that nobody really possesses
force. Homer’s world is not divided between conquered persons and suppliants,
on the one hand, and conquerors and victors on the other. In it, as in ours,
“there is not a single man,” Weil reminds us, “who does not at one time or
another have to bow his neck to force.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil
invites us to think of Achilles or Agamemnon or Hector or Ajax. More powerful
than the common lot of men, none of these combatants wields force absolutely.
The Iliad opens with the former weeping in humiliation over Agamem-non’s
haughty seizing of Briseis, the woman whom Achilles desired to wed. Even
Agamemnon, though, must weep, as necessity requires him to plead humiliatingly
with the brooding Myrmidon, whose force he needs to win his war on Troy.
Hector, on the other side of the battle line, must suffer the misery of
truckling to something latent in himself. To be sure, he strikes mortal fear
into the Greek ranks, who stand astonished by his taunting challenges, which
they are ashamed to refuse but afraid to accept. When Ajax steps forward,
however, Hector feels the irrepressible, embarrassing shudder of terror. Nor is
Ajax spared the paralysis of fear, which Zeus causes to overcome the warrior
two days later. Though the cause of his own fear is not a man but a river, even
dreaded Achilles shakes in his turn as he scurries frightfully up the banks of
angry Scamander.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil’s
essay offers many insights into the Greek mind, and one of the wisest is this:
Fate has a way of penalizing those who abuse force while they have it on loan.
Such retributive justice operates with “a geometrical rigor” in the Iliad, Weil
argues, because it is “the main subject of Greek thought.” She reminds her
reader that, in their considerations of the universe and man’s place in it, the
idea of retribution (known as Nemesis in Aeschylus’s tragedies) is the starting
point for the Pythagoreans, and for Socrates and Plato. The concept is
familiar, Weil maintains, wherever the influence of Hellenism has extended,
including those countries steeped in Buddhism, where it survives, she
speculates, in the concept of Kharma. Weil notes regretfully the absence today
of a word in any Western language to express the idea of moral retribution:
“[C]onceptions of limit, measure, equilibrium, which ought to determine the
conduct of life, are, in the West, restricted to a servile function in the
vocabulary of technics.” Of all her reflections on our time, none is truer than
this: “We are only geometricians of matter; the Greeks were, first of all,
geometricians in their apprenticeship to virtue.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil is
finally concerned with the condition of the human soul. When its embodiment is
turned into a “thing” by the threat of force, the soul, she remarks, finds
itself in “an extraordinary house.” For souls are not created to live in
things; those that do are done violence to the quick of their being. Such is
the genius of Greek wisdom, of which the “Gospels,” in Weil’s Hellenic view of
them, “are the last marvelous expression.” In them, Weil declares, “human
suffering is laid bare” in the person of Christ, whose Passion shows that even
a divine spirit, incarnate and subjected to material force, “is changed by
misfortune, trembles before suffering and death, feels itself, in the depths of
its agony, to be cut off from man and God.” In the final analysis, then, Weil’s
underlying theme is: In the perpetual struggle against the constraints of the human
condition, no embodied spirit long eludes the violence of force, be it human,
natural, or supernatural, “although each spirit will bear it differently, in proportion
to its own virtue.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">III<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Three of
the seven sections dividing “On the Iliad” deal with Hector and Achilles. With
the former Bespaloff empathizes more than with any of Homer’s other tragic
figures. For Hector is the resistance hero, whose happiness consists in family
and fatherland. Domestic happiness is for him “more important than anything
else, because it coincides with the true meaning of life” and is “worth
defending even with life itself, to which it has given a measure, a form, a
price.” What causes him to falter in his final hour is not the rancorous valor
of Peleus’s insatiably discontented son, but rather Hector’s capacity for
happiness. This capacity, says Bespaloff, “which rewards the efforts of fecund
civilizations, puts a curb on the defender’s mettle by making him more aware
[than Achilles] of the enormity of the sacrifice extracted by the gods of war.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">To
Bespaloff’s mind, Hector is nothing if not the quintessential champion of
civilization, “the guardian of the perishable joys.” None among the mortals
contesting on the windy plains of Troy feels the pangs of loss as deeply as he.
To his wife’s desperate plea of nonresistance, he is far from insensible. As he
takes his final leave of Andromache and their doomed child, Hector, Bespaloff
observes, embraces with a final look what truly matters, exposed as they are to
the sullying hands of his enemies. He knows that death, the dreadful
premonition of which he cannot shake, means relinquishing all power to protect
the ones he loves from humiliation, punishment, torture.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">To deny
fate, though, is to deny his place among the subjects of the epic poet who, in
ages hence, will resurrect Ilion and immortalize its champions. So Hector steps
up to Achilles, who pursues him “not around the walls of Troy but in the cosmic
womb itself,” as Bespaloff recollects their struggle sub specie aeternitatis. Humiliated
though he is, Hector finally conquers himself (the only thing left him in the
end), defies destiny, and steels himself for a glorious failure. This is no
insignificant feat, Weil would have us note, for in the minds of Homer’s
warriors, “glory is not some vain illusion or empty boast; it is the same thing
that Christians saw in the Redemption, a promise of immortality outside and
beyond history, in the supreme detachment of poetry.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In
Hector’s destroyer Bespaloff sees the uncivilized man whose capacity for
happiness remains undeveloped because his “appetite for happiness” has not been
fully satisfied and drives him “on toward his prey and fills his heart with ‘an
infinite power for battle and truceless war.’”Even though in his forcefulness
Achilles is enviably half-divine, his dual nature adds to his discontent, his
divinity and humanity being violently inharmonious: “As a god, he envies the
gods their omnipotence and immortality; as a man, he envies the beasts their
ferocity, and says he would like to tear his victims’ bodies to pieces and eat
them raw.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Insofar
as his life is brutish and short, Achilles, according to Bespaloff’s
characterization, resembles Hobbes’s primitive man. Or perhaps he is more
comparable to Rousseau’s noble savage. In any case, he defies every earthly or
deific authority and scoffs at being supplicated in the name of anything high
or low. He has, as Conrad describes Kurtz, “kicked himself loose of the earth,”
has “kicked the very earth to pieces.” When dying Hector begs him not to feed
his remains to the dogs, Achilles is obdurate and, as Bespaloff points out by
way of Achilles’s own insensitive words, quite aware of being something other
than a civilized man: “There are no covenants between men and lions. . . . It
is not permitted that we should love each other, you and I.” Yielding at once
to truth and death, Hector recognizes his mistake: “Yes, I see what you are. .
. . A heart of iron is in you for sure.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">More
chief than king to his Myrmidons, Achilles “spends himself without reckoning,
in a rapture of aggressiveness.” Through him, says Bespaloff, Homer reveals the
limits and the futility of force, which, in its acts of cruelty, avows at once
its desire and inability to achieve godhead. She explains: “When Achilles falls
upon Lyacon, shouting ‘death to all,’ and makes fun of a child who is pleading
with him, he lays bare the eternal resentment felt by the will to power when
something gets in the way of its indefinite expansion.” In Achilles Bespaloff
sees weakness manifesting itself in the very consummation of force, because
Achilles, the consummate force-hero, “can never get the best of the thing he
kills: Lyacon’s youth will rise again and Priam’s wisdom and Ilion’s beauty.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bespaloff
abstains from simplifying Achilles. At once an image of grandeur and a
marvelous ingrate, he is, according to her discerning assessment, many things
still: “The sport of war, the joys of pillage, the luxury of rage, ‘when it
swells in a human breast, sweeter than honey on a human tongue,’ the glitter of
empty triumphs, and mad enterprises—all these things are Achilles.” Men need
him, as they need death, for both place formative and necessary limits on life.
“Without Achilles, men would have peace,” we read in Bespaloff’s meditation on
Homer’s foremost enigma. Without him, “they would sleep on, frozen with
boredom, till the planet itself grew cold.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Foe to
every impulse of pity though he is, this lord of limit remains the son of
Thetis, whom filial love for a mortal has made to feel the pangs of human
suffering and to regret her immortality. From this maternal goddess of “the
fair tresses,” Achilles, writes Bespaloff, “inherits a grace even in the midst
of violence, a generosity that is quick and unpremeditated.”A leaden heart is
in him, to be sure. But, owing to Thetis and her exalting influence, it is not
entirely immovable and finally proves to be a noble heart when Priam, the
noblest of suppliants, moves it with his winning plea for mercy: “I am far more
pitiable [than your own father], for I have endured what no other mortal on
earth has, to put to my mouth the hand of a man who has killed my sons.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Hector
and Achilles embody the respective psychologies of their constituents.
Regardless of what happens, the Achaians, like the latter, remain convinced of
their invincibility. The Trojan princes contradistinctively share Hector’s
premonition of defeat, even when the tide of battle turns in their favor.
Bespaloff meditates at length on Hector and Achilles because for her the duel
between them, not Achilles’s wrath nor his dispute with Agamemnon over Briseis,
constitutes the epic’s center, its unifying principle.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">IV<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
balance of “On the Iliad” is chiefly concerned with the gods in relation to
Homer’s major figures and with Homer in relation to Tolstoy. While the epic
hero assumes responsibility for all that happens, the gods, according to
Bespaloff’s assessment of their morality, assume responsibility for nothing,
though all that happens has been wrought by them. But from his forceful
struggle against the god’s irresponsibility the epic hero gains his dignity, as
does Hector in the final moments of his death. Helen, too, gains what dignity
she has from her struggle against the fatuous gods, inasmuch as she achieves a
measure of nobility in her splendid disgrace.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Nietzsche
was wrong, Bespaloff declares, when he called Homer the poet of apotheosis:
“What [his epic] exalts and sanctifies is not the triumph of victorious force
but man’s energy in misfortune, the dead warrior’s beauty, the glory of the
sanctified hero, the song of the poet in times to come—whatever defies fatality
and rises superior to it, even in defeat.” While acknowledging the mortal
struggle against material force in the Iliad, she maintains that Homer’s is an
interest primarily in the “limited and finite aspect [of force] as perishable
energy that culminates in courage.”Homer’s eternity, she reminds her
contemporaries, centers round the striving wills of individuals and exists in
the exalted tale of extraordinary deeds: “Homer asks no quarter, save from
poetry, which repossesses beauty from death and wrests from it the secret of
justice that history cannot fathom.” Against the comedy of the gods and the
contingencies of fate “is set,” in Bespal-off’s words, “the creative lucidity
of the poet fashioning for future generations heroes more godlike than the gods,
and more human than men.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">While
irresponsible and actually less godlike than the epic hero, the gods are not
without their significances. Bespaloff notes, in particular, the shared
significance of Hera, seemingly witless though able to manipulate the father of
the gods; Aphrodite, whimsical yet not as defenseless as she appears; and
Pallas Athena, brooding but quick to send haughty Ares reeling to the ground
with a single blow: “These are the three goddesses involved in the judgment of
Paris, and each in her own way reveals the other side of the eternal feminine
whose tragic purity is embodied in Andromache, Helen, and Thetis.” And there is
Zeus, of course: Mere watcher though he is, his “serene look, dominating from
on high consequences still distant, prevents the Trojan War from being a mere
bloody fracas” and “conveys to the flux of events its metaphysical meaning.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the
final analysis, however, Zeus’s court is to the Iliad what worldly society is
to War and Peace. Both, says Bespaloff, are targets of ridicule. Homer’s
deities and Tolstoy’s worldlings, beings exempted by fortune from the fate of
ordinary men, exhibit something of a decorative showiness that carries neither
force nor weight. The gods of the epic and the aristocrats of the novel are
both exquisitely comic in their interaction with one another and careless of
the mortals whom they use for their sport. They lack a certain seriousness,
Bespaloff observes, which for Homer and Tolstoy distinguishes the truly human
from the subhuman. “Agents provocateurs, smart propagandists, heated partisans,
these non-belligerents do not mind the smell of carnage or the clash of tragic
passions,” she writes. In truth, they rely upon it: “Condemned to a permanent
security, they would die of boredom without the intrigues of war.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Nor
would old mortality be quite the same, from the point of view of Homer and
Tolstoy, without war to make peace meaningful. Thus it is futile, Bespaloff
insists, to look to them for a condemnation of war as such. Neither pacifist
nor bellicist, both love and fear it, have no misconceptions about it, and
“present it as it really is, in its continual oscillation between boisterous
animal spirits that break out in spurts of aggressiveness and the detachment of
sacrifice in which the return to the One is consummated.” For Homer and Tolstoy
war, according to Bespaloff, is one of the ineluctable conditions of life; it
is to be regretted, certainly, perchance remembered in verse, but not to be
judged any more than destiny.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In their
art, war becomes something of a relative good when viewed, as they view it,
under the aspect of eternity. Bespaloff understands this way of seeing the
inevitable: “Precisely because war takes everything away from us, the All,
whose reality is suddenly forced on us by the tragic vulnerability of our
particular existences, becomes inestimable.” Nor is man’s love of country,
rooted as it is in his passion for eternity, as fully palpable as when it is
tested by war: “Faced with this ultimate threat man understands that his
attachment to the country which willingly, or unwillingly, he has made the
center of his world, the dwelling place of his gods, and his reason for life or
death, is no pious and comfortable feeling, but a grim demand imposed upon his
whole being.” The threat of slavery or of annihilation denudes—but it also
exalts. As Bespaloff remarks: “Pierre [Bezhukhov], [Prince] Andrey, Hector, and
Achilles are never more themselves than when they are on the verge of being
nothing.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bespaloff
draws a striking parallel between the Ionian poet and the demiurge of Yasnaya
Polyana. Her essential claim is that their world is what ours is in perpetuity:
We do not enter it, for we are always there. Homer and Tolstoy along with
Shakespeare are, she declares, “the only ones . . . who are capable of those
planetary pauses, those musical rests, over an event where history appears in
its perpetual flight beyond human ends, in its creative incompleteness.” In her
final assessment of their comparability, however, Bespaloff argues that Homer
far exceeds Tolstoy. The Greek, she explains, who insists that Achilles and
Priam exchange mutual homage, never betrays a preference for his own people; his
paradigm of human virtue is, after all, Hector, a Trojan. The Russian, on the
other hand, cannot resist decrying and belittling the French, and for him
“reciprocal esteem becomes impossible” because he sees Napoleon as “not only
the invader of his country, but also God’s rival.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">V<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">One can
fully appreciate the essays revisited here only by experiencing them for
himself. For they are neither reducible to any terms short of those which
translate the originals into English nor satisfactorily expressible in any
summary or paraphrase. What impels their description here is the hope that they
will find readers in our day. If their present appreciator had his way, both
would be required reading for all university English majors, for the authors
exemplify the art of enduring literary criticism penned “in the light of
eternity,” to borrow a phrase from Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Each defies the New
Historicist imperative to view works of the moral imagination as mere products
of their time, an imperative which literary theorists and literature professors
alike have abided dogmatically ever since Marxist ideologue Fredrick Jameson
gave the command: “Always historicize!”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil and
Bespaloff were certainly aware that one derives a fuller understanding of its
moral significance from historical interpretation of a literary work. But,
unlike today’s typical critic of the New Historicist persuasion, their aim was
to rise above the mere historicity of literature to see the eternal
significance of its conceits and symbols. For them the greatest of poems, the
Iliad, was nothing if not an explanation of the universal relevance of their
ravaged century. The epic’s encarnalizations of truth were for both writers
insights into the very depths of being. Homer was for Weil and Bespaloff a celebrant
of the imagination who turned the world into words through which posterity
could enter from time to time into the realm of permanence, “charioted on the
viewless wings of poesy.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">There is
no denying that Weil and Bespaloff are guilty of “killing time,” to appropriate
the phraseology of one New Historicist. Note, for instance, the tenor of this
passage from the former’s opening paragraph: “For those dreamers who considered
that force, thanks to progress, would soon be a thing of the past, the Iliad
could appear as an historical document; for others, whose powers of recognition
are more acute and who perceive force, today as yesterday, at the very center
of human history, the Iliad is the purest and loveliest of mirrors.” Yes,
Weil’s criticism is chronologically homicidal, insofar as it rejects the
fundamental tenets of the New Historicism and sees history in the light of that
which moves but moves not.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Like
Weil, Bespaloff turned to the “purest and loveliest of mirrors” because in it
she saw embodied immutable truths about man’s predicament. Of special interest
for her was Helen, Homer’s embodiment of human error. In literature, if not in
life itself, Helen is a tragic type we see time and again; she is akin to Anna
Karenina, for instance, with whom Bespaloff compares her at length. Politically,
and according to Bespaloff’s final comment on the mythical cause of the Trojan
War, Helen is always with us “since nations that brave each other for markets,
for raw materials, rich lands, and their treasures, are fighting first and
forever, for Helen.” Is Bespaloff altogether wrong? Does not every war, just or
unjust, have its Helen, its La Belle Dame Sans Merci? Is not Helen, in one
rhetorical form or another, what Conrad means by the “idea” that redeems “the
conquest of the earth,” the “unselfish belief in the idea,” the beautiful lie
men continually “set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to”?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In her
discussion of Helen, Bespaloff reminds us that in Homer’s mind punishment and
expiation do not fix responsibility for error: “They dissolve it in the vast
sea of human suffering and the diffuse guilt of the life-process itself.”To be
sure, the Greek notion of universal defectiveness bears some relation to the
Christian idea of Original Sin. For back of Attic tragedy, epic or dramatic, is
always the idea of a fall. But, as Bespaloff is quick to point out, a fall in
the Homeric sense is not preceded by a state of innocence and does not
anticipate redemption in any Christian sense. It is true that Homer sees the
universe as inherently flawed. But in a flawed universe in which salvific grace
and redemptive remorse are meaningless phrases, individual error, she explains,
“is not quite the same thing as a sin.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">To speak
of correspondences between the Greek, Jewish, and Christian visions of order is
to come finally to the nexus of Weil’s and Bespaloff’s thought. To clarify this
connection of minds, it may be said that, for both Weil and Bespaloff,
Jehovah’s justice supersedes Homer’s force, as Christ’s love supplants
Jehovah’s justice. To these correspondences Bespaloff was keenly sensitive,
and, according to Hermann Broch, to reveal them “seems to have been [her]
purpose in linking the Homeric epic with biblical prophecy.”Such was Weil’s
purpose, too.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In fact,
appeals to these correspondences are present not only in “Poem of Force,” but
also in many of the letters and commentaries Weil wrote prior to and in the
wake of the essay’s publication and translation. Several of these remarks chime
perfectly with what one critic has called the “numinous and redemptive”
pedagogical function of Bespaloff’s essay, which “superbly mediates the
relations between literature and religion.”For instance: “It is impossible to
love at the same time both the victors and the vanquished, as the Iliad does,
except from the place, outside the world, where God’s Wisdom dwells.”These
words, quoted from Weil’s “Contemplation of the Divine,” are predicated on a
belief in the reconcilability of the Greek and Christian worlds, a belief which
Weil shared with her compatriot.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">That
Weil took this reconcilability seriously is further exemplified in her last and
lengthy letter to Father Perrin. Here she discloses in Homer one of her main
themes (a theme which Bespaloff’s essay advances in its concluding paragraphs):
In the afflicted soul shines brightest “the splendour of God’s mercy.”Knowledge
of God’s presence, Weil reminds Perrin, affords no “consolation,” removes
“nothing from the fearful bitterness of affliction,” leaves unhealed “the
mutilation of the soul.” Yet, as she goes on to relate in terms evoking at once
the Incarnation and the Passion, “we know quite certainly that God’s love for
us is the very substance of this bitterness and this mutilation.” Nothing
surpasses the Iliad, Weil tells Perrin, in its capacity to bear witness to this
certainty. Indeed, its witness to this certainty is, she maintains, “the
implicit signification of the poem and the one source of its beauty,”
notwithstanding the fact that this signification “has been scarcely
understood.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Antithetical
to the discourse of New Historicism, Weil’s words illustrate what Bespaloff
says in her essay’s final summarizing sentence: “[T]here is and will continue
to be a certain way of telling the truth, proclaiming the just, of seeking God
and honoring man, that was first taught us and is taught us afresh every day by
the Bible and by Homer.” In other words: the way to truth is through the wisdom
of the Logos as we find it inscribed in great poems and incarnate in the
figures of the ethical poet. “If the religion of the Bible and the religion of
Fatum both resort to poetry in order to communicate with the people,” writes
Bespaloff, “this is because poetry gives them back the truth of the ethical
experience on which they are based.”Only on the language of poetry, on
“aphorism and paradox,” is Nietzsche able to proclaim “his Dionysiac faith in
the Eternal recurrence,” Blake to describe “his vision,” Kierkegaard “to puzzle
out Abraham’s experience,” Pascal “to acknowledge the God of Abraham and
Jacob.” In their parts and in their wholes the essays remembered here affirm
this epistemological verity.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Reading
the Iliad in The Light of Eternity. By Cicero Bruce.. <a href=" https://isi.org/intercollegiate-review/reading-the-iiliad-i-in-the-light-of-eternity/">Intercollegiate Studies Institute</a>, October 8, 2014. </span></span></div>
<br /><br /><br /><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwpYrBE2_lOJpex0fT3bg1a9Vq3Bgqzf5s10cdrfhGB8GrvvUUVdEuhEje7GLR2Z8CwoZ6RYYwttsHDRKnDngBBiBplQbO4boN3UhD9dqtNfiE6r53yqMqCyUpHhjCUQwtrG6_eI_6R9hfsBtkjoFHaS9j80PKX8RgLTCP4gmdQsiU3S2ho24P8QgLBM/s715/wanderingofsoul0000pian_0007.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="715" data-original-width="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwpYrBE2_lOJpex0fT3bg1a9Vq3Bgqzf5s10cdrfhGB8GrvvUUVdEuhEje7GLR2Z8CwoZ6RYYwttsHDRKnDngBBiBplQbO4boN3UhD9dqtNfiE6r53yqMqCyUpHhjCUQwtrG6_eI_6R9hfsBtkjoFHaS9j80PKX8RgLTCP4gmdQsiU3S2ho24P8QgLBM/s16000/wanderingofsoul0000pian_0007.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">HECTOR-
In Baspaloff’s essay, “the true center” of the epic poem is the tragic
confrontation of the revenge-hero and the resistance-hero. Achilles and Hector
respectively. And the confrontation is a constantly changing rhythm, making
everything uncertain. In the Iliad, the distinctions between good and bad do
not exist.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">there
are only men suffering, warriors fighting, some winning, some losing.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bespaloff
seems to diverge from the argument on force made by Simone Weil.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">To
condemn force, or absolve it, would be to condemn, or absolve, life itself.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">And life
in the Iliad...is essentially the thing that does not permit itself to be
assessed, or measured, or condemned, or justified, at least not by the living.
Any estimate of life must be confined to an awareness of its inexpressibility.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Life
unfolds in all its inevitability and the stage play of life shines a light on
the core of man’s existence. It’s this dance, sometimes macabre, sometimes
sublime that is the Cosmos. History is blind to all this, but the poet can set
heroes before us godlier than the gods and more human than men.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">THETIS
AND ACHILLES- The bond between Thetis and Achilles comprises some of the
tenderest scenes in the Iliad. Thetis, one of the gods, exhibits in her
relationship with her son Achilles all of the human, mortal emotions of a
mother. Achilles’ ardent attachment to his mother contrasts sharply with
Hector’s relationship with his mother, Hecuba. Achilles is anchored to humanity
by the tenderness he feels for his mother. This saves him from dissolving into
myth.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">HELEN-
There really wasn’t much focus on Helen, either in the Iliad or in Logue’s
rendering. But Bespaloff starts right off with Of all the figures in the poem,
she is the severest, the most austere. She uses words and phrases like penitent
and royal recluse. She has lost her freedom
– not directly through the actions of Paris or Menelaus – but by the
will of the gods – especially Aphrodite, who plays her like a ukulele And is
there hope for freedom under that immortal bondage? Either outcome of the war
will still not set her free. Bespaloff is particularly cogent here, and
passionate. An exile herself, this is very telling:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Homer is
as implacable toward Helen as Tolstoy is toward Anna. Both women have run away
from home thinking that they could abolish the past and capture the future in
some un- changing essence of love. They awake in exile and feel nothing but a
dull disgust for the shrivelled ecstasy
that has outlived their hope.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Having
not yet appeared in human history, Homer likens Helen’s guilt to original sin –
before redemption and grace were an option. Before the specific “fall” of
original sin, there was no state of innocence, only the absurdity of existence
and the downward and inevitable spiral to mortal death. Unlike
the-gods-made-me-do-it Paris, Helen doesn’t comfort herself with the gods
culpability, but accepts the tragic guilt herself. As Helen realizes the moral
weakness of Paris, she is more and more humiliated by his presence. She is
alone and outcast behind the walls of Troy then – except for Hector. Without
evincing a hint of lust, Hector shows Helen a good deal of compassion.
Interestingly, according to Bespaloff, Homer represents beauty (in the guise of
Helen) not as a gift, but as a curse. Then Baspaloff likens it to force or
fate, which is the whole point of bringing the concept of beauty up<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Like
force, it subjugates and destroys –
exalts and releases.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Homer
never particularly details the beauty of Helen, of Thetis, of Andromache. But
we intuit their beauty, they are recognizable to us, the modern reader. By the
reaction of others to their presence they are known. People stop and stare and
her beauty frightens them like a bad omen, a warning of death. Priam however,
does not blame her, but blames the gods. Helen loses herself for a moment in
reverie [from the Iliad]<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“There
was a world…or was it all a dream?”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When Eve
was blamed for the original sin, it was her beauty that initiated man’s fall.
Was the Garden of Eden like a dream as well? Beauty takes a hit again from the
gods. Not from Baspaloff, or from Homer:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
curse which turns beauty into destructive fatality does not originate in the
human heart. The diffuse guilt of Becoming pools into a single sin, the one sin
condemned and explicitly stigmatized by Homer, the happy carelessness of the
Immortals.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">THE
COMEDY OF THE GODS- While the gods lay about in their stand-up (or in this case
chaise-lounging comic style), they take no responsibility for anything they
have caused. These are not good ‘parents’ where responsibility begins at home.
Their mortal playthings meanwhile take all sorts of blame upon themselves, even
when as is all too obvious it was out of their hands. It’s ironic, is it not,
that taking responsibility for your actions is a lesson that man (back then
anyway) took to heart. Not the gods, though. If in the present, God has died
(or left us to our own devices) have they (He) left us this trait for not
accepting responsibility for our actions as well?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Without
the sins of the lust for power, war, betrayals, the gods would plain be bored
to death. Even the God Apollo hates this about their divinity.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bespaloff
likens the relationship between Hera and Zeus, the tricks she plays on him and
their give and take bartering, to musical comedy. There’s Aphrodite as well,
all batting eyes and innocence – but she knows what she’s doing. And Athena, a
warrior with a man’s muscles. These three gods (Hera, Aphrodite and Athena)
were the three that got the ball rolling: at The Judgement of Paris.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Zeus
even laughs pleasurably after he has unleashed the gods to intervene to their
heart’s content. It’s all great sport. Unlike the god of Ismael, Zeus does not
intervene directly, though he has his preferences. He distributes and watches.
From Homer<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">There
are two great jars that stand on the floor of Zeus’s halls<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">and hold
his gifts, our miseries one, the other blessings.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When
Zeus who loves the lightning mixes gifts for a man,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">now he
meets with good fortune, now good times in turn.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When
Zeus dispenses gifts from the jar of sorrows only,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">he makes
a man an outcast – brutal, ravenous hunger<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">drives
him down the face of the shining earth,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">stalking
far and wide, cursed by gods and men.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">God is
the distributor. Man is the receiver and he has to deal.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">TROY AND
MOSCOW- This is really a short comparison of two epics: Homer’s of course and
Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Not much of interest here (for me at least) although
it’s certainly possible that much of it went over my head! Can you believe it!!
[insert ironic icon]. Except this: Bespaloff
points out that Homer treats the forces of Troy and the Greeks equally (even
though he is a Greek). Not so Tolstoy. There is no such impartiality for the
enemies of Mother Russia. Impartiality does not obviate harshness, or vengeance
– or magnanimity, for that matter. Here Bespaloff differentiates between
“force” and “spirit”.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When war
is seen as the materialization of a duel between truth and error, reciprocal
esteem becomes impossible. There can be no intermission in a contest that pits
– as in the Bible – gods against false gods, the Eternal against the idol. This
is a total war, which must be prosecuted on all grounds and in all weathers,
till the extermination of the idol and the extirpation of the lie are
accomplished.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This is
a scary thought and is another way of seeing the message of the
‘true-believers’.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">PRIAM
AND ACHILLES BREAK BREAD- For Bespaloff, when Priam kneels down to the man who
murdered his sons, there is nothing demeaning about the gesture. It has the
ring of truth. This is “the only case in
the Iliad where supplication sobers the man to whom it is addressed instead of
exasperating him”. This is where Achilles has the great epiphany. He’s as much
a victim of force as Priam (this hearkens back to Weill). He becomes a man
again, casting off (at least temporarily) his mantle of doomed tragic-war hero.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">POETS
AND PROPHETS- In this, the last section of Bespaloff’s essay On The Iliad, she
takes a step back – or in the current vernacular flies up to 30,000 feet For
her, between the Bible and the Iliad our experiences are encompassed in – some
times in rich truth and sometimes in contradiction.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">They
offer us what we most thirst for, the contact of truth in the midst of our
struggles.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">She
argues for the “profound identity” between these two bodies of thought. Despite
the contradictions, don’t over analyze one or the other she advises. They have
more in common than we might expect. She makes a good argument.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">War and
The Iliad - Rachel Bespaloff on The Iliad. . By Chazz W. <a href="https://chazzw.wordpress.com/2012/01/05/war-and-the-iliad-rachel-bespaloff-2/">ChazzW Wordpress</a> January
5, 2012. </span></span></div>
<br /><br /><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6oN10kmryBSlYyIy49wodebpAedDiLgEKuTqNtHb7cmS9WpsjwSO36t8AfBNc7EX6gBacRyrNtIgrdgBwp3RZIenGegeB8DOxNJPIu2qXZNVN3AIc9YQmxPauGcDRi0vRKkbN8tKkYZSgbVtLnXEo51Y-PC8O8N6T8mtodrBi5PnRPEO-ywIv0EY9im8/s600/img1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6oN10kmryBSlYyIy49wodebpAedDiLgEKuTqNtHb7cmS9WpsjwSO36t8AfBNc7EX6gBacRyrNtIgrdgBwp3RZIenGegeB8DOxNJPIu2qXZNVN3AIc9YQmxPauGcDRi0vRKkbN8tKkYZSgbVtLnXEo51Y-PC8O8N6T8mtodrBi5PnRPEO-ywIv0EY9im8/s16000/img1.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> La Guerre de
Troie n'aura pas lieu. 1935</span><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="FR"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
critic Kenneth Burke once suggested that literary works could serve as
“equipment for living,” by revealing familiar narrative patterns that would
make sense of new and chaotic situations. If so, it should not surprise us that
European readers in times of war should look to their first poem for guidance.
As early as the fall of 1935, Jean Giraudoux’s popular play La guerre de Troie
n’aura pas lieu encouraged his French audience to think of their country as
vulnerable Troy while an armed and menacing Hitler was the “Tiger at the Gates”
(the play’s English title). Truth was the first casualty of war, Giraudoux
warned. “Everyone, when there’s war in the air,” his Andromache says, “learns
to live in a new element: falsehood.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Giraudoux’s
suggestion that the Trojan War was an absurd contest over empty abstractions
such as honor, courage, and heroism had a sinister real-life sequel when
Giraudoux was named minister of wartime propaganda in 1939. In the wake of
Munich, Minister Giraudoux announced that the most pressing danger to French
security was not the Nazis but “one hundred thousand Ashkenasis, escaped from
the ghettos of Poland or Rumania.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">After
September 1939, the analogy between the crisis in Europe and the Iliad—which
opens with broken truces and failed attempts to appease Achilles’ wrath—seemed
altogether too apt. During the early months of the war, two young French
writers of Jewish background, Simone Weil and Rachel Bespaloff, apparently
unaware of the coincidence, wrote arresting responses to the Iliad that are
still fresh today. During the winter of 1940, Weil published in the
Marseilles-based journal Cahiers du Sud her famous essay “L’Iliade, ou le poème
de la force.” Three years later—after both Weil and Bespaloff had fled France
for New York—Jacques Schiffrin, a childhood friend of Bespaloff’s who had
become a distinguished publisher, published De l’Iliade in New York under the
Brentano’s imprint.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The idea
of bringing these two complementary essays together was first pursued by
Schiffrin and Bollingen editor John Barrett. After Mary McCarthy translated
both essays into English plans were made to publish them in a single volume.
When rights to Weil’s essay proved unavailable, Bespaloff’s On the Iliad
appeared separately in 1947, as the ninth volume in the Bollingen series, with
a long introduction—nearly half as long as Bespaloff’s own essay—by the
Austrian novelist Hermann Broch, author of The Death of Virgil. In their
respective essays, Weil and Bespaloff adopt some of the same themes while diverging
sharply in their approach and interpretation. In her essay Weil condemns force
outright while Bespaloff argues for resistance in defense of life’s “perishable
joys.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">1.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Most of
human life, Simone Weil wrote in her essay on the Iliad, “takes place far from
hot baths,” but her own discomforts were mainly self-inflicted. She was born in
Paris in 1909 into an assimilated, well-to-do Jewish family. Her father was a
kindly internist and her mother a forceful woman who looked after the children.
Simone Weil was a gifted child, graduating first in her class in
philosophy—Simone de Beauvoir was second—at the École Normale Supérieure in
1931. Her mentor was the philosopher Émile Chartier, known as “Alain,” under
whose guidance Weil’s political convictions began to surface. Beauvoir recounts
her first—and last—conversation with Simone Weil:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “She intrigued me because of her great
reputation for intelligence and her bizarre outfits…. I don’t know how the
conversation got started. She said in piercing tones that only one thing
mattered these days: the revolution that would feed all the starving people on
the earth. I retorted, no less adamantly, that the problem was not to make men
happy, but to help them find a meaning in their existence. She glared at me and
said, “It’s clear you’ve never gone hungry.” Our relations ended right there.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Simone
Weil had never gone hungry either, but during the mid-1930s she began to seek
opportunities to experience the suffering of others. During 1934–1935 she took
a break from her teaching to work on the assembly line at a Renault factory.
Two years later she was in Spain, enlisting in a workers’ brigade against
Franco’s forces. The physical frailty and clumsiness that had made factory work
such a trial for her brought near disaster when she stepped into a pot of
boiling oil and severely burned herself, forcing her to return to the world of
bourgeois safety she so despised.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil’s
experiences in the Renault factory and in Spain confirmed her growing
convictions regarding the dehumanizing effects of modern industrialism and war.
She traced these tendencies back to the ancient Romans who, in her view,
established a mechanistic regime based on brute force. In several powerful
essays written during the mid-1930s, she lamented the Romans and argued that
Napoleon and Hitler were their imperial successors.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A
committed pacifist, Weil argued for negotiations with Hitler and endorsed
Neville Chamberlain’s policy of appeasement. Alluding to Giraudoux’s caustic
play, she wrote an essay, published in 1937, titled “Let Us Not Begin Again the
Trojan War,” in which she condemned the debasement of civic language. “At the
center of the Trojan War, there was at least a woman,” she wrote. “For our
contemporaries, words adorned with capital letters play the role of Helen.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">During
the spring of 1937, in fragile health and suffering from severe migraines,
Simone Weil checked into a clinic at Montana in Switzerland, as a way station
on a long-planned trip to Italy. At Montana she befriended a young medical
student named Jean Posternak and, finding him an eager pupil, suggested that he
“learn Greek, it’s an easy language.” She copied out for him a few hundred
lines from the Iliad in her own translation. On her return from Italy, she
announced to Posternak that she had developed “two new loves.” One was T.E.
Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom, of which she wrote: “Never since the Iliad,
so far as I know, has a war been described with such sincerity and such
complete absence of rhetoric, either heroic or hair-raising.” “The other love,”
she wrote, “is Goya.” Weil was deeply moved by a new edition of Goya’s series
of etchings The Disasters of War. “It arouses,” she wrote Posternak, “an equal
degree of horror and admiration.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It is
easy to see why Weil would be drawn to Lawrence and the Arab resistance
fighters. In a letter to propaganda minister Giraudoux, she protested his
defense of French colonial policy: “And how can it be said that we brought
culture to the Arabs, when it was they who preserved the traditions of Greece
for us through the Middle Ages?” But Goya’s depiction of war, I believe, had a
more important bearing on Weil’s interpretation of the Iliad. During the summer
of 1939, she renewed her admiration for the artist with repeated visits to the
great Goya exhibition at the Museum of Art in Geneva, where the treasures of
the Prado had been moved for safekeeping during the Spanish Civil War. The
exhibition closed on August 31, the day before Germany invaded Poland.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
“disasters” Goya depicted—graphic scenes of torture, rape, mutilated corpses,
firing squads, mass burials—were carried out by Napoleon’s troops in their
invasion and occupation of Spain between 1808 and 1814. Goya claimed to have
witnessed many of these atrocities and portrayed them with dispassionate
objectivity. And yet there are no names attached, no recognizable officers or
victims, and, perhaps most importantly—as Susan Sontag points out in her
discussion of the series in Regarding the Pain of Others—no narrative: “Each
image, captioned with a brief phrase lamenting the wickedness of the invaders
and the monstrousness of the suffering they inflicted, stands independently of
the others.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For
Goya’s anonymous scenes of mayhem are typical “products”—as Stephen Crane
expressed it in The Red Badge of Courage—of the machinery of war. And this—as
becomes immediately clear from the opening sentences of her extraordinary
essay—is how Simone Weil (whether drawing inspiration or confirmation from
Goya) read the Iliad, as a disconnected series of “disasters of war,” without
narrative or comprehensive meaning beyond the dehumanizing operations of force.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZS7xe0zKYqZUiYHi9a7k5TnD1EfTV9WXB3_m3wYw6YrGO_VDsLUCjrcW2kVFP0_ulZl8XC8DLKqPChA64O6Q-0DNKaxqrTOarKl2RoFJxfP2sjPXX5lE-9vd2TdgGmWk5kI5B_aBMYBSLet9SX48EPKBfaEn6g2V5e5jDAJu7VaGAqAiHkPBIOL0F4y8/s500/weil.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZS7xe0zKYqZUiYHi9a7k5TnD1EfTV9WXB3_m3wYw6YrGO_VDsLUCjrcW2kVFP0_ulZl8XC8DLKqPChA64O6Q-0DNKaxqrTOarKl2RoFJxfP2sjPXX5lE-9vd2TdgGmWk5kI5B_aBMYBSLet9SX48EPKBfaEn6g2V5e5jDAJu7VaGAqAiHkPBIOL0F4y8/s16000/weil.jpg" /></a></div><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">2.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil’s
The Iliad, or the Poem of Force has a single argument, stated clearly in the
first sentence and shown to hold true for the entire Iliad. “The true hero, the
true subject, the center of the Iliad is force,” which she defines as “that x
that turns anybody who is subjected to it into a thing.” Instead of showing how
force plays on the various characters of the Iliad (Achilles, Hector, Helen,
and the rest), Weil examines a procession of human types—the suppliant, the
slave, and the soldier—and shows how force reduces each of them to a soulless
thing. If force itself is the hero, it hardly matters who is wielding it or
why. Weil’s essay opens with a barrage of brief quotations from the Iliad. Here
is the first passage she quotes:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “ …the
horses<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Rattled
the empty chariots through the files of battle,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Longing
for their noble drivers. But they on the ground<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Lay,
dearer to the vultures than to their wives.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">And the
second:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“ All around, his black hair<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Was
spread; in the dust his whole head lay,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">That
once-charming head; now Zeus had let his enemies<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Defile
it on his native soil.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil
gives no context for these extracts, nor does she identify the victims; reduced
to “things,” they are, for her, nameless anyway. It’s not that she expects us
to recognize these passages—Agamemnon slaughtering Trojans in Book 11, Hector’s
outstretched corpse in Book 22; she wants us to look instead at the “inhuman spectacle
the Iliad never tires of showing us.” “The bitterness of such a spectacle is
offered us absolutely undiluted,” she writes. The passive voice conceals Weil’s
own strategy: it is she, not Homer, who “offers” these spectacles undiluted.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It is
striking how few aspects of the Iliad Weil dwells on in an essay of forty pages
or so, and how much she leaves out: the whole “comedy of the gods” (as Rachel
Bespaloff called it), Helen’s ambiguous role, the embassies and negotiations.
When she considers two scenes of supplication, which ought to interrupt the
battle, her detailed analyses merely confirm for Weil that the Iliad—in
Christopher Logue’s memorable phrase—is “all day permanent red.” In both
scenes, however, Weil modifies Homer’s version in slight but telling ways. She
introduces the first passage, characteristically, without names or encompassing
narrative: “A man stands disarmed and naked with a weapon pointing at him; this
person becomes a corpse before anybody or anything touches him.” Then she quotes
a few lines from Book 21:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “Motionless, he pondered. And the other drew
near,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Terrified,
anxious to touch his knees, hoping in his heart<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">To
escape evil death and black destiny….<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">With one
hand he clasped, suppliant, his knees,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">While
the other clung to the sharp spear, not letting go….”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">We have
the image clearly in mind: a callous soldier points his spear at a naked man
begging for his life, who realizes “that the weapon which is pointing at him
will not be diverted.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But it
turns out that this vivid image owes more to Goya’s menacing bayonets than to
Homer. Lycaon, one of Priam’s sons and a half-brother to Hector, has just
dragged himself from the rapids of the Scamander River, unarmed, it is true,
but not naked. Achilles, who captured and enslaved Lycaon on a previous raid,
is determined not to let him get away this time. He throws his heavy spear but
misses: “the spear shot past his back and stuck in the earth, still starved for
human flesh.” It is at this point that Lycaon “clung to the sharp spear, not
letting go.” Weil tells us, twice, that there is “a weapon pointing at” Lycaon,
when in fact Achilles’ spear is stuck in the ground.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil
also manipulates for her own purposes the culminating encounter in Book 24 when
the Trojan king Priam comes to Achilles’ tent to beg for the corpse of his son
Hector:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“No one
saw great Priam enter. He stopped,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Clasped
the knees of Achilles, kissed his hands,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Those
terrible man-killing hands that had slaughtered so many of his sons.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As John
Gould, in his authoritative analysis of rituals of supplication in Greek
literature, notes, Homer’s “concentration on the hands as independent agents
focusses the emotional tension on the central gesture”—clasping Achilles’
knees—“of Priam’s supplication.” When Homer’s attention shifts to Achilles’
hands, according to Weil, “the very presence of the suffering creature is
forgotten.” In her translation, Achilles, “remembering his own father, longed
to weep;/Taking the old man’s arm, he pushed him away.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For
Weil, Achilles’ harsh gesture is yet another example of force turning a person
into a thing:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“It was
not insensibility that made Achilles with a single movement of his hand push
away the old man who had been clinging to his knees…. It was merely a question
of his being as free in his attitudes and movements as if, clasping his knees,
there were not a suppliant but an inert object.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This
analysis would be convincing if Achilles had indeed “with a single movement of
his hand pushed away the old man.” But Weil has suppressed a key word from the
passage, and this suppression undercuts her interpretation of the entire scene.
That word is “gently.” Here is Robert Fagles’s translation:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“Those
words stirred within Achilles a deep desire<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">to
grieve for his own father. Taking the old man’s hand<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">he
gently moved him back. And overpowered by memory<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">both men
gave way to grief….<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Then,
when brilliant Achilles had had his fill of tears<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">and the
longing for it had left his mind and body,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">he rose
from his seat, raised the old man by the hand….”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
point is not that Simone Weil misreads Homer but why she does so—namely, to
isolate and intensify scenes of horror as Goya did in his Disasters. By
inviting us to imagine Achilles’ spear pointed menacingly at a naked suppliant
rather than stuck in the ground, and by suppressing Achilles’ “gentleness,”
Weil has extracted from the complicated weave of Homer’s narrative two sharply
etched “disasters of war.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Weil had
hoped to publish her essay on the Iliad in the Nouvelle Revue Française, the
most prominent French literary journal. Jean Paulhan, the editor, admired the
essay but requested substantial cuts, adding that of the members of his
editorial board only the philosopher Jean Wahl thought the essay should be
published in its original form. With the Nazi occupation of Paris during the
summer of 1940, Paulhan was replaced by the collaborator Drieu la Rochelle, and
Weil submitted the revised essay instead to the liberal-minded Cahiers du Sud,
based in Marseilles, where Weil and her parents had fled with the intention of
emigrating to the United States.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">During
the months of waiting for an exit visa, Simone Weil had her most productive
period as a writer. Armed with a copy of the Iliad and a rucksack of clothes in
case she was arrested, Weil haunted the offices of Cahiers du Sud, which had
accepted her essay; she secretly distributed Resistance tracts, and filled the
notebooks from which were culled the posthumous collections Gravity and Grace
and Waiting on God, for which she is best known. Still seeking a life “far from
hot baths,” she lodged for a few weeks with a farmer-priest in rural Provence,
sleeping on the barn floor and joining in the daily work of the farm.
Meanwhile, with the help of several priests she was in contact with, Weil
continued to try to reconcile the “religion of slaves” she discerned in the
Gospels (though not in the Roman Church) with the compassion for suffering
humanity she had tried to express in her study of the Iliad. In May of 1942,
she boarded a ship bound for Casablanca, and eventually sailed for New York
with her parents on June 7.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">3.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXt9k2f-wcxReDqZnnxjGhHtU8HqAk_W68Rmr9LxYXDDethLnXdVzT1yOOD8PMwlzQJRGDx1osKinVgTwjGFKo2XtWV5GsYm-pbzMCPxUF9e-ThBziyR2JJdnivU94Txq8t-mu1IJ-_yApQ66pvHduLrYrNOpCknoJNN-ZzeUq0nhsBfm7IR7CjA0bqOI/s949/Bespaloff-1%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="949" data-original-width="523" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXt9k2f-wcxReDqZnnxjGhHtU8HqAk_W68Rmr9LxYXDDethLnXdVzT1yOOD8PMwlzQJRGDx1osKinVgTwjGFKo2XtWV5GsYm-pbzMCPxUF9e-ThBziyR2JJdnivU94Txq8t-mu1IJ-_yApQ66pvHduLrYrNOpCknoJNN-ZzeUq0nhsBfm7IR7CjA0bqOI/s16000/Bespaloff-1%20(1).jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Among
the refugees waiting for an exit visa in Marseilles during that same late
spring of 1942 were the writer Rachel Bespaloff and her traveling companion,
the philosopher Jean Wahl. Fired from his post at the Sorbonne, where he was
one of the first to introduce Kierkegaard and Heidegger to French readers, Wahl
had been tortured and interrogated by the Gestapo at the prison of La Santé
before being interned at the French concentration camp at Drancy outside Paris.
A cholera epidemic and a sympathetic doctor led to Wahl’s temporary release,
and he escaped to Vichy in the back of a butcher truck. Bespaloff, with
connections and money available in New York, was eager to help Wahl (who had an
invitation to teach at the New School) get out of France. Three weeks after
Weil’s departure from Marseilles, Wahl and Bespaloff boarded a cargo ship bound
for New York—the last refugee ship to leave France.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">During
these tense months, Rachel Bespaloff, with Jean Wahl’s strong encouragement,
was working on her own essay on the Iliad—“my method of facing the war,” as she
put it. Editors and commentators continue to accept the view, put forward by
Bespaloff herself and her associates, that the almost simultaneous writing of
the two essays on the Iliad was, as Hermann Broch put it, “coincidentally
parallel.” One would like to know more about Jean Wahl’s role in these
proceedings, however. Monique Jutrin’s new edition of Bespaloff’s letters to
Wahl clarifies the uncertainties without entirely dispelling them.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As an
editor at the NRF, Wahl had read and admired Weil’s essay; a native of
Marseilles, he also had close ties to Cahiers du Sud, where it was eventually
published. He was a friend of Weil’s (they had first met in 1937, when together
they attended the opening night of Giraudoux’s Electra) and an even closer
friend to Bespaloff, and he eagerly followed the progress of Bespaloff’s essay
on the Iliad. In March of 1942, she asked him where she might publish it, observing
that Cahiers du Sud seemed doubtful since the journal had just published the
“très belle étude de Simone Weil.” What an “amusing coincidence,” she remarked,
adding (to diminish rather than augment the coincidence) that the writer André
Rousseaux had also recently written “something on Homer.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“Who is
Rachel Bespaloff?” Camus asked Jean Grenier, his former philosophy teacher in
Algiers, after reading and admiring Bespaloff’s impressive collection of essays
Cheminements et Carrefours in August 1939. Bespaloff deliberately cultivated an
aura of mystery, and much about her life and tragic death remains in shadow.
Born in 1895, she spent her early years in Kiev in a cultivated Jewish family.
Her father, Daniel Pasmanik, was a doctor and leader in Zionist circles, and
her mother, Debora Perlmutter, had a doctorate in philosophy; by 1900 they had
moved the family to the more religiously tolerant city of Geneva. There Rachel
studied dance and music—her professor of composition was Ernest Bloch—and
received her diploma in piano performance from the Conservatory of Geneva in
1914. By 1919 she was in Paris teaching music at the Opéra; three years later
she married a Ukrainian businessman and associate of her father, Shraga Nissim
Bespaloff—they had a daughter, Naomi, in 1927—and that was the end of her
musical career.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It was
the beginning, however, of her career as a philosopher and writer. Dr. Pasmanik
and Nissim Bespaloff were both admirers of the Russian philosopher and
religious thinker Lev Shestov, and were eager to bring out a French edition of
the master’s works. Rachel Bespaloff met Shestov in 1925, and became a friend
of several of the liberal-minded thinkers in his circle: Daniel Halévy (an
associate of Péguy and friend of Degas); Gabriel Marcel; her childhood friend
from Kiev Jacques Schiffrin; and Jean Wahl. After Dr. Pasmanik’s death in 1930,
Nissim Bespaloff moved his family to the Villa Madonna in Saint-Raphaël, and
began cultivating a cherry orchard. This vie de province with echoes of Chekhov
did not appeal to Rachel, who felt cut off from Parisian intellectual life and
complained of the dangers of “Bovary-ism.” She composed voluminous letters on
her reading to Halévy and others. One of these meditations, an intense
engagement with Heidegger’s recently published Being and Time, so impressed
Gabriel Marcel that he recommended publication; “Lettre à M. Daniel Halévy sur
Heidegger” appeared in La Revue philosophique in 1933, and was among the first
discussions of Heidegger in French. Other essays followed, on Marcel, on Julian
Green and Malraux, on Shestov, collected in Cheminements et Carrefours and
published, in 1938, with a dedication to Shestov, who died the same year.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">During
the spring of 1938, Bespaloff began rereading the Iliad with her daughter. That
fall, suffering from “nervous depression,” she checked into the same Swiss
clinic in which Weil had spent a few months the previous year. Like Weil,
Bespaloff spent many hours at the Goya exhibition in Geneva—“for me,” she wrote
Jean Wahl in August 1939, “that was one of the greatest things this year.”
Meanwhile, she continued to work on what she called her “Notes on the Iliad,”
completing several pages “two or three months before the catastrophe of ’40,”
and was unnerved when Jean Grenier sent her a copy of Simone Weil’s essay on
the Iliad. “There are entire pages of my notes,” she wrote Grenier, “that might
seem to be plagiarized.” What seems clear in retrospect is that Bespaloff had
written much of her essay while unaware of Simone Weil’s work, but that she
made revisions after learning of the “amusing coincidence.” After the “strange
defeat” of the French in 1940, and the subsequent occupation of Paris, aspects
of Weil’s essay, especially its dogmatic pacifism regarding the baneful
consequences of any use of force, were bound to trouble readers like Wahl and
Bespaloff, who were eager to support resistance against Hitler. “It is hopeless
to look in the Iliad for a condemnation of war as such,” Bespaloff wrote, and
with Wahl’s encouragement, her On the Iliad became an eloquent answer to Simone
Weil’s “poem of force.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The most
striking overlap between the two essays concerns Homer’s evenhandedness toward
Greeks and Trojans. Weil had called the Iliad as “impartial as sunlight…one is
barely aware that the poet is a Greek and not a Trojan,” while Bespaloff
writes: “Who is good in the Iliad? Who is bad? Such distinctions do not exist;
there are only men suffering, warriors fighting, some winning, some losing.”
Homer’s neutrality fits Weil’s overarching argument far better than
Bespaloff’s, however. If Homer refuses to take sides, Bespaloff does not
hesitate to do so. The hero of the Iliad in her view is neither “force,” as it
was for Weil, nor its embodiment in Achilles. Her hero is Hector, to whom she
devotes her opening chapter:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “Suffering and loss have stripped Hector
bare; he has nothing left but himself. In the crowd of mediocrities that are
Priam’s sons, he stands alone, a prince, born to rule. Neither superman, nor
demigod, nor godlike, he is a man and among men a prince…. Loaded as he is with
favors, he has much to lose…. Apollo’s protégé, Ilion’s protector, defender of
a city, a wife, a child, Hector is the guardian of the perishable joys.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bespaloff’s
hero, then, is not forcebut resistance, and Hector is the “resistance-hero”:
“Not the wrath of Achilles, but the duel between Achilles and Hector, the
tragic confrontation of the revenge-hero and the resistance-hero, is what forms
the Iliad’s true center, and governs its unity and its development.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
impression left by Simone Weil’s essay is of battle and the horrors of battle.
In Bespaloff’s essay battle is almost entirely missing. Hector is her hero
because he is the guardian of noncombatants. Unlike Weil, Bespaloff is
particularly attentive to Homer’s women; her compassionate portrait of Helen in
exile is a permanent contribution to Homeric criticism. For Bespaloff, Helen
will lose no matter who wins the Trojan War: “Paris or Menelaus may get her,
but for her nothing can really change. She is the prisoner of the passions her
beauty excited.” One senses a personal, even autobiographical investment in
Bespaloff’s comparison of Helen to Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “Homer is as implacable toward Helen as
Tolstoy is toward Anna. Both women have run away from home thinking that they
could abolish the past and capture the future in some unchanging essence of
love. They awake in exile and feel nothing but a dull disgust for the
shrivelled ecstasy that has outlived their hope.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bespaloff
lingers on the moment, “a scene of starry serenity,” when Priam from his perch
on the ramparts asks Helen to name the Greek heroes in the enemy camp set to
besiege Troy. “Here, at the very peak of the Iliad, is one of those pauses,
those moments of contemplation, when the spell of Becoming is broken, and the
world of action, with all its fury, dips into peace.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">4.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Simone
Weil and Rachel Bespaloff arrived in New York within weeks of each other,
during the summer of 1942. Weil joined her parents in an apartment on Riverside
Drive, desperate to find a way to join De Gaulle’s Free French in some capacity
in London and finding respite from her impatience with both Americans and
French émigrés only in the Harlem church services she loved to attend. Her
final letter from New York before leaving for London in the fall of 1942 is a
long and passionate self-defense addressed to Jean Wahl. Wahl, who had accepted
a position teaching philosophy at Mount Holyoke, had evidently conveyed to Weil
rumors concerning her alleged sympathies toward Vichy. “What may have given
rise to such rumors,” she told Wahl, “is the fact that I don’t much like to
hear perfectly comfortable people here using words like coward and traitor
about people in France who are managing as best they can in a terrible situation.”
She took the occasion to repudiate her earlier pacifism, which she had so
eloquently expressed in her essay on the Iliad:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “Ever since the day when I decided, after a
very painful inner struggle, that in spite of my pacifist inclinations it had
become an overriding obligation in my eyes to work for Hitler’s destruction… my
resolve has not altered; and that day was the one on which Hitler entered
Prague—in May 1939, if I remember right. My decision was tardy, perhaps…and I
bitterly reproach myself for it.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Simone
Weil died on August 24, 1943, in a sanatorium in Kent, having deliberately
restricted her intake of food to the rations inflicted on her compatriots in
occupied France. The Italian writer and critic Nicola Chiaromonte, who had read
Weil’s essay on the Iliad in Marseilles during his own flight from Paris,
encouraged his friend Dwight Macdonald to publish it in the journal Politics,
where it appeared, in Mary McCarthy’s superb translation, in November of 1945.
(Later, in recognition of its pacifist argument, it was reprinted by the Quaker
publishing house at Pendle Hill in Philadelphia.)<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Rachel
Bespaloff worked on French-language broadcasts for the Voice of America before
accepting a teaching position, at Jean Wahl’s recommendation, at Mount Holyoke,
where she taught French for six years, beginning in 1943. In 1945, Wahl
returned to France to resume teaching at the Sorbonne, leaving Bespaloff, as
she put it, “even more alone.” She complained of the uncertainty of her
temporary contract at Mount Holyoke, and described the feeling of being cut off
from friends and cultural life in New York and Paris as “like an amputation.”
Mary McCarthy met Bespaloff only once, at a dinner party in 1947 given by
Jacques Shiffrin, with Hannah Arendt and Hermann Broch among the guests.
McCarthy described her as “a small, dark lady who wore white gloves and who
talked a good deal about Jean Wahl.” That same year, Bespaloff’s husband, from
whom she was separated, died in New York. Her last essay, an eloquent meditation
on Camus’s work entitled “The World of the Man Condemned to Death,” was
published in French in Esprit in 1950. Camus, she wrote, “belongs to a
generation”—her own—“which history forced to live in a climate of violent
death,” amid “the smoke of crematories.” During the spring break of that year
at Mount Holyoke, Rachel Bespaloff sealed her kitchen doors with towels and
turned on the gas. She died on April 6, 1949.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Reviewed:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">De
l'Iliade by Rachel Bespaloff<br /></span><span lang="FR">Meaux: Revue
Conférence, 704 pp., 28<sup>e<br /></sup></span><span lang="FR"> <br /></span><span lang="FR">On the Iliad<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB">by
Rachel Bespaloff, translated from the Frenchby Mary McCarthy, with an
introduction by Hermann Broch<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Pantheon/Bollingen,
126 pp. (1947; out of print)<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Lettres
à Jean Wahl, 1937–1947<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">by
Rachel Bespaloff, edited by Monique Jutrin<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Paris:
Claire Paulhan, 192 pp., 24e<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
Iliad or The Poem of Force<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">by
Simone Weil, translated from the French by Mary McCarthy.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Pendle
Hill Pamphlets,39 pp. (1957; out of print)<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A Tale
of Two Iliads / By Christopher Benfey</span>.
<a href="https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2003/09/25/a-tale-of-two-iliads/">The New York Review of Book</a>s, September 25, 2003 </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">
</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-21499922890438452112024-01-07T16:45:00.003+00:002024-01-07T17:21:06.991+00:00The Best Films of 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5dlO1SeG4JZze9hRgqePoh38lnUJb1TsQ0K7VizvyWyCKeNlJLknaczyqKBdCduK5mVUvlHW1M28jDnO02vRW4zNgl0JpHq_tbYr1fdQcz79k5KilGApB_F3IzkeOptRhgmKSP8TweKowSD2MBtJ4vBeMbgiSWnwEb4HgBzLwXVjqmFAc8ufJULCotg/s600/64a70f1da7f079f477ba2af4_Anatomy%20Of%20A%20Fall%20-%20Still%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5dlO1SeG4JZze9hRgqePoh38lnUJb1TsQ0K7VizvyWyCKeNlJLknaczyqKBdCduK5mVUvlHW1M28jDnO02vRW4zNgl0JpHq_tbYr1fdQcz79k5KilGApB_F3IzkeOptRhgmKSP8TweKowSD2MBtJ4vBeMbgiSWnwEb4HgBzLwXVjqmFAc8ufJULCotg/s16000/64a70f1da7f079f477ba2af4_Anatomy%20Of%20A%20Fall%20-%20Still%202.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-right;">"To be a woman is something so strange, so mixed, so complex, that no predicate expresses it, and the many predicates one might use contradict one another so sharply that only a woman can endure it, and, still worse, can enjoy it."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-right; text-decoration-line: underline;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-right;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-right;">Stages on Life’s Way, </span>Søren Kierkegaard, 1845</span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">My choice
of </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">the films, distributed in The
Netherlands in 2023, I managed to see in cinemas and on streaming platforms.
2023 was a great year for cinema.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
following</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">is not a ranking of films.
These films struck and appealed to me.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I listed the films because of affinities in
theme and tone, or by contrast.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
compiling this list, I found that many films tell women's stories, or stories
in which women play an important role. Fifteen of the 32 films presented here
were directed by women .</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gender
equality, as reports on the U.S. and European film industry, among others,
show, is still very problematic. Even though Greta Gerwig may win many awards
at the upcoming Oscar ceremony with her third coming-of-age film, this time
about a doll who wants to become a woman. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And let’s remember that in May</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">talented French actress Adèle Haenel retired
over French film sector’s ‘complacency’ towards sexual predators. There is also
a lot of focus on education, upbringing, family, children and</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">the parent-child relationship.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Quite a few debut feature films are included
in the list, 9, to be exact. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">A good
sign.</span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8JwqXknMI9UDBfnTnqSh1P5ujZavHVdZU19WkcLb2ud5rkQr_RAGE41phCsGAJ18ojcCiLI7TFeigQ7UrG-SeXL_rVPP5Z11TSk8CTjTmWXVSrm5gHL0EeIK9U8-evkm7CcLaDCG2o8gkjvaXljCXA84UJ7icB9v90aun-cARfXPIHgF7Yutf9b-0BY/s600/V23anatomie03.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8JwqXknMI9UDBfnTnqSh1P5ujZavHVdZU19WkcLb2ud5rkQr_RAGE41phCsGAJ18ojcCiLI7TFeigQ7UrG-SeXL_rVPP5Z11TSk8CTjTmWXVSrm5gHL0EeIK9U8-evkm7CcLaDCG2o8gkjvaXljCXA84UJ7icB9v90aun-cARfXPIHgF7Yutf9b-0BY/s16000/V23anatomie03.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anatomie d’une chute<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Justine Triet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>France, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When the
husband of famous writer Sandra Voyter is found dead in front of their chalet
in the French Alps, there are only two explanations: murder or suicide. Pushed
down from the top floor by Sandra or he<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>jumped himself. In the trial that follows, the truth - with a crucial
role for their 11-year-old son - will emerge.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>“<i>Does the theme of language extend beyond
just French, German, or English? Is it about an emotional language of
expressing something internal?</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Language is
very much at the heart of what drives the film. In nearly an obsessional manner
throughout the entire film, people are striving to understand each other and
make themselves understood. The language moves between a language of passion
and impulse in the more familiar household setting to the language of explanation,
which is much more articulate, in the attempt to analyze and understand what
happened. There’s this ongoing attempt to knit reality through and against
language in such a way as to find an exit out of a predicament.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Is there a connection between the courtroom and
the cinema? Especially in Sandra’s trial, I feel there’s something similar in
that it involves artistic choices that people then try to interpret as
revealing of personal biography.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I mean,
there’s definitely the bridging fact of the audience and a public reception. Of
course, the judgment’s stakes aren’t the same in one, even though both are a
place where our narrations and stories are appropriated through interpretation.
In the courthouse, that recuperation is a lot more violent because it’s the
place where fiction actually begins and overtakes truth. The narrative event is
one of two different fictions being juxtaposed and laid out. Something that I’m
very fascinated by in a courtroom situation is closer to the writing room,
really, for me than in the screening room. It’s that place where fiction
begins.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sandra the character gives voice to some of
this frustration in the opening scene when she asks her interviewer, “Do you
think one can only write from experience?” How, then, do you stimulate your
imagination to provide something that approximates reality without drawing from
it directly?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’m a
vampire. I collect from what’s around me from my friends, etcetera, but it’s
not a relationship of direct theft. It’s rather a wringing or a deformation of
the things that we find so as to allow them to be revealed in a hidden manner.
The most important thing, and something that I think I’ve gained with maturity,
is for the gesture of vampirism to remain natural. Collect only things that
very profoundly concern us, which isn’t to say that they have an element of a
biographical narrative. But [we collect] things that speak to or at us in a
very personal way so as to not be the director that one is expected to be or
admired to be, but really the director that we are. I think that that’s
something that’s very much changed for me from my early 20s to now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><a href="https://www.slantmagazine.com/film/justine-triet-sandra-huller-interview-anatomy-of-a-fall/">Slant Magazine</a>,
October 2, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8pxT9ixrX6gncPWohOn10j_Hnr3-LFpud9w-vea54w8ZzpxfzCGb6XJe96cpU4mXnoVZsER6xwxVR88jDzZLBIwb924QlDQ3vvuG2h0cN3a0f0vdqpZRw6TwyYXq7JqmVhn47Bsm7LLwKFVH83qkkln_JUWxbLJ9aD1Wyo6oi0O87KZN0ecSCRjgfiY/s600/tar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8pxT9ixrX6gncPWohOn10j_Hnr3-LFpud9w-vea54w8ZzpxfzCGb6XJe96cpU4mXnoVZsER6xwxVR88jDzZLBIwb924QlDQ3vvuG2h0cN3a0f0vdqpZRw6TwyYXq7JqmVhn47Bsm7LLwKFVH83qkkln_JUWxbLJ9aD1Wyo6oi0O87KZN0ecSCRjgfiY/s16000/tar.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Tár<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Todd Field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>United States of America,
2022<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Tár tells
the story of Lydia Tár, a celebrated conductor who abuses her position of
power: she waltzes over people, ruins careers and puts up with young women who
are impressed by her.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="paragraph" style="background: white;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> "</o:p></span><i style="background-color: transparent;"><span lang="EN-GB">Which came first, the world or the character?</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>It was
definitely the character first. I mean, I’d been thinking about her for a long,
long time, probably easily 10 years before the studio came to me and said,
“Would you be interested in doing something about a conductor?” And that’s the
only reason that she became a conductor. I had someplace to put her. That
character had always lived for me at the top of a very clear power structure,
and I’d always thought if I ever did anything with her, it’d be to examine
power, to examine how power really functions as a phenomenon and how complicit
it is that nobody holds power alone — they’re allowed to have it because
there’s a cost benefit for others. So yeah, it was definitely the character
first.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span lang="EN-GB">An incredibly timely character at that. While
you were writing it, there were stirrings of what we now call #MeToo and power
was starting to be held to account. How aware were you were that Tár could be
seen as a story for our time?</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Well,
the story is set in three weeks of 2022. Originally, I was going to have been
making it in 2020 and thought, “OK. Well, that’ll give me enough time to finish
the film and have it come out well ahead of that.” But as it happened, we got
it out a month before November 2022. But given the themes of the film and
examining the sort of scandal part of it and the abuse of power, those are just
the circumstances that we live in [today]. I had no interest in pointing at the
particulars of those things or the discussion around those things. Protests
against hierarchical, essentially white male power, are something we all know
about, that we’ve all experienced from the time we were young. Whether it was
in the media or not, it was something we could passively observe on a
day-to-day basis: we could see who held the power and who was able to get away
with certain things that others were not. And was that right and was just?
Where did those inequities lie? So, it’s a long overdue reckoning of that.</p>
<p class="paragraph" style="background: white;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="background-color: transparent;">: </span><i style="background-color: transparent;">What’s the secret to writing a film that is
so rich in ambiguity, and where storylines don’t neatly resolve themselves just
for the plot’s sake?</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Well, I
like to watch Law & Order as much as the next person, but I’m not
interested in making procedural narrative. I’m not a plotter, I’m a character
person. So, the rules for this film were very, very simple. We spend three
weeks — with the exception of the denouement, the epilogue — with this
character at kind of arm’s length, but [we see her] fairly objectively. So, we
know what she knows in those three weeks, and we don’t know what she knew from
before. And so, if you follow those rules and you don’t break them, it creates
a very particular kind of narrative. You’ve got in late, and you get out early
with her. So that’s the thing. It’s not the “right” way of storytelling, it’s
just the way that I’m conditioned to chase.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://deadline.com/2023/03/tar-todd-field-interview-director-writer-cate-blanchett-oscars-1235280560/">Deadline</a>,
March 6, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQp8rtlBhQ6u5bjxSnryKwKtXmG9lCTjImKTs0cOzCVFL8hRq9yCD03JjN9qcIZ3KpqLfjD5IBVMPvNLwwbEXyxJ0JA6SQcHS5nI4UH7WTiMqNdrL3bOxk1t_JWi_1NyLe54t5YfaV_4JTCrrurp8UM3Kxrex3No8sF3mSfe8zr5PWjdxsfqTwFFmKcw/s600/Tchaikovsky%E2%80%99s_Wife-1000x563.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQp8rtlBhQ6u5bjxSnryKwKtXmG9lCTjImKTs0cOzCVFL8hRq9yCD03JjN9qcIZ3KpqLfjD5IBVMPvNLwwbEXyxJ0JA6SQcHS5nI4UH7WTiMqNdrL3bOxk1t_JWi_1NyLe54t5YfaV_4JTCrrurp8UM3Kxrex3No8sF3mSfe8zr5PWjdxsfqTwFFmKcw/s16000/Tchaikovsky%E2%80%99s_Wife-1000x563.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Zhena Chaikovskogo</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(English title <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tchaikovsky's Wife)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Kirill Serebrennikov. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Russia, France, Switzerland
2022.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Antonina
Miliukova is a beautiful and bright young woman, born in the aristocracy of
19th century Russia. She could have anything she'd want, and yet her only
obsession is to marry Pyotr Tchaikovsky, with whom she falls in love from the
very moment she hears his music. The composer finally accepts this union, but
after blaming her for his misfortunes and breakdowns, he wants to get rid of
her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Antonina Miliukova is an enigma in your
film. There are so many sensitive aspects to her relationship with Tchaikovsky,
for example, that she says she wanted to marry him for who he is and not for
his compositions. How do you yourself view her?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">No doubt
she wanted to be part of something big and important. Of course she knew his
music and that played a role, but above all I think it was an ego thing.
Actually, you see two egos battling each other here. This is not a film about
music, but about people who can't listen to each other.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The late nineteenth century was a tumultuous
time, with the end of Tsarism and the Soviet revolution in sight. What was it
like to pick apart that era? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It's a
fascinating period because it was completely destroyed by war, revolutions and
the footprint of the Soviets. It wasn't easy to reconstruct. That's why we made
our own version of it - our version of a nineteenth-century painting, a work of
the belle époque. You can hardly imagine the revolutions that took place, even
technologically. People could move faster, see more of the world than ever
before. For example, I was immensely pleased to find out that Tchaikovsky had
climbed the Empire State Building. It took him two weeks to sail to America,
but he made that trip and in 1891 opened the then-new Carnegie Hall with his
Marche solennelle. He lived to see the telephone and the steam engine. How that
affected his art no one knows, but it's interesting to reflect on the impact of
all those shifts - technological, social, political - on the music of that era.
Although that is not the subject of this film."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Devotion is ultimately what your film is about
- to faith, to the arts and from a couple to each other. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When you
make a film you almost melt with your characters. I think it's unfair to make a
film from a distance, so you have to zoom in on them completely. In that sense,
this film, like any film, is a psychological process where I put everything of
myself into it. My life, my blood, my body, my sweat, my sperm - everything for
this strange creature called film. Actors and directors both throw their whole bodies
into the struggle to create something. And film absorbs everything from you. It
gobbles up everything."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">With this film about a composer, it is all the
more striking how musical your films are: those long, moving shots, that
beautiful cinematography and then suddenly that total depiction of Miliukova’s
life.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I make
those long shots simply because I'm a lazy editor, haha. Besides, I love them
because they do something to the perception of time. Cinema is time. Every
schnitt makes time more artificial for the audience. That's not always fair to
the audience, not always truthful. It is better to construct a reality and film
it for as long as possible. That gives the audience truth, or some form of
truth - even in fiction."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://filmkrant.nl/interview/kirill-serebrennikov-tchaikovskys-wife/">Filmkrant</a>,
May 3, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKIkYcoPYX-ofteC10_7XQC1-U_7jVPxDy6QZc0DtX6a2ncC3Yv93otI7BEuK7HH0W5iQY0VKf4Li7jQSNBqI2SdjFTy6eR3y1xds4btkQQbPJeGTMat4wTOrP4bWyW-Y_A22JwtqXc31NA_xGv3tIHLWB0iOVkfHkrOM7Vqc2JGIw7G6jZqj1H6mTho/s600/afire_2_WEB.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKIkYcoPYX-ofteC10_7XQC1-U_7jVPxDy6QZc0DtX6a2ncC3Yv93otI7BEuK7HH0W5iQY0VKf4Li7jQSNBqI2SdjFTy6eR3y1xds4btkQQbPJeGTMat4wTOrP4bWyW-Y_A22JwtqXc31NA_xGv3tIHLWB0iOVkfHkrOM7Vqc2JGIw7G6jZqj1H6mTho/s16000/afire_2_WEB.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Roter Himmel</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Christian Petzold. Germany, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Young
writer Leon <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>travels with a friend to the
Baltic Sea for a short vacation. There he struggles mainly with his new
manuscript and a noisy young woman who turns out to be staying in the same
house. What begins as a sultry, summer drama full of booze and sex slowly
unfolds as a biting satire about a self-absorbed artist.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You
described Leon as “playing at” being a writer. Were you thinking of your own
role as a filmmaker when writing that character, or your own feelings about
artistic work and how it compares to manual or professional labor?</i> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There’s one
movie of mine I always feel ashamed of. I never want to do a master class with
this movie. It’s my second feature, Cuba libre. It’s not so bad, but the time
when I made it was the worst in my life. Because I had made a movie, Pilots,
that was successful, and I got a lot of money very fast for a second movie,
just eight months later. I was impressed by what critics said, I had new
friends, I could sit in hotels like this and talk, and I lost control. I wrote
the script very fast, in two or three months, and it’s a script by a
charlatan—a charlatan who doesn’t know he’s a charlatan. It has so many
quotations from all my favorite movies; for example, I took the plot from
Detour. I wanted to show the world that I am a cineastic, intellectual young
man.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>During the
shooting of Afire, when we rehearsed the scene where Nadja and Leon are talking
about the title of Leon’s second book, Club Sandwich, I realized what had
happened. Cuba libre and Club Sandwich have something to do with each other.
You don’t need a psychoanalytic session for that. It’s like a menu: “one Cuba
libre and one club sandwich, please!” It’s Leon’s second book, and that was my
second movie. And it’s the movie I made during a summer in which I learned
something about myself, about narcissistic structures, and about the value of
collective work. The author in Afire has to learn, like me. So yes, there are
biographical tendencies, but I didn’t want this. It was during the rehearsals
that I said, “Oh my god, this is about me.” The next movie is about a woman.
Not about me!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My favorite scene in the movie is the dinner
during which we learn that Nadja is a literary scholar. She references Heinrich
von Kleist’s novella, The Earthquake in Chile, and then recites “The Asra,” the
poem by Heinrich Heine. It reminded me of Paula’s lecture in Undine, which she
gives twice—and here she recites the poem twice, too, with a beautiful voice. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I studied
literature, and I read this essay which is mentioned in the film, by Werner
Hamacher. The content of the essay is that an earthquake that happened in
Lisbon in the 1700s was a breaking point in our history, because God left us
then. If God made earthquakes like that, it didn’t make any sense to believe in
him. Kant, Hegel, they all talk about this earthquake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Von
Kleist’s novella is trembling in its structure, in its rhythm. It’s like an
earthquake not only in the content, but also in form. When you are at a
festival like the Berlinale, you are always talking about the content of
movies: it’s a movie about Ukraine, about the earthquake in Turkey, about Iran…
always movies “about.” What you can learn from Kleist’s novel and Hamacher’s
essay is that it is important not only to do things about; the author himself
must also be infected by the thing he or she is talking about.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When Nadja
is reciting “The Asra,” she’s not just talking about people who have to die
when they love—she’s also talking about rhythm, and about Germany, in a way. In
Germany, we have no music. When you see a movie like Heaven’s Gate, you can see
that all the Europeans are bringing their music to the U.S.A.: the Romani, the
Polish people, the Germans; there’s also the blues that the Africans bring. The
Nazis destroyed the music of the people. We also lost our lyrics. I read an
interview with Hannah Arendt. She had lived in New York for 30 years, and they
asked her in which language she dreams, and she said: in German, because of all
the poems she had read when she was a child.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I am interested in your use of these two
texts—“The Asra” and The Earthquake in Chile—because they’re both examples of
an ironic or disillusioned romanticism. In your other films, love is usually a
radical force: it re-enchants a capitalist world that is too rational, too
modern. Afire feels different, more cynical. Here, love is helpless in the face
of disaster and death.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The power
of love, the romantic, the black night of love—in this movie, I was not interested
in all these structures. I was interested more in the collective, in the group,
which has to learn something. Love doesn’t already exist. They have to work for
it. There is love in the poem, there is love in the views; there is also
physical love in the night, and between the two guys when they kiss. You can
see the love growing. It’s an agriculture of love. It’s not love in a romantic
way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>In most
catastrophe movies, the characters need a state of exception, like the breaking
of the skyscrapers, to find themselves. In those moments of emergency, you can
see who’s the good guy and who’s the bad guy. But in this movie, the characters
are totally innocent, like today’s young generation. They have done nothing.
The parents, the grandparents, and the capitalistic world have destroyed
everything for them. So when catastrophe happens, they don’t learn anything
from it. They don’t have time to love; they don’t have time to create something
out of it.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.filmcomment.com/blog/interview-christian-petzold-on-afire/">Film Comment</a>, March 20, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxABBLw56DP93foH5jik6H3cllH_hQ7kHuiBXGCmVTHJH_ifJWeAYOGb-fgGQd5xi-NHDOO-XUdXVLAGJee86Yl9hN_aoyZA7Vow-o01FVoy2CvXldbOPN6M6k73iHwqkNlFLZUygxaqmoWHq-i9zsw1gja-5HCbb7WAuFP1v-8ZzjGjxNZCoCtvAjsjE/s600/kuruotlarustune.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxABBLw56DP93foH5jik6H3cllH_hQ7kHuiBXGCmVTHJH_ifJWeAYOGb-fgGQd5xi-NHDOO-XUdXVLAGJee86Yl9hN_aoyZA7Vow-o01FVoy2CvXldbOPN6M6k73iHwqkNlFLZUygxaqmoWHq-i9zsw1gja-5HCbb7WAuFP1v-8ZzjGjxNZCoCtvAjsjE/s16000/kuruotlarustune.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Kuru Otlar Üstüne</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(English title About Dry Grasses)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed
by<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nuri Bilge Ceylan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turkey, France, Germany,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sweden 2023<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In About
Dry Grasses, art teacher Samet completes his three-year tour of duty in a
village in eastern Anatolia and dreams of transferring to Istanbul. An
alienated, detached cynic, Samet lives with his sunny colleague Kenan. A student
accuses him of sexual harassment, complicating his situation. But Samet only
gets moving when Kenan threatens to find love with English teacher Nuray, who
lost a leg in an Ankara bombing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>“<i>Winter is almost a character in the film.
What influence does it have on the story?</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It
amplifies the feeling of remoteness that is already present in this isolated
place, in the middle of nowhere. The main character feels even more that life
is elsewhere. The story comes from reality, from the diary of Akin Aksu, who is
a co-writer of the film and who was a teacher for three years in another part
of Turkey. When I read this diary, at first I didn't particularly want to make
a movie about a teacher again, but several months later it was still on my
mind, so I thought we'd try to make a screenplay out of it, writing as a trio.
The writing took almost a year and I ended up with a very long script, twice as
long as the one for Winter Sleep. I filmed the entire script and it was in the
editing process that I cut it down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The female character of Nuray seems a much
better person than her counterpart Samet. Is this your general view of women
and men?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For me, no
one is good or bad. It is true that Nuray is a strong woman. But it was not an
intention of principle, it was because it suited the character who lost a leg
in a deadly explosion in Ankara and who is also an activist, this kind of
activity sometimes makes you stronger. But Nuray is also very weak in other
ways. As for Samet, there are catalytic events that open doors to the
imagination and emotions: we understand more and more dimensions of reality.
Sometimes very small things serve as triggers for our souls. This is important:
there is a potential for change and I wanted to show this through the
character. The ending can even be seen as hopeful, it depends on how you look
at it. Because a face can be interpreted very differently. But what really
matters is that Samet, in my eyes, is weak in the end. Because I think that
genuine human relationships only reveal themselves through our weaknesses, not
through our strengths.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Both teachers are accused by students of
inappropriate behaviour. Is this a reflection on the current changes in
relations between women and men?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This event
simply happened in reality and it is present in the journal that we adapted. By
the way, there is no mention of abuse in the film at all, but of inappropriate
behaviour in class. Of course, the audience can imagine that this is hiding
something. But basically, there is always a special relationship with certain
students that you like more. Because their energy gives meaning to the job and
you create these kinds of relationships even more easily in isolated places. But
sometimes this delicate relationship breaks down by coincidence, like in the
film with this letter that will have unforeseen consequences. I needed such an
event to create a break that provokes many things, including between the two
main male characters. Life is like that and for Samet it is a big surprise and
a real disappointment because he thought that this girl liked him
unconditionally. He starts to be very cruel because this is also his character
and he can't help it. He uses his authority as a teacher, but he would do the
same thing if it were a boy. He behaves in the same way with his friend, the
other teacher, Kenan. But the disappointment is all the greater because this
student gave some kind of meaning to his life. It's like with Brutus: the more
confidence you have, the stronger your disappointment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Education can drift into a toxic relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There are
always struggles between human beings, even when they are young, and I wanted
to show the consequences. In this case, there is psychological abuse. The
teacher is in a dominant position which facilitates the humiliation and raises his
level of inner violence and his cruelty in general. I think this cruelty is
potentially in all of us. And all this happens because of a misunderstanding
about a letter. An incident that I thought was a good starting point for
creating passion between the characters.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://cineuropa.org/en/interview/442832/">Cineuropa </a> , May 22, 203<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UrttZTAO6LW0eHu7sifhOAdmFfuHzBW-GRe4xx7jVJAIMRfgN9ZhNkBX5_ZqEi9Ps__NF8igsHAddabFA2ZObOJUMgyqrNZ-ovfBNWAeWceRaCcw218eu4kWe1IEXm96GKu43unvgQhqDgtbWALhNDRhvPJUnEkAd1Up1EIzAK4Gh9bgBQH-Bl7PvpM/s600/Fallen-Leaves1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UrttZTAO6LW0eHu7sifhOAdmFfuHzBW-GRe4xx7jVJAIMRfgN9ZhNkBX5_ZqEi9Ps__NF8igsHAddabFA2ZObOJUMgyqrNZ-ovfBNWAeWceRaCcw218eu4kWe1IEXm96GKu43unvgQhqDgtbWALhNDRhvPJUnEkAd1Up1EIzAK4Gh9bgBQH-Bl7PvpM/s16000/Fallen-Leaves1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span lang="EN-GB">Kuolleet lehdet</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">
(English title Fallen Leaves)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Directed by
Aki Kaurismäki. Finland, Germany 2023.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Ansa and Holappa, two wandering souls in Helsinki, both just fired, have their first date in a movie theater. Ansa writes her phone number on a bill for Holappa, the bill gets lost. Will Holappa meet Ansa again? Fortunately, Ansa turns up again at the movie theater. She asks him to have for dinner at her place…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>“It felt
like this bloody world needed some love stories now,” Fallen Leaves director
Aki Kaurismäki said of his Palme d’Or contender this afternoon. With war still
raging in Ukraine, the Finnish auteur, who does not mince his words, focused
several times on themes of love as an antidote to global conflict. The movie
features clips of the Ukraine War in radio broadcasts and Kaurismäki said he
“couldn’t have done any film during the war without commenting somehow, so I
commented with radio.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“It felt
like this bloody world needed some love stories now, but it doesn’t matter what
we do in Finland,” he added.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Documenting
the war in his movie was important so people can “watch it and understand how
cruel and stupid” the conflict was years down the line, he added. In a similar
vein, Kaurismäki pointed to his inclusion of the Tiananmen Square massacre in
1990’s The Match Factory Girl.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Fallen
Leaves star Jussi Vatanen said: “During terrible times, it is important to
remember there is beauty and love in the world, so in that sense this is an
extraordinarily important movie.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://deadline.com/2023/05/fallen-leaves-aki-kaurismaki-press-conference-cannes-film-festival-1235376732/">Deadline</a>,
May 23, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span> “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Could you both give a little taste of the
experience? What is it like to work with him day to day on the set? What is he
like as a director? Is he very hands-on or do you do your own thing based on
the direction that you have from the script? What were some of the unique things
that stood out to you most from that experience?</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Alma Pöysti
: He’s such an auteur. He writes and directs it. He’s been doing it for 40
years. So he’s there on the set, building the frame, he’s got such a special
and visual talent. He’s there moving chairs, paintings, ashtrays and getting it
right. As I said, The vision is very clear. He’s very exact, but then he also
leaves space for us to bring our hearts and life to the characters. It was a
journey into old school filmmaking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s shot
on 35 millimeter film. There’s a huge respect for that material. He cuts the
film before he shoots it. There is nothing extra done. He told us not to
rehearse; somehow knowing our lines, but not really getting too much. He said
that he prefers to do the shots in one take, which is a terrifying combination.
We came to the center and found out that it was actually true. It was quite a
shock at first, but then we started to love it when you get it right because
you realize that these moments you get when it’s the first and only time
something happens in front of the camera.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Those
moments are so precious, honest and pure that you really don’t want to mess it
up. He also said that if you mess it up, you take it two times and if it’s a
disaster, it’s free. It was a beautiful concentration on the set and this goes
for everyone. It’s the light, the camera and everyone needs to get it right for
that take. This was pretty unique. Both of us are digital kids, doing<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>multiple takes with cameras and angles. You
can go on forever but this was here. You don’t have to dare to fail, you have
to dare to succeed in a way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jussi
Vatanen: It was a fun set to hang out. He has a very lovely sense of humor,
lovable God. But he also, I think he’s like a master in casting his films. If
you look at all the faces in, in those far scenes that are quite amazing faces,
but he also uses a lot of like amateurs even in, in speaking roles. For
example, those two guys who are after the film come out from the cinema and we
talk about the friends, those, those were obvious neighbors and he was like,
it’s very convenient. I get a ride home and it’s just something amazing that
somebody has a vision that I want those guys in my field and they can do it and
they definitely nailed those lines.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span><a href="https://cinemadailyus.com/interviews/fallen-leaves-qa-with-actors-alma-poysti-and-jussi-vatanen/">Cinema Daily US</a>, December 12, 2023.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_HMu1hEA1BCLFMEtdipNbznx8MYbDHg-gh6iXRHGiLTTXit8mnN6atyaM0jSf0A-IcqtaVJvnuFwGUyB0YWIoqZv_6AQ3oEPyTF8HCT0KYa-2M54fFZqx0mXEw651JWstUUczBQ3l5jMKUp7rVQDGlWTun-FixvpgEm4B9PD6FdNfl8sF4tuW0Lq0p8/s600/sweet%20dreams.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_HMu1hEA1BCLFMEtdipNbznx8MYbDHg-gh6iXRHGiLTTXit8mnN6atyaM0jSf0A-IcqtaVJvnuFwGUyB0YWIoqZv_6AQ3oEPyTF8HCT0KYa-2M54fFZqx0mXEw651JWstUUczBQ3l5jMKUp7rVQDGlWTun-FixvpgEm4B9PD6FdNfl8sF4tuW0Lq0p8/s16000/sweet%20dreams.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sweet Dreams<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Ena Sendijarevic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Netherlands, Reunion,
Indonesia, Sweden 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this relentless satire, set in colonial
times, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the death of a Dutch sugar
manufacturer leads to an exuberant cat-and-mouse game as an Indonesian workers'
rebellion brews.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How did this initially come about?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After
making “Take Me Somewhere Nice,” which I shot in Bosnia, my country of birth, I
felt the desire to do something in the Netherlands and I wanted to look at the
relation between Western Europe with the rest of the planet and this drew me to
the topic of colonialism. Dutch colonial history is something that I didn’t
know as much about as I wanted to and I wanted to learn more about it, so that
was the starting point.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’ve heard this might’ve started out as
Agathe’s story and broadened into this ensemble film. How did it evolve?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s true
that it really started with Agathe, and with an image of a very lush jungle
where you would see a Western European woman there being completely out of
place, sweating in a white Victorian dress. This was Agathe for me and I first
started to write about this woman and as I was writing about how she would be
sitting in her mansion, being completely isolated and not being able to have a
certain kind of position of power through the legislation in that time, all the
other characters were, one by one, born into the story. Her husband and then
Siti, the maid, and then Siti’s child and the ensemble of characters grew until
they were six.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It shares a similar aspect ratio and vibrant
color palette with “Take Me Somewhere Nice,” though it’s a period piece. Did
you feel any urge you had to adjust your style to the historical setting?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There will
always be a core to the things I’m drawn to, so I wasn’t afraid to drift away
too much from my style, but for this film, we were definitely looking for its
own visual language. With this screenplay, I really started with just a blank
page to really look at what kind of visual influences could we use and what was
very important, for example, were these naive primitivist paintings from around
1900. There was this French painter Henri Rousseau, who would paint these very
tropical landscapes, even if he never left France, and he would paint them in
this very colorful, almost childlike way. There would be a certain exoticizing
viewpoint, which made it a bit edgy, so you also feel like, “Okay, is this what
I’m looking at? How should I interpret it?” And I thought that would be a
certain layer to the film that will make it more interesting, so we used him as
an influence a lot, especially when it comes to all the colors, not only the
flowers in the nature that we were shooting, but also in the house and all the
walls. That was very important to create this very stylized universe of its
own, [which] is what’s the same as “Take Me Somewhere Nice,” even if I use very
different ingredients in that film. Some ingredients are similar – certain lens
choices and things like that, but still, the idea to make a universe of its
own.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Once you get the script in the hands of the actors,
were there certain dynamics you could get excited about as you started to
rehearse?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Yes,
definitely. When I write, I also don’t really have actors in my head and that’s
because the characters change a lot during the writing process. The Agathe that
I started with is a very different Agathe than I ended up with in the writing,
and when the cast was complete, because it’s an ensemble, it was really like
mixing and matching all the time. And it was quite late in the process that we
could really lock the whole cast and I was still writing within the casting
process, trying to find bits and pieces and the actors that got the roles in
the end had a big influence on how the characters turned out. That’s the luxury
of being a writer and director – really, until the end, I could keep writing
and if there’s inspiration that comes in, because we’ve been in a location or
whatever, I can easily find ways to add it in the story and then the story
always keeps on growing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://moveablefest.com/ena-sendijarevic-sweet-dreams-interview/">The Moveable Fest</a>, December 5, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZm4fPApOAxBzN_a9h6BIEmtyj6bzQQXNQAdqoph-2CE0T01zL4MAW-QyGBlAfYRFMVby5SzdSLX2N_Re4GfRXz91pwRTuHSH2kVC6Lkl_2YLgouSEOE2T7VSO9eQe2NtkXN0-xg71iVy32T_migLLlw36bIZebI-F-r9etXYtJpkiBLo1pqmYLLJ_Os/s600/banshees.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZm4fPApOAxBzN_a9h6BIEmtyj6bzQQXNQAdqoph-2CE0T01zL4MAW-QyGBlAfYRFMVby5SzdSLX2N_Re4GfRXz91pwRTuHSH2kVC6Lkl_2YLgouSEOE2T7VSO9eQe2NtkXN0-xg71iVy32T_migLLlw36bIZebI-F-r9etXYtJpkiBLo1pqmYLLJ_Os/s16000/banshees.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-GB">The Banshees of Inisherin</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Martin McDonagh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>United Kingdom, United
States of America, Ireland, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Pádraic
(Farrell) and Colm (Gleeson), are two friends living on the fictional Irish
island of Inisherin. It is 1923 and a civil war is raging on the mainland, but
that is nothing more than the backdrop to the war that will ensue between
Pádraic and Colm when Colm cancels the friendship overnight. Pádraic does not
understand and refuses to accept Colm's decision. Even when the latter
threatens to cut off his own fingers if Pádraic continues to harass him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“ How important is the fact that these are two
men going through this friend breakup? This film is set in the 1920s and coming
out in 2022, and it struck me how little masculinity seems to have changed. Are
men okay? I came away thinking men are not okay.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’d go
along with that. [Laughs] Yeah, I think that’s probably true, sadly. But maybe
if there’s more films like this, it will help. But I doubt it! Yeah, not
speaking, not addressing one’s feelings, bearing grudges, all that stuff seems
like it’s never going to go away. I try not to, but it’s still there in me too.
I don’t know, I hope we are getting better as a species.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What fundamentally were you trying to unlock or
understand about the friendship between these two characters?</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was
about painting a truthful picture of a breakup, really. A sad breakup, a
platonic breakup, which can be as heavy and sad and destructive as a divorce,
as a sexual or loving relationship coming to an end. Just to paint that sadness
accurately was what I wanted to get over in the film.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was fascinating to hear you talk about
balancing the perspectives of Colin Farrell’s character, Pádraic, and Brendan
Gleeson’s character, Colm, and how you shifted it from 60–40 in favor of
Pádraic to 49–51. Could you talk about how you approached that? How important
is it to make both characters in a breakup story relatable?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">: I think
rehearsals and talking to Brendan was a big help in just figuring out where
[Colm’s] motives were. And his motives aren’t necessarily mean-spirited or evil
or anything like that. He’s in the right, I guess. But when you’re trying to
write a script or direct a film, I think you have to kind of be in everyone’s
head and see that they’re all—everyone the world over probably thinks they’re
in the right, but not all of us are. So it’s just to be truthful to that, to
try and see the story for each of the characters’ perspectives. But Brendan’s
especially. We talked about things like his opening gambit is very harsh and
cruel, but it’s probably not how he wants to be. He knows that that is the way
he has to be to get it through to Colin. You know, it’s about ripping the
Band-Aid off in one, in the first scenes. Some of the problems arise from just
trying to be nice after that fact, which opens up the gates for Colin’s character
to think there’s hope. And there is no hope.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And there is no hope! The most heartbreaking
moment for me is when Pádraic says “Oh, God,” realizing Colm is the one who
hasn’t been worth spending time on.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Oh, good,
good. I love that moment. And it is the time when [Pádraic] questions who this
guy was. You know, was he ever a decent man?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span lang="EN-GB">It’s always exciting to hear how speaking with
actors changes a story. Was there anything that surprised you in either the
scripting or the directing? It sounds like the rehearsals are where you had to
keep honing this very precise relationship.</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">: Yeah.
Also, often, I write a lot of pauses into a movie script. And I don’t think
you’re supposed to! I think I missed that lesson in film school. [Laughs] But
it’s often in the reactions to a line where the heart of a film is. It’s an
obvious example, but when Colin Farrell hears “I just don’t like you no more,”
there’s like 20 seconds of just reacting to that. And it’s just on his face.
Now, you can’t write that. That’s the room for the actor to fill in the blanks.
But I think the rehearsal process and the talking about it means we know that
that room is there, that there will be space for that reaction.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.avclub.com/martin-mcdonagh-film-interview-banshees-of-inisherin-1849684962">AV Club </a> , October 24, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUgkO1TWWi30YH3H1VsGi1cnPYe2n9MxrzhO8miDnOHMxyPYKowmgYq6EaZnTwUXPiPwyPGN_rmdNB59Sq1QW-6YqDo600yTHGwR2oOYTwDyqz8dGTpxdKZqe8EFo4CjAh5rp5rwyFFEXW6XHGkS_6SPOfDCU5Zz_C-SGgxlzpFx7FirDomeJRcZbNag/s600/killers-of-the-flower-moon-photo-0105-652d944589544.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUgkO1TWWi30YH3H1VsGi1cnPYe2n9MxrzhO8miDnOHMxyPYKowmgYq6EaZnTwUXPiPwyPGN_rmdNB59Sq1QW-6YqDo600yTHGwR2oOYTwDyqz8dGTpxdKZqe8EFo4CjAh5rp5rwyFFEXW6XHGkS_6SPOfDCU5Zz_C-SGgxlzpFx7FirDomeJRcZbNag/s16000/killers-of-the-flower-moon-photo-0105-652d944589544.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Killers of the Flower Moon<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Martin Scorcese. United States of America, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In the
early 1920s, dozens of members of the Osage tribe were murdered after oil was
found on their land. Among the victims were many Osage women, who were often
married to white men. A monumental film adaptation of David Grann's nonfiction
book of the same name is about one such couple: Mollie and Ernest Burkhart. The
not too savvy Ernest is a nephew of rancher William Hale, who turns out to be
the mastermind behind the Osage murders.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>“The other
day, Scorsese sat down and watched his newest film, Killers of the Flower Moon,
all the way through. He has been developing the movie—which is based on David
Grann’s book about a series of mysterious deaths during the 1920s among a
Native American tribe, the Osage—since 2017. Killers is 206 minutes long, a
commitment, even for the film’s author. It isn’t always easy for Scorsese to
find time these days, to unclutter his brain, to let go of the many creeping
anxieties that now confront him daily. “There were things on my mind,” Scorsese
said. “I’m at a certain age now, as they say, and there are family issues and
stuff. And I had to look at the whole film, to check the mix. And that was
gonna be a chunk of time. How am I gonna do it? How am I gonna concentrate?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He hit
Play. “And when it started, I…I watched it.” Killers is a long, uneasy dream of
a film about love and deception and greed. It stars Leonardo DiCaprio as a
dissolute war veteran who returns to Osage County, Oklahoma, to work for his
uncle, played by Robert De Niro. Recently discovered oil has made the Osage
people some of the richest in the country—at least on paper. In time,
DiCaprio’s character marries an Osage woman, played by Lily Gladstone. And then
the Osage start dying. Killers is violent, it is sad, it is infuriating, and it
is sometimes very funny—in other words, it’s a Scorsese movie, and Scorsese
found himself absorbed. He thought maybe, somehow, whatever dulling might come
he’d staved it off, one more time. “I don’t know how it happened,” he said.
“It’s been about six years with this project, since 2017. Living with it. And
something about it…I just…I like it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Hmm, where
were we? Ah, yes, he was talking about how movies can be built or deconstructed
because of Killers, which has the elliptical, episodic structure of many of his
other films. Less narrative, more atmosphere, more information by way of
anecdote, by way of scene, by way of character. “What I had hoped to do, and I
didn’t do this intentionally, I didn’t put it in words, but I felt when I
started it that I was living in it,” Scorsese said about Killers. “I was living
there, and I was with them. And we are drifting through their world. We’re
immersed in their world. So I want the audience, by the time they're halfway
through the movie, they realize, Wait a minute, what kind of people am I with?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What kind
of people are we with? Evil men. Killers, in Scorsese’s telling, is a story
about love and power and betrayal and white supremacy. It is about a community
of white folks who come onto someone else’s land and then systematically set to
taking everything they can, often by violence. “What I sensed was, it just
wasn’t one or two people,” Scorsese said. “I sensed it was everybody. And I
said, ‘Well, if it’s everybody, then it’s us too.’ In other words, we as
Americans, we are complicit.” Scorsese pictured himself in the same situation:
“What would I do? Would I shy away? Would I pretend I didn’t see anything?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So Killers
is, in this sense, a story about America, in the same way that The Irishman,
about the Mob and the Kennedys and Jimmy Hoffa and the criminal element that
helped build our last century, is a story about America, and in the same way
that The Wolf of Wall Street, about a particular kind of relentless greed and
self-invention, is a story about America. This goes back through Scorsese’s
films all the way to Mean Streets, which he says is about what he calls the
American dream: “Get rich quick by any means necessary.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Where does
that interest in America come from? Actually, that’s a tale unto itself. “I
tell you, it goes back to my immersion in New York Catholic teaching and
Catholic schools in the mid-’50s of the 20th century.” As a sickly kid,
Scorsese had nothing else to do but go to school. “My brother did his own
things, and the other kids in the street did their things. And I made some
friends in school. But what I’m getting at, I think, is what I found was that
it made sense, what they were talking about. Not necessarily the nuns. I’m
talking about a couple of priests, particularly that one that was a mentor of
mine, Father Francis Principe.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.gq.com/story/martin-scorsese-profile">GQ</a>, September
25, 2023<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGhGjBjqhVhw6s01Ezl7CSq_JEt8_BASH6rAxmH-mpuPrFaH-qR_GUQsKIz_XJvLuPfUPL1EaTNguqSpmAYI9jiZ_mq12XvEXDo0sRKQL0r0W22fHTC5lVJSGrARKbW3ZpMV4nQsjmWxOFoZluWIXzzAqloDypbhCBSic1SK1dcnXZ9Ktl3_E91Km63vw/s600/broker.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGhGjBjqhVhw6s01Ezl7CSq_JEt8_BASH6rAxmH-mpuPrFaH-qR_GUQsKIz_XJvLuPfUPL1EaTNguqSpmAYI9jiZ_mq12XvEXDo0sRKQL0r0W22fHTC5lVJSGrARKbW3ZpMV4nQsjmWxOFoZluWIXzzAqloDypbhCBSic1SK1dcnXZ9Ktl3_E91Km63vw/s16000/broker.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Beurokeo<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(English title Broker)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Kore-eda Hirokazu. South Korea, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Bittersweet
family drama from Japanese grandmaster Kore-eda is set in South Korea. The two brokers
are <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in fact two men <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>who take <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>newborn babies out of a "baby box"
and then sell them to childless families. Their behavior is criminal, of
course, but that doesn't make them bad. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two baby thieves team up with one of the
mothers, who joins them <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on a road trip
to find customers ready to buy the child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They also <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>take a seven-year-old
orphan boy under their wing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You discovered the ‘baby box’ adoption
system used in Japan, South Korea and other countries around the world while
researching Like Father, Like Son (2013). Why did this make an interesting
starting point for a film?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When the
first baby box was set up in Japan, it was received very critically by the
public. The general view was that it would encourage young mothers to get
pregnant quite easily and they would abandon babies without deep thought. At
the time that criticism was very strong, so it became a topic that interested
me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’d
previously depicted a relationship between mothers and children in Nobody Knows
(2004), and in that film the perspective is very much that of the young boy and
the children. But it also debates their flaws [and explores] where women and
children are vulnerable figures. So that interest was already there in my head,
and the baby box idea develops that well, involving the fragile figures of
women, the baby, pregnant mothers. The presence of men has been completely
taken away from that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You’ve described Broker as being almost a
companion piece to Shoplifters (2018), with the two films focused on criminals
who form an alternative family. What is it about this different type of family
that interests you?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’m
interested in this innate human desire to form a familial unit. I experienced
that myself when I lost my parents. We all seem to have the desire to form a
unit with somebody close. I’ve experienced this in my work as well, where a
father figure of mine, a producer, passed away and then I needed to form a new
unit close to me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We all go
through that process whether there are blood ties or not. I believe the family
unit is only a vessel, a container of what we experience. Life is more about
our own humanity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB">You’ve made two films away from Japan in a row
now. Have you fallen out of love with making films in your home country? Or did
you just fancy a change?</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">No,
absolutely not. I have shot a film in Japan; it’s in the editing process at the
moment. It was a coincidence. I had been approached to work away from Japan and
I thought it would be crazy not to take the opportunity. COVID affected my
scheduling as well, because Japanese production came to a halt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Which character do you most empathise with in
Broker and why?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I couldn’t
pick one character. Every character has a perspective, an element of myself.
Gang Dong-won and Bae Doona as well. Bae Doona was most critical of the mother
and the baby box, but I believe there’s a little bit of me in her character. If
I were to live my life as one of the characters in the film, then I would
choose Hee-joon, the boy who joins the journey, who grew up in the care system.
I think he would be able to live life and deal with its hardships.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/interviews/hirokazu-koreeda-broker-im-interested-this-innate-human-desire-form-familial-unit">British Film Institute</a>, February 24, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDglv4KNgzKK_vGngNXUJGv80-M_BzaNPgdIiupJmr-fqjJv4oUSNfZRDPkus5BWd1RiLxWdj35526VY1NWRw9s51ejRGNP30rVHO4mDbIDNuq4NskPvBMv7GseRLeGwdVJPe1Cd7S8lAr9vUbXAGEdfIDWPVagkDMeRHg-45eCEuFnZHzh5W4fHWmkDo/s600/aftersun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDglv4KNgzKK_vGngNXUJGv80-M_BzaNPgdIiupJmr-fqjJv4oUSNfZRDPkus5BWd1RiLxWdj35526VY1NWRw9s51ejRGNP30rVHO4mDbIDNuq4NskPvBMv7GseRLeGwdVJPe1Cd7S8lAr9vUbXAGEdfIDWPVagkDMeRHg-45eCEuFnZHzh5W4fHWmkDo/s16000/aftersun.jpg" /></a></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Aftersun</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Charlotte Wells. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>United Kingdom, United
States of America, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Aftersun tells
about a vacation 11-year-old Sophie has
with her father Calum in Turkey sometime in the mid-1990s. Or rather, of her
memories of that vacation, as occasionally the adult Sophie pops up while
watching vacation movies from back then. But it is as if the adult Sophie is
studying those images, and with them her own memories.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Between the first draft of the script and
the completed film, what was the biggest change you made?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Charlotte
Wells: I removed a lot of characters. By focusing on the story of Sophie and
Calum, I got rid of the conflict between them. There was more friction between
them in the first draft. When I got feedback on that script, people asked me to
push the [source] of their friction further, and I realized that wasn’t what I
wanted to do. I didn’t want to make it about two people at odds with each
other. I wanted the conflict to come from within themselves and their time
apart, but I wanted them to have a positive experience for their time
together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">—The beauty of this film is how as an adult,
Sophie looks back on the home video footage and comes face to face with her
father, who’s no longer there. Plus, the father is barely in the videos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Wells: I
think you’re the first person to notice that, so thank you. That was the
intention. In the birthday scene where Sophie points the camera at her father,
I directed Paul (who plays Calum) to avoid the camera, which is why he dances
from side to side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The camera
was a record he had for himself that Sophie now has. The footage is the only
point of view of Calum that Sophie and we have. Through the camera, we have his
only direct point of view during their holiday in Turkey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You spoke in a different interview that
there aren’t any videotapes of your father left and that you only have one
photo of him. Why was a camcorder the medium of your choice despite that fact?</i>
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Wells: One
of the reasons is because it offered an interesting effect on the film in terms
of perspective. There’s one home video taken at home that I remember strongly.
My aunt tells my grandmother that the camera’s not on, but it is, and she
points it at my grandmother during dinnertime. And behind her, above the table
on the wall, is a picture of me looking straight down the lens. It was a
surreal experience, seeing my younger self looking back at my current self on
the couch. There was something about holding my own gaze, even though I wasn’t
there. It definitely informed the end of the film, where Sophie holds her gaze.
But Calum’s hands took the video. It’s like he’s an invisible person between
the two Sophies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://tokion.jp/en/2023/06/06/interview-charlotte-wells/">Tokion</a>,
June 6, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2_COX0bSLru01x4R31dF_EfgdZgH4AjEs9f-AL_MCM9aNiCy1-dUP_nA4kh-amhfqZpVBPDn_IIGifN41Qayj7OJMGayhC2AK-91NibFequ4OmQzgeL_YqsnQ1-9u6OQc2VEmu-K3oIih3sdsRYm_LyELy8sq6GRUfR5dWfbI-4EujQFiM8UatlYvEyQ/s600/440480.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2_COX0bSLru01x4R31dF_EfgdZgH4AjEs9f-AL_MCM9aNiCy1-dUP_nA4kh-amhfqZpVBPDn_IIGifN41Qayj7OJMGayhC2AK-91NibFequ4OmQzgeL_YqsnQ1-9u6OQc2VEmu-K3oIih3sdsRYm_LyELy8sq6GRUfR5dWfbI-4EujQFiM8UatlYvEyQ/s16000/440480.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Eternal Daughter<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Joanna Hogg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>United Kingdom, Ireland, United
States of America, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Julie and
her mother Rosalind (both played by Tilda Swinton) travel to an old family home
in Wales, now used as a hotel. In this remote mansion, where Rosalind spent her
childhood, old family secrets lurk that keep Julie awake at night. She hopes to
get to know her mother better, but is confronted by shadows from the past. As a
daughter, how close can you get to your mother?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">VC: Why did you want to make a film about
your own mother in the first place?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JH: I was
always drawn to working on material that I knew very intimately. And I was
always inspired by [Roberto] Rossellini, who was making films like Stromboli.
He once said, and I’m not quoting exactly, but he said something along the
lines of: “I have a need to draw directly from my own life. And whatever is
going on in my life at a particular time, then that becomes a film.” So that
idea of experiencing something in the present moment, and then turning that
into something creative, was really inspiring to me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">VC: Is autofiction a good label for your work?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JH: I mean,
it’s nice. But I don’t know if I can label what I do, because I’m always
looking ahead and looking to the future in new work. It feels dangerous to put
some stamp on that. And maybe what I do next isn’t related to my own life. I’m
always looking to actually move away from myself. [Laughs]. But I continually
come back to ideas and stories that have a strong connection, just because of
the nature of the way that I work. I go very deep into my subjects and stories,
and if I haven’t had some feeling of it directly myself, then I find it very
hard to access.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">VC: Both The Souvenir films and The Eternal
Daughter deal with grief and death, and also with this idea of haunting. Do you
think of filmmaking as a kind of exorcism? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JH: Yes, I
have thought about that, and I had the misconception that making The Eternal
Daughter would help me with the experience of losing my mother when she
eventually died. I found that, of course, it was a very different experience.
It couldn’t prepare me for what I felt after she departed. I don’t know, maybe
there was some aspect of the rehearsal that helped. But my conclusion was that,
as much as I want my work to be cathartic on some level, I’m not sure if that’s
possible.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">VC: In your films, there’s always such a strong
sense of place, whether it’s Julie’s apartment in The Souvenir, or the hotel in
The Eternal Daughter where Rosalind spent time during the war. How do you think
about the relationship between spaces and memory?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">JH: It’s
fundamental to my life and therefore to my work. With all the films, they’ve
more or less started with a place before I’ve peopled those places. In my life,
I’m just very taken by the atmosphere of houses. The sense of the past that
those places have … just rooms, doorways and corridors, I’m really inspired by.
“<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.anothermag.com/design-living/15265/the-eternal-daughter-film-review-joanna-hogg-interview-souvenir-tilda-swinton ">AnOther</a>,
November 24, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuEa0bASAPPUeFKBVg_0QwrN3KEWutMVlWq0Y7QsgzqAB2y7MP1Gj8O2tMQVYfOUE75sYpZ0mwPl_YT7c9FTAY0NHNfy2iTrXu1q-7cpPZF2hxpLUrSANn4KoxCZMo0r6CEbqbI_pobvH9mQsztXSOgTKJglHZ0DV1dWb4h5Epl2xH1xH9WN91LJYDAM/s600/snow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuEa0bASAPPUeFKBVg_0QwrN3KEWutMVlWq0Y7QsgzqAB2y7MP1Gj8O2tMQVYfOUE75sYpZ0mwPl_YT7c9FTAY0NHNfy2iTrXu1q-7cpPZF2hxpLUrSANn4KoxCZMo0r6CEbqbI_pobvH9mQsztXSOgTKJglHZ0DV1dWb4h5Epl2xH1xH9WN91LJYDAM/s16000/snow.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Kar ve Ayi<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(English title <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Snow and the Bear)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Selcen Ergun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turkey, Germany, Serbia
2022<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Fear of
starving mountain bears is the talk of the day in a remote, snow-covered
Turkish mountain village where new, urban nurse Asli comes to occupy the local
medical post.When a man disappears from the village, wild speculation and a
search ensue. An eccentric naturalist is identified as a suspect.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Cineuropa: What were your motivations for
making the film?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Selcen Ergun:
This story is a reflection of a core feeling that I have been experiencing
increasingly as a young woman, on a daily basis, for a long time. The feeling
of living under this constant pressure which is not fully visible, but which
surrounds us like heavy air; the perpetual feeling of not being safe, which
many people consistently face in various places on Earth, to different extents.
On the other hand, when I have started confronting this more and more, I have
also realised that I’m stronger than I thought I was before. In this film, I
wanted to explore all of these feelings of fear, confinement, struggle and
hope, in the microcosm of a small, isolated town where they would become more
tangible. This movie also reflects my contemplations on how we, as humans, see
ourselves as the centre of the world and the unfair way in which we treat
nature and all of its creatures.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Do you think the film reflects the situation of
women in Turkey nowadays?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Although
this story takes place in an imaginary, remote town, it is based on the
feelings and power relationships that I and many women of all ages around me
experience in their daily encounters. I think that many women from Turkey and
around the world can easily identify with the uncanny feeling that persists
throughout the film. For me, the comment by a viewer who watched the film at
its premiere at Toronto reflects the core of Snow and the Bear: “This film
meditates on a time when the winter will cease and the world will just let
women and nature be.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What were the main difficulties when shooting
the film in a remote village in the middle of winter?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
location and the weather conditions were the biggest challenges for us. We
needed the most extreme winter that we could find and as much snowfall as
possible, which would last for the entirety of our very tight 29 days of
shooting. Climate change also affected our filmmaking process: we discovered
that many locations in Turkey, which had been under the snow for months in
previous years, are now getting very little snow. In the end, we needed to go
to a high mountain village in the far north-eastern part of Turkey. During the
shoot, there were days when we could not leave the base to go to the village
where we were shooting because of snow storms and frozen roads. Some nights, we
needed to work at below -30 degrees. However, I’m grateful for all these
challenges, since they also enabled us to create the unique atmosphere of the
film.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SV" style="mso-ansi-language: SV;"><a href="https://cineuropa.org/en/interview/436180/">Cineuropa</a>,
December 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKNu6xMlsc9xKU7lToGMqVZ-IKca4S8cgcCuhRZ71NVGJDjaCb_ACMU5_vAc6yW5E_hxZ_VtwDKS-7vXee0_64hSNOXqkTqQ4G-XCxT5vvOMYIc75p-w4L_dDNsR-0hz68Iv3Twe3xJC05m0rwW-ofE4JamCVwdcYmMKAOAcCRyMuGPnqnpRgctilEI4/s600/metronom.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKNu6xMlsc9xKU7lToGMqVZ-IKca4S8cgcCuhRZ71NVGJDjaCb_ACMU5_vAc6yW5E_hxZ_VtwDKS-7vXee0_64hSNOXqkTqQ4G-XCxT5vvOMYIc75p-w4L_dDNsR-0hz68Iv3Twe3xJC05m0rwW-ofE4JamCVwdcYmMKAOAcCRyMuGPnqnpRgctilEI4/s16000/metronom.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Metronom<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Alexandru Belc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Romania, France 2022<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Bucharest,
1972. High school student Ana is just before her final exams when she learns
that her boyfriend and his family have been given permission to emigrate to
Germany. Shortly thereafter, at a party with her friends, she listens to a
broadcast of Metronom, a program of the banned station Radio Free Europe. The
Securitate, Ceauşescu's security service, raids the apartment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Ceaușescu's reign is still fresh in the minds
of some. Did this film emerge from a personal connection with the material?</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"Actually,
this film was going to be a documentary about the life of Cornel Chiriac, the
host of the radio program Metronom. In that documentary, he would symbolize
freedom, since at that time he was seen as an enemy of the state by my parents'
generation. During that research, I discovered all the other interesting, human
stories that deserved a fiction film rather than a documentary. I saw it as a
provocation to then write fictional characters rather than a documentary
structure."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A provocation?</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"Indeed.
All my previous films were documentaries. Now the challenge was to change tack.
I was used to shooting hundreds of hours of material and then puzzling together
my film in the editing room. Now I was staring at the blank page on my computer
screen to write a script."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How did the youthful romance end up in that
script?</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"It
became an obsession of mine to make a coming-of-age. I had previously made a
documentary about two teenage girls and had read many coming-of-age books
before that. While reading the documents of the Romanian secret police, the
Securitate, an awful lot of files about teenagers came along. Then I thought:
let me combine these two obsessions - a coming-of-age against the background of
the 1970s."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Did your parents also have<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a Securitate<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>file?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"I
asked them to ask for it, but they didn't want it.They wanted to be left
alone.By the way, it must not have been a fascinating file, because as teachers
and factory workers, they were sort of model citizens."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But isn't that precisely the point of your film
- that even model citizens can suddenly find themselves blacklisted?</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"Absolutely.
That's why the film is divided into two parts. The first part is idealistic in
nature - the young people enjoy their freedom and innocence. In the second
part, they face the threat of the state and the violence of the police. That
danger was not yet allowed to be felt in the first part. I did a lot of
research on that secret police and, among other things, came across information
documents on how the Securitate should strategically deal with young people. It
was a kind of psychological instruction pamphlet, cleverly written and well
supported by academic research. You have to realize: these men were not the
clichés you see in some movies, but intelligent people who studied law and
psychology. They were masters of manipulation and had snared all kinds of students
to secretly report to them what was going on in the universities."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://filmkrant.nl/interview/alexandru-belc-metronom/">Filmkrant</a>,
May 3, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrQWt99TM6Lc1JbM8DUeVje8s0lKIevtFwqPi_ygFXoGSMTQAkq0aog7pDJMUc-G8vBvdNHyvd1Fo2g3i8zxd5ZoSlW0wZs5NOHmDrE1P9HLPGob6XjOGWtJ1zjP7GTaog5aNCr7JojHul0oJvCaJRTbRmiiup49GTdlvuhXo2RoS2TXVVIqJC4Qw1CXM/s600/lover%20life.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrQWt99TM6Lc1JbM8DUeVje8s0lKIevtFwqPi_ygFXoGSMTQAkq0aog7pDJMUc-G8vBvdNHyvd1Fo2g3i8zxd5ZoSlW0wZs5NOHmDrE1P9HLPGob6XjOGWtJ1zjP7GTaog5aNCr7JojHul0oJvCaJRTbRmiiup49GTdlvuhXo2RoS2TXVVIqJC4Qw1CXM/s16000/lover%20life.jpg" /></a></div><br /><o:p><br /><br /></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Love Life</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Kôji Fukada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Japan, France 2022<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Taeko and
her husband, Jiro, are living a peaceful existence with son, Keita. A tragic
accident brings the boy's father, Park, back into her life. Taeko throws
herself into helping this deaf and homeless man to cope with pain and guilt.
The film is inspired by ‘Love Life’, a song by singer and composer Akiko Yano. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Have you spoken with Akiko Yano about the
inspiration provided by her song?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She said
that once her song is released, it belongs to the listeners and they’re free to
interpret it however they like. I sent her the script and she had no objections
to it, although she did say that she’d never imagined a story like this coming
from that song. I remember feeling that our worldviews overlap in a way. The
song ‘Love Life’ starts with this beautiful phrase: “I can love you even though
we’re far apart.” In the film, it’s being used as a song about love, but it
also talks about being apart and being lonely. That people are lonely is a
worldview I’m comfortable with, and she also said she sings about love as a way
of overcoming loneliness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How did two main characters communicating in
Korean sign language most affect your writing and directing?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It wasn’t
always going to be sign language. I had the idea that the child would die and his
father would come back. And this love triangle would begin between the mother,
the husband and the ex-husband. But I wanted to get more tension into that
relationship, by having a shared language between Taeko and her ex-husband that
her current husband doesn’t understand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I decided
to use sign language because when I was working on the screenplay I had an
opportunity to meet a lot of deaf people through the Tokyo International Deaf
Film Festival. I was invited to give a workshop, and all the participants were
deaf. I realised that rather than asking whether I should have a deaf character
in my new film, I should be asking myself why I had never had a deaf character
in any of my previous films. So I decided that Park was going to be deaf,
played by a deaf actor, and that I would use sign language.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I found it compelling that the deaf character
isn’t portrayed as an infallible saint in Love Life, as can sometimes be the
case in stories about hearing-impaired people.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>I’m glad
you’ve picked up on that because you’re right. If you have a deaf character in
a film, the chances are they’ve been pure, angelic and doing their best,
struggling on despite their disability. Whereas here, I’ve tried to show a deaf
character as being no different from any other character. They have their own
troubles. They lie.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When I have
hearing roles in films, no one ever asks, “Why is this character hearing?” But
as soon as there’s a deaf character, it’s, “Why is there a deaf character? Did
they need to be deaf? Is it reflective of some issues in society?” I really
hope that, in the future, we won’t need a reason; that in 10, 20 years’ time,
that question “Why have you got a deaf character?” will just be meaningless.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Concerning the Japanese film industry, could
you speak about the aims of the non-profit organisation you’ve established with
Hirokazu Koreeda and other filmmakers?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Things are
very tough for cinema in Japan. Independent cinemas suffered a lot through
Covid, and even before that, there’s very little money for culture in Japan.
With independent films – films where there’s a high degree of authorship like
with my own and Koreeda’s – it can be really hard to raise money, as opposed to
countries like France and Korea where they do have that kind of support and
subsidies and grants for moviemaking. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What we
would like to see<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is an organisation to
support film in Japan, maybe like the BFI in the UK, CNC in France, or KOFIC in
Korea. We are trying to encourage [Japanese] cinemas to put just a few percent
of the ticket price towards support for moviemaking. We’ve got a long way to
go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/interviews/koji-fukada-love-life">British Film Institute</a>, September 11, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw85_8opocURpmvtuCy_WLFtUZiL2-O2vPL293UvbZgF7VFjEoIExgldytjRKB5PEmZjgKYS_tDWYCkfH2mxQ2_Z37M6cOS_fkrKiytTashFzkx2PgRRIZpcMDWA4EGYFYkPw68Axu-5h7M_vDXKoF4nA1V9hyphenhyphen44FMZOAid5p-h_XT1aRDNe-Dvy3B1hY/s600/past%20lives.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw85_8opocURpmvtuCy_WLFtUZiL2-O2vPL293UvbZgF7VFjEoIExgldytjRKB5PEmZjgKYS_tDWYCkfH2mxQ2_Z37M6cOS_fkrKiytTashFzkx2PgRRIZpcMDWA4EGYFYkPw68Axu-5h7M_vDXKoF4nA1V9hyphenhyphen44FMZOAid5p-h_XT1aRDNe-Dvy3B1hY/s16000/past%20lives.jpg" /></a></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /><o:p><br /><br /></o:p></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Past Lives</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Celine Song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>United States of
America, South Korea 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nora and
Hae Sung, two deeply connected childhood friends, are torn apart when Nora's
family emigrates to Canada from South Korea. Decades later, Nora is reunited
with her childhood sweetheart during an all-important week.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“RM<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: I found your capturing of the passage of
time to be absolutely incredible. You come from the stage. So could you talk
maybe a little bit about the difference of how to capture the passage of time
in a film as opposed to capturing it on the stage and how maybe there are some
similarities you were able to carry over into Past Lives?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">CS: Yeah.
Completely. I mean, part of the project is for me to capture what time feels
like to us. It’s always contradictory because 12 years can pass like this, and
two minutes can feel like an eternity. That’s what life feels like to us and
how time passes through our lives. I wanted it to feel like that in the movie
as well. But the thing is, to me, in theater and film, it is a completely
different approach to time and space because in theater it is figurative. In
film, it is literal. In theater, all you have to do to set a story on Mars,
this is usually the example I give, which is, if you want to set a story that’s
happening on Mars, all you have to do is have an actor sit on stage and say,
“So this is Mars.” The whole audience will come with you. They will cross time
and space, and they’ll come. Maybe you can help them a little bit. You can put
on a little red light. That’s all you need to do. You just have to say, “Well,
today on Mars, I’m going through this today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When it
comes to setting a story on Mars in film, you have to build Mars or go to Mars,
because time and space are quite literal in film. I think for this movie, I
knew that the story needed to be told in a film, in a cinematic way, because
time and space needed to feel quite literal, because, of course, the story is
about the way that … My joke is always that the villain of the story is 24
years and the Pacific Ocean. I don’t have any other villains. Those are the
villains, right? (laughs)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">RM: (laughs) Yeah, that’s true.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">CS: Then
the thing is, you’re always going to, because of that, you needed to see Seoul
and New York, and you needed to see the 12-year-old and then almost the
40-year-old. You need to see them literally, and you need to see them coexist.
I think the thing about my experience in theater, being so connected to it, is
all of it, because to me, I have so much more faith in the patience that the
audience has for silences. I know the audience is unbelievably patient as long
as they know clearly what the silence is about.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If they don’t
know what the silence is about, they cannot even take a two-second silence. But
the audience can be in an endless silence if they know what the silence is
about. So, in a funny way, the two minutes where they’re waiting for the Uber
and the silence of that only makes sense because you can only sit through that,
you can have stakes in that silence, because of the time you spent talking
about everything in the bar. In a way, it’s contradictory, but the silences
only work because of the language. By the time that we’re in the silence, we
know what they’re not saying.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">RM: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We can fill in the blanks.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">CS: We can
fill in the blanks. We’re so busy filling in the blanks emotionally and so
deeply collectively that we can sit in that silence forever. That really was
connected to how I wanted to … So I decided when the Uber was going to come.
Nobody on set knew, including myself, when the Uber was going to come. All it
was, was I’m going to give a cue. That’s all it was. The actors only knew two
things. They’re the only ones who knew this. They knew that the Uber was not
going to come until they turned and faced each other. The second thing was that
they needed to turn to each other as slowly as they could possibly imagine.
That’s it. Those were the only two instructions they had. They didn’t know when
Uber was going to come. I was the one who was cuing it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When I was
watching the monitor trying to decide on when it was going to come, I couldn’t
go by a number. I couldn’t go by anything except for the internal clock I had.
It’s a subjective thing. I wish it was a little bit more objective, but I
didn’t know how long it’s been myself. I didn’t know until I got to the moment
that the car should come then. But the thing that I’m trying to find in that
subjectivity, in that subjective search, is that I’m trying to find the moment
for the car to come that feels like both too fucking long and too fucking
short, because it somehow has to be that contradictory like we’re saying, the
two minutes that feel like an eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>You have to
feel like, “Oh, my God. When will this fucking Uber come? Uber, please come.
Please come. Please come.” But then, also, when the Uber comes, there has to be
a part of you that’s like, “No, no, no. Give us 10 more seconds. Give us 10
more. No, no. Don’t come yet. It’s not time.” It has to be both of those
things. The only way for me to know that is to trust my own internal rhythm, my
own subjectivity, or what feels like that. “</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://awardswatch.com/interview-celine-song-on-making-a-personal-story-universal-capturing-time-within-silence-and-creating-her-own-cinematic-language-with-past-lives/ ">Awardswatch</a>,
November 3, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WH6HPW6ynpGqLdh6wxD09nmhKjvEs1QKgoaTYxQaq11-y92M6qJlHAnQ3myLXfHhY8X-Ac84tbICkpYMA7X2qDkU-0A68o0lVOGuyOjt400kS2f4QMdUP74KPgOaIigw5eGYo7m2-xdgzZY1F3rT1p7j9Y16xHhcZO2qMrAJu4XwiBbVn-IlNM4Xb7g/s600/les%20cinq.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WH6HPW6ynpGqLdh6wxD09nmhKjvEs1QKgoaTYxQaq11-y92M6qJlHAnQ3myLXfHhY8X-Ac84tbICkpYMA7X2qDkU-0A68o0lVOGuyOjt400kS2f4QMdUP74KPgOaIigw5eGYo7m2-xdgzZY1F3rT1p7j9Y16xHhcZO2qMrAJu4XwiBbVn-IlNM4Xb7g/s16000/les%20cinq.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Les Cinque Diables<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR">Directed by Léa
Mysius. </span><span lang="EN-GB">France, 2022</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Eight-year-old
Vicky lives with her parents in a
village near the French Alps and possesses a particularly good sense of smell.
When Vicky's aunt invades her life after her release from prison for arson, it
brings secrets within the family to light.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“What was the idea that led to this movie? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The very
first thing that I had in mind was an image of fire at night and a young woman
screaming in front of the fire. It was that image. Then I had the idea of a
little solitary girl with this gift of having this extraordinary sense of smell
which somehow connects to memory.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The first
image connected to this passionate love I imagined this little girl would have
with her mother. I first thought the story would be about the daughter trying
to re-create the figure of the mother through the memory her smell would
provoke in her. Then I realized, rather than having a mother who’s dead, it was
more interesting to have a part of this woman, this living mother, which would
be dead, and the daughter, through this gift of bringing memories to life,
would re-create or give life again to this part of the mother. Instead of
having her own memories, she would enter her mother’s memories, which gave a
fantasy twist to the story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The Five Devils is very focused on the female
characters — Vicky, her mother and Julia. The father, Jimmy (Moustapha Mbengue)
is very much secondary and peripheral.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">During the
development of the script, that was something I heard a couple of times, that
Jimmy, the husband, wasn’t developed enough as a character. I found it quite
funny because you never hear that about any female character. Maybe I have to
work on making my male characters more three-dimensional. (Laughs.) No, of
course this was exactly my intension, to have this man be the opposite of the
usual male character, to have him step back and withdraw, not just from the
main plot of the film but also from the love story. That’s part of his
character. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Where did you find the young girl, Sally Dramé,
to play Vicky? She’s incredible</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She was
signed to a child agency, and I don’t normally use those because often it’s the
parents of the kids pushing them to be an actor or singer, of whatever. But
here, her parents just wanted her to have the experience, more as a hobby. For
the casting, we asked maybe 40, 50, 60 girls to make up potions [Vicky creates
mixtures of scents to use her power to travel into past memories] and talk to
us about them. I immediately spotted Sally because of her incredible face. With
those big eyes she has something ageless about her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A central theme of the film is the relationship
between the daughter and her mother. But the movie also seems to me to be about
the daughter asking herself if her mother would have been happier, would have
been able to live the life she wanted to live, have the relationship with
Julia, had she, the daughter, never been born. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That’s
interesting because I had never put it This way for myself. For me the question
was more an existential one, one that we all ask ourselves: why was I born?
Vicky asks herself why am I Vicky Solar and not someone else? As a child, this
was something I was obsessed with. If my parents hadn’t met, I never would have
been born. Or if I was conceived a second earlier, I wouldn’t be me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I wanted to
put that question at the heart of the film. Then I read a text by Pascal
Quignard, a French writer, novelist, and he talks about “the invisible scene,”
which he says is a child’s conception of the world before they were conceived,
which Quignard says is a scene of chaos, of massacre. That’s how I came up with
the scene of the fire, that image of the world before Vicky is conceived. And
for Vicky, the question to her mother is not: ‘would you have been happier if I
was never born?’ but rather ‘did you love me before I was born?’ Because she has
this fear, when she sees her mother and Julia together, that her mother could
love someone else and that she might be taken away from her. So Vicky’s journey
is towards more maturity, to actually become more independent to be able to let
her mother love another person.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/lea-mysius-interview-the-five-devils-1235252863/ ">The Hollywood Reporter</a>, November 2, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFs5oKiJF-lruhxCm4_SjmP3xuHup7nb1MUQs5oJkQnoO9OYfUssRLnxvZulcHLJ294QduGiLKPCrPox8C5_jcsYIZY37_5qd62fHzgeV7GwSYSjpNYP6vy_sf2LgnjyXUi05zjmTXKTGeRalywxB7OkD_CKBL1kG-_Q_mtkgzW_80MzQYVYPNK0WVB0/s600/infinity.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFs5oKiJF-lruhxCm4_SjmP3xuHup7nb1MUQs5oJkQnoO9OYfUssRLnxvZulcHLJ294QduGiLKPCrPox8C5_jcsYIZY37_5qd62fHzgeV7GwSYSjpNYP6vy_sf2LgnjyXUi05zjmTXKTGeRalywxB7OkD_CKBL1kG-_Q_mtkgzW_80MzQYVYPNK0WVB0/s16000/infinity.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Infinity Pool</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Directed by
Brandon Cronenberg. Canada, Croatia, Hungary 2023.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">While
staying at an isolated island resort, struggling writer James Foster and his
wife Em are enjoying a perfect vacation of pristine beaches, exceptional staff,
and soaking up the sun. But guided by the seductive and mysterious Gabi <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and her husband they venture outside the
resort grounds and find themselves in a culture filled with violence, hedonism,
and untold horror. A tragic accident leaves them facing a zero tolerance policy
for crime: either you’ll be executed, or, if you’re rich enough to afford it,
you can watch yourself die instead.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How did the movie come together? What
inspired you to start writing the movie?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It started
as a short story, actually. That was just essentially the first execution
scene, so I guess I was just interested in identity and punishment, and a scene
where someone is watching an exact likeness of themselves be executed and who
believes that he’s guilty. It eventually expanded out to include the resort
elements and the setting. So I was turning it into a feature script.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB">How did the satire revolving around the
ultra-rich come into the movie?</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was
thinking through the implications of the execution scene, and I guess the
natural extension of that is to look at how people behave when they are not
confined by conventional consequences: when they are socially permitted to do
anything, what that does to them. That developed through the resort settings
with the characters as I was trying to look at a sort of broader arc for that
initial idea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">James Foster isn’t quite part of the rich
people crowd, having married into money. What separates him besides that from
the rest of the characters?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There is
that sort of insecurity, that kind of desperation to be not just one of them,
but to be seen on many levels as someone who wants to be rather than someone he
is. It’s not just the money, although there is that, but also he’s someone who
wants to see himself as a writer, and he is maybe aging out of it. You know, he
is maybe reaching the point in his life where it’s becoming clear that he is
not going to be that person, or isn’t that person, and that leaves him
vulnerable to these people who are stroking his ego so I think that
desperation. That slight outsider status is what ropes him into that group, but
also makes it harder for him to fully embrace them without really…I don’t want
to spoil too much.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What made James Foster think that the resort
would be the ideal spot to find inspiration?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I guess a
kind of pathetic decision. It’s about the fact that he’s going to this country,
it’s obviously a very interesting country. It’s a fictional country, of course.
You can imagine it’s seemingly inspiring, but then to go there and go to a
resort and only be exploring the tacky Disneyland version of that country, of
that culture, and that history, was maybe a pathetic element of the character
and a bit of a joke about how resorts deal with culture in the host state.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.complex.com/pop-culture/a/louis-pavlakos/brandon-cronenberg-infinity-pool-interview">Complex</a>,
January 27, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicYBpLbTWPnqT_DO9943TdD7xnVQLUBhfpFV6c1JU5I5pyz6H2jlWn0aVGEd0TkPjfIy4IhUcxyBUGkaV6R81NlZidS0egee3toSuqGz45GS8lahyzR68W0IYOD5v9YKsWE31g3-a8EaGj70QG12F0RO1QTWRQCrin5QhRvD-oEGeVMiZbPBu0w9GTXmE/s600/1388660_superposition_726724.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicYBpLbTWPnqT_DO9943TdD7xnVQLUBhfpFV6c1JU5I5pyz6H2jlWn0aVGEd0TkPjfIy4IhUcxyBUGkaV6R81NlZidS0egee3toSuqGz45GS8lahyzR68W0IYOD5v9YKsWE31g3-a8EaGj70QG12F0RO1QTWRQCrin5QhRvD-oEGeVMiZbPBu0w9GTXmE/s16000/1388660_superposition_726724.jpg" /></a></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Superposition<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed
by<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Karoline Lyngbye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Denmark, 2023<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
creative couple Stine and Teit and their young son Nemo leave their urban life
in Copenhagen behind in favour of an isolated forest in Sweden, where they hope
to find themselves as individuals. But their plan falls apart when it turns out
that a couple also lives across the lake. In a remote house, along with their
young son. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal">“<i>Projektor: The film spends time setting up a
satire of academics relating to nature, specifically how ego is often involved.
What was the impetus for the story?</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Karoline
Lyngbye: The modern ego in relationships was definitely one of the first
thoughts, along with “moving off-grid,” which is also entwined with the ego,
right? Everyone in my age group, myself included, is struggling with modern-day
life, and there are so many people who have anxiety or different types of
diseases that are difficult to diagnose. It’s just obvious that we’re just
going off the cliff with being so overloaded. But we also have this extreme
focus on ourselves. I was just interested in seeing if it was possible, in any
way, to take a step aside and [learn] what happens after that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The film is about taking yourself outside of
yourself, looking at yourself from the outside. Were there similarities in the
writing backgrounds and experiences of your script collaborator Mikkel Bak
Sørensen? Or did the screenplay benefit from differences in your perspectives?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On a really
basic level, it was quite nice to have a male and a female perspective on it.
He was very on point with the male character. But also, he’s more into satire
and genre, where I’m more [into] in-depth, psychological kind of things– and
also genre. The starting point for the idea was mine, but I came to him at a
fairly early point in time, and we developed the doppelgänger as a joint
effort. They go to find themselves, so what is the strongest metaphor? What
would be the worst thing for these people to encounter?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Did you have any doppelgänger or
science-fiction films – eerie and uncanny ones – that acted as a reference
point?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We didn’t
really have that many references because, well, I think there are not that
many. [Sørensen] is very much into the films of [Ruben] Östlund, the Swedish
director who won Cannes with Triangle of Sadness. Östlund is very much more
satire, but there are similarities, it’s like extended reality, in a way. In
terms of references, it was more like, don’t do Us [Jordan Peele’s doppelgänger
thriller]. And making sure the metaphor was not something we’ve seen before,
and I actually hadn’t seen that before. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Usually
doppelgänger stories, you meet either a great version of yourself, or you need
a horrible version. It’s a mirror, of course, always. But we were very
interested in the fact that they were actually the same. I mean, the
circumstances are a little bit different, but also the same. What can happen if
you’re just in tiny different circumstances?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In terms of your direction, the doppelgängers
are written very similarly. When you’re directing these actors, how did you
articulate to the actors the differences between these copies? Or did you trust
them to come up with their versions and play off themselves?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was
definitely a combination. We talked about it as being just different
circumstances, being a bit further in. One couple thinks they have lost a
child, another couple hasn’t, so that’s pushed them in a direction in their
relationship as well. We called the two male characters Teit 1 and Teit 2.
Fairly quickly, Teit 1, the original, is ridiculed, so he has a different
drive. And the other one is in the second couple – they have already
experienced the worst, and have decided to split up. They have that combination
of being less desperate, but also more bitter. But I feel like I was actually
surprised when I first saw Stine 2 come to life. Marie [Bach Hansen] did an
amazing job – you feel instantly that she’s different. She’s another character.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That was a
big concern, and [now] one of the things that I’m really excited about, because
it was clear in the editing process fairly quickly that you accepted the
doppelgängers and you completely understood. It’s not just glasses off and on.
Everyone saw and understood the difference between them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://agoodmovietowatch.com/projektor/karoline-lyngbye-interview/">A Good Movie To Watch</a> ,September 1, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRV42vffJ1myyi92wm1YThfdcrjlO9WEUcEigt8eY9-99FrRgFguX3I94TrE-8glvbw4BM7D2iHZoTz_bvbDI8aCkoGhxFDzOOgDV1AZx1D_kxXyc74KYFvOfbcpgH-3GK0qK5u4JD7SF8Aaw7kCT53P4G_3V0dVYxo7j5m8iZiB02Xt-w7DyXFBrPIE/s600/Irgendwann-werden-wir-uns-alles-erzaehlen-Szene-4-scaled.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRV42vffJ1myyi92wm1YThfdcrjlO9WEUcEigt8eY9-99FrRgFguX3I94TrE-8glvbw4BM7D2iHZoTz_bvbDI8aCkoGhxFDzOOgDV1AZx1D_kxXyc74KYFvOfbcpgH-3GK0qK5u4JD7SF8Aaw7kCT53P4G_3V0dVYxo7j5m8iZiB02Xt-w7DyXFBrPIE/s16000/Irgendwann-werden-wir-uns-alles-erzaehlen-Szene-4-scaled.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;">Irgendwann werden wir uns alles erzählen<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Emily Atef.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Germany 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It is a hot
summer in 1990 in a village in Thuringia, former East Germany. Maria is almost
19 and lives with her boyfriend Johannes on the farm with his parents. In order
not to have to worry about her future, she loses herself in reading books. After
‘Die Wende’, the atmosphere of a new era is in the air but she cannot deal with
it. The same goes for her neighbor. The attractive but 20-year-older Henner
seeks rapprochement and one touch is enough to unleash an overwhelming passion.
It's the beginning of a secret, all-dominating relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cineuropa: What interested you enough about
Daniela Krien’s material to make you want to turn it into a film?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Emily Atef:
When I read the novel, I directly saw a movie in front of me. The book is
written so cinematically, so sensually: the hot summer, the insects, the
bodies, the sweat, Maria’s feeling of longing, the emancipation of this young
girl. That interested and inspired me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The book is written in the first person. When
did you decide that the film would not be told from a first-person perspective?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For me,
it's still a first-person perspective: it's her perspective on that summer and
on that relationship, but without words. And that was exactly the challenge –
to recount everything without her speaking, without a voice-over. Cinema is
images; cinema has to be as sensual as possible. This relationship between
Maria and Henner exists without many words anyway. They hardly speak, yet we
understand their desire for each other. We understand that it's an amour fou
that, like all amours fous, can only end tragically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How did you work with the actress to give her
this air of mystery?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I saw a lot
of girls, 60 in all. I was looking for someone who would have a down-to-earth
quality. The character has a kind of old soul, even though she's very young.
Marlene Burow has a certain strength that gives the role a kind of
determination. You should believe that she wants it that way and not that she
is being manipulated. She is also very minimalistic in her acting, which was
important for this role. Beyond that, we prepared carefully. She read a lot,
she kept a diary, we talked a great deal, and we discussed her backstory. The
novel is, of course, fantastic for an actress because it contains a lot of the
character's thoughts. Because she doesn't talk much, she seems particularly mysterious.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Did you have an idea of what Maria had to look
like, and how close did the actress come to that image?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Of course,
I had an image in my head subconsciously. But I was basically looking for a
girl who would be very natural and who would also have a certain strength in
her body. In the end, it was her aura that convinced me more than her looks. It
was important what happened between her and the male lead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The novel is set in a specific historical era,
shortly after the reunification of Germany. What connection do you have to
this, and how did you approach the visual aspects of the time?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was born
in West Berlin, but then I emigrated as a child. I remember the moment the wall
came down very clearly. It wasn't until later, in 2001, when I came to Berlin
to study at film school, that I had friends who were from the East, and it
wasn't until then that I realised exactly what was happening. I had Daniela
Krien, the author of the novel, by my side as an advisor, in order to portray
that time authentically. It was important to us that the East should not only
be portrayed as grey and sad. I wanted the characters to be shown in a
multi-layered and lively way, as the people there are and were.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Where did you shoot?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We shot in
Thuringia. I only discovered it through working on the film. I really liked the
local natural surroundings. We also met some fantastic people who helped us and
gave us a warm welcome.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You have already made other films in which
nature plays an important role.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nature
inspires me a lot; it is sensual. For me, it's like a chorus in the Greek
tragedies, watching what's happening and seeming to say, “Watch out!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The aesthetic of the film is rather bright, and
there are hardly any scenes in the dark. Could you tell us more about your
ideas for the way the film had to look?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For me, the
light-dark contrast was very important. I saw Henner's house as a cave; it’s
cramped and is often dark in there. It's like a forbidden place, but the light
always finds a way to get in.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><a href="https://cineuropa.org/en/interview/439123/">Cineuropa</a>, February
23, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHurdx8HPq_P0MOC8P2Dby9o0g4PJRMD3WgqTTZkagbeGE1daoe3wCKXnNmhRr78OndizTb9bYlm6GgAj39ns7bt3Oy6WbSEsb-_tXhH9bmk08CsExx4S9ur-HEB9LtqI4qpRxg40T5hWINASYUuxGLcuf9wbEzjR4yqrfxWzGkRwRIuphvUf6l_Yf9w/s600/blue-caftan.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHurdx8HPq_P0MOC8P2Dby9o0g4PJRMD3WgqTTZkagbeGE1daoe3wCKXnNmhRr78OndizTb9bYlm6GgAj39ns7bt3Oy6WbSEsb-_tXhH9bmk08CsExx4S9ur-HEB9LtqI4qpRxg40T5hWINASYUuxGLcuf9wbEzjR4yqrfxWzGkRwRIuphvUf6l_Yf9w/s16000/blue-caftan.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">Le Bleu Du Caftan<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Maryam Touzani.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>France, Morocco, Belgium,
Denmark 2022.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Master
tailor Halim has been happily married for years to Mina, who is terminally ill,
but with the arrival of Youssef, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a new
apprentice who wants to learn the trade, things change. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>United in their love, they help each other
face their fears.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span face="Verdana, "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="background: ivory; color: black; line-height: 115%;">The inspiration for the caftan itself - which we
see Halim intricately working on during the course of the film, came from
Touzani’s own family.</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She says:
“I actually grew up seeing my mother wearing this beautiful black caftan that
is identical to the one in the film. And this is the caftan really, that
inspired the fact that Halim would be a captain maker. As a little girl I would
see her every time on big occasions wear this beautiful garment. It
particularly fascinated me because of the very intricate work and she always
explained how it had been made, the time it had taken, all the artists’ work
behind it. I tried it on so many times growing up, as a little child and as an
adolescent, but it was always too long, too large, too big. And then one day it
fit me and so she gave it to me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I remember the look in her eyes and the look
in my father's eyes when I wore it for the first time when I tried it on. It
was just a beautiful, beautiful emotion. I had a feeling I was wearing a part
of her, a part of her souvenirs, a part of her life and things that she had
experienced. This garment was so emotionally full. When she gave it to me, I
felt the beauty of tradition, the beauty of transmission, because it's
something that had been given to me by her. And it carried so much within it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“So,
unconsciously Halim became a caftan maker. I did not know that I was going to
make an identical caftan to my mum's. My mum’s was black, this one was blue but
the work is exactly the same. I began by looking at a lot of different
embroideries. It took me months - and every time I was getting closer to the
one I had actually grown up with. And one day I said, ‘I'm going to just take
it out’. Because I have it in my closet, it's like a treasure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“When I
took it out, I realised this is basically what I had been looking for and I was
circling back to it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The film
celebrates the work needed to make such a delicate garment, so it was ironic
when Touzami took it to a master craftsman who asked if, because she needed
multiple caftan’s whether she wanted them to be machine-made in order for it to
be quicker.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“I said
no,” she says. “I had taken my time to plan things in advance and I really
wanted every bit of it to be handmade.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Touzani
adds: “As for the blue. I mean, I didn't realise at the beginning why it was
blue. But it's true that when I write it's emotional, I never plan, it's not
something conscious. Almost from the very start this caftan was that particular
blue. I think it's just because this colour makes me feel there's this feeling
of freedom. When you look at the horizon, when you look at the sky, the ocean,
there's immensity there, it's like all these different possibilities and the
colour blue inspires that feeling very strongly. So I think that's naturally
why it became blue.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.eyeforfilm.co.uk/feature/2023-04-30-maryam-touzani-on-the-inspiration-for-the-blue-caftan-and-its-emotional-fabric-feature-story-by-amber-wilkinson">Eye For Film</a>, April 30, 2023.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><i><span lang="EN-GB">“Although not a self-consciously queer film,
The Blue Caftan looks at a gay Moroccan man through an empathetic and hopeful
lens.</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Homosexuality
is still illegal in Morocco, between 3 months and 3 years imprisonment,
although it is not often enforced. For me, what is more problematic is not the
law, it’s the mentality. Because of the law people can think this is the wrong
thing, because the law is against it. For me what is most important is to be
able to change le regard-the perception. And once society’s perception starts
to change, then the laws have to evolve. Morocco is a very complex country.
There is modernity and conservatism living side-by-side, and there are a lot of
things that are accepted, as long as they are done behind closed doors. And
homosexuality is one of them. And that is sad, because I believe there is
nothing that should be kept in the shadows. People suffer because of this.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I just
really wanted to be with my characters, in their intimacy, and explore what’s
happening inside of them. Yes it’s important for me to have a certain social
anchorage, in order to understand the context in which these characters evolve,
but I really wanted to talk about emotions. Of course when you talk about these
characters you are also making a social statement. I want to give this
community a voice: to tell these stories that are not told.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The Blue Caftan is a textual and detailed as
the eponymous garment itself. Yet Touzani empahasizes that its theme is simple
and clear.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>“For me
it’s a story about love in its different forms, a love that can take on many
different shapes, and can have many different faces. It’s about not trying to
define love and put it in one box. These three characters learn to love each
other in different manners. “</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://glamadelaide.com.au/interview-maryam-touzani-director-of-the-blue-caftan/">Glam Adelaide</a>, May 11, 2023<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdmnMC5MNTKU1YGSmnFhXXQ_wOculijSt9eN6Yy5phqvGec1NCZ9VhLrqww9E-GVw1_Ed75LlhSz3KCLCpoWB7GjzMRmSYLzGxQ8CjIhV6YUy3WItpTajuffioUh1kCl_ctn7-puUMuCYJ2bfKUw3ytncZDYlSk2zib-o8lIprOlvB0X7TvrLozMG98c/s600/temporadas.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="362" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdmnMC5MNTKU1YGSmnFhXXQ_wOculijSt9eN6Yy5phqvGec1NCZ9VhLrqww9E-GVw1_Ed75LlhSz3KCLCpoWB7GjzMRmSYLzGxQ8CjIhV6YUy3WItpTajuffioUh1kCl_ctn7-puUMuCYJ2bfKUw3ytncZDYlSk2zib-o8lIprOlvB0X7TvrLozMG98c/s16000/temporadas.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Temporada de Huracanes<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Elisa Miller. Mexico, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">From the
opening scene in which a snake crawls out of the corpse of someone called
"the Witch," the film plays with that which usually remains hidden.
The atmospheric film adaptation of Fernanda Melchor's novel of the same name
builds on the rumours, gossip and superstition that prevail in small
communities. By telling the story through different perspectives, the
underbelly of a Mexican town is slowly revealed. A mesmerizing, chilling
indictment of machismo in Mexican society.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“The story
is based on the successful novel of the same name by Veracruz-born Fernanda
Melchor, which explores violence. Miller (Mexico City, 1982) says in an
interview "that she was bitten, completely pierced by the book," and
adds happily:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>"Well,
making the film was a colossal adventure. It was to really get into the
hurricane, to delve into dark and painful places, and I came out very shaken.
The image I had with my team was that to reach the light you have to go
completely through the darkness, like a bit of a Buddhist text, that the lotus
is born from the mud. The ultimate jewel is in the ultimate darkness. Yes, it
was going through the darkness but there has also been a lot of healing and a
process of much growth and reflection on our reality in our country and how we
can impact it.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Miller
studied English Literature at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México and
at the Centro de Capacitación Cinematográfica, where she graduated with the
short film "Roma", which won the García Bross Award at FICM. She is
also the director of "Vete más lejos Alicia", "About
Sarah", "El regreso del muerto" and "El placer es mío
(which premiered at FICM 2015)". Also "Ver llover" won first
prize at FICM in 2006. She recalls how "Temporada de huracanes" was
born:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"Around
2018, my daughter's dad gave me the book with the threat that I was going to
love it. I read it very quickly. Instead of saying that it fascinated me, it
rather pierced me, broke me down, shattered my heart. And above all I entered
into an absolute admiration for Fernanda Melchor and her pen and her play with
form and language. She is like our Juan Rulfo of my generation and she is a
girl my age from Veracruz. I became obsessed with the novel. I read it, read it
and read it and read it, and I said: 'What a great movie'... I remember I told
my dad about it on my way to Yautepec, which is a plain, a road full of sugar
cane, and I told my dad, and he said: 'It's a great project!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"At
the end of 2018 Rodrigo calls me and expressed to me that they had bought the
rights to the novel and wanted me to adapt and direct it. That's when a very
nice process began. I first called him a film extraction of the book and they
came out with the script, which I worked on for almost a year along with
Daniela Gómez, a screenwriter who came in at that time for that process. All of
2019 we were writing and then came the pandemic in 2020. We wrote about two
versions. It was complicated because it was ripping the literature out of the
volume and translating it into film, which was a painful process, because I
love the book very much. It was very complicated. I wanted everything to be in
the script.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"In
2019 we wrote the script and we were very close to having a folder ready for
the Eficine but the obvious came which is the pandemic and two years passed and
then we took up the idea of financing with Eficine and Foprocine, and also some
funds fell. It was like everything started to get complicated. I had made a
commissioned film for Netflix and well Woo Films has a very good relationship
with that company, and at one point there was a lot of discussion about whether
it should be a series or a film because the novel was very long and very broad,
but I was always sure it was a film, and they bought the script as we had it to
make the feature film, and we proceeded with the financing and we filmed a year
and a half ago in Tabasco because it was very dangerous in Veracruz. We made
this film with a lot of love and a lot of pain."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How they
were children, kids or teenagers or young people without any kind of illusion
and that was what turned them into these beings who let themselves be swallowed
by their basest instincts, they have nothing to hold on to in these desolate
contexts that our entire country is plagued by these situations, without
dreams, without education, without possibilities. We worked with pain as a
driving force, how these children in early childhood do not want to have them,
the one who raises them is the grandmother who does not want them well either.
For us, these were very important starting points for the construction of this
story".<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.proceso.com.mx/cultura/2023/10/23/elisa-miller-adapta-temporada-de-huracanes-de-fernanda-melchor-llega-netflix-el-de-noviembre-317221.html">Proceso</a>,
October 23, 2023.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Kx_Bat15xylGD-fjtntmYquUG-ntYpUsyM3upPzWNE3XHTNrGBPBw3VqgU1TAewzhJk61QtzsgNlsnewmnmvnBL5G1b5B80ApkfkT6f5NzxkTRxyngKDVIhzO4d-4OMuCT9vOL_XwJA36hqwP0p5ceDLPDOPdldrs7VKeTT1uBVuXhgwq7j3yysaVJQ/s600/saintomer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Kx_Bat15xylGD-fjtntmYquUG-ntYpUsyM3upPzWNE3XHTNrGBPBw3VqgU1TAewzhJk61QtzsgNlsnewmnmvnBL5G1b5B80ApkfkT6f5NzxkTRxyngKDVIhzO4d-4OMuCT9vOL_XwJA36hqwP0p5ceDLPDOPdldrs7VKeTT1uBVuXhgwq7j3yysaVJQ/s16000/saintomer.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Saint Omer<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Alice Diop. France, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The films
follows<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rama, a university professor and
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a novelist who attends the trial of
Laurence Coly, who murdered her 15-month-old baby, at the Saint-Omer Criminal
Court, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to use her story to write a
modern-day adaptation of the ancient myth of Medea, but things don't go as
expected. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"Sandoval: You put Laurence front and center,
and she talks about herself, her perspective and her life, but it’s not in a
way to simplify her, to explain herself. She remains complex, layered, an
ambivalent woman. How do you strike a balance between having, essentially, a
protagonist who, until now, has been invisible and unheard, without necessarily
having her justify what she did or explain herself in order to become
“sympathetic”?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Diop:
Again, the reason I wanted to do this film is that I went to the real trial on
which the film is based. The real woman is called Fabienne Kabou, and this
person encountered my desire as a filmmaker to show and have people hear the
[depth] of Black women in a way that is rarely shown in cinema, particularly in
French cinema, and even in literature. There was an opportunity here to change
received ideas, to renew people’s imagination and give them access to the deep
complexity of Black women. That’s something that, as a filmmaker, really
interested me.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Of course,
I was faced and confronted with the mystery of this woman who herself is unable
to say or understand what she did. The idea was not to claim to enlighten
people about her mystery, but on the contrary, to work from that mystery. The
mystery of this woman in the film functions in a way that sends the viewer to
his or her dark places, into the complexity and unspeakable nature of his or
her own connection to maternity. In a sense, that mystery of this woman is the
real subject of the film, and the whole essence of my work was to approach it
without diluting it. That is really what’s at the core of the film.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sandoval: Having been at the trial of Fabienne
Kabou, was there a particular moment that you decided to make a film based on
her and, as a documentary filmmaker, to make that film a fiction film?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Diop: First
of all, for me, there’s no difference between fiction and documentary. This is
something that I say often, but I think that I will continue to say it. The
most important thing for me in a film is the mise-en-scène, the direction and
finding the best or the most accurate form for each film. In the case of Saint
Omer, fiction imposed itself. I went to the trial with no idea of making a film
of it. I had to go through the entire experience of the trial to understand
that I wanted to make a film. And, because that was after the fact, it became
impossible to do a documentary. Also, if I had made a documentary, I think I
would’ve been stuck in the literal nature of the trial. I would’ve been reduced
to the criminal aspect. Incidentally, there is a very literal aspect to the
film, which is that everything you hear in the trial is drawn verbatim from the
transcripts. But fiction allows us to make this material heard in a way that
really focuses us on the essential issues at stake. So, it’s the character of
Rama who is fictional, who reveals to the viewer these essential issues, which
have to do with motherhood. I think that without Rama, I would’ve had a great
deal of difficulty delivering this disturbing material to the viewer, and I
think I might’ve gotten into something obscene and voyeuristic<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sandoval: I’m curious about the character of
Rama because I read her as essentially a surrogate for the author. How personal
or autobiographical is the fictional character of Rama in Saint Omer?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Diop: It’s
strange, because I want to say that Rama is both not at all autobiographical
and totally autobiographical. I haven’t found the right answer for this
question because often I say no, but then I say to myself, “Come on, you really
can’t say that.” There’s an essence in the character of something that I
experienced, but that’s really only interesting to me, that I then built
fictionally so that [the character] can welcome all French Black women whom I
know personally and who also have this very complex, tortured relationship to
motherhood, and specifically to their own mothers, who were molded by the
violence of exile. But then, this is also a character [who] welcomes all the
women in the world who are grappling with their own mothers and their own motherhood.
So, it’s like this nested Russian doll with three layers—myself, the French
Black women that I know and all the women in the world. </span><span lang="SV" style="mso-ansi-language: SV;">“<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="SV" style="mso-ansi-language: SV;"><o:p> </o:p></span><a href="https://filmmakermagazine.com/117777-interview-alice-diop-saint-omer/">Filmmaker Magazine</a>, December 15, 2022.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIg8HyctRTKE5F7i2QuBVl4uetUAidS8QymaPQqo_l1MSAKPEErzTQ94bkGNHgx5jcV9UpjAMCCO-G-vrApDvCA_ZZF_MOmK04v0F8cgVq7N64l438YHlCXop5TyFWCGSa1CoNByzafBonRxlvrQJAtJvE68BQHep-4mVtTv3gF_PQkt3So-DRFrClw8/s600/image_15089009.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIg8HyctRTKE5F7i2QuBVl4uetUAidS8QymaPQqo_l1MSAKPEErzTQ94bkGNHgx5jcV9UpjAMCCO-G-vrApDvCA_ZZF_MOmK04v0F8cgVq7N64l438YHlCXop5TyFWCGSa1CoNByzafBonRxlvrQJAtJvE68BQHep-4mVtTv3gF_PQkt3So-DRFrClw8/s16000/image_15089009.jpg" /></a></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="SV" style="mso-ansi-language: SV;">Le Ravissement<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Iris Kaltenbäck. France 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This debut
film <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is loosely based on a news report
about a young woman who used a friend's baby to trick a man. Lydia, a dedicated
midwife, is in the middle of a breakup. At the time, her best friend Salomé
tells her she is pregnant. One day, she comes across Milo - a one-night stand -
as she is carrying her friend's newborn child in her arms...<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Le ravissement impresses with its perilous
but fully realized balance between naturalism and romance. In particular, there
are several scenes of childbirth in the film, which are very much documentary
in nature. They're very strong visually, and at the same time very well staged,
whether with tenderness or tension. How did you integrate these images into the
rest of the film, which has a very romantic dimension?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Iris
Kaltenbäck: I wanted to detach myself from the news story and indulge the
viewer in the pleasure of storytelling, while at the same time managing to
inject as much reality as possible into the fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">With the
whole film team, with the actors and actresses, we worked to mix genres, to
bring fiction back into documentary, and as much reality as possible into
fiction.For example, I asked Hafsia Herzi to be present during the documentary
shoot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She really
connected with the mothers, giving them all the care they needed, supervised by
a midwife. On the other hand, we shot the fiction with a light, highly mobile
crew, always in natural settings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We immersed
Hafsia in the streets of Paris, because I wanted to film the city in which I
grew up as impulsively and realistically as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We followed
the midwives' shifts, and Hafsia always assisted them: there's a lot of medical
stuff, but also a lot of care and gestures that you can learn. When the mother
agreed, Hafsia performed the gestures directly with her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then there
was the rather perilous question of Nina Meurisse's childbirth, which had to be
totally redone in fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nor was it
to stand out too much from what had been done in the maternity ward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we followed the same documentary filming
process, using the same camera and the same few resources, but we had to
completely redo the set, as we couldn't shoot the scene in the hospital ward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The two main characters, played by Hafsia Herzi
and Alexis Manenti, embody loneliness, and have invisible jobs themselves. Did
you want to use them to illustrate the suffering and precariousness of these
jobs?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Iris
Kaltenbäck: It was indeed something that was present in the choice of these
professions.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Above all,
I didn't want to make any speeches: I wanted these characters to exist, but
without this ever being backed up by some kind of social cinema discourse. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My ambition
for this film was to go for a very romantic cinematic gesture, and turn
ordinary people into ordinary heroes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It's really
a film about loneliness, and I was even inspired by other films about
loneliness, and that's what links the three characters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Lydia and
Milos, because they have amazing jobs, where they are absolutely essential to
society, and at the same time these jobs place them on the bangs of society
because of their hours, their pay, their working conditions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Lydia has
to do night shifts and sleep during the day, she works a lot; it's a job that
isolates easily.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The bus
driver's job is much the same. Milos works a lot at night, he's out of sync.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">These are
also characters who are very much tied to the city, to an idea of wandering.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The film evokes Lydia's mental health, without
revealing it, of course, in the finale, which questions the character's
psychiatric and psychological diagnosis... How do you feel about Lydia's
psyche, which remains hermetic throughout the film?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I don't
have any answers at all, and the whole point of the film was to ask myself
questions about this character, who fascinated me without ever really having an
answer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But it was
very important for me to mention this, because in my experience in criminal
courts, I've attended trials. In particular, I had attended a major trial of a
woman, and I had been very struck by this battle between psychiatrists and
psychologists seeking to make a diagnosis.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In law,
there is this constant reference to "how a reasonable man would act".<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In my
memory, they were practically all men, and I remember sitting in the courtroom
and thinking to myself that this woman was no longer being heard, she was
covered up by these expert reports.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I told
myself that cinema was there to give this woman a voice, perhaps, or to put the
question back in the right place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I'm not at
all saying that psychiatrists and psychologists aren't important; I'm a great
believer in psychoanalysis and the unconscious.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But it was
very important to tell the story that this debate had taken place, that the
question was still open, and that Milos had made the effort to put himself in
his own point of view and try to tell his story from that point of view, with
all his questions, notably that of his own role and complicity in this story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="http://www.baz-art.org/archives/2023/10/09/40051865.html">Baz.art</a>,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>October 9, 2023<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAiXl2lvgHRd_WR985WyPd4ICG44qsAgkLOY8S6Z8nV5wJuCRFi7fdrrNKRoK2zByNL71FjEUzsnHE-hshZD02oAJzhDyou26Ek3-KFtWOI3tl8lqdDVLqGdUC5cWP1WsDAS9IJySpMNjynwdaERuGCGxCSns4H9XurPUEwyT_4uSfcvCU_HWZ9xKm_Q/s600/lehrerzimmer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAiXl2lvgHRd_WR985WyPd4ICG44qsAgkLOY8S6Z8nV5wJuCRFi7fdrrNKRoK2zByNL71FjEUzsnHE-hshZD02oAJzhDyou26Ek3-KFtWOI3tl8lqdDVLqGdUC5cWP1WsDAS9IJySpMNjynwdaERuGCGxCSns4H9XurPUEwyT_4uSfcvCU_HWZ9xKm_Q/s16000/lehrerzimmer.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Das<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lehrerzimmer<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed
by<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ilker Çatak. Germany , 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When there
appears to be theft at a high school, the administration takes drastic measures
to find the perpetrator. Teacher Carla Novak recently began working as a tutor
at the school and questions this approach. When she herself discovers who the
alleged perpetrator is, she sets in motion something that also has major
consequences for herself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The school is just the backdrop for a series
of social issues that are dealt with in the film. Why did the setting lend
itself so well to this?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For one
thing, Johannes and I had had this experience in our childhood, and for
another, his sister, who is a teacher herself, had also experienced a similar
series of thefts at her school. We realized relatively early on that the
location would give us the opportunity to tell the big story in miniature.
There is already a fantastic French film, DIE KLASSE by Laurent Cantet, which
does exactly that, as well as DER WERT DES MENSCHEN by Stéphane Brizé, which
deals with the subject in a different way. But I had a great desire and at the
same time a great respect for working with children. I knew that if you're
making a movie like this, where there's a lot of talking and discussion, then
you simply need something like these pupils. For me, they represent a kind of
future and also a certain innocence, although of course they are not innocent
lambs themselves. This creates a great contradiction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The action only takes place within the school
walls. This creates a feeling of confinement. At the same time, the confined
setting offers the opportunity to explore other perspectives. How did you deal
with this?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was
clear to us from the outset that we wanted to live out our creativity in the
reduction. For me, the worst thing is to have all the possibilities, to be able
to do everything and not have to do anything. I think it's much better if you
set yourself rules and limits. In this case, that meant that we wouldn't leave
school. It was also important to me that only four or five classical
instruments were used in the music. And I wanted to get by with as few shots as
possible during filming and editing. Less is more was a very big issue. We
often ended up shooting an hour or two ahead of our actual schedule because I
didn't want to repeat anything. Every now and then my camerawoman, Judith Kaufmann,
would take me aside and say: "Come on, let's do one more take, we can't
leave it like this." But I find it more exciting to move within this
self-imposed corset. At that moment, I feel freer than when I have the
opportunity to work completely unrestricted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Your films often focus on female characters.
What interests you about them?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I think
there is a certain curiosity and a fundamental interest in discovering the
opposite sex for myself, in understanding it in all its complexity. In my last
short film SADAKAT, for example, the focus is on a young woman in Istanbul,
because Turkey is a male-dominated society and this automatically places a
character at the center who has to overcome more resistance. The moment
friction arises, you're already on the right track. On the other hand, it also
gives me the chance to create characters that I myself experience in my
environment and that I would like to see in the movies. So my grandmother, my
mother, these are women I take my hat off to. It's amazing what they have
achieved in their lives and what they are still doing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Carla Nowak is also a character who is anchored
in two cultures, which she tries to cover up or suppress, at least in her
professional life. Why?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The problem
of identity is of course always an issue for me, but the reference to Polish in
Carla's case came after I read Margarete Stokowski.At one point, she writes
very well about how she came to Germany in the 1980s and grew up here, but was
still called Polish at school.I also had a key experience with a colleague who
speaks Turkish very well, but whenever I wanted to talk to her in Turkish, she
always answered in German.I wondered for a long time why that might be, and
maybe it's just an intimate space that you don't want to open up.In any case, I
had all these thoughts and ambivalences in my head that I wanted to express,
also because it makes the character more three-dimensional. “<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.indiekino.de/news/de/ich_brauche_den_austausch_die_begegnung">Indie Kino Magazin</a>, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May/June 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7Z6Al5vyhG22yeOsA8H-ssBNQz9VS5uB1ZCKC1RytXK52GCcx_quITLgE_6xrd0a32RDBoRDPryvKeosm4hUJg8dq1hS0wZn8Lk5NtTC7rGP23Q5_0rDwrhypI-ziKwoMNI24W6wQLkjvdIaBWJuVFN80E63r-qJc_xYLMp3_aq-Trhl7PSeOZdvXBU/s600/DALVA.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7Z6Al5vyhG22yeOsA8H-ssBNQz9VS5uB1ZCKC1RytXK52GCcx_quITLgE_6xrd0a32RDBoRDPryvKeosm4hUJg8dq1hS0wZn8Lk5NtTC7rGP23Q5_0rDwrhypI-ziKwoMNI24W6wQLkjvdIaBWJuVFN80E63r-qJc_xYLMp3_aq-Trhl7PSeOZdvXBU/s16000/DALVA.jpg" /></a></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Dalva<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed
by<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmanuelle Nicot. France, Belgium, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Dalva lives
alone with her father. Until the police raid their home one night, placing her
under juvenile protection. Dalva is not like other 12-year-old girls. She
behaves and dresses like a grown woman, and doesn't understand at all why she
was so rudely torn away from her father. With the help of her roommate Samia
and her companions at the shelter, Dalva will have to learn to become a child
again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You delivered an overwhelming and at points
painful-to-watch story. The close contact of the camera with Dalva’s face is a
slow-burning revelation of a new perspective to the audience. We watch a girl
that doesn’t feel abused, being forced to confront a crime committed against
her. She is violently asked to change her reality. How did you construct such a
unique character as Dalva’s? What research did you have to do while making the
film?</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I did a big
research work. I was meeting with phycologists, educators, and judges for
children’s cases. I also did lots of reading of testimonies and psychology
books. Some of the characters in the film were inspired by real children I met
when researching and visiting shelters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For me, the
central question of the film is around the idea of ‘emprise’-a very difficult
word to translate in English; being under the control of somebody,
psychologically and romantically. That was my personal question as well. I was
searching for the emotional truth of this, while getting out from the
manipulation, the control, the grip. For the script, I was aiming to keep the
audience very close to Dalva, from the beginning to the end. And to maintain an
awareness, ‘le prix de conscience.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This new perspective on a story of incest is
very original. It builds up and justifies Dalva’s behavior, without the need
for flashbacks or explicit details from the backstory. What points were
important to you when leading Dalva to emancipation?</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I didn’t
want to use flashbacks at all. What interested me was the resilience of Dalva,
and all the marks that incest left on her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I found particularly delicate the character of
the male caretaker. Dalva went from the dangerous hands of her father directly
to another male. While the figure of the mother was somehow collateral to the
story. In a reversed way, Dalva’s transformation without the female figure
evokes female empowerment. Was this a conscious choice?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Indeed, the
mother is not developed as a character. Dalva is about to meet, to know her
better, after the film line. I wanted to show that for the first time, Dalva
encounters her mother, she perceives her as a competitor, an opponent. During
the whole film, we understand that her father has led her to take the place of
her mother. In the end, she stands beside her mother, as a little girl, she and
the mother are two different people. She sees her mother as an alliance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The female
dimension is very present. The big idea of the script is that this girl thinks
of herself as a woman. We watch her return to a child. The grip is materialized
through the clothes. Which also symbolizes the influence of the male gaze. When
you are under the influence of someone, you dress as he wants you to be
dressed. And Dalva, as a woman, takes off the clothes, removes the sensuality
and sexuality, and returns to being a child or teenager.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The subject of outcast minorities, especially
when thinking of children, has been examined in many films over the last few
years. I remember the great example of the French ‘The Worst Ones’. Sadly, it
remains socially relevant and cannot be exhausted. What do you hope your film
primary brings to what we have already seen?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was
always interested to talk about social minorities. My short films were about
that as well. I started to work on the project of ‘Dalva’ years ago. Back then,
nobody talked about incest. It was before the French ‘MeToo’. Maybe that was
the upcoming subject. But I never thought in these terms. I am not at all
strategic. I just wanted to tell this story.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://thepeoplesmovies.com/2023/02/interview-emmanuelle-nicot-on-her-arresting-dalva-iffr-2023/">The People’s Movies</a>, February 3,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2023.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZywXminEodDBidHeKh5VEHLQJkKXuMzARvnoQaRwe26nQUt64mgEyin-HbYdvvHUfm5GKbVDmdTuozpKS535kPXjHdWi6mjMt2x2xFCSgi8kH6QOUHceu0zIkS72ZDPR8K9uLyaRDtWRzdwgJY-hGg1d4rxALjGZBp36njSsc6x5aL4sVxC4ZQsdoC2o/s600/QuietGirlColmBairead.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZywXminEodDBidHeKh5VEHLQJkKXuMzARvnoQaRwe26nQUt64mgEyin-HbYdvvHUfm5GKbVDmdTuozpKS535kPXjHdWi6mjMt2x2xFCSgi8kH6QOUHceu0zIkS72ZDPR8K9uLyaRDtWRzdwgJY-hGg1d4rxALjGZBp36njSsc6x5aL4sVxC4ZQsdoC2o/s16000/QuietGirlColmBairead.jpg" /></a></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /> </span> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An
Cailín Ciúin<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(English title The Quiet
Girl)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed
by<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colm Bairéad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ireland, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Set in
1981, the film follows a withdrawn nine-year-old girl raised by neglectful
parents among many other siblings, who experiences a loving home for the first
time when she spends the summer on a farm in Rinn Gaeltacht, County Waterford,
alone with a married couple who are distant relatives. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s
remarkable how faithful an adaptation this is, but were there things that you
knew you might adjust for the purposes of a film?<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s all
there. I do feel it’s quite faithful to Claire’s original, because to me it’s a
perfect little story, and I just wanted to honor that as much as possible and
it was the opposite of what the usual process of adaptation is. Usually you’re
trying to whittle it down and distill the original into a manageable form, but
with this, it was more of a question of having to expand it ever so slightly so
that it would fit the canvas of a feature film. When you read “Foster,” the
first few pages, you’re in the car with the girl on the way to the Kinsellas
and I felt it was important that the audience should experience her home
environment before she gets [there] so that you have an understanding of what
the contrasts are between where she’s come from and where she is for that
summer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But even
saying that, a lot of the stuff that’s in the opening act of the film is based
on small references that are in Claire Keegan’s original. The girl remembers
when she’s in the Kinsellas’ house in the source material, overhearing her
parents discussing [her] as her mother’s writing the letter to the Kinsellas,
so these little things are breadcrumbs that Claire had left in the novella that
I was picking up. The other big change obviously is linguistic in that “Foster”
is an English-language text, so it was a question of transposing the action of
the story to an Irish-speaking community in a way that felt authentic and
believable, particularly for an Irish audience, because in Ireland, the Irish
language is a minority language. It’s not spoken everywhere, and I like to
realistically portray the language, so the setting has to be apt for it to make
sense.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As I understand it, this is a real reflection
of the culture in Ireland where emotions are withheld. Did that add to why you
wanted it to be in the Irish dialect?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Yeah,
partly. In a way, the film — and Claire’s original — says a lot about Irish
people and our emotional and psychological makeup in a sense, so there was
something quite fitting about the notion of presenting that portrait of us as a
people, but doing it through our own native language, which even though most
people in Ireland don’t speak Irish, still is a part of us. Even the English
that we speak has all of these inflections and holdovers from the fact that we
all used to speak this entirely different language that over several hundred
years was unfortunately phased out of the country, so it always felt quite
fitting. Even in Claire Keegan’s dialogue when you read it in “Foster,” there’s
so many of those sentences and the syntax and the color of them that as an
Irish speaker, I can see how the Irish language has affected that form of
English.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But then
the Irish language has just been a central part of my life since I was born. My
dad raised us through the Irish language. We grew up in Dublin, which is an
English-speaking area, but my dad just spoke Irish to us always, and my mom
spoke English, so it was a bilingual household, kind of like Cáit’s house in
the film. And all of my work so far has been in the Irish language, so when I
read “Foster,” I saw an opportunity to make an Irish language film that I felt
could be quite universal and that could travel. Thankfully, that’s proven to be
the case so far.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When you say linguistically, it was a bit like
Cáit’s house in the film, I wonder whether the house had a physical resemblance
when I know you grew up in the same time this film takes place in during the
‘80s?</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Yeah, I was
born in 1981, so a lot of the detail in the film would still would’ve existed
when I got to an age that I would be able to absorb it, so it all does all feel
fairly familiar to me, though probably more familiar to people who’d be a
little bit older than I am. Really, it came from a place of just trying to
authentically render this environment. The whole film is built on a philosophy
of authenticity and across all departments, just trying to present things as
truthfully as possible. With production design, we did a great deal of research
and we have our mood boards and figure out a lot of what we’re trying to do,
but miraculously, the two main interiors — Cáit’s biological family home and
then the Kinsellas’ house that she goes to — even though we had to bring props
in and certain things, they’re essentially time capsules.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The first
house the farmer who lives there hadn’t updated it in decades, and it had
gotten quite run down and it was perfect for Cáit’s biological family, their
homestead. Then the Kinsella house, there was another farmer living there on
his own and what happened was the last surviving relative above him was that
his stepmother, and on her deathbed, she asked him not to modernize the house,
so we we’re so grateful to this dead stepmother for saying that. [laughs]
Cleona [Ni Chrualaoi], the producer of the film who’s also my wife, found that
location, and when we walked in, it felt like we had just walked into the
story. It was extraordinary. If you go into that house, that’s what that
kitchen, which features so prominently in the film, looks like. It has all of
the old tiling and the old Formica table and none of the windows have been
modernized, which is usually what you’re trying to shoot around and hide when
making a period film. But with this house, it felt like it was meant to be. It
was almost as important as the casting because it’s such a character.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then we
were very careful through production design in terms of situating the film in
the correct era, but also not trying to make it too nostalgic [because] my
sense was always that we’re making a film in the present tense. We just happen
to be in a different time period. It’s not that we’re looking back fondly in a
way on that particular time. We’re more focused on the characters and their
dynamics.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://moveablefest.com/colm-bairead-quiet-girl/">The Moveable Fest</a>, November 22, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><br /></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmA6f-Kyew3quhF44XxwMO8EFM7sCW2P1UrOsJhHaHflIlAf4Vz6bYyuWP6c82efV36STxgobdiSZqL_ifxqaWq9JT_lm4sMNaomN2_p4GFS-Bo8nnUQfbMTPjaZobgbLkozCXA5JPZXVcrp2bLSUBSSsARDqg-M7z0mcj7M3y2M1EDMruPdD6lpNxoM/s600/retour.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmA6f-Kyew3quhF44XxwMO8EFM7sCW2P1UrOsJhHaHflIlAf4Vz6bYyuWP6c82efV36STxgobdiSZqL_ifxqaWq9JT_lm4sMNaomN2_p4GFS-Bo8nnUQfbMTPjaZobgbLkozCXA5JPZXVcrp2bLSUBSSsARDqg-M7z0mcj7M3y2M1EDMruPdD6lpNxoM/s16000/retour.jpg" /></a></span></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Retour à Séoul<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Davy Chou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>France, Germany, Belgium, South
Korea, Romania, Cambodia, Qatar 2022</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The film, based
on the life of Laure Badufle, a friend of the director, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>tells the story of an adopted woman who by chance ends up in her native South Korea. There,
with fresh reluctance, she sets out to find her biological parents. Her journey
takes a surprising turn.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">NOTEBOOK: I can honestly say I had no idea
what awaited me as the film went on, and part of that is because of the film’s
structure. Did you always know it would unfold in the way that it did?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">DAVY CHOU:
The basis of the film was a story shared by my friend and the chronology of her
relation with Korea. The first idea I had was that the film would be a
succession of only lunches and dinners with Freddie and different members of
her biological family in Korea: her father, her aunt, the father again, and
then her mom. Maybe I was influenced by Ozu and Hong Sang-soo, thinking it
would only be these very long scenes, but at some point I felt that I needed to
develop the story into more scenes, with more characters, following the life of
this woman. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Even though
the structure didn't end up that way, the idea of unfolding the story over the
course of years with ellipses and time jumps was there, along with this idea
that we need to evolve over time. But I don't remember how I finally came up
with the three-parts thing, maybe it was after watching Moonlight. I like having
these three different moments, and if you look carefully, each is structured a
bit differently. Part one and three have a kind of mirroring where you find
similar scenes: the adoption center, a restaurant again with the father, the
Korean female friend is replaced by a French boyfriend. The middle part, the
shortest, is very different because it's not your usual second act where you
have very big story developments. It was a challenge audience-wise because it
wasn’t going to tell you much—it's just a slice of her life two years later,
where you get to see, and be, in one night and day in the life of Freddie. But
if you look carefully, there are things happening in that part, too, as well as
realizations for her character.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">NOTEBOOK: Going back to what you said earlier
about each film being structured differently. The visual language of your film
also varies from segment to segment, and is quite different from your previous
film.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">CHOU: I
don't know how many films I'm going to do. I can see that I need time to make
films because I'm producing in between, so I find it challenging and exciting
to dare and try to make a film in opposition and resistance to my previous
ones. I was very excited to try to find different approaches for Return to
Seoul, which has many more shots than the long takes of Diamond Island, which
were maybe too obviously inherited from the masters of modern Asian cinema.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I had the
idea that the evolution of the film visually would reflect the evolution of the
character and her relationship with Korea. In the first part, she's young and
everything feels exciting. She's discovered this new environment—it's very
colorful, but at the same time, it's too colorful. There's too many signs and
she's confused because she doesn't know which ones to follow—she even speaks
metaphorically about these signs in one of her early monologues.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The second
part is much more coherently curated—black, yellow, and green [palette]; neon
lights—and it identifies one specific universe, the underground Seoul
nightlife, that Freddie seems to have elected as her environment. Meanwhile,
the camerawork is a bit more fragile, shaking, organic, and it kind of matches
the vulnerable state of this character who has found a place that she can call
home, at least in that moment of her life. But everything still looks very
unstable. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Interestingly,
I usually do a precise shot list, but I wasn’t totally ready for part two,
compared to part one. I don't usually use a shallow camera, because it’s a
grammar that I find can become a bit simplistic and created in editing, but
since I was late, I just followed my instinct and thought, Let’s go there,
let’s do that, for what ended up being the tattoo salon and birthday party
scene. Then you go to part three and it’s still shots again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">NOTEBOOK: Freddie is very much an agent of
chaos. But what struck me was that what she does and says is very much
reactionary and that she uses it to get the upper hand in a situation. It's not
unprompted, maybe with the exception of the scene on the bus. How did you
modulate this disorder?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>CHOU: I
think you nailed it, it’s the dynamic of control. You could think of Freddie as
someone who couldn't control a very important event in her life—being abandoned
and sent abroad. That's the original loss of control she has been experiencing
throughout her life. I've been talking to adoptees and it's something that I
find in many of their accounts and experiences, the necessity to control the
events. And that's exactly what happens many times in the film. Freddie feels pressured,
and she's about to lose control because people start to dictate who she is,
what she should do, and give some kind of definition that she doesn't want to
accept. She causes chaos as a way to take back control of the situation.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The scene
when she stands up and invites herself to another table and places people
around [it] is very much a metaphor for being in hostile territory, which is
basically the country that’s rejected her. She's taking control by remapping
the table and people. If you think of the restaurant as a metaphor for Korea,
then I think you get the idea. These are survival instincts; it is not about
being a control freak. “<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://mubi.com/nl/notebook/posts/she-s-lost-control-davy-chou-discusses-return-to-seoul">Mubi</a>, July
7, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WAupoZBLbdiT5718X3GR_O-E6Wev0I6wafgoplkRiobn37S_45UJyYEdyDuyIU12syG8U7S6SLTSqnGnGv6apVdoE9BVVSMjw6_v4D5B6ldyAg7xHwAcdObx-ytoW6elZIWSoNObKCWNsCafesLXlRYC0rafmnobvM0dhKT43iTpX5w4807Sy6VFvOA/s600/1391378_totem_844005.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WAupoZBLbdiT5718X3GR_O-E6Wev0I6wafgoplkRiobn37S_45UJyYEdyDuyIU12syG8U7S6SLTSqnGnGv6apVdoE9BVVSMjw6_v4D5B6ldyAg7xHwAcdObx-ytoW6elZIWSoNObKCWNsCafesLXlRYC0rafmnobvM0dhKT43iTpX5w4807Sy6VFvOA/s16000/1391378_totem_844005.jpg" /></a></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Tótem<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Lila Avilés.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mexico, France, Denmark, Netherlands
2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This film
follows the seven-year-old Sol and her family, on the day day leading up to her
father Tona's birthday party. It soon becomes clear that the gathering will not
only be a celebration, but also a farewell: Tona, in fact, is seriously ill.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You followed a worker in a Mexico City hotel
in your debut The Chambermaid. This time you’ve shifted to a very different
canvas — a home populated by a multigenerational family.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In life, in
society, we tend to focus on what’s going on outside, and see the outside shell
rather than what’s inside. I wanted to explore the idea of the house and the
home as our inner world, of ourselves and our family, which is the root of it
all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I became a
mother when I was very young and, somehow, I needed to go back to my childhood,
those first years where everything is so fragile. Go back and reacquaint myself
with little Lila now that I have a teen daughter. And to revisit our losses
too. I see it also as a present to my daughter. That was the starting point.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How did you feel working on your second
feature?</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Very lucky.
In my life I’ve had many jobs. I’ve worked as an assistant director, make-up
artist, costume designer, production assistant and actress. I did not go to
film school but I learned on the go, and all the time I kept dreaming of
becoming a filmmaker one day. It’s a joy to be able to be where you feel you
belong and I feel I belong in the world of cinema. Colleagues always warn you
about the second feature. It’s become a bit of a cliché or taboo. The truth is,
if things don’t go well you can always have a third or fourth try. Filmmakers
we all admire had the chance to play, explore their options, and that’s what I
would like to keep on doing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How did you approach making Tótem?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This film
is warmer [than The Chambermaid]. It was the only way to do it. I wanted the
cast and crew to feel loved and free, and give them the tools they needed to
feel at home. With our cinematographer Diego Tenorio, we tried to find a
playful approach to the camerawork, with long takes that required a lot of
work before shooting but then flow naturally.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How did you find the child actress?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gabriela
Cartol [who played the main character in The Chambermaid] worked with me in the
casting process. We became close during the making of my first film and I knew
she would help me find the child actress we needed. I was very aware the film
would not work if we failed there. It’s like a Cassavetes film: that’s where
the salt and pepper is — it’s in the acting. We ended up finding Naima Senties,
who is the niece of the actress who plays her mother in the film. She came to
the casting having never worked in film before and she was amazing. When I
started talking with her, it just felt right. She is very chatty, so small but
so wise.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You even look a bit alike.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Her mum
jokes about that: “She’s really your daughter, isn’t she?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Do you feel there are more opportunities now
for women filmmakers working in Mexican cinema?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Yes, and
we’re ready for everything. There is a new generation of women directors in
Mexico, Spain, Argentina, Colombia. [It’s] a result of what women have fought
for in the past, and that we will have to keep fighting for thinking of future
generations. Cinema has given me everything and the work, at the end of the
day, speaks for you. Art builds bridges that go beyond the socioeconomic
gender codes, idiosyncrasies or other labels. As women filmmakers, we are
saying we are here. We have a voice. “<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.screendaily.com/features/totem-director-lila-aviles-on-the-berlin-titles-autobiographical-undertones/5179414.article"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Screen
Daily</a>, February 20, 2023.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQfpuzG7SUEKb36VQgY5J8CG0QMYBphMH0wVXsJqy2O-6LJtaabFxcGT5plBOXJfsgCN1JnvWUpgRnC-MLM_FWpii5qAnIWXX8j-UthG67MCzt_ahCiDhvFyD933Wdk2r0ZlKs7NhO1c6zO6Pq8r1iaAvRP8isL5gQJkwyP0rZ__LnK7tYeX72weJxfCc/s600/still_Perfect-Days-Wim-Wenders-JP-DE-2023-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQfpuzG7SUEKb36VQgY5J8CG0QMYBphMH0wVXsJqy2O-6LJtaabFxcGT5plBOXJfsgCN1JnvWUpgRnC-MLM_FWpii5qAnIWXX8j-UthG67MCzt_ahCiDhvFyD933Wdk2r0ZlKs7NhO1c6zO6Pq8r1iaAvRP8isL5gQJkwyP0rZ__LnK7tYeX72weJxfCc/s16000/still_Perfect-Days-Wim-Wenders-JP-DE-2023-1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Perfect Days<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Wim Wenders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Japan, Germany, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Hirayama is
a taciturn middle-aged man who cleans public toilets in Tokyo. His existence is
monotonous, he has no friends and is virtually invisible to those around him.
But he doesn’t seem to be unhappy, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>mainly because he manages to find beauty in
the smallest things (like sunlight shining through the leaves, which he takes a
picture of every day). Some unexpected encounters gradually reveal more about
his past.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">““Perfect
Days,” which world premiered in Competition at the Cannes Film Festival, is
reminiscent – in some ways – of “Groundhog Day,” but whereas in the latter film
Bill Murray’s character, Phil, is trying to escape the repetitive nature of his
existence, in Wim Wenders’ film the protagonist, Hirayama, is “embracing it,”
the German director tells Variety.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Both films
show the lead characters waking at the same time each morning, but whereas, in
“Groundhog Day,” Phil is awoken by an alarm clock, in Wenders’ film, as he
points out, Hirayama, played by Cannes best actor winner Koji Yakusho, “wakes
up on his own, or he wakes up because there’s an old lady brushing the street
outside, always on time. He doesn’t need an alarm clock. He doesn’t even own
one.” There is a sense that this is a man in harmony with nature, and at peace
with his existence, rather than wrestling with it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When he
opens his eyes, he’s happy that this new day starts. And that’s where the
similarity with ‘Groundhog Day’ abruptly stops,” Wenders says, seemingly happy
to escape the comparison. “He’s not suffering from having to go through his
routine.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Part of the
reason for the contrast between the two characters may lie in differences
between certain aspects of traditional Eastern philosophy, where the idea of
repetition doesn’t necessarily have a negative connotation, and the
restlessness of contemporary Western culture, with the aspiration to move onto
something new, rather than appreciate what already exists.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In Japanese
crafts, pottery for example, there is an emphasis on the nobility of the
process, with the repetitive nature of making a pot again and again leading to
perfection. Hirayama is, admittedly, no craftsman, he cleans and maintains
restrooms in Tokyo – which are works of art in themselves – but he nevertheless
approaches the task with the same eye for detail, pride and dedication with
which a master potter approaches ceramics.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Wenders
says: “You know, the potter’s secret is doing it for the first time each time,
and for our man, Hirayama, it’s the same. Each day, he’s doing it for the first
time. And he’s not thinking how he did it yesterday, and not thinking how he
will do it tomorrow. He’s always doing it in the moment. And that’s the
potter’s secret as well. And that’s what gives a whole different dignity to any
repetition.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Repetition as such, if you live it as
repetition, you become the victim of it. If you manage to live it in the
moment, as if you’ve never done it before, it becomes a whole different thing.
You’re totally right. Crafts in Japan have a whole different tradition and are
still lived in a different way than crafts in our Western culture, in which
crafts are disappearing rapidly, dramatically. It’s really a shame. I’ve seen
some of the last of their craft, trying to find somebody who was going to take
it over, but they couldn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Just as a
craftsman pays attention to every detail, whether people notice or not, it
matters to Hirayama that everything is perfect. Wenders says: “Hirayama has
made some of his tools himself, for instance a little mirror on a long stick to
look underneath the bowl. Nobody else would see if there’s a drying drop there,
but he does. Well, it’s not a ‘craft’, he’s not a craftsman, he’s a serviceman,
but crafts and service are equally unbearable if it’s always the same. And it
becomes a beautiful, dignified job if you reinvent every day what you do and
who you do this for. But most of all, you have to like the act of being of
service.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Hirayama
notices things that other people don’t, like the homeless guy who’s always
standing underneath the same tree. Hirayama has got the kind of vision that
maybe some of us have lost, of seeing everybody, or at least not ignoring them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Wenders
says: “The skill is very simple: for him, all people are equal. For him, there
are no nobodies. In his own opinion, he is not a nobody either. So, he
recognizes the ‘nobodies’ around him very acutely. That homeless character,
too, is an important human-being in his eyes. Because Hirayama notices him, we
see him, and we see how amazing he is. We wonder what life he had. In Los
Angeles, I made a film, ‘Land of Plenty,’ and we shot among the homeless
community. And the amount of heartbreaking stories you’d hear… people who were
professors, teachers, with academic degrees who were now out on the street.
There are no nobodies!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="ttps://variety.com/2023/film/global/wim-wenders-perfect-days-cannes-koji-yakusho-1235627795/">Variety</a>,
May 29, 2023.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3FyeA_EaE4IdBN_MfkWFwGSHfGEOkEJ00ZlWOESnbUxHwUFWPKc3a07Ml0k7gpOlX3n79F02IXYWwopsPLaxdQy3OBodVUg6ADom-GonPY6fd1auXmjoqcnp3KvzaxImQtuCfxmxux_pJxHuY5TlXxynm_rEgMeX98D7sUeo0Zz9Sg5wJ09y37bo-bA/s600/The_Fabelmans-1000x563.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3FyeA_EaE4IdBN_MfkWFwGSHfGEOkEJ00ZlWOESnbUxHwUFWPKc3a07Ml0k7gpOlX3n79F02IXYWwopsPLaxdQy3OBodVUg6ADom-GonPY6fd1auXmjoqcnp3KvzaxImQtuCfxmxux_pJxHuY5TlXxynm_rEgMeX98D7sUeo0Zz9Sg5wJ09y37bo-bA/s16000/The_Fabelmans-1000x563.jpg" /></a></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The Fabelmans</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Steven Spielberg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>United States of
America, India, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Although
the main character in this two-and-a-half-hour growing-up drama, set in the
1950s and 1960s, is named Sammy Fabelman, the story is <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>largely autobiographical. Fabelman discovers
his passion for film at a young age, much to the delight of his creative
mother, Mitzi. Sammy's father, on the other hand, sees it more as a hobby. At
16, he discovers a heartbreaking truth about his mother that changes the family
dynamic forever.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“As an
account of Spielberg’s roots, The Fabelmans, which he co-wrote with his
frequent collaborator Tony Kushner, is more immediate than any written memoir
could be. It also took him years to be ready to make it. The movie details not
just his beginnings as a precocious child filmmaker, but also a secret he
shared with his mother Leah until her death at 97, in 2017. At age 16, he
learned that his mother was in love with a close family friend, whom Spielberg
regarded as an uncle. Spielberg’s mother and his father Arnold would eventually
divorce; Leah married that family friend, Bernie Adler, in 1967. But only
Spielberg and Leah knew the specifics of the timeline—an instance of a young
man having to reckon with his parents as full human beings before reaching
adulthood himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
Fabelmans, a story about adult lives, is in some ways a companion piece to
E.T., which also has a broken family at its center. The children who connected
with E.T. at the time of its release 40 years ago are now the grownups to whom
The Fabelmans is speaking. They may have grown out of certain anxieties and
fears, but there will always be new ones to grow into, an uncertain frontier as
mysterious as science fiction. Kushner, who has worked with Spielberg on four
movies across 20 years, pinpoints what’s distinctive about The Fabelmans.
“There’s no grand historical context for it. It’s this very naked film,”
he<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>says. “There are no aliens, no
dinosaurs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Spielberg
will tell you that there’s a little bit of himself in every movie he’s made.
But he has long resisted telling his own story. “The more I was in denial that
I would ever really need to tell my own story, the more I realized, Why am I
having this conversation with myself again and again?” He says the decision
hinged not so much on waiting for his parents to pass; it was more about
overcoming that resistance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He’d spoken
to his mother about it when she was still alive, unsure whether she’d want him
to tell their family story in such a public way. “There’s a little bit of this
story in all your films. But you’ve always felt safer using metaphor,” his
mother said. “And I think you’re probably scared of the lived experience.” She
told him if he thought he could make something he would be proud of, he should
go ahead and make it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In one of
the most gorgeous and haunting scenes in The Fabelmans, set during a family
camping trip with Uncle Bennie in tow, Williams as Mitzi whirls and twirls in a
gauzy Mexican dress, exactly the sort of thing a cool bohemian mom of her era
would wear. As she dances, she’s backlit by the headlights of the family’s
parked station wagon. Her daughters, like little generals, urge her to
stop—everyone can see through her dress! But the men, including Sammy—the
movie’s version of awkward boy-genius Steven, played by Gabriel LaBelle—watch,
enchanted. Sammy captures it all with his 8-mm camera.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Later,
while editing the footage, Sammy will see Mitzi and Bennie walking, almost hand
in hand, thinking they can’t be seen—but Mitzi’s face is clearly that of a
woman in love. In the real-life story this, Spielberg says, is how he learned
of her secret. His parents had often fought bitterly. He speaks of “knowing”
what was going on between Bernie and his mother without really acknowledging it
to himself. It was the footage he’d shot that opened the window onto his
mother’s secret life. “What’s weird for me is that I didn’t believe the truth
that my eyes were telling me. I only believed what the film was telling me. And
so that became my truth for many things. If the film told me the truth, I would
believe it to be a fact.” As he talks, Spielberg seems to be unspooling a truth
he’s only recently articulated for himself. But with The Fabelmans, he’s also
fully sympathetic to his mother’s unhappiness. The idea of the unhappy
midcentury mom is a cliché only if you didn’t have one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Dads of the
’50s had different burdens, worries about providing for their families, and
fears about being seen as weak. What comes through, both in Dano’s performance
and in the way Spielberg shapes it, is Spielberg’s current understanding of how
much his father loved him—and how much his father loved Leah, even after the
marriage crumbled. Spielberg describes him as someone who didn’t shed tears
easily. “I was a crier. My dad wasn’t,” he says. “Once when I was a kid, he and
my mom had a huge fight. It was dark outside, in the middle of the night. I
remember hearing a sound I had never heard before. Of a man sobbing. But it was
a high, almost a falsetto. I’d never heard that kind of a sound before. It
sounded like there was a ghost in the house.” Spielberg says he got out of bed
and tiptoed to the kitchen, where he saw his mother holding his father, who was
bent over on her lap. “His back was heaving, he was sobbing so hard.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>These are
the things we don’t want to know about our parents when we’re kids, things we
don’t want to see; adult pain is almost incomprehensible to children. The
suffering of our parents is hard enough to grasp when we’re adults—are we ever
really old enough to do so?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://time.com/6234045/steven-spielberg-interview-the-fabelmans/">Time</a>,
November 16, 2022. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTRlNQPwiwS4e4ywyN1Lc9gno61UInzqfA7jYaqTxRNZFKbPfxBa31y9g6HMdjC5_bbLhKEQgztKMPWq_bxOtf4fZcFnY1XrwK5ZtrFJ1-pqnfPw5LvjInCfP7rmkJnpaX_XCqWIfMa3HEApO_A8en-7BXjdtNrbvL8vBbKSOKVewNON6Md5KkcuxFiM/s600/May-December-02.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTRlNQPwiwS4e4ywyN1Lc9gno61UInzqfA7jYaqTxRNZFKbPfxBa31y9g6HMdjC5_bbLhKEQgztKMPWq_bxOtf4fZcFnY1XrwK5ZtrFJ1-pqnfPw5LvjInCfP7rmkJnpaX_XCqWIfMa3HEApO_A8en-7BXjdtNrbvL8vBbKSOKVewNON6Md5KkcuxFiM/s16000/May-December-02.jpg" /></a></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">May December</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Directed by
Todd Haynes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>United States of America,
2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Loosely
inspired by the Mary Kay Letourneau scandal, the film tells about an actress who
travels to Savannah, Georgia, to meet and study the life of the controversial
woman she is set to play in a film—the woman being infamous for her 20-year-long
relationship with her, which began when he was 13 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Family relationships come under pressure
during the stay of the actress. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">DEADLINE: May December seems so much like a
classic Todd Haynes movie, it was a surprise to discover that you didn’t
actually write it yourself…</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">TODD
HAYNES: No, it came fully intact out of the mind of Samy Burch. There was a bit
of a buzz about this script. I didn’t know any of this at the time, but at the
height of COVID, when everything was shut down, a lot of stuff was being
circulated, speculatively, for when we would all get back to work. I was
reading a lot of stuff that was coming to me — interesting books, or ideas from
actors, or this or that. I had my own plans about what I wanted to do once we got
back to work, but no one knew when that was going to be. I had time to read,
and so I read May December. It was a completely singular endeavor that really
made an impression on me. I just thought it was really smart, so I was very
happy to take it to the next step.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">DEADLINE: How did it come to you?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">HAYNES: It
came through Natalie’s producing company, with me in mind as director. There
was an interest in us finding something, someday, to do together, but we didn’t
know what that would be, or when. Based on this script, we started to talk, and
we talked about the script and what we liked about it. I found her to be so
remarkable, and so bold and so risky in what interested her and what drove her.
Like, pushing people — pushing viewers — into places that were not comfortable.
She was very mischievous about the idea that people might project onto her
aspects of Elizabeth Berry as an actress, and that this would be some insight
into Natalie Portman herself. She relished playing around with that. It was
exciting. Our notes about where we thought the script could move to the next
stage were very synchronous, so the whole experience was encouraging.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">DEADLINE: How did you move it along?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">HAYNES:
Basically, we talked to Samy, which was all, of course, done remotely. Natalie
was still in Australia, working at the time [on Thor: Love and Thunder]. I
loved talking to Samy. So bright, so excited about having it be in the hands of
Natalie Portman and myself. She did another draft really quickly, based on our
thoughts. Very quickly after that, I started to sort of court Julianne on the
sly for the other role. Then, when I felt like I could count on that, I shared
that idea with Natalie. She was completely exhilarated by it. So we had a
really compelling package, but we didn’t know when we were going to do it. We
were all busy, and nobody was working, so it just went on to the top of the
shelf, basically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">DEADLINE: It really fits into the lineage of
Superstar, Velvet Goldmine and I’m Not There, in that it’s an intelligent, meta
take on a specific form of storytelling, which in this case could be a
sensationalist ‘Movie of the Week’. Was that what attracted you?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">HAYNES: No,
I didn’t have ambitions in that regard. I didn’t necessarily plug it into
established themes, or other films of mine, and find immediate correlations. It
came to me as its own strange concoction. The thing that excited me is that I
felt like it presented problems and challenges that I hadn’t undertaken before.
It was very much specific to its own time and place. In this way,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it was distinct from other films of mine
about female characters. It was really about these women whose desires and
convictions and wills were driving the train in their lives. This is certainly
true for Gracie and her backstory, but as more is revealed about Elizabeth
through the course of the film, you find similarities in her that are troubling
and fascinating, and you feel that she sort of met her match in the character
of Gracie. In all those ways, it really felt different, and how much female
desire was really calling the shots. That’s not necessarily the case in films
of mine about women.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">DEADLINE: Well, that’s certainly shown
visually: There are rhymes, echoes and visual duplications. Was any of that
spontaneous?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">HAYNES: No,
no, no. Nothing about this was spontaneous. We shot the movie in 23 days, so
there was no room for spontaneity of any kind whatsoever, except in what the
actors themselves did once I said, “Action”. Where the camera was and how many
setups there would be per day and what the visual language of the movie was,
and how we were going to tell the story… It was all planned. To a degree that
is still incomparable to anything I’ve done before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For
example, the music itself was absolutely and totally decided upon before we ever
started to shoot the film. I say “decided upon” meaning I wanted to use the
Michel Legrand score [from Joseph Losey’s 1971 film The Go-Between, starring
Julie Christie and Alan Bates] as an example of how strongly music might play
in the film, in the finished film, in the film as an experience. The Go-Between
was a recent discovery, or a rediscovery for me, and the music just floored me.
I just was astonished by it. Fell madly in love with it. I said, “OK, guys,
this is something like what we’re going to need for this movie. It’ll change
the way every scene is read. The way every moment of the film is perceived will
be in the contradistinction of this music.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I saw that
actually occur from the very first shot we shot on our schedule, which was
Natalie driving up in the car, then parking outside the community center to go
into the flower arrangement course and meet Gracie. That was the first shot we
did. I pointed to Ben, my assistant, I said, “Hit it.” He punched his phone and
started that first music cue. The whole crew was like, “What the f*ck? What is
this? What are we doing?” And then three takes later, everyone’s humming it and
singing melodies. We had an entire live chorus of vocalizing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Everything
was very, very planned and very considered. Then I just had to say, “OK, let’s
do it,” because we had no other way to shoot it. We didn’t cover the movie in
any other way. If the long single takes of a whole scene shot in one shot
wasn’t going to work, I had no plan Bs. So we just went for it.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://deadline.com/2023/11/may-december-todd-haynes-interview-1235630954/">Deadline</a>,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>November 25, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-42014089645611414062024-01-02T11:00:00.001+00:002024-01-02T11:00:00.140+00:00Playlist : Adrianne Lenker, Pigbaby, Selett, Fat White Family, Loving, Hannah Miette & Rozi Plain, Finches, The Klittens, Andreas Dorau, The Umbrellas, Ghost Woman, Empress Of, Bolis Pupul, Innellea x Flowdan, Manni Dee ft Grove, Nova Materia ft Simo Cell, Natalie Beridze, Frankie, The Noise Who Runs, @, Bill Ryder-Jones, Kacy Hill, Grandaddy, Itasca, Fog Lake, Hypemom, Snõõper, Courting, DJ Sabrina The Teenage DJ, Howl Broken Surfer, Jackie West<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3S7SLHGH_WvNIWqwUjAoVLTuKI9eJpKeX_7jJQZt8JaeuyWWYa965uUhGwuW1sgXF8NNvOxsPe-62yej4KxzDDwTi3c-D1GBungs27JjO0hUxLZHYhAdKf-vzB7VHJWDLrRyiiCVEWdf4KgQ6Rlck_NcGH2f4Kqm_q3gDFvmQVGRr88mFILBofLmQgA/s600/dj%20sabrina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3S7SLHGH_WvNIWqwUjAoVLTuKI9eJpKeX_7jJQZt8JaeuyWWYa965uUhGwuW1sgXF8NNvOxsPe-62yej4KxzDDwTi3c-D1GBungs27JjO0hUxLZHYhAdKf-vzB7VHJWDLrRyiiCVEWdf4KgQ6Rlck_NcGH2f4Kqm_q3gDFvmQVGRr88mFILBofLmQgA/s16000/dj%20sabrina.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I 've enjoyed these music videos in December 2023. Hope you like them too. Play Loud.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Adrianne Lenker –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iJmIL83vas">Ruined</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEGj7vqjbD7CDvqRirPW5bQPtF-dKuI2Q46nQBkRYnydu9xaIdWwdiZs6xOsfK0Nt8VzwqI2w8_VaitJOFlbqZgkC7GUMy-7FPbvs60MM2gPbmSv75gIR268dO7hNUlro-WLIT-oxe2xfYX7qyDkm-zp2b-zdOWh4QozWXuiftBjXoUp443TU063Y9fI/s600/adrianne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEGj7vqjbD7CDvqRirPW5bQPtF-dKuI2Q46nQBkRYnydu9xaIdWwdiZs6xOsfK0Nt8VzwqI2w8_VaitJOFlbqZgkC7GUMy-7FPbvs60MM2gPbmSv75gIR268dO7hNUlro-WLIT-oxe2xfYX7qyDkm-zp2b-zdOWh4QozWXuiftBjXoUp443TU063Y9fI/s16000/adrianne.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pigbaby –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OxGxiRzpkKk">Texas Girl</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXplSihp4hX5OilFHmmm0y3KXmR73ty1Qkau4VQ8YybukayJPCrXpH9RK2PffU0Tlu0BUGFsMXUOLZffR__vEwGlK9RcweB9gllhne5ECuKThaFsnn4HvXI6am1lXJUaoEPtviflAaHRDycP80ZjeqDu-amJe3Y46nEDVnfgS2_v3K9kpC5Rcit-PVMtQ/s600/pigbaby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXplSihp4hX5OilFHmmm0y3KXmR73ty1Qkau4VQ8YybukayJPCrXpH9RK2PffU0Tlu0BUGFsMXUOLZffR__vEwGlK9RcweB9gllhne5ECuKThaFsnn4HvXI6am1lXJUaoEPtviflAaHRDycP80ZjeqDu-amJe3Y46nEDVnfgS2_v3K9kpC5Rcit-PVMtQ/s16000/pigbaby.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Selett - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywdCIucnfGU">Wheels Within Wheels</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh68QDm-OtETaIOH86ct6jyLXlGMWNf-0nS4U_kRm5-iSLmhxum-T5L41hFEDYLUar0Hz6U6R4kpt0CpXT8SApq3AdO17hE-5QP8dzEwsPo2eFHumiAN98PvlVOLr2ywNY0WUH6KmgRwFjF0Wsw_eupIkGmJRJCJuH4bzz9FilSIuRgHFBEnIqwjBU_UEU/s600/selett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh68QDm-OtETaIOH86ct6jyLXlGMWNf-0nS4U_kRm5-iSLmhxum-T5L41hFEDYLUar0Hz6U6R4kpt0CpXT8SApq3AdO17hE-5QP8dzEwsPo2eFHumiAN98PvlVOLr2ywNY0WUH6KmgRwFjF0Wsw_eupIkGmJRJCJuH4bzz9FilSIuRgHFBEnIqwjBU_UEU/s16000/selett.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fat White
Family - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2umKODy_5gw">Religion For One</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsqqGyaQSJrVBcSPuM4cOCKEampy9YLCgzT0KodeE-S40O5rfp4njMAIeiLiewQChybpojLdW4qDtHxoALSSKsq3eZLX8znjfwemRojTVANW1brRGu7KnYyDKN9QlOhsrGp2lDcLes4XAUHjQ0LwaiDVtLm-4gYRv6FSdwsDmW_LfkPuZ8KTgmX6tTYw/s600/fatwhitefamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsqqGyaQSJrVBcSPuM4cOCKEampy9YLCgzT0KodeE-S40O5rfp4njMAIeiLiewQChybpojLdW4qDtHxoALSSKsq3eZLX8znjfwemRojTVANW1brRGu7KnYyDKN9QlOhsrGp2lDcLes4XAUHjQ0LwaiDVtLm-4gYRv6FSdwsDmW_LfkPuZ8KTgmX6tTYw/s16000/fatwhitefamily.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB">Loving –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WvheqJ5J2b4">Medicine</a><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmleD0AWV0k-z2ssTuRLBg7YoZFkDMkuaOQNJ1p2BcxmOGkRIWAihYsApcKq8m9qYLMzjpPg5lnOmjDX5BZr98h-MFC__vJBP55u-rx08Y_kCfbJKktfnEnOugyCX2IrCW3GpVm7-w7IGl5nTuXP5DglkVYj2ZaXNTCGvg7iLIjRcLlHdxVMWxyRbbdM/s600/loving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmleD0AWV0k-z2ssTuRLBg7YoZFkDMkuaOQNJ1p2BcxmOGkRIWAihYsApcKq8m9qYLMzjpPg5lnOmjDX5BZr98h-MFC__vJBP55u-rx08Y_kCfbJKktfnEnOugyCX2IrCW3GpVm7-w7IGl5nTuXP5DglkVYj2ZaXNTCGvg7iLIjRcLlHdxVMWxyRbbdM/s16000/loving.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hannah
Miette & Rozi Plain – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZVff0jzN7g">Let Me Know</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2aG42fXxBuhbF1lyTsvoidZi6tom8cOpXMC_J9GOJ4_81K7h0bCGFFClpQrycfSazT7dd4uJ55g1atYl4RGnfUnB5NvWRIuL38ZK8FUye09DTvv7EhNqH1CiEV_IgCExQl4UrMGF0lqKOrmrbklo6DB_cFjdp2jQpQXQHR3q7WivgvD6e8nbTnU7FE8/s600/hannah%20miette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2aG42fXxBuhbF1lyTsvoidZi6tom8cOpXMC_J9GOJ4_81K7h0bCGFFClpQrycfSazT7dd4uJ55g1atYl4RGnfUnB5NvWRIuL38ZK8FUye09DTvv7EhNqH1CiEV_IgCExQl4UrMGF0lqKOrmrbklo6DB_cFjdp2jQpQXQHR3q7WivgvD6e8nbTnU7FE8/s16000/hannah%20miette.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finches –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuoTYWPgEaw">Nothing Fixes Me Like You</a></span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuoTYWPgEaw"><o:p></o:p></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOP8zle9JA1BuFs9M1_h2CklneEYbCm_BElFa7Au5a5qbaD0dd7PZwO12Pg6gEIugibwIb0yqFOIieAIAcFehRi1PE_cSSBPQ5fs7nwlUkpk7FyS3CVroJz8MalY4o16R6_x8OpDP79DjpOqnz2-2aEG10FnwvZVvRVP3oEDRHtmlMA20zshdrToKqajA/s600/finches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOP8zle9JA1BuFs9M1_h2CklneEYbCm_BElFa7Au5a5qbaD0dd7PZwO12Pg6gEIugibwIb0yqFOIieAIAcFehRi1PE_cSSBPQ5fs7nwlUkpk7FyS3CVroJz8MalY4o16R6_x8OpDP79DjpOqnz2-2aEG10FnwvZVvRVP3oEDRHtmlMA20zshdrToKqajA/s16000/finches.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Klittens –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usQ4AlG-E1M">Atlas</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHokJH3JcQciZ8XblMUH-VAKf9D-fejzDnx915LGWFJG82ZI_m1mrf4a69UNitXlGz9CJdcHA5vpiQBfR1k7TqHmtCsk7yUvEnNtuKDJbA5oLNBWKQYPwkIpAG8oG4Bj8cW3Hsag1nYU491UUN4DHOp0k_SCqu629JqkszUVUpAKG4Q0A537bCIOnefeU/s600/klittens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHokJH3JcQciZ8XblMUH-VAKf9D-fejzDnx915LGWFJG82ZI_m1mrf4a69UNitXlGz9CJdcHA5vpiQBfR1k7TqHmtCsk7yUvEnNtuKDJbA5oLNBWKQYPwkIpAG8oG4Bj8cW3Hsag1nYU491UUN4DHOp0k_SCqu629JqkszUVUpAKG4Q0A537bCIOnefeU/s16000/klittens.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Andreas Dorau –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VQf4Be3oPk">Mein Englischer Winter</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAnmHC4trsaz7qOtFFQJWT30Re0PvWb4aUXsyqGC0ylRuxjvyW55D8OPKEKyMVepPpWtwzUdVTIybRcTh6qlYTHHPwQkp4oUUGsxd2lqmRAbFJv_dNf2TlF2l9AS_XI0UJJ4uD4mUuo5ceILWr29T4nkRtZiU7DWsL8HITGAjU-W4SNp-M3CUdEW1GJ0A/s600/andreasdorau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAnmHC4trsaz7qOtFFQJWT30Re0PvWb4aUXsyqGC0ylRuxjvyW55D8OPKEKyMVepPpWtwzUdVTIybRcTh6qlYTHHPwQkp4oUUGsxd2lqmRAbFJv_dNf2TlF2l9AS_XI0UJJ4uD4mUuo5ceILWr29T4nkRtZiU7DWsL8HITGAjU-W4SNp-M3CUdEW1GJ0A/s16000/andreasdorau.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Umbrellas – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hruDgd4UVCU">Echoes</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKhPHoEBNi-zOVmakRAHcqJda1SUwwXF4UQMOZEnvezsLMGscmKuU5APiBJosh2m5RiwxFHocruVs5ZjOMG3xr-eKYHITQtlNv6_6YN_fZjNPfXJzBHoxxC2guKj181Kf17_Gu61GGY0iJg4tf9-C2duqihKiCvuHuBEvydQ0AgYIfX2JizUu0ySZMdQ/s600/umbrellas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKhPHoEBNi-zOVmakRAHcqJda1SUwwXF4UQMOZEnvezsLMGscmKuU5APiBJosh2m5RiwxFHocruVs5ZjOMG3xr-eKYHITQtlNv6_6YN_fZjNPfXJzBHoxxC2guKj181Kf17_Gu61GGY0iJg4tf9-C2duqihKiCvuHuBEvydQ0AgYIfX2JizUu0ySZMdQ/s16000/umbrellas.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ghost Woman
– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67NuIE-krQ8">Juan</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4fvfyyAeKO2HSXCEwysgkqHwMhWtMTwVbsSnfhyphenhyphen0076snKxa5BSO6CUcqEU4xAP1lZgggduBVyOSdFLEwPJeHTYf1NLrC9LDIxWU2H3DK0W3Lv911zdVLCuZGLKETN-P2LrYqSoaJWpdzYYK4lOPyoWVSpPx_-CLT51gtRQuxVmvhSMgnkNNSIRjNVm8/s600/ghost%20woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="379" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4fvfyyAeKO2HSXCEwysgkqHwMhWtMTwVbsSnfhyphenhyphen0076snKxa5BSO6CUcqEU4xAP1lZgggduBVyOSdFLEwPJeHTYf1NLrC9LDIxWU2H3DK0W3Lv911zdVLCuZGLKETN-P2LrYqSoaJWpdzYYK4lOPyoWVSpPx_-CLT51gtRQuxVmvhSMgnkNNSIRjNVm8/s16000/ghost%20woman.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Empress Of
– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5J6EUenEplg">Femenine</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUNFWauo6deUrfhMRel09JDPS_OxF4Lj9V1R5OOqRW_jZgsAh7DBXCbbLSxD3Yj3XM6mZdS1ATHvaAO2aAaCuAYmoSgeovAMvG4fK7m_LlcTMf4dcy_6ISxJXRXF9jEQ3iTu2IQPVimhpkt9Hg7F17RQZPAsuTgVtkTXgczgyBKiPQeefhslZfNJ_hrY/s600/empress%20of.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUNFWauo6deUrfhMRel09JDPS_OxF4Lj9V1R5OOqRW_jZgsAh7DBXCbbLSxD3Yj3XM6mZdS1ATHvaAO2aAaCuAYmoSgeovAMvG4fK7m_LlcTMf4dcy_6ISxJXRXF9jEQ3iTu2IQPVimhpkt9Hg7F17RQZPAsuTgVtkTXgczgyBKiPQeefhslZfNJ_hrY/s16000/empress%20of.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bolis Pupul
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQfCWB-TOrg">Completely Half</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOl8nzUqiMj7BJdYQrLaXRH-rFzOYsgaL8JOAMcLxyvx8mNvUW04M4ROHxJH5j8HCCFSsfRlCiOhyhGODw9dsjdVYq4AJvtWH4p-rwxRXRgrivtZ5zYsLS8Ac6LElnp6BXgUpp7IhMoFKrc9r0gayzmb-a6w8k6J7C_Qglk1g0pgbzXzIdKR9PhWv2I20/s600/bolis%20pupul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="382" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOl8nzUqiMj7BJdYQrLaXRH-rFzOYsgaL8JOAMcLxyvx8mNvUW04M4ROHxJH5j8HCCFSsfRlCiOhyhGODw9dsjdVYq4AJvtWH4p-rwxRXRgrivtZ5zYsLS8Ac6LElnp6BXgUpp7IhMoFKrc9r0gayzmb-a6w8k6J7C_Qglk1g0pgbzXzIdKR9PhWv2I20/s16000/bolis%20pupul.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Innellea x Flowdan - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoT6cpDJfJ8">Forward Forever</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Gw266-N7HTDvT3NN4vg5mytPLDj7NU8XQrPOeoVo_77rbREorAK0VxBazwI6s_JfeEkHRZn8LKxoHp6jaYY-vd67k_56KN6VhnHznm8sR6C9ejEyEn9jDxdPTczH2jxUrGt5eTwmYKCX_pcjzf-SjxDGANAQlFv5RFiS8F38Xzw4U-23MmjMEMDjkn8/s600/innealla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Gw266-N7HTDvT3NN4vg5mytPLDj7NU8XQrPOeoVo_77rbREorAK0VxBazwI6s_JfeEkHRZn8LKxoHp6jaYY-vd67k_56KN6VhnHznm8sR6C9ejEyEn9jDxdPTczH2jxUrGt5eTwmYKCX_pcjzf-SjxDGANAQlFv5RFiS8F38Xzw4U-23MmjMEMDjkn8/s16000/innealla.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Manni Dee ft
Grove - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTFhsMUdhhY">Super Soaker</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9VmaNe2eR51_kidpkb_KDFGD63QpfMTJY4uiXz6CIGx4NIgiQwbYQttxTh5_YfGATgZmc0_trxRiFkrKlQpWYzbDb1fO4GYsZ6vgZ5nqedeBYx3L6WOLCCxNm2kv3R6wQaUZxnxOec30WoBCmxwENc9hy3tpSrMXZIiy6LlGhHoPi_1llLq7YYdGoqA/s600/manni%20dee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9VmaNe2eR51_kidpkb_KDFGD63QpfMTJY4uiXz6CIGx4NIgiQwbYQttxTh5_YfGATgZmc0_trxRiFkrKlQpWYzbDb1fO4GYsZ6vgZ5nqedeBYx3L6WOLCCxNm2kv3R6wQaUZxnxOec30WoBCmxwENc9hy3tpSrMXZIiy6LlGhHoPi_1llLq7YYdGoqA/s16000/manni%20dee.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nova Materia ft
Simo Cell – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pGeP8UVEec">Don’t Play</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHd2Jt1fDtEw-erepCqmYarxD1TRlV8aPseG9ZPyLlauySQOjsp57ehxTzruGyCqJSAqahWclrgGepss3WKVbTn9kYIZUWcgSRSRWZ01oEHulp2sPYzti1v_ffSaGWmAM5g6oRKjBahPa6lTFfMmiT45Brvz6LGmyew2AOwpRWrQcMxeZHWNXII0v_Yo/s600/nova%20materia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHd2Jt1fDtEw-erepCqmYarxD1TRlV8aPseG9ZPyLlauySQOjsp57ehxTzruGyCqJSAqahWclrgGepss3WKVbTn9kYIZUWcgSRSRWZ01oEHulp2sPYzti1v_ffSaGWmAM5g6oRKjBahPa6lTFfMmiT45Brvz6LGmyew2AOwpRWrQcMxeZHWNXII0v_Yo/s16000/nova%20materia.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Natalie
Beridze - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfnMBSDXolw">Who Dwells In Possibility</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGzmHeuQJLC6DTqwIcjyAmekM_co1yDYojSo8Va56AqwNBDxnTxtNHbm7mFGrEosRwRw6z41uIMkh_OOxXOstgKYQ93zgedQaNb8-SDucbg-BRZqN33zGQuA21SdHEBMYj1V37nvrZSRG51Bvoe-oFYgXDz7TKFEPnJcZx5VLAVY9ClZYQwOO1ImyxlU/s600/natalie%20beridze.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGzmHeuQJLC6DTqwIcjyAmekM_co1yDYojSo8Va56AqwNBDxnTxtNHbm7mFGrEosRwRw6z41uIMkh_OOxXOstgKYQ93zgedQaNb8-SDucbg-BRZqN33zGQuA21SdHEBMYj1V37nvrZSRG51Bvoe-oFYgXDz7TKFEPnJcZx5VLAVY9ClZYQwOO1ImyxlU/s16000/natalie%20beridze.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Frankie –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfr0UVX6No0">Clouds </a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGrDovOhz7xWQ1NnSb3DNjXhjoaV7zVc8NoJtuoV6EFx2R4FdK_nzDkxBWrANEnWDbx9oTh3BG14IjiZxXQCeIFp7tEFwwKPmYln1enNc9lcGXxsOnwV5OgLjJ1Tz1kfhh6yB0o9-YSJuHQcvnyabRfC7abjcrGzfyV2erRgel2WHpGhluFLYJdmYodM/s600/frankie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGrDovOhz7xWQ1NnSb3DNjXhjoaV7zVc8NoJtuoV6EFx2R4FdK_nzDkxBWrANEnWDbx9oTh3BG14IjiZxXQCeIFp7tEFwwKPmYln1enNc9lcGXxsOnwV5OgLjJ1Tz1kfhh6yB0o9-YSJuHQcvnyabRfC7abjcrGzfyV2erRgel2WHpGhluFLYJdmYodM/s16000/frankie.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Noise
Who Runs – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1Ln_z2QkPM">Mars Attached</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjerXa09O_WgIGeL5viY7VZq8wQflX4WEkfMa45xJVR9lU0kTUQCn0UA_QVV_6V6S3pYR106PRJmFhwaa7FwNudTNY6cqAu9KfVN1pHkQg4Sp0shkgA0-Li1_QEx25-ldkmntyglJfWuY2SyFHfxV5Z7fSX9KsCYvmjlGCZlgqE3UNbX-2Yj30Y8ve5B7c/s600/noise%20who%20runs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjerXa09O_WgIGeL5viY7VZq8wQflX4WEkfMa45xJVR9lU0kTUQCn0UA_QVV_6V6S3pYR106PRJmFhwaa7FwNudTNY6cqAu9KfVN1pHkQg4Sp0shkgA0-Li1_QEx25-ldkmntyglJfWuY2SyFHfxV5Z7fSX9KsCYvmjlGCZlgqE3UNbX-2Yj30Y8ve5B7c/s16000/noise%20who%20runs.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR">@ - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyX2Tiskyp0">Soul Hole</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLiwYaRBo9wZbgvktDsZZLlo2xrGQUvjK2m_UXMRl1sLVgmTDclco_0wh9cBr-QCL_-estIJMTFy_747CJqLeXHKXToWjPRn4S9ELhZac90s74Hdj40AVln_BeUFsRM5UMCaxBcHrprOpIf_GOxOQS9BZNrxOeQlzC_ERgvd1xjzJCtOfCdgbZgA0XQg/s600/@.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLiwYaRBo9wZbgvktDsZZLlo2xrGQUvjK2m_UXMRl1sLVgmTDclco_0wh9cBr-QCL_-estIJMTFy_747CJqLeXHKXToWjPRn4S9ELhZac90s74Hdj40AVln_BeUFsRM5UMCaxBcHrprOpIf_GOxOQS9BZNrxOeQlzC_ERgvd1xjzJCtOfCdgbZgA0XQg/s16000/@.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bill
Ryder-Jones - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55L0fasXrw0">If Tomorrow Starts Without Me</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hT1rr70tFROMqbK1CcfGVlY9-2Da8_AQumiuyoUU36YgSpSdvSsdjGEsMmNom7gY2R5LJj5Ede6bXI-Vbxo83HBnlOLaaSMwVCQ2bqp66-M5g0coVyIVKVHM7UiBzGaCb-Ide7ybgcUC4mxrZh98b-PrSmayJWznvvKyPRo4ODd5Mf5sN0HqDfGKMZ8/s600/bill%20ryder%20jones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hT1rr70tFROMqbK1CcfGVlY9-2Da8_AQumiuyoUU36YgSpSdvSsdjGEsMmNom7gY2R5LJj5Ede6bXI-Vbxo83HBnlOLaaSMwVCQ2bqp66-M5g0coVyIVKVHM7UiBzGaCb-Ide7ybgcUC4mxrZh98b-PrSmayJWznvvKyPRo4ODd5Mf5sN0HqDfGKMZ8/s16000/bill%20ryder%20jones.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kacy Hill –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_adbihmV0gw">Frog Rinse</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EhrvTrWMX7Gd50tM2EoAA4GmUFxTH8oqR56TstKMWv5BlIYXeQ8b4W7vF-wipmszAqL_TpWW1HlghoLJ2685RaMz1JE5D88iFtOnw2c8m6fNdZ-nHZYdd72nYNhztE_ppOG6suYny1EGea0IOQvdhEWOOgtWbCjxc-ZQuYVxocGeV5kqZgmm1L-7m5k/s600/kacy%20hill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EhrvTrWMX7Gd50tM2EoAA4GmUFxTH8oqR56TstKMWv5BlIYXeQ8b4W7vF-wipmszAqL_TpWW1HlghoLJ2685RaMz1JE5D88iFtOnw2c8m6fNdZ-nHZYdd72nYNhztE_ppOG6suYny1EGea0IOQvdhEWOOgtWbCjxc-ZQuYVxocGeV5kqZgmm1L-7m5k/s16000/kacy%20hill.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Grandaddy –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u2DsBxNL6M0">Cabin In My Mind</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5bejr6Nh6uRAw2NHBw57r0uKoZC8p0XzaBUFut6KH9MAUQSItcY9ajs1h4PaAJIuizSoHSX8iveTOVDt0N_pitLZgGbfQwCqHV3wqBd2DsJyNE_cEshptBeJNepNYL6DSLccLmUYycQ6iM_Mdf4H0np2CLgUedivoN_qG6gIMs99JFvxwI4NIQzoleU/s600/grandaddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5bejr6Nh6uRAw2NHBw57r0uKoZC8p0XzaBUFut6KH9MAUQSItcY9ajs1h4PaAJIuizSoHSX8iveTOVDt0N_pitLZgGbfQwCqHV3wqBd2DsJyNE_cEshptBeJNepNYL6DSLccLmUYycQ6iM_Mdf4H0np2CLgUedivoN_qG6gIMs99JFvxwI4NIQzoleU/s16000/grandaddy.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Itasca -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExnOqXJ4978">Imitation Of War</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwezdrtqfzZATZ61mRNRW-oRtXTM8YtVXhancN0rnY5nStzLNzQk9LdbZnFdni45pRGKyK55GA35A33_IWsGTn-64AL_eGUz-Q4QXNKBGROMpxl1IgddopAcLx9V2jWJxlyuTS7Yq_Pd22FbCUNPQ3w6bFNa9Kt1O3xgonAS8JHz1P1p4xl7bQHlaaIM/s600/itasca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwezdrtqfzZATZ61mRNRW-oRtXTM8YtVXhancN0rnY5nStzLNzQk9LdbZnFdni45pRGKyK55GA35A33_IWsGTn-64AL_eGUz-Q4QXNKBGROMpxl1IgddopAcLx9V2jWJxlyuTS7Yq_Pd22FbCUNPQ3w6bFNa9Kt1O3xgonAS8JHz1P1p4xl7bQHlaaIM/s16000/itasca.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fog Lake - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNXqRoG6SZM">Die In Love</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJpbp6-_vhlAgftQfhNP4jHhObMMtHN0ZvAI0QaRbadZ5MjHuhtjlRt8W_RD0JmTDvRHK0_N_FIoj08t8OQYs7Xl6e5hrZlbscCmTTH04g3e5rsmRIt-uGh5yAjA7lBTVImHRfaqHYyTIWiplyWwy3J6p1rsUrup15nVgiPFMr2dQyfycHCw5AFQfWDo/s600/Fog%20Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJpbp6-_vhlAgftQfhNP4jHhObMMtHN0ZvAI0QaRbadZ5MjHuhtjlRt8W_RD0JmTDvRHK0_N_FIoj08t8OQYs7Xl6e5hrZlbscCmTTH04g3e5rsmRIt-uGh5yAjA7lBTVImHRfaqHYyTIWiplyWwy3J6p1rsUrup15nVgiPFMr2dQyfycHCw5AFQfWDo/s16000/Fog%20Lake.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hypemon – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWaRSI605yE">Joanna</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJKifHQwxQ9LCazwYnIwLLXlJPLu_h7LFTp97iGZLDZW3h5MXr4HK9A1AVFv9nM0qtZmQivsXSVv5iuC9cxGiNHu3VlONIUyq3q-qjKhXhbKt2EQP8JfOesFqqT4MJNQv1Vi8MOAUXnCbJ-Aos_MDlrn7ZeCXSNzc12qzvUR_rVHJfiYQZROuOxzh8Xo/s600/hypemom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJKifHQwxQ9LCazwYnIwLLXlJPLu_h7LFTp97iGZLDZW3h5MXr4HK9A1AVFv9nM0qtZmQivsXSVv5iuC9cxGiNHu3VlONIUyq3q-qjKhXhbKt2EQP8JfOesFqqT4MJNQv1Vi8MOAUXnCbJ-Aos_MDlrn7ZeCXSNzc12qzvUR_rVHJfiYQZROuOxzh8Xo/s16000/hypemom.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Snõõper –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vNSEjgypD0">Company Car</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZqoEpZuiKgdvlvB1r6gZdjs8S3AFRXb-SQZ3zkO9jabRZO1j1Y6d8vi9XvGo1Q8yez1dUteIyOUWz499ZYsCn2yi8N7TknH1HD_q7k9q2AxgMnm1CJXwoFTcq90armnJ7wQPIcwYAdsZpfq5AVAXW7CCjqCFckAfv-rp81F3hhTRxpeqUvjM03KSM6AE/s600/snooper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZqoEpZuiKgdvlvB1r6gZdjs8S3AFRXb-SQZ3zkO9jabRZO1j1Y6d8vi9XvGo1Q8yez1dUteIyOUWz499ZYsCn2yi8N7TknH1HD_q7k9q2AxgMnm1CJXwoFTcq90armnJ7wQPIcwYAdsZpfq5AVAXW7CCjqCFckAfv-rp81F3hhTRxpeqUvjM03KSM6AE/s16000/snooper.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Courting -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaZlZCZ3FDI">Emily G</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvUSwEZGzFtRppiGJMr2xo-nhPDNX86hKTKo0Ijb4VqUbMdNkFjkILOdd76LOHqFLpR5a5uOZ7DNpOsJbndTOLHIEWDxfqlFoqjkhEnWPL5632lv_bC-TyWqe8pK0iFmIg5EpAC44InSaAfpsMskoKJw7OLpcc1ZNSIBpHvSxXKdWCjdyemjkkj_oytao/s600/courting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvUSwEZGzFtRppiGJMr2xo-nhPDNX86hKTKo0Ijb4VqUbMdNkFjkILOdd76LOHqFLpR5a5uOZ7DNpOsJbndTOLHIEWDxfqlFoqjkhEnWPL5632lv_bC-TyWqe8pK0iFmIg5EpAC44InSaAfpsMskoKJw7OLpcc1ZNSIBpHvSxXKdWCjdyemjkkj_oytao/s16000/courting.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">DJ
Sabrina The Teenage DJ <span style="font-family: inherit;"> - </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CZFUVFjfro">Stronger Together</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvSv1DlWBV56Hy81dflGQ4oY1v70ySw5YxkPSoV2xRBTJUsjI_7-41vCGa_N3GfFd5aWJNnQFxmsbUfmm_eFaitpuLgL8UNkYejUqL7dyMN7A-HEbfjXvv8zXNCJNOImrhGM2FuNVk0QUyucdY6nB-Ns8kYZ2UXwJyMs4JfUGUksDnyiP6zBEQqC3eDY/s600/djsabrina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvSv1DlWBV56Hy81dflGQ4oY1v70ySw5YxkPSoV2xRBTJUsjI_7-41vCGa_N3GfFd5aWJNnQFxmsbUfmm_eFaitpuLgL8UNkYejUqL7dyMN7A-HEbfjXvv8zXNCJNOImrhGM2FuNVk0QUyucdY6nB-Ns8kYZ2UXwJyMs4JfUGUksDnyiP6zBEQqC3eDY/s16000/djsabrina.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Howl Broken
Surfer - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NjtTLcDFS7g">Emerald Coyote</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8iMCws92V5x1KPeSp1vJ2oR-pUdCUVlbMTv_KIDy_kTZ2LCZPmk9mR1dnrfsNie7davfKhL3hzQCfJ_MdZXO3PbvgrLzUpY2FILes_VDOXtoxXcrCDCsSfewUNOt7jQWN-ADnPI4CTIFbo9WfTGj-bgDWwFkvW1W3o1hqrVBVo-5r1XpGlT0JCUIcnFQ/s600/howl%20broken%20surfer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8iMCws92V5x1KPeSp1vJ2oR-pUdCUVlbMTv_KIDy_kTZ2LCZPmk9mR1dnrfsNie7davfKhL3hzQCfJ_MdZXO3PbvgrLzUpY2FILes_VDOXtoxXcrCDCsSfewUNOt7jQWN-ADnPI4CTIFbo9WfTGj-bgDWwFkvW1W3o1hqrVBVo-5r1XpGlT0JCUIcnFQ/s16000/howl%20broken%20surfer.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jackie West
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tI39HORIQCo">Tiny Flowers ii</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7VTudrHn0XqGvhEo6n1vmNWRh5H4WZX8Ftv48BloFGzB6Hbypffso8-Diwrfeeaa0b_JdobwtcaSnRtOYVSLYO5_QIkIVYvhbklcjegfu42g8Jj8-ZyMpRurJJ7bZIDliByqVFkMdvcy1JUBjBHwq2fjFOqMIpXCdahsNeLT6ciklFzyBKf2Le7VOX0/s600/jackie%20west.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7VTudrHn0XqGvhEo6n1vmNWRh5H4WZX8Ftv48BloFGzB6Hbypffso8-Diwrfeeaa0b_JdobwtcaSnRtOYVSLYO5_QIkIVYvhbklcjegfu42g8Jj8-ZyMpRurJJ7bZIDliByqVFkMdvcy1JUBjBHwq2fjFOqMIpXCdahsNeLT6ciklFzyBKf2Le7VOX0/s16000/jackie%20west.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p></span></div></span></div></div></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-73586158018970221912023-12-31T17:20:00.004+00:002023-12-31T17:21:23.951+00:00Paul Hanley on Buzzcocks<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPqs6HxNfLiTPOSfRFV5nfqa37l7oUJykb2KTu4VYGYYM6Gl7emDlhCvEhI72StTyiAQ9c2VDDnek2Pq6pey8ao4pXbQGjXsYYU5j22rVThxv0ojvLC3Rs1MwPl0vucYDKyhRxfTIUzbtuz4-T-cvy6vRvvunEDd4sYw-I5L6mU-nfDibHyso8Ozy_Ts/s605/91k8x-bpg8L._UF894,1000_QL80_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPqs6HxNfLiTPOSfRFV5nfqa37l7oUJykb2KTu4VYGYYM6Gl7emDlhCvEhI72StTyiAQ9c2VDDnek2Pq6pey8ao4pXbQGjXsYYU5j22rVThxv0ojvLC3Rs1MwPl0vucYDKyhRxfTIUzbtuz4-T-cvy6vRvvunEDd4sYw-I5L6mU-nfDibHyso8Ozy_Ts/s16000/91k8x-bpg8L._UF894,1000_QL80_.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Man of
letters and drummer (The Fall, House Of All) Paul Hanley has written a book on
Buzzcocks called Sixteen Again. A limited edition hardback is available from
publishers Route now and a paperback will be available in April 2024.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sixteen
Again: How Pete Shelley & Buzzcocks Changed Manchester Music (And Me), to
give it its full title, mixes together biography, interview, critique and
social history to create a full picture of the legendary Manchester group,
equally beloved of fans of punk, post punk and indie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Route – who
have also published Hanley's Leave The Capital: A History Of Manchester Music
In 13 Recordings and the masterful Have A Bleedin Guess: The Story Of Hex
Enduction Hour – have the following to say: "Paul Hanley's obsession with
Buzzcocks peaked between the ages of 14 and 16, exactly the age when ‘favourite
band’ actually means something important. An essential part of the charm of
Buzzcocks to him were their proximity and approachability."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Taking a
break from his current duties as one half of the drumming duo who power recent
tQ Album Of The Year folk, House Of All, and co-host of the Oh! Brother podcast
with kin Steve Hanley, Paul submitted to some quick fire questions about the
book, Buzzcocks and OBOGFRS (other bits of general Fall-related stuff).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What really
went on there? We only have this excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why did you
choose Buzzcocks?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Paul
Hanley: Well, there’s the cultural significance of them bringing the Sex
Pistols to Manchester twice, and kick starting indie music. Then there is the
fact that Pete Shelley was a song writing genius who could say more in a three
minute pop song than most writers could say in a whole album. But most
importantly they were my favourite band between the ages of 14 and 16, which is
about the only time in your life when it’s OK to have a favourite band.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What do you
think of the Tony McGartland book, Buzzcocks: The Complete History and Pete and
Louis Shelley's Ever Fallen In Love: The Lost Buzzcocks Tapes? I think they are
the only other Buzzcocks books right?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: Yes,
apart from Steve Diggle’s book [The Buzzcocks: Harmony In My Head]. I used all
three in writing this, unsurprisingly. But there is a definite lack of books
about Pete Shelley and Buzzcocks, certainly compared to The Clash and the Sex
Pistols, which seems criminal to me. Hopefully this book is different from all
the others. I wanted to combine telling the story with getting across just how
much Buzzcocks meant to me<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Did you
perceive of some misconceptions about the band you were keen to tackle?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: Yes.
There’s this slightly snide dismissal of Pete’s songs as ‘just love songs’
which they’re definitely not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In that
sense is their closest comparison The Undertones? Or can they be compared to
anyone else?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: There’s
definitely a lineage between Buzzcocks and The Undertones in their ability to
convey the thrills and spills of youthful yearning over driving melody. I think
The Undertones would happily acknowledge an influence. But Undertones aside I
think a lot of bands influenced by Buzzcocks kind of missed the point.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Care to
elaborate?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: Ok.
Specifically, bands like Green Day. There’s a big difference between speaking
to youth and just being childish.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Do you
cover Shelley's solo albums?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: Yes.
Not in as much detail but Pete’s journey away from Buzzcocks’ sound and then
how he got back to it is fascinating.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Did you get
to interview everyone you wanted for the book?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: Yes
pretty much. I deliberately chose not to speak to Steve Diggle as I wanted to
avoid getting too close and have it affect the story I wanted to tell. And I
couldn’t speak to Pete obviously so it wouldn’t have been fair! I think the
story of the Buzzcocks is the story of Steve and Pete; the story of how they
maintained that relationship despite being very different characters is pretty
key I think.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Were
relations between The Fall and The Buzzcocks always cordial?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH:
Buzzcocks and Richard Boon were very supportive of The Fall in the early days,
as they were with lots of Manchester acts. I think Mark certainly respected
Pete even if he was a bit sniffy about Buzzcocks music.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Was
Shelley's bisexuality ever a problem for the band?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: No I
don’t think they cared. His lyrics were always gender fluid, and his sexuality
was never part of the act, it was just who he was. He was years ahead of his
time in that respect.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What are
the unheralded songs you love that aren't on Singles Going Steady?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH:
'Money'; 'Who’ll Help Me To Forget?'<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You've
completely changed in the last few years haven't you? Three books published and
an English Literature degree completed since 2017. It's very impressive but are
your friends and family surprised by it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: Well I
hope they’re not too surprised! They’ve been very supportive. The degree was a
dream. I loved it. And I really got the bug for writing. When you’re doing a
degree you always have a piece of writing on the go, so I just carried on!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How are you
enjoying The House Of All?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PH: The
gigs have been great actually. We seem to be going down very well and the
footfall is very gratifying. It’s a real shame Pete [Greenway] wasn’t able to
join us but Phil [Lewis] has done a great job.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Do you feel
at all Irish? Obviously Steve [Hanley] was born in Dublin. How long after his
birth did your parents move to Manchester?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Paul: I do
feel Irish in many ways. We were a fairly Irish household growing up. But I
feel far more Dublinian – if that’s a word – than just generally Irish, in the
same way I feel Mancunian rather than English. I think he was about a year old.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sixteen
Again: How Pete Shelley & Buzzcocks Changed Manchester Music (And Me) is
available to buy from Route now<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Fall's
Paul Hanley On Buzzcocks Book. By <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Francisco Scaramanga. <a href="https://thequietus.com/articles/33709-paul-hanley-buzzcocks-the-fall-interview">The Quietus</a>, December <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>18, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_-GMdQBa77v-eDP_r-7_NMyxAILEAd10_fggYF7PmJoFUwv3xfR26pNBfT72Ctg4k1MT4DXX18f4Y56a9wCmni3KxVasJNAxmPNsTMyE9PHRPCH-wxmd4E_rG8KviC17ITwtQfUNSpEdWgIgJH_9xMHxLDfqINa3WxwgCW0DvPj_-LY4pl1zV8hF8j4/s600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_-GMdQBa77v-eDP_r-7_NMyxAILEAd10_fggYF7PmJoFUwv3xfR26pNBfT72Ctg4k1MT4DXX18f4Y56a9wCmni3KxVasJNAxmPNsTMyE9PHRPCH-wxmd4E_rG8KviC17ITwtQfUNSpEdWgIgJH_9xMHxLDfqINa3WxwgCW0DvPj_-LY4pl1zV8hF8j4/s16000/maxresdefault.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Paul Hanley
in conversation with John Robb at Louder Than Words Festival in Manchester,
11th November 2023.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul is discussing
his book Sixteen Again: How Pete Shelley & Buzzcocks Changed Manchester
Music (and me).</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYuNJMfxX-s">Route TV</a>,
November 18, 2023</span>. </span></div>
<br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-Zp-3TNmXeE6FEo5RL9nFnz5tydVUWufjVK3yPzb27WLLxuL5LWjmz1DOdZgCeqzaF8iDxs8JBuiSrKmO6wFdwAhXIKBoV1dcyoap-0iD2BoI3HF8j7yxFFGz-wwXowTqBWVvoeEvA2PqdIPHgBv3EvFJU63jDJU-myXpDTfb84kpHvgu_xWaJAWN-k/s600/SignedNumbered2-1200x800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-Zp-3TNmXeE6FEo5RL9nFnz5tydVUWufjVK3yPzb27WLLxuL5LWjmz1DOdZgCeqzaF8iDxs8JBuiSrKmO6wFdwAhXIKBoV1dcyoap-0iD2BoI3HF8j7yxFFGz-wwXowTqBWVvoeEvA2PqdIPHgBv3EvFJU63jDJU-myXpDTfb84kpHvgu_xWaJAWN-k/s16000/SignedNumbered2-1200x800.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://www.route-online.com/all-books/sixteen-again#">Route</a></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjurB0f8MngKXAaWlfLLnmL54Ni_iZHqTBNNjHaXB-aKTIARGRiDi6RV7vGYe3UwGzVWPgmJ4lpz2fzF5EBoBTlY9Hy9Mk1QTScfH9Wkb5NxdWUVWZzTcCDH_UoyzXJOiO77Y7p9cA7RHiePfJk5rQi99rcHG3N0atSE-q2xFE_8xoBnfGR-u8gkkVu9pQ/s600/buzzcocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjurB0f8MngKXAaWlfLLnmL54Ni_iZHqTBNNjHaXB-aKTIARGRiDi6RV7vGYe3UwGzVWPgmJ4lpz2fzF5EBoBTlY9Hy9Mk1QTScfH9Wkb5NxdWUVWZzTcCDH_UoyzXJOiO77Y7p9cA7RHiePfJk5rQi99rcHG3N0atSE-q2xFE_8xoBnfGR-u8gkkVu9pQ/s16000/buzzcocks.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gelesen: 27. –
28.12.2023 (netto 267 Seiten, in Englisch – wird wohl ehr nicht auf Deutsch
erscheinen) <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">#bookcollectorsarepreteniousarseholes
– Ich habe mir für einen ordentlichen Batzen Geld eine “Advance Edition”
geleistet: Signed, limited und vor dem Erscheinen im April 2024 pünktlich zu
Weihnachten hier. Mit einem collen Badge (in alter Buzzcocks Tradition).
Post-Brexit Porto und Zoll sind mehr als der Buchpreis, Danke Merkel!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">2021 ist ja
bereits ein Buch über Pete erschienen, daneben hatte Steve Diggle bereits 2002
eine “Biographie” von einem Journalisten schreiben lassen (die habe ich damals
nach kurzem Querlesen nicht gekauft). Ansonsten gibt es kaum etwas, ehr als
Abfallprodukt der Arbeiten von Malcolm Garrett, der mit seinen Designs für die
Buzzcocks ja Plattencover, Poster und Badges für die Ewigkeit erschaffen hat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Paul Hanley, der
Autor, ist sowohl Fan als auch Kenner der Musik-Szene Nordenglands, er spielte
1980 bis 1985 bei The Fall. Und er schreibt dieses Buch aus der Sicht eines
informierten Fans…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklOma8O_YcO0DjcfoGsZtEgBkB-CfcB74bnMTCH01JnJ1KLbRThX3A2249gXoW9cTffbu18cYE4ixks_1lXAC53lo85I4A4UcPyouU91_sl0-Z7JbFS5GDBlOiJVx4ysNDyRnbaHgRUlz_v0rMKJSVcMO8SSu57I6B-gJIkfy9kXyH7MPhXp_obKdqiI/s600/buxx001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="503" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklOma8O_YcO0DjcfoGsZtEgBkB-CfcB74bnMTCH01JnJ1KLbRThX3A2249gXoW9cTffbu18cYE4ixks_1lXAC53lo85I4A4UcPyouU91_sl0-Z7JbFS5GDBlOiJVx4ysNDyRnbaHgRUlz_v0rMKJSVcMO8SSu57I6B-gJIkfy9kXyH7MPhXp_obKdqiI/s16000/buxx001.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Und weil es aus
der Fan Perspektive geschrieben ist fußt es aus O-Tönen, die er aus allen
möglichen Quellen zusammengetragen hat (87 insgesamt, alle im Anhang
verzeichnet). Und dabei zeichnet er ein ziemlich realistisches Bild einer Band,
die früh dabei war (1976) und wie viele andere ebenso früh fertig war (mit
sich, mit der Musik).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Spannende
Fußnote: Fertig waren sie in der Markthalle, Hamburg, 23.01.1981. Danach war
Schicht im Schacht – erstmal. Und Steve Diggle und Pete Shelley hatten sich
erstmal 8 Jahre nix zu sagen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_NnjbqOA154A5I-Sc8jAx04pysqehtxCYPCwxG0HVLYlqjnsdhUlGBZ1IhgVSVBFE3ZZmIxcbcaWckFg5ROQyT45wnIzoWIAJ-Jxl7oAC7fdViDnohAua2WyqZSyAaNvNx3iH6N2LmU-Hm1dBKWI_COR2xtksPqii8a8CaHI7YXz13-o2j3IqWule1Vg/s600/buxx002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="210" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_NnjbqOA154A5I-Sc8jAx04pysqehtxCYPCwxG0HVLYlqjnsdhUlGBZ1IhgVSVBFE3ZZmIxcbcaWckFg5ROQyT45wnIzoWIAJ-Jxl7oAC7fdViDnohAua2WyqZSyAaNvNx3iH6N2LmU-Hm1dBKWI_COR2xtksPqii8a8CaHI7YXz13-o2j3IqWule1Vg/s16000/buxx002.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Durch den Mix aus
O-Tönen und dem kundigen Kommentar bzw. der persönlichen Einordnung ließt sich
das Buch extrem gut, ich habe es mehr oder weniger verschlungen. Auch weil ich
Fan geblieben bin.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Da Hanley selber
Musiker ist (auch wenn er bei einer weniger Ohrenschmeichelnden Band) kann er
das musikalische auch richtig verorten. Downstrokes galore!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzaC0_NIcSjgKrUGkRQK9E4aFBSZfbzDgCQ1kLwqMJt6Fc6Y1r0rrZofweJAT2zaS03WwjJ7fb_FXyHmtFW9zG0hrwfeecM2zbqOfyrrMOeLn9m7_cICBkMugyXvQS5v2AgI9ftb3eLwJvgFUXnFFE4boHLiCZigQbx5TgpsgHjrXudfOegwAgs73m30/s600/buxx003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzaC0_NIcSjgKrUGkRQK9E4aFBSZfbzDgCQ1kLwqMJt6Fc6Y1r0rrZofweJAT2zaS03WwjJ7fb_FXyHmtFW9zG0hrwfeecM2zbqOfyrrMOeLn9m7_cICBkMugyXvQS5v2AgI9ftb3eLwJvgFUXnFFE4boHLiCZigQbx5TgpsgHjrXudfOegwAgs73m30/s16000/buxx003.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Was er aber auch
offen und ehrlich rüberbringt ist, wie die Band im Grunde verglüht ist und
sowohl Pete (der mit mehr elektronischer Musik zumindest ein klein wenig Erfolg
hatte) als auch Steve nutzen nach den Buzzcocks das immer noch ein wenig
hereinkommende Geld um Soloideen nachzugehen. Die anderen beiden (John Maher,
Steve Garvey) setzten sich in ein erfolgreiches und normales Berufsleben ab.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Und ab hier wird das
Buch dann schonungslos ehrlich, die Reunion war wohl ehr dem Geld geschuldet
(aber das daraus entstandene Konstrukt von Pete/Steve plus Tony/Phil gab es
dann satte 13 Jahre und damit etliche Jahre mehr als die erste erfolgreiche
Inkarnation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZshNUNCwDcf2w2J7tZUzwn0Qid2fXxirF_8E2CGgR1GK7mZVYClQfoQTfkJ14ZVcTer8_6qziQLkcS-9fWureGihdqJ_ai7Ine2Vrx15XHjExLfty6QWR2hDHpq8R9qAKO5W20e-2-BF7jr28HDnBveqfYiPySjnyDiiRNfIyhrURbC2MbH9cssJP5A/s600/buxx004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZshNUNCwDcf2w2J7tZUzwn0Qid2fXxirF_8E2CGgR1GK7mZVYClQfoQTfkJ14ZVcTer8_6qziQLkcS-9fWureGihdqJ_ai7Ine2Vrx15XHjExLfty6QWR2hDHpq8R9qAKO5W20e-2-BF7jr28HDnBveqfYiPySjnyDiiRNfIyhrURbC2MbH9cssJP5A/s16000/buxx004.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Es war am Ende
dann doch ein Beruf, bei dem es um regelmäßiges Einkommen ging. Privat wollte
man nix mit den Kollegen zu tun haben.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_MBAm93rK-eIYZzQtttZxNKDzupIoUrIiIuvWigcVrYXCaH7QkW8YbjaEBrHVXNey3Lo6qlrlFoPPavYBeVpBR5gTZ8Zxywh8tAkeSaURSOS8EbbKGaWGdPcWQQTqzsv2mpNLLTAhtjW5yFIPG5B2E0RzJis28lQqLEMvpLIH9bCjNej5mqb3bpgtSg/s600/buxx005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_MBAm93rK-eIYZzQtttZxNKDzupIoUrIiIuvWigcVrYXCaH7QkW8YbjaEBrHVXNey3Lo6qlrlFoPPavYBeVpBR5gTZ8Zxywh8tAkeSaURSOS8EbbKGaWGdPcWQQTqzsv2mpNLLTAhtjW5yFIPG5B2E0RzJis28lQqLEMvpLIH9bCjNej5mqb3bpgtSg/s16000/buxx005.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Das es am Ende
vor allem für Steve vor allem um Ego, Einkommenund Versorgung mit Champagner
ging wurde spätestens 2019 klar: Die Buzzcocks hatten eine “40 Years of Singles
Going Steady” show in der Royal Albert Hall geplant – der Herzinfakt von Pete
kam im Dezember 2018 dazwischen. Steve nutzte den Termin dann für ordentlich Egopolitur:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHix98CE5yd8bfzM6uenwhDXe3ED-ZLQJ3KIZvdWKTsGpAoIZod18rLYK9-N3hA0mG9-_hJBYTUyj0at8yvO_N32u0KaEqKlVwjKuLhdIe0g91fAPIFtPNaYTgD-EmlhvMbjRvxe7W3M84yQXqxf1LV74FyfRqJthwbz_tqvk50aghZCpmYKcjZdedPZA/s600/buxx006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="203" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHix98CE5yd8bfzM6uenwhDXe3ED-ZLQJ3KIZvdWKTsGpAoIZod18rLYK9-N3hA0mG9-_hJBYTUyj0at8yvO_N32u0KaEqKlVwjKuLhdIe0g91fAPIFtPNaYTgD-EmlhvMbjRvxe7W3M84yQXqxf1LV74FyfRqJthwbz_tqvk50aghZCpmYKcjZdedPZA/s16000/buxx006.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Klasse Buch:
Vergötterung wo erforderlich, Kritik wo angebracht. Mit viel detailliertem
Fachwissen (eg. Petes Liebelieder kammen immer ohne mänlichen oder weiblichen
Bezug aus, mit Absicht. Steve konnte oder wollte das nicht und durchbrach das
in einem seiner Songs für die Buzzcocks).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Und immer mit dem
Blickwinkel der Working Class (die übrigens Spiral Scratch möglich gemacht hat,
das nur am Rande). Und in Summe ein klarer Blick auf was Erfolg aus einem
machen kann. Manchmal gutes. Manchmal schlechtes.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Soundtrack dazu:
Buzzcocks – Singles Going Steady, immer noch – was sonst?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PS: Der Buchtitel
löst natürlich wieder eine Träne – Sixteen Again war die ganz hervorragende
Buzzocks Cover-Band von Helge (RIP).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">PPS: #bookcollectorsarepretentiousarseholes
#75/300 (um 2 falsch, Danke Merkel!)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buch kann hier
bestellt werden! Der Autor hat auch einen historischen (endet 2020) Blog mit
(in eigenen Worten) Ruminations, accusations, felicitations, and that</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;">Bücher, schnell
gelesen: 1.676. By Dirty Old Sod. <a href="https://www.gehkacken.de/?p=18177"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gehkacken</a>,
December 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHp_EsF72_DB3ZCjqIOTnYiaWcmbRw5Y_8eFbWcNenKcjPgDEZ1vSbUwr80jH7EuPZt84axk1cewsM6Z_9CfNUwYa-5iz6evh9A7PT_jlRP6Jmm-joqWpUQdgPISIcOho5jN8LI-QxEHoBJwj8qB3_qv73DaeeR_4EqWTktRnaKGyAV-V0DCyemN6GuY/s600/Hear-Me-Out-Why-Buzzcocks-are-the-best-first-wave-punk-band-2023-Far-Out-Magazine-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHp_EsF72_DB3ZCjqIOTnYiaWcmbRw5Y_8eFbWcNenKcjPgDEZ1vSbUwr80jH7EuPZt84axk1cewsM6Z_9CfNUwYa-5iz6evh9A7PT_jlRP6Jmm-joqWpUQdgPISIcOho5jN8LI-QxEHoBJwj8qB3_qv73DaeeR_4EqWTktRnaKGyAV-V0DCyemN6GuY/s16000/Hear-Me-Out-Why-Buzzcocks-are-the-best-first-wave-punk-band-2023-Far-Out-Magazine-.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
conversation is usually the same. Regarding the UK, the best and most important
acts of the first wave of punk are Sex Pistols and The Clash. Of course,
everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but it seems a travesty that the
discussion regularly forgets the band who were, in my mind, the finest of the
lot, Buzzcocks. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Arguably
the most boundary-pushing act of the first wave of British punk, from their
music to setting up one of the first independent record labels, and even their
instrumental role in bringing the Sex Pistols to Manchester – a night credited
with kicking off the city’s musical boom – many aspects bolster this argument.
Without Buzzcocks, punk and broader alternative music today, would lack some
defining factors. This indicates just how important Buzzcocks were.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buzzcocks
were officially formed in February 1976 by college friends Howard Devoto and
Pete Shelley. This pair travelled down to London to see the buzziest band of
the day, Sex Pistols, and organise for them to play at Manchester’s Lesser Free
Trade Hall in June 1976, one of the most consequential nights in modern British
culture. They also intended to perform at this show, but Devoto and Shelley’s
bandmates dropped out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The band
eventually got their wishes, and after recruiting bassist Steve Diggle and
drummer John Maher, they made their debut performance opening for Sex Pistols
when they returned to Manchester for their second show in the city in July.
Things moved quickly, and Buzzcocks were now vital to a burgeoning movement. In
September 1976, the group trekked to London to perform at the two-day bonanza,
the 100 Club Punk Festival, organised by Sex Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren.
The festival was the moment punk crystallised itself as a genuine cultural
force, with other performers including Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Damned,
Siouxsie and the Banshees, and Subway Sect. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By the end
of 1976, Buzzcocks had found their rhythm, and they recorded the four-track EP
Spiral Scratch, which arrived in January the following year. Produced by future
Factory Records alumnus Martin Hannett, it arrived on Buzzcocks’ New Hormones
label, meaning they were one of the first punk groups to establish an
independent record label, second only to The Saints and Fatal Records, created
to release ‘(I’m) Stranded’. This also saw the group insert themselves further
into the story of punk, with the song ‘Boredom’ coherently explaining the
movement’s rebellion against the man. Additionally, the band demonstrated their
genuinely artistic edge on the record, with the minimalism of the two-note solo
in ‘Boredom’ the pinnacle of this, averting the established tradition of this
guitar part. Clearly then, even at this early point in their career, Buzzcocks
had made history on numerous occasions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite
these triumphs, Devoto quit the group only a few months later, citing his
displeasure at punk’s direction. He said in a statement: “I don’t like
movements. What was once unhealthily fresh is now a clean old hat”. He returned
to college for a year and then formed the widely influential post-punk outfit,
Magazine. They became one of the key players in the genre that would shine a
light on all of first-wave punk’s flaws and start to make real artistic
progress by casting aside the barriers of labels.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Devoto
leaving Buzzcocks also proved to be a significant moment for the band. It saw a
sea change occur, after which they would enter a more distinctive and essential
area, pushing the confines of punk to the absolute limit. Pete Shelley took on
the vocal duties, with his high-pitched, melodic vocals presenting a stark
contrast to the gruff delivery many punks employed due to their origins in the
blues-influenced pub rock. With Shelley taking over vocals and continuing to
play guitar, Diggle switched over to the six-string from the bass, with Garth
Davies, the original bassist rejoining. Steve Garvey eventually replaced him the
following year, a four-string hero who would give the quartet the busy
undercurrent needed for their increasingly dynamic sound.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite the
undoubted importance of Spiral Scratch, after Devoto left, Buzzcocks took
things up a level. Over the rest of their first chapter, which ended in 1981,
they pushed back against social and punk mores, writing music for the future
well ahead of its era. Arguably, it was more in line with what their heroes,
The Stooges and The Velvet Underground had done, with there also taboo-busting
similarities to the work of David Bowie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When
Shelley, bandmate Steve Diggle and manager Richard Boon sat down at the British
Library in June 2016 to discuss their career, they explained how bands like The
Velvet Underground and The Stooges inspired their iconoclasm. Shelley said:
“Myself and Howard (Devoto), we were listening to… well, separately, but we had
a mutual interest, things like The Velvet Underground, The Stooges, Can, I
mean, a lot of the German… yeah Neu! I mean things that, really, when you put
on you can clear a room.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
continued: “In those days, it was a whole different country. It was music which
nobody liked at all. Everybody was into sort of like heavy metal, but it wasn’t
as widdly-widdly… I mean, things like Black Sabbath and Deep Purple, there was
a lot of blues, and it was all to do with how many notes you could fit into
your 20-minute guitar solo. Where, I liked the things which were more on the
noisy side, but were funny as well. So that’s basically what we tried to do… In
fact, we were making the most uncommercial form of music that we thought
possible… We even had swearing in it. Nobody did that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was a
much different, more creative space to that of their most prominent punk peers,
Sex Pistols and The Clash, after Devoto left. Mainly inspired by the innovation
of The Stooges and more experimental acts such as The Velvet Underground and Can,
Shelley’s lyrics had much greater depth than almost everyone’s. A wholesale
affront to the machismo of punk, he showed it to be futile, as he discussed
personal feelings, sex and homosexuality in a wickedly comedic way, a complete
departure from the immediate moves of Sex Pistols. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Much of
this separation from the punk scene was due to Shelley. An open bisexual, his
discussions of love, sex, and other taboo issues pushed back against punk’s
standards and that of the mainstream. His lyrics set an example by sticking a
stout middle finger up to tradition and providing solace for listeners hiding
their true selves from the public. This significance cannot be overstated;
1970s Britain was a completely different time to our own. It was a much less
welcoming place for anyone who dared to veer off the beaten track. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Early
singles such as ‘Orgasm Addict’, ‘What Do I Get?’ and the iconic ‘Ever Fallen
in Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve)’ remain highlights of this approach.
While the first wave of punk was mostly concerned with external issues, Shelley
was an adept songwriter who could fuse the personal with outside forces such as
the political, going far beyond that of other punk songwriters, including The
Clash’s Joe Strummer, someone credited with addressing the most important
issues of his day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shelley
said more in one song than many of his contemporaries managed to do in their
whole career; that’s how incisive his prose was. ‘Everybody’s Happy Nowadays’,
‘Autonomy’, ‘Lipstick’ and ‘Whatever Happened To…?’ are four more examples of
the frontman’s lyrical flair. He was afraid of no issue, and had a knack for
combining the mundane and severe, something his heroes Iggy Pop and Lou Reed
were masters at that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course,
Buzzcocks’ music was much more impactful than their peers’ too. The guitars
were more muscular, the melodies were more prominent, and the band did exciting
things with their songwriting. This isn’t to say bands like The Clash and
Siouxsie and the Banshees didn’t; I just think that what they were doing had
more weight for the time. The likes of ‘Why Can’t I Touch It?’ with its
unbelievably groovy bassline and the power pop of ‘Promises’ are two further
examples of Buzzcocks’ scope. To use a football analogy, they were
well-ingratiated in the men’s team when their peers were still languishing in
the academy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Musically,
Shelley and Buzzcocks augmented the punk formula. They didn’t confine
themselves to playing just three power chords, and because of this, it wouldn’t
be excessive to label them more art-rock than punk. Ironically, there’s room
for them to be described as the first post-punk band, as they were railing
against the genre even when they were deeply embedded within it. Following
this, there are more parallels between them and Magazine, XTC and Squeeze than
with the likes of Sex Pistols and The Clash. It also says everything that many
subsequent alternative heroes such as The Smiths, Nirvana, Pixies, Pearl Jam
and Green Day cite as them an influence due to their creative prowess. There
was real depth to Buzzcocks, and that was always their power. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hear Me
Out: Why Buzzcocks are the best first-wave punk band. By Arun Starkey. <a href="https://faroutmagazine.co.uk/why-buzzcocks-are-the-best-first-wave-punk-band/">Far Out Magazine</a>, July 20, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_mNOkXx1b6KnUJ0k8QLvOessbPrQrW_ccsNxuLNo-WZpksXfr1o7GMis8kEOB24lxrjlxjt21556wNEenVJNH5QaSqiRxUL2ZdX_YZHrkySEDpvbeVymJXB5zt6NSGLxlTXbjnxOzEHUo2Et6CgYHKyyYAxyUhINeJvhcAMk6C0qoRb3ce4z97v4S3w/s680/3000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_mNOkXx1b6KnUJ0k8QLvOessbPrQrW_ccsNxuLNo-WZpksXfr1o7GMis8kEOB24lxrjlxjt21556wNEenVJNH5QaSqiRxUL2ZdX_YZHrkySEDpvbeVymJXB5zt6NSGLxlTXbjnxOzEHUo2Et6CgYHKyyYAxyUhINeJvhcAMk6C0qoRb3ce4z97v4S3w/s16000/3000.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In January
1977 a young punk band called Buzzcocks walked into the Manchester branch of
Virgin with a box of singles they wanted to sell. They had set up a label
called New Hormones and paid for the records themselves with an early form of
crowdfunding – borrowing £500 from a couple of friends and the guitarist’s dad
– and their only ambition was to sell enough of the 1,000 copies they had
pressed to be able to repay the loans. The Spiral Scratch EP ended up selling
16,000 copies and reaching the top 40 – there was no problem with the loans.
More importantly, though, it proved that it was possible for artists to be in
complete control of their music, from production to distribution, and in the
process invented indie.</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">These days,
there’s nothing unusual about bypassing the record industry. Chance the Rapper
self-released his music and has become a breakout star and Barack Obama’s guest
at the White House. In 1977, though, Spiral Scratch was game-changing. In its
wake came a wave of British independent labels and a distribution network that
meant that, as Rough Trade founder Geoff Travis puts it, “anyone could compete
with the big boys, but that only happened because it was an undeniably great
record”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Few who saw
the first Buzzcocks show on 1 April 1976 would have felt they were in the
presence of people who were about to reshape pop. Peter McNeish and Howard
Trafford (who would become Pete Shelley and Howard Devoto) fronted a makeshift
version of the band at Bolton Institute of Technology’s students’ union – they
were studying there – and managed to annoy not just the venue, but their
bandmates, too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After the
venue pulled the plug, their drummer – who had never rehearsed with them before
– laid into Shelley and Devoto. “He said: ‘I’m at this level’ – and held his
hands very high,” Shelley, remembers, “‘and you’re down there.’”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shelley and
Devoto had been inspired to form Buzzcocks seven weeks earlier, when they read
a live review in NME that would transform their lives. The headline, “Don’t
look over your shoulder, but the Sex Pistols are coming!”, was enough to
convince them to borrow a little Renault and drive 200 miles to High Wycombe in
Buckinghamshire to see the Pistols support Screaming Lord Sutch on 21 February.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5827lkk2y9IyoLNddza8YvfbJxvZKJdVHEzw8y2TWHaBrw4XnLNFR1nBVfE6ru_bzUXu5lFI37G7JoNtmwAckFpzL2x1-d3T9y9fKYI8gasg6FgEsLZRqKAXEN9rRRrSUcZertUuvsIfwY-bft3cpkb-3lraaKoAn2RIBpKG6LEhxz-ERvOKQYErEkY/s600/29f7ecb5d2802527bcc75df4fb8a0d69.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5827lkk2y9IyoLNddza8YvfbJxvZKJdVHEzw8y2TWHaBrw4XnLNFR1nBVfE6ru_bzUXu5lFI37G7JoNtmwAckFpzL2x1-d3T9y9fKYI8gasg6FgEsLZRqKAXEN9rRRrSUcZertUuvsIfwY-bft3cpkb-3lraaKoAn2RIBpKG6LEhxz-ERvOKQYErEkY/s16000/29f7ecb5d2802527bcc75df4fb8a0d69.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Seeing the
Pistols changed everything,” Devoto says. “We started to realise what songs we
ourselves could write.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At this
point, the Pistols were some way from becoming the band who outraged a nation.
They were so short of bookings that their manager, Malcolm McLaren, agreed to
the offer Shelley and Devoto put to him: they would put his charges on in
Manchester, if they could be the support band.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The problem
was, the pair didn’t have a band. And when the night of the gig at the Lesser
Free Trade Hall arrived – 4 June 1976, with Shelley and Devoto having paid £32
to rent the room – they still lacked a permanent bassist and drummer and had to
drop off the bill. But they quickly recruited bassist Steve Diggle and drummer
John Maher, who joined while doing his O-levels as a way of avoiding “aggro”
from his neighbours, and when the Pistols returned to the Lesser Free Trade Hall
on 20 July, Buzzcocks were ready.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I thought
if I could join a band, I could get the drum kit out of the house,” Maher says.
“How was I to know that my first gig would be supporting the Sex Pistols?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shelley,
who was 22, remembers the show for its “complete lack of adult supervision. We
were literally doing it ourselves. McLaren said: ‘If Buzzcocks aren’t onstage
in 10 minutes, you’re not going on.’ But he was shrewd enough to bring music
journalists.” When the journalists’ reviews appeared, Buzzcocks were catapulted
to national attention.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Initially,
they had no plans to make a record, but after the Pistols’ appearance on Thames
TV’s Today show – swearing at the host, Bill Grundy – landed them on tabloid
front pages and major labels started signing punk bands, Buzzcocks realised
they had to make their mark or risk being passed by.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Record
company scouts just didn’t venture up to Manchester,” says Richard Boon, their
manager. “The place felt like the tide had gone out.” But what other options
were there? To Shelley, the idea of manufacturing a record themselves felt “as
unfeasible as making a computer in your front room”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There were
already British independents: the Damned’s New Rose had been released on Stiff,
but that label had the advantage of being run by people with lots of experience
in the music business, and the contacts that came with that experience. It was
a rather different matter for a pair of students whose only experience of
records was buying them and listening to them. “The Drones told us: ‘Don’t do
it!’” Shelley says. “Because they’d gone the vanity publishing route in a
previous incarnation and ended up with boxes of records in the garage.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However,
the band’s new booking agent, Martin Hannett, wanted to become a producer and
saw an opportunity in Buzzcocks. Boon started investigating pressing plants, to
see whether they really could make a record, and as things started moving,
Shelley began to think: “We can actually do this.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It helped
that by now they had a set of songs that matched those of any London punk band,
led by Boredom (“You know me – I’m acting dumb / The scene is very humdrum /
Boredom! Boredom!” Devoto sings, while Shelley picks out a two-note solo).
Devoto wrote the lyrics during night shifts at a tile factory, and Shelley
wrote the tunes on his Woolworth’s guitar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “We were chalk and cheese,” Shelley remembers.
“I said to him, ‘I never get around to things. I live in a straight line,’ That
ended up in Boredom.” Shelly’s’s famous guitar solo – seen as the epitome of
punk’s rejection of musicianship, and later resurrected by Edwyn Collins for
Orange Juice’s Rip It Up – came “out of the blue and seemed to fit. After we’d
finished it, we fell about laughing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Boredom,
Breakdown, Time’s Up and Friends of Mine were recorded in 30 minutes just
before Christmas 1976, with Hannett at the controls. Spiral Scratch launched
his career, too, and he would go on to produce Joy Division and New Order, the
Psychedelic Furs, U2, Happy Mondays and many more – including Buzzcocks after
Devoto left, and Devoto’s next group, Magazine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“My
impression was that Martin didn’t know what he was doing,” Maher says. “But
neither did we.” Devoto says of Spiral Scratch’s ramshackle, lo-fi sound: “As
amateurs even we found it a bit amateurish sounding.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hVJubXOzggTAr6UYudW9mayUMaUL-oU3KYqoQCMhU9ZIo_CN75NbiFw9yUafVPDNE3fDxGjzX_GhmEwBWFL_iVHI-NWXTy8q1Ay_2chL7Hu2Dr7WOk1xtqUneXV-8Ug6iT_B-koDXvjzYJdGFNseLY1FTTqSHiXeZewNu0rIb4sA75TtQEuX6vUK9Vw/s600/buzzcocks_spiral_scratch_packshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hVJubXOzggTAr6UYudW9mayUMaUL-oU3KYqoQCMhU9ZIo_CN75NbiFw9yUafVPDNE3fDxGjzX_GhmEwBWFL_iVHI-NWXTy8q1Ay_2chL7Hu2Dr7WOk1xtqUneXV-8Ug6iT_B-koDXvjzYJdGFNseLY1FTTqSHiXeZewNu0rIb4sA75TtQEuX6vUK9Vw/s16000/buzzcocks_spiral_scratch_packshot.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Boon thinks
the amateurishness is all part of the EP’s charm: Buzzcocks were the
anti-Fleetwood Mac, the antithesis of big-budget music. He took Spiral
Scratch’s cover photo of the band on a Polaroid instant camera and the band
assembled at Devoto’s shared flat in Lower Broughton to slide 1,000 singles
into their budget picture sleeves.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first
shop to take copies was Virgin in Manchester, which accepted 25 copies and sold
them for 99p each (of which 60p went to the band). In London, Travis had just
opened his Rough Trade shop. He took an initial 50, then ordered 200 more just
two days later. “I knew I could sell them,” he says. “It was a sensational
record.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Boon didn’t
have the money to press more copies, so Jon Webster, the manager of the
Manchester branch of Virgin, lent him £600 from the shop’s sales of coach
tickets to a Status Quo gig. “So indirectly, the first British independent
success story was financed by the Quo,” Boon says, laughing. Webster remembers
those pioneering punk days as “the best time of my life”, and notes that, back
then, a record shop could be a catalyst for spreading new music. “Because there
was no distribution, almost no shops had these records,” he says. “When we
handed out a photocopied list of all our punk singles at the [venue] Electric
Circus, we were deluged with people from all over the north.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Soon enough,
a copy of Spiral Scratch reached John Peel, who duly played it; it became
single of the week in the music papers, and sales exploded via mail order.
After Mancunian photographer Kevin Cummins gave Marc Bolan a copy and
photographed him holding it, Boon’s landline started “ringing off the hook”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Spiral
Scratch provided evidence that punk was having an effect nationwide, that it
wasn’t just confined to a small coterie in London. The cultural historian Jon
Savage had just started his first fanzine when it was released, and it made him
think Manchester punk “seemed more interesting than London punk, which was full
of people with leather jackets and cocaine habits”. Just as important, the
means of Spiral Scratch’s release epitomised liberation through DIY. “Suddenly
the gap between wanting to do something and actually doing it seemed small,”
Savage says.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Devoto’s
idea of providing recording details on the sleeve – “Breakdown, third take, no
overdubs” and so on – further demystified the process of making records, making
it seem accessible to scores of young groups. Two months after Spiral Scratch
was released, the Desperate Bicycles formed, and released a first single with a
sleevenote that read: “The Desperate Bicycles were formed in March 1977 specifically
for the purpose of recording and releasing a single on their own label.” That
note inspired Green Gartside of Scritti Politti to form his own band and
release a debut single on which he itemised the costs of production and
manufacturing. Buzzcocks had started something that couldn’t be stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Indie
labels began to spring up nationwide: in 1978, ZigZag magazine published a list
of 120 labels that had punk acts on their roster; the vast majority of them
were from outside London. Alongside the labels came a new breed of band:
Webster remembers Ian Curtis coming into Virgin and declaring: “I’ve formed a
band!” Then Rough Trade set up the indie distribution network that gave these
new labels and bands some of the muscle their counterparts on the major labels
had previously monopolised. “You could have a No 1 record and have nothing to
do with the record industry,” he says. “It was tremendously empowering.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvMkSXrVCr8GZLRYbnzc-PPDvHFdnCJQ9fPq4_29CXk43AIbzPXvEa8ufHDmRmuXCUFYmIoN2LLzwOb8I9Ey6UpzxFEY8qLKmVofwDb_zfor20UX6k2ak930vdWN1o6rf5EjSPiAdersd6_KCcZuc7D6vfZ-SlOpxkkC_SV0SjKqh-AtUDU5P7Bj8U1Y/s600/buzzcocks1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvMkSXrVCr8GZLRYbnzc-PPDvHFdnCJQ9fPq4_29CXk43AIbzPXvEa8ufHDmRmuXCUFYmIoN2LLzwOb8I9Ey6UpzxFEY8qLKmVofwDb_zfor20UX6k2ak930vdWN1o6rf5EjSPiAdersd6_KCcZuc7D6vfZ-SlOpxkkC_SV0SjKqh-AtUDU5P7Bj8U1Y/s16000/buzzcocks1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buzzcocks
Mk 1 didn’t survive their own earthquake. Devoto returned to college, and later
formed Magazine. The new lineup of Buzzcocks, with Shelley singing, signed to
United Artists and produced some of the best loved-music of the punk era. Forty
years on, although there have been breaks along the way, Shelley and Diggle
continue to lead Buzzcocks, and celebrated the band’s 40th anniversary with a
world tour.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And all
these years on, there are young bands doing exactly what Buzzcocks did. “I
recently met the grime act Tough Squad, who told me how they press up 200
records, take them to shops and then go back for the money,” Boon says. “Just
like we did.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It just
shows what can happen if you’re stupid enough to believe that you can do
something,” Shelley adds. “History is made by those who turn up.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Spiral Scratch (40th anniversary reissue) is
released on Domino on 27 January. Time’s Up, an album of 1976 demos, is being
reissued on 24 February.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How
Buzzcocks invented indie (with help from the Sex Pistols, a Renault and the
Quo). By Dave Simpson. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2017/jan/12/how-buzzcocks-invented-indie-with-help-from-the-sex-pistols-a-renault-and-the-quo">The Guardian</a>, January 12, 2017. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCBEpCdsFVOOp9mfkz_R-yWTLyjVVu8wSxSWvSWLImsJHLRr28J2ahCCOOLifpys02KBmMmCRxIoeiX_2vgtl3EIsMCqGYM3fH2QU_Q04w8BMHITk5v6RQNkUKCm8qocrQHl9u-6p8-BdQl_xW9Fd5hjmwB39y8pvWYG1HNYNFycSeXdjc0MfeOFQmF8/s600/Steve-Shelley-Five-Years-Gone-rnrg-splash-page-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCBEpCdsFVOOp9mfkz_R-yWTLyjVVu8wSxSWvSWLImsJHLRr28J2ahCCOOLifpys02KBmMmCRxIoeiX_2vgtl3EIsMCqGYM3fH2QU_Q04w8BMHITk5v6RQNkUKCm8qocrQHl9u-6p8-BdQl_xW9Fd5hjmwB39y8pvWYG1HNYNFycSeXdjc0MfeOFQmF8/s16000/Steve-Shelley-Five-Years-Gone-rnrg-splash-page-.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pete
Shelley and his band Buzzcocks became indelibly linked to the UK’s punk
movement when they played their first gig supporting the Sex Pistols at the
Lesser Free Trade Hall in Manchester in July 1976, but they never conformed to
any of punk’s cliches about rage, anarchy and rebellion. Shelley, who has died
of a heart attack aged 63, proved to be a songwriter of wit and subtlety, able
to probe the angst and confusion of adolescent love and lust with shrewd
insight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was
innovative musically as well as lyrically, taking inspiration from David Bowie,
Brian Eno, Roxy Music and the Velvet Underground, as well as from German bands
such as Neu and Can. While the music of many of the punk bands remains firmly
of its time, Buzzcocks’ best songs still sound fresh and inventive, mixing
dense guitar patterns with infectious melodies. Their influence can be heard on
bands from Primal Scream and the Jesus and Mary Chain to REM and Nirvana. Gary
Kemp of Spandau Ballet said: “Pete was one of Britain’s best pure pop writers,
up there with Ray Davies.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buzzcocks
achieved success with their first recording, the Spiral Scratch EP, which was
released on their own label, New Hormones, in January 1977 (the band having
supported the Sex Pistols on their Anarchy tour in late 1976). It was one of
the first independent releases of the punk era, and to the band’s surprise sold
its first thousand copies in four days. “We made quite a bit of money from
Spiral Scratch,” Shelley recalled. “It ended up selling about 16,000 copies and
we were able to buy some new equipment.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They then
signed to United Artists. Their first single, Orgasm Addict, was released in
November 1977 but the BBC declined to play it because of its subject matter and
it did not make the charts. The follow-up, What Do I Get, released in February
1978, reached 37, and their debut album, Another Music in a Different Kitchen
(1978) climbed to 15. Their second album, Love Bites, which came out later that
year, contained what remains their best-known hit, the zingingly propulsive
Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve), which made No 12. Shelley
borrowed the title from a line in the musical Guys and Dolls. The 1979 album A
Different Kind of Tension reached 26 in the UK.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Continued
singles success came with Promises (20), Everybody’s Happy Nowadays (29) and
Harmony in My Head (32). However, growing tensions in the band coupled with
friction with EMI, which had purchased United Artists, prompted Shelley to
break up Buzzcocks in 1981.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was born
Peter McNeish in Leigh, Lancashire. His father, John, was a fitter at Astley
Green colliery, and his mother, Margaret, a former mill worker. Peter began
writing songs while still at Leigh grammar school, and while studying for an
HND in electronics at Bolton Institute of Technology he bought a Tandberg
four-track reel-to-reel tape recorder and began making recordings of his own
songs. (“I think of my career in music more as a songwriting career than
anything else,” he said in 1983.) He formed a group called Jets of Air, the
name inspired by a college lecture on Newtonian physics, and while “we played
only about six gigs in three years”, Shelley built up a stockpile of songs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He then
dabbled in a project called Sky, where he experimented with electronic music
and recorded the album Sky Yen, released later, in 1980, on his own label,
Groovy Records. He subsequently tried making “heavier, more rhythmic” music
with Smash, which he described as “a non-existent group”, but which supplied
more raw material for Buzzcocks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The band
came about when Shelley spotted an advertisement on a college noticeboard from
Howard Devoto (real name Howard Trafford), wanting to form a band in the vein
of the Stooges and the Velvet Underground. “That was much in line with the
Smash idea, so I phoned him up straight away,” said Shelley. Buzzcocks
originally planned to make their debut at the first Sex Pistols concert at the
Lesser Free Trade Hall in June 1976, but the bass player and drummer pulled
out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For their
eventual appearance the following month, Shelley and Devoto were joined by the
drummer John Maher and the bassist Steve Diggle. When Devoto quit after the
release of Spiral Scratch and went on to form Magazine, Shelley became lead
vocalist, Diggle switched to guitar and the original bass player, Garth Smith,
rejoined temporarily, later replaced by Steve Garvey.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1981
Shelley launched his solo career with the single Homosapien, from the album of
the same name, produced by the Buzzcocks producer Martin Rushent (who was about
to help make Human League’s electropop epic Dare). Shelley had returned to his
earlier fondness for electronica, and found himself in controversial waters
when the BBC banned Homosapien for its “explicit reference to gay sex”. In 2002
Shelley commented that his sexuality “tends to change as much as the weather”.
The track reached 14 on the US dance chart.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1983 his
second solo album, XL1, brought him a minor hit single with Telephone Operator.
In 1987 he contributed the song Do Anything to the soundtrack of the John
Hughes movie Some Kind of Wonderful.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1989
Buzzcocks reformed and toured the US, and released Trade Test Transmissions
(1993), the first of a series of albums, the most recent of which was The Way
(2014). In 2002, Shelley reunited with Devoto to record the album Buzzkunst.
“Devoto is not the life and soul of the party or a born raconteur, but he sees
things as funny and I think that’s how we hit it off with each other,” Shelley
observed drily. “I always had this idea that me and Devoto were like Gilbert
and George. As long as you approach it from that angle you can do anything you
want, and you just call it art.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2005,
following the death of the DJ John Peel, Shelley recorded a tribute version of
Ever Fallen In Love with a multi-platinum lineup of stars including Elton John,
Robert Plant, David Gilmour and Roger Daltrey.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2012 he
moved to Tallinn, Estonia, with his second wife, Greta. She survives him, as do
his younger brother, Gary, and a son from his first marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Pete Shelley (Peter Campbell McNeish),
musician, singer and songwriter, born 17 April 1955; died 6 December 2018.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pete
Shelley obituary. By Adam Sweeting. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2018/dec/07/pete-shelley-obituary">The Guardian</a>, December 7, 2018. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buzzcocks'
Pete Shelley – a life in pictures. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/gallery/2018/dec/07/buzzcocks-pete-shelley-a-life-in-pictures">The Guardian</a>, December 7, 2018. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="DE" style="mso-ansi-language: DE;"><br /></span></p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-7012470291416590092023-12-24T10:04:00.003+00:002023-12-24T10:04:35.549+00:00Why The Wars On Terror, Drugs And Migration Never Succeed<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6oryNdt6fBYEWdV_t_Kfqro2tLNsvbbcs62CB8OjJl4kRBHnU2ueb395gPb58NpcZpODs-e4lqCDBfUlPvfmvpZNBYXK4XXlH-KArGItg0Ng4VNSDpn4ai7jcVUDCxnMVJkp68caAXxPFrSsIvZsCq5QtG2CvOm1cazSKRBIs3rAP-qWuZPsLp7qlZXw/s600/GettyImages-1239287690-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6oryNdt6fBYEWdV_t_Kfqro2tLNsvbbcs62CB8OjJl4kRBHnU2ueb395gPb58NpcZpODs-e4lqCDBfUlPvfmvpZNBYXK4XXlH-KArGItg0Ng4VNSDpn4ai7jcVUDCxnMVJkp68caAXxPFrSsIvZsCq5QtG2CvOm1cazSKRBIs3rAP-qWuZPsLp7qlZXw/s16000/GettyImages-1239287690-1.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">War
rhetoric is everywhere in our volatile politics: from Ukraine to the
resurrection of the war on terror in Gaza, from the ‘wars’ on human smugglers,
drugs and crime, through to more metaphorical culture wars, ‘war on motorists’,
on a virus – even on climate change. Keir Starmer accuses Rishi Sunak of
prosecuting a ‘one-man war on reality’ while ‘anti-woke’ campaigners decry a
war on Christmas. Some of these wars are spurious (last time we looked,
Christmas is still happening). Others are all too real.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What’s
clear is that war rhetoric is attractive either to rally one’s troops or to
smear one’s opponents. No surprise: war mobilises. If a politician were to
proclaim ‘a mild push on climate change’ or ‘a moderately important attempt to
curtail migration,’ they’d get few plaudits from the ranks. But, as my
colleague Ruben Andersson and I found in our book Wreckonomics, our addiction
to waging (or announcing) war on everything has brought underhand benefits for
politicians and massive problems for the rest of us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For a
start, politicians frequently use the spectacle of war to direct attention away
from their deeper failures. Israel’s Gaza onslaught, after major security
failings, may be a notable example. In the more metaphorical war on smugglers,
we might think of Sunak’s renewed noises over small boats in face of record
immigration figures. Diversionary tactics abound. Just two weeks after 9/11,
Donald Rumsfeld suggested: ‘Look, as part of the war on terrorism, should we be
getting something going in another area, other than Afghanistan, so that
success or failure and progress isn’t measured just by Afghanistan?’ The Iraq
invasion followed, with New Labour support. Amid the subsequent quagmire, one
former Foreign Office worker told me of pressure to ensure things were seen to
be working in Afghanistan so as to provide a distraction from things going so
badly in Iraq.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another
problem rears its head here: war – whether in rhetoric or practice – tends to
create more enemies. When politicians sought to frame measures against Covid-19
as a just war of sorts, opponents reacted and belligerence grew. As for real
war, figures from the Global Terrorism Index show that in the context of the
multi-trillion dollar global war on terror, the number of terrorist attacks
rose rapidly: from around 3,300 in 2000 to almost 30,000 by 2015. Israel would
do well to heed the warning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">War creates
rich opportunities for those who want to game it for purposes of their own. The
classic case is Vietnam, where American General William Corson observed that
the South Vietnamese government’s power was ‘based on the US presence, and
since that in turn is based on the level of violence it is to their advantage
to orchestrate the war at the appropriate level.’ More recently, regimes from
Syria to Sri Lanka and China have used the idea of a ‘war on terror’ as
convenient cover for repressing their own populations. Meanwhile, from
Gaddafi’s Libya to Turkey and Niger, ‘partner states’ have been able to use the
threat of mass migration to leverage aid money and to carve out immunity for
repression.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To these
perverse incentives, we can add one more: the ease with which its costs can be
exported to others. In 1935, another US general, Smedley Butler, denounced war
as a racket ‘in which the profits are reckoned in dollars and the losses in
lives.’ Consider the war on drugs, which in the words of one report, has
generated ‘mass incarceration in the US, highly repressive policies in Asia,
vast corruption and political destabilisation in Afghanistan and West Africa,
immense violence in Latin America, an HIV epidemic in Russia, an acute global
shortage of pain medication and the propagation of systematic human rights
abuses around the world.’ And all this at huge expense to the public purse.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">War ushers
in a self-righteousness that quashes dissent and constrains debate over its
real costs. For years, the staggering failure in Afghanistan and Iraq was
effectively hidden away. ‘We didn’t have the foggiest notion of what we were
undertaking,’ admitted Douglas Lute, the Afghan war czar under the Bush and
Obama administrations. For too long, no one dared call the emperor naked while
he was leading his troops into battle. We see a similar pattern in rhetorical
wars too – including in the fight against Covid-19 via lockdowns, whose highly
unequal distribution of costs worldwide was frequently seen as beyond the scope
of civilised discussion. ‘Net zero’ risks reproducing this, fuelling an
unsavoury politics of grievance. Both those on the left and right would do well
to dial down their righteousness and listen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">More
insidious than the quashing of dissent is the manipulation of the information
environment that war invites. In the war on terror, beating Isis became a ‘win’
– even though Isis owed its existence to the war itself. In the war on drugs,
policymakers reel off metrics on narcotics intercepted and smugglers arrested,
but the trade keeps growing. At the borders, each crackdown (at Calais, in the
Mediterranean) promises a political pay-off but also stores up future trouble
(the small boats, the Atlantic crossing). When wars are declared, politicians
need to point so a ‘win’, but all too often this means we frequently end up in
a hall of mirrors where underlying problems are renewed and where failure
becomes a peculiar kind of success.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In all the
war talk lurks the danger, too, of crying wolf. When a real war happens, whether
in Ukraine or the Middle East, we may not fully recognise it for what it is —
not least when it comes to the dangers of escalation and the quashing of
dissent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We must
wean ourselves off the war fix. By opening our eyes to the real costs and
ill-gotten benefits from both rhetorical and real wars, we have a chance to
ditch the addiction. That will help us to focus on the more peaceful solutions
that only emerge when dissent and debate are allowed a proper place in
politics. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wreckonomics:
Why It’s Time to End the War on Everything, by Ruben Andersson and David Keen,
is out now<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why are
politicians fixated with declaring war? By David Keen.<a href="https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/why-are-politicians-fixated-with-declaring-war/"> The Spectator</a> December 22,
2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoylN3xdYIY6uiUS-hp_fUPtLZ7ucSOU5fPLzwkFamh-idqIe5pIGu59HTzpgX006T-oITGS71B_edUpUELvBu3Ly_GGLkyN_yDZS7pX-Q601jKUl-bAg9IFmG85aninMsJJygyTMfjnEKslZguDto8hhb0AC4TuLNYHbg2dqPaJIO-tTckNIcLOFjTLA/s600/2006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoylN3xdYIY6uiUS-hp_fUPtLZ7ucSOU5fPLzwkFamh-idqIe5pIGu59HTzpgX006T-oITGS71B_edUpUELvBu3Ly_GGLkyN_yDZS7pX-Q601jKUl-bAg9IFmG85aninMsJJygyTMfjnEKslZguDto8hhb0AC4TuLNYHbg2dqPaJIO-tTckNIcLOFjTLA/s16000/2006.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just like
the war on drugs and the war on terror, efforts at stopping population movement
by force often just fuel the problem. But for many claiming to confront the
perceived threat, that suits all too well<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Look at the
business of tackling the migration crisis in Europe, and you will find evidence
not of some one-off failure to plan ahead, or a policy initiative gone wrong
through unexpected circumstances. Rather, you face something akin to a complex
crime scene where the damage, the ostensible “mistakes”, and the cover-ups have
all been systematic. The perverse outcomes of the war on smuggling – including
thousands of border deaths, escalating political brinkmanship and the
professionalisation of the human smuggling business itself – are more than a
blip or an anomaly. When policies persistently fail, we need to look not only
at “what went wrong” but also at “what went right”– and at who is benefiting
from the wreckage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The habit
of waging “war” on everything has spread from the early days of the war on
communism and the war on drugs to “fights” against crime, terrorism, irregular
migration and many more complex political problems. These wars never seem to be
won and often have disastrous results, yet politicians continue to declare
them. What keeps such disastrous interventions and policies ticking over? What
renders them acceptable? Why do they get reinvented from one era to another?
And why do we never seem to learn? Using our backgrounds in anthropology (Ruben
Andersson) and history/sociology (David Keen), over recent years, we have
sought to get to the bottom of these questions. Nowhere illustrates the failure
of “the war on everything” approach better than the fight against migration.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2010,
when Ruben first arrived in Senegal to study migration to Europe, he was struck
by something people kept telling him. Four years earlier, in one of Europe’s
earlier “migration crises”, 30,000 west-African migrants had arrived at the
Spanish Canary Islands in wooden fishing boats, sparking a large-scale
deportation campaign. On the outskirts of Dakar, the capital of Senegal, one of
those deported from the Canaries told Ruben that he was, as an anthropologist
studying migration, part of a system that was profiting from the migrants’
misery. “There’s lots of money in illegal migration,” said the deportee,
pointing out, on long walks through his seaside neighbourhood, all those who
fed off this system: academics, journalists, NGOs and European and Senegalese
maritime forces stationed just beyond this fishing community.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the
time, the word on the street was that Senegalese politicians, both locally and
nationally, were using Spanish aid money – meant to ensure Senegal’s
collaboration in deportations and border patrols – for their own private or
political gain. In coming years, the pattern would be replicated as major
partners in European immigration control – such as Libya, Turkey and Sudan –
leveraged their promised cooperation, not just for a windfall of aid, but also
for wider strategic and economic ends.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Seeing this
system in action, we developed an analysis of the political economy of war and
of security operations such as deportation and border patrols – asking the old
question “Cui bono” (Who gains?), as well as “In whose wider interests are the
operations staged?” There was an intriguing, if disturbing, challenge of
joining the dots between various disastrous interventions, from the wars on
drugs and smugglers to the war on terror, where we had observed a very similar
pattern. In a variety of war-like interventions, regional powers have been
gaming ostensible attempts to eliminate a perceived threat, carving out
impunity and making a profit. At the same time, pursuing these various wars and
fights has routinely fuelled – or simply displaced – the problem. For a wide
range of actors who claim to confront the perceived threat, things keep going
wrong in the right way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Escalating
the fights, escalating the demands<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the
most important gamers was Libya’s Col Muammar Gaddafi. By the early 2000s, he
had already discovered that he sat on a prize possession. Amid the
international arms embargo, the Brotherly Leader had turned his eyes to his
African neighbours: sleeping in a great Bedouin tent in New York before the UN
general assembly was all of a piece with his newfound role as chief
spokesperson for downtrodden African nations breaking free from old colonial
shackles. He had established close business links with states in the Sahel and
invited African workers into Libya’s booming economy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">As Italy
and its northern neighbours anxiously began considering the Mediterranean for
signs of migrant boats, however, Gaddafi started seeing his country’s African
workers as a double asset. On the one hand, workers could still be exploited;
on the other, they could be weaponised. By 2008, a Friendship Treaty had been
struck between Gaddafi and Italy’s Silvio Berlusconi, which was worth $5bn over
20 years. Supposedly aimed at addressing colonial wrongs, it smoothed the path
for outsourced border patrols in the central Mediterranean. Even so, Gaddafi,
who had by now fully grown into Reagan’s caricature of him as the “mad dog of
the Middle East”, escalated the rhetoric and threatened that Europe would “turn
black” unless more favours were forthcoming. And come they did: Libya emerged
from the international cold thanks in no small part to Gaddafi’s migration
manoeuvres. He also succeeded in presenting himself as someone who could help
in the “war on terror” – not least because of his role in stirring up terror.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTo9wQj9g0oCP5i2DeY8MSEkB1VpKhUGvdqYhapTQMWdwEfBGlfIVcJEWpvjsEwTSbEzL4_lR7CMh38fx6Inj0Jgy_sDKTpj2N55Kag_1_5x1V6jSd29ABDhb2qzvSTQlXkhd40liQrWwDSB2qDBlIue74XYrh5UGqNtEebbLrqIeeB34pqTHj32mwD7U/s600/libyan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTo9wQj9g0oCP5i2DeY8MSEkB1VpKhUGvdqYhapTQMWdwEfBGlfIVcJEWpvjsEwTSbEzL4_lR7CMh38fx6Inj0Jgy_sDKTpj2N55Kag_1_5x1V6jSd29ABDhb2qzvSTQlXkhd40liQrWwDSB2qDBlIue74XYrh5UGqNtEebbLrqIeeB34pqTHj32mwD7U/s16000/libyan.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then came
war. Amid the Arab spring, Nato and assorted Middle Eastern countries
intervened militarily in the scramble for power in Libya. The violent removal
of Gaddafi and the conflict that followed led to a cascade of displacement and
migration; it also escalated the gaming and brinkmanship. Nato missiles had
ended his previously cosy relationship with European leaders, but Gaddafi did
not give up on his threats and cajoling in the dying days of his regime – quite
the opposite. Europe would be “invaded” by migrants, he said, unless Nato
backed down; his troops tried to make good on his threat, forcing African
workers to board unseaworthy vessels at gunpoint.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
following years, assorted warlords have kept up this tradition by
simultaneously combating and facilitating migration, taking handsome rewards
while threatening Europe with further “invasions”. In one notable episode, one
militia leader in the north-western Libyan city of Zawiya, known as Al Bija,
was found by journalists to be managing the smuggling market by taking a substantial
cut from any departing boats before promptly “rescuing” those who had not paid,
towing them back to land and imprisoning them in brutal detention centres run
by his own tribe. The double game of migration control – extracting cash and
impunity by issuing threats, while simultaneously offering to remedy them –
was, by the time of Libya’s conflict, a high-stakes scramble for profit and
power.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gaming
Europe’s migration fixation<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The stakes
were to rise higher still. In 2015, Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdoğan was in a
tight spot: he had called snap elections and was under siege from all sides.
But Erdoğan held the trump card: migration. Though the details were to remain
murky, by spring 2016 it was becoming clear that threatening to turn on the tap
of onward migration was an important tactic for the Turkish leadership.
(Questions still remain over Russia’s role in fomenting the crisis as part of
its Syria manoeuvres.) The 2015-16 border crisis would strengthen Erdoğan’s
grip on power as he extracted promises from the EU – only partially met, but
that did not particularly matter for short-term electoral purposes – on
visa-free travel for Turkish citizens and billions of euros of financial
support for Turkey’s refugee operations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Selling
yourself as an unreliable bulwark against migration had by 2015 become big
business. “Weapons of mass migration” is how one scholar, Kelly Greenhill, has
labelled this use of migrants as a geopolitical tool. Whatever we call this
gaming of migration and forced displacement, it is a remarkably effective way
for less powerful states to exert pressure on their stronger counterparts. One
further example comes from Morocco, which in 2022 managed finally to shift
Spain’s policy on occupied Western Sahara in its favour in exchange for further
migration enforcement – halting, at least temporarily, the brinkmanship that
had fomented politically motivated “border crises” at the Spanish enclaves of
Ceuta and Melilla, as well as in the strait of Gibraltar, over previous
decades. The costs of this bargaining were regularly borne by migrants; for
instance, in June 2022 at least 37 migrants died between the Spanish and
Moroccan fences at Melilla, where they had been trapped and teargassed in a
security operation subsequently covered up by both sides.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wSEzY20xnA5UbI568c73VHyL1vy4-P6XVUoQm35K-8Dtba_URMv2RKv-LoA2166RcEwEbkzuLPZRr-zOxkB7HCW9EiwWzB1rQms58LDwzA98ElVvC6fp8uz-vjtb26o6lrRz29eIbjQSbrh-p_ZMP7C_-puiSTRHEPzi6xLNNXPeqjvZIEB4bSv1s3o/s600/afgan%20refugees%20turkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wSEzY20xnA5UbI568c73VHyL1vy4-P6XVUoQm35K-8Dtba_URMv2RKv-LoA2166RcEwEbkzuLPZRr-zOxkB7HCW9EiwWzB1rQms58LDwzA98ElVvC6fp8uz-vjtb26o6lrRz29eIbjQSbrh-p_ZMP7C_-puiSTRHEPzi6xLNNXPeqjvZIEB4bSv1s3o/s16000/afgan%20refugees%20turkey.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In her
study, Greenhill argues that certain features of liberal democracies –
including respect for rights and open democratic debate – make them
particularly vulnerable to being played. However, we have seen in Libya and
Turkey how the illiberal tendency of treating migration as a threat has been a
key part of the game. Once fighting migration has come to be seen as a
paramount political objective in destination states, and once huge resources
are being spent on this endeavour, buffer states will spot vulnerabilities and
opportunities to play on this perceived existential threat, selectively closing
and opening the gates.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">UNHCR
figures as of 2023 confirm a broader trend: 83% of refugees worldwide are
hosted by low- and middle-income countries, and 72% by countries neighbouring
conflict zones. Turkey, topping the list of global refugee hosts, can
reasonably argue that it has done its “fair share” in hosting more than 3.6
million refugees, mostly from neighbouring Syria. When larger refugee hosts
leverage human displacement, they are using the “weapons of the weak”, to use
anthropologist James Scott’s term, against a more powerful counterpart. While
border security has spectacularly failed to address international migration
(and has generated a raft of destructive consequences), it has nevertheless
“succeeded” in keeping refugees away from the protection that might have been
provided by the richest states, at least for some time. Yet this is far from
the only shortsighted gain for destination states. Another comes from the
potent politics of distraction and drama that border control provides.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
burgeoning business of border security<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is worth
reflecting on how swiftly borders became bulwarks against unwanted migration.
The end of the cold war once promised, to optimistic liberal thinkers, a
borderless world; instead, it gifted us an increasingly globalised border business.
Not only are more and more partner states being enrolled in border security,
but many countries are also instigating their own border security fixations.
Barriers are today separating neighbours not just in the west but far beyond.
While there were 15 walls at nation-state borders around the world at the end
of the cold war, the total had risen to more than 70 barely three decades
later. Unlike older border fortifications, the new ones are not built to keep
state enemies away (or to keep citizens in, as in the case of the Berlin Wall):
they are aimed at keeping people out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Calls for
“security” and “border protection” justify not just the building of walls but
also a wider architecture of control, separation and surveillance at national
borders, and well beyond them. Drones have been repurposed from the “war on
terror” for border surveillance in the US and the Mediterranean; complex
offshore detention and sea patrolling agreements have been rolled out from
Australia to the Atlantic; advanced radar equipment and satellite surveillance
have proven a boon for Europe’s defence industry; and in the increasing number
of border security “expos”, security firms have presented their customers with
ever more intrusive technologies– heartbeat scanners, oxygen detectors, ground
sensors, online surveillance – in a market that, according to one estimate,
will soon be worth more than $65bn. Meanwhile, the budget of the EU border and
coast guard agency, Frontex, shot up from €19m in 2006 to more than €750m by
2022, a year in which it was facing mounting scandal over support for illegal
Greek “pushbacks” at sea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweLHgIc29KDZD_2fIU_9BKHMd90sJckOkwMMvqAAsIufiCuXrAi3k177z5jEVtgSM3T_7CM7BRdUCiZJSGtTBcMW48ac-An9oe203vs0yOK8OIAZzOwSNNxempLKZ1LZtHU8xLckmXm3c5FeczTLA3vDsDeAqqOgzTcaTjdaAl4sA1ne8UCcuGnDzeGk/s600/us%20mexican%20border.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweLHgIc29KDZD_2fIU_9BKHMd90sJckOkwMMvqAAsIufiCuXrAi3k177z5jEVtgSM3T_7CM7BRdUCiZJSGtTBcMW48ac-An9oe203vs0yOK8OIAZzOwSNNxempLKZ1LZtHU8xLckmXm3c5FeczTLA3vDsDeAqqOgzTcaTjdaAl4sA1ne8UCcuGnDzeGk/s16000/us%20mexican%20border.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The US, as
so often, has led the way in this trend while actively heating the global
border security market – with the budget of the US Border Patrol increasing
almost tenfold in the past three decades, from $363m in 1993 to nearly $4.9bn
by 2021. While these sums are still small relative to military expenditure, the
remarkable growth rate of the US Border Patrol’s budget is strongly related to
the wider security marketplace, with great scope for synergies, “dual-use”
technology, seed funding and more, across civilian policing and military
sectors. At the heart of this complex sits the vast Department for Homeland
Security bureaucracy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Besides the
escalating border security investments, politicians have put huge amounts of
time, money and effort into the complicated business of getting tough on
migration – and being seen to get tough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet this
has massively backfired on a practical level. Douglas Massey, a leading
migration scholar, has found that, since the 1980s, vast expenditure on border
security has gone hand in hand with a large growth of undocumented migration
within the US.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The reason
is remarkably simple: as it became much harder for seasonal migrant workers to
circulate back “home”, owing to harsh border controls and barriers, people
stayed. So why, if border controls were backfiring so spectacularly, were
successive administrations so committed to them?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The political
profits of fighting migration<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The gap
between rhetoric and reality in migration policy has been especially notable
when it comes to fighting migration. The political gains from a strong stance
on borders are clear, even when politicians fail to achieve the outcomes they
seek. Some years ago in the US, the political scientist Peter Andreas described
this as a “border game” with various layers: from the spectacle – and
distraction – of border enforcement on the political level, to the
institutional funding game, through to the cat-and-mouse game at the border
itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Racism came
to play a prominent role here, reflecting a longer history of racial exclusion,
fed by a fear-based narrative. In 1985, President Ronald Reagan said
undocumented migration was “a threat to national security”, with “terrorists
and subversives ... just two days’ driving time” from the Texas border, and
communist agents ready “to feed on the anger and frustration of recent Central
and South American immigrants”. Massey is among those who have pointed out how,
over the decades that followed, a racialised “Latino threat narrative was
manufactured and sustained by an expanding set of self-interested actors who
benefited from the perpetuation of an immigration crisis”. This new migration
pattern also had clear winners within the wider economy, as an undocumented and
deportable labour force was even more exploitable than its legal predecessors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqOjJPs-xX_9IOBVQKRaCE3NbgFoecPczd2gyCS4CktiIJ57HsX4FCkoVDCC_f7XQzGfH7UZXsP_xfRW2CS3XxuKOnM9amcgA2ERYRCfO6vs5Tz0VwAKFqU3q7hq8cOusPiXED-Li_pyGli6t5XLzY94rgQeAstgnRYc592xx5nbdWBsJ9YzUmDRtTA0/s600/-us-mexico-border-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqOjJPs-xX_9IOBVQKRaCE3NbgFoecPczd2gyCS4CktiIJ57HsX4FCkoVDCC_f7XQzGfH7UZXsP_xfRW2CS3XxuKOnM9amcgA2ERYRCfO6vs5Tz0VwAKFqU3q7hq8cOusPiXED-Li_pyGli6t5XLzY94rgQeAstgnRYc592xx5nbdWBsJ9YzUmDRtTA0/s16000/-us-mexico-border-4.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A large
part of the incentive to keep escalating the fight, in the US and Europe,
concerned the gains to be had from fixating on and fighting illegal migration.
Especially in the US, border closures have brought economic gains in rendering
the cross-border labour force increasingly exploitable. Meanwhile, the
political gains are twofold. On the one hand, a tough nationalist message
attracts voters; on the other, it provides a distraction from problems that
governments cannot or do not want to solve, including inequality, economic
insecurity and environmental catastrophe. Irregular migration by land and sea
was a boon for this kind of politics in Europe. Yet the numbers have in general
been relatively small, 2015 excluded. Most irregular migration in Europe occurs
when people overstay their visas, as the European Commission itself
acknowledges, while regular immigration dwarfs land and sea arrivals.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Governments
and interior ministries have seen fit, for their own political and
institutional reasons, to treat some human movement as a security problem to be
solved with force. Instead of looking at the complex drivers of migration –
including persistent demand for workers – all politicians had to do was to be
seen to address the arrivals. Meanwhile, new actors spotted an opportunity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How the war
on migration feeds the smuggling business<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">European
leaders have been keen to frame their border security efforts as a war on
smugglers, especially since 2015, when smugglers (frequently mislabelled as
mafia or traffickers) were conveniently assigned the blame for a set of
horrific shipwrecks near the Italian and Maltese coasts. Of course, we
shouldn’t paint smugglers in a rosy light; theirs is usually a cut-throat
business. Yet it is a business that has grown larger and more violent on the
back of border enforcement, not just in Europe but worldwide.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In north
Africa and the Sahel, the small-scale smuggling of earlier years, often run by
migrants themselves, has increasingly given way to organised criminal gangs. In
Libya, smugglers have held migrants and refugees hostage and even tortured them
until their families pay release fees. The taller the barriers, the more
captive your market, as “customers” have nowhere left to turn except into the
hands of professional criminal organisations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We can put
this in economic terms, as Customs and Border Protection (CBP) officials in the
US are keen to do themselves. In presentations, CBP economists have asserted,
like their European counterparts, that the aim of enforcement is to destroy the
smugglers’ business model. This involves increasing the cost of smuggling to
the point where revenue takes a hit, making it a less attractive business. Yet
what this does in practice is favour smuggling economies of scale. A systemic
view, if officials had wished to consider it, would tell them that the fight
against migration and the war on smugglers would produce more of precisely that
which they said they wanted to curtail: more dangerous migration scenarios and
stronger criminal smuggling operations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is
precisely what happened in Libya, after the fall of Gaddafi. As one report
noted in 2017, “The coastguard, detention centres and key branches of the
fragile Libyan state’s security apparatus are largely run by militias, some
deeply involved in the illicit economy,” with these militias “creating a
protection market around human smuggling before eventually taking over the
business directly”. The political and economic games around European –
especially Italian – relationships with the militias have been complex and
murky. However, it was becoming clear around this time that external
involvement and encouragement were strengthening the power of the militias,
who, like many border guards, could play the dual role of poacher and
gamekeeper along Libya’s coasts. The strengthening of militias and the ensuing
turf battles among them were contributing to Libyan instability.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
impoverished Mali and Niger, various political leaders have sent clear signals
that unless they receive the required political support and economic capital, a
migratory crisis will ensue. States such as Morocco and Turkey regularly turn
on and off the migratory tap to strengthen their hand in negotiations with the
EU. In all these cases, authoritarian leaders, interior ministries, and abusive
security forces have been the big winners in the fight against migration –
gaining power, recognition and money. Those who have suffered most have been
migrants and citizens in these countries, while regional stability has been
weakened.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 2020,
President Alexander Lukashenko of Belarus – despite his regime’s incipient
working arrangement with the Frontex border agency – was channelling refugees
to a frontier no-man’s-land where Polish guards fought them back. By this
stage, EU leaders and the European Commission had cottoned on to what they
called the “instrumentalisation” of migration. Their argument, probably quite
correct, was that Lukashenko was seeking to destabilise the EU through
uncontrollable migration flows. Yet instead of accounting for its own role in
the blatant gaming at the borders, the EU used this incident to propose what
amounted to pushbacks in cases where migration was being “instrumentalised”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On the
central Mediterranean migration route, it is not only Gaddafi’s successors who
have continued to instrumentalise migration. So have Italian politicians, who
have used these threats at face value to ramp up anti-migration rhetoric, to
rally the voter base, and to put blame on the EU – and human smugglers – for
the debacle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This kind
of crisis politics has been accompanied by a growing tendency to shift blame on
to rescue initiatives on the open sea, with repeated shipwrecks and deaths as a
result. On the southern border of the US, while Mexico has often been less
willing to stoke the problem in the way Europe’s neighbours have done, this has
in no way dented the political appetite in Washington DC for manipulating
border crises and finding new groups to blame. A wide range of wars and fights
– whether in relation to migration, terrorism, drugs or crime – has created
perverse incentives. One is tempted to say that failure has become the new
success.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is an
edited extract from Wreckonomics: Why It’s Time to End the War on Everything,
published by Oxford University Press, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">‘Weapons of
mass migration’: how states exploit the failure of migration policies. By Ruben
Andersson and David Keen. <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/dec/14/weapons-of-mass-migration-how-states-exploit-the-failure-of-migration-policies">The Guardian</a>, December 14, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuE1nEP7LWBojhY8ucpWyg1AxP6sJSDW1evI10_gr_lS6_MdYQmhUfzz5ftee8FyAnFaIuLwWIYvHuyQbzb3kZyNiDdtDrCcUABM4dxITLdkrh94h_7_VuiP5hRuJaRQdsb8e7ByYMeZe3nDmNOGa9_HQmL8uKVkKahs0FX9PsydR5jwAIH6suelexmE/s600/Wreckonomics_web_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuE1nEP7LWBojhY8ucpWyg1AxP6sJSDW1evI10_gr_lS6_MdYQmhUfzz5ftee8FyAnFaIuLwWIYvHuyQbzb3kZyNiDdtDrCcUABM4dxITLdkrh94h_7_VuiP5hRuJaRQdsb8e7ByYMeZe3nDmNOGa9_HQmL8uKVkKahs0FX9PsydR5jwAIH6suelexmE/s16000/Wreckonomics_web_0.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://global.oup.com/academic/product/wreckonomics-9780197645925">Oxford University Press</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://academic.oup.com/book/51722">Oxford Academic</a></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaGlUJ4rFyK2GLwAQT03L7g8rDPmyFZarypxK5WJRq8Cqqcpl3MLNAfaW4p9FvevqwFsghI3GYSEZCUWKvmqh-tktpOk9pK2PR3UP9q434LTz24497Rf3juufkxZNIUDvOBIOtYIm-AXM0iekwGRoWPvHfsBbNrIrIYYpEZ1UW46e82Ja7rKPxRsgfi0/s600/wreckonomics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaGlUJ4rFyK2GLwAQT03L7g8rDPmyFZarypxK5WJRq8Cqqcpl3MLNAfaW4p9FvevqwFsghI3GYSEZCUWKvmqh-tktpOk9pK2PR3UP9q434LTz24497Rf3juufkxZNIUDvOBIOtYIm-AXM0iekwGRoWPvHfsBbNrIrIYYpEZ1UW46e82Ja7rKPxRsgfi0/s16000/wreckonomics.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Security is
one of the most important and challenging issues in the 21st century. It is the
ability to protect and promote the well-being and dignity of people and
communities, and to prevent and resolve conflicts and threats. But what does
security really mean? And how can we achieve it in a complex and uncertain
world? In this article, we will review the book Wreckonomics: Why It’s Time to
End the War on Everything by Ruben Andersson and David Keen, two professors of
international development and experts on conflict and security. The book is a
critical and provocative analysis of why various wars and security
interventions have persisted and prospered despite their disastrous failures
and costs, and how we can end the war on everything and create a more peaceful
and prosperous world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you want
to learn more about security and development, and how to challenge and change
the destructive policies and practices that fuel the war on everything, you
should read this book. It will give you a new and holistic perspective on
security and development, and help you find effective and ethical ways to
address the complex and interrelated challenges and opportunities that we face
in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Recommendation</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">War is
hell, the saying goes. For professors Ruben Andersson and David Keen, the
truism evokes a different kind of hellscape. In this insightful analysis, they
dissect the “war on everything,” by which they mean misguided fights against
problems like terror, illicit drugs and illegal immigration. In every case, the
warriors oversimplify the threat, use bogus metrics to measure their progress
and then duly claim victory where none exists. Andersson and Keen focus not
just on the hypocrisy of political leaders but also on the unintended victims
of these wars. You’ll find that their thought-provoking work casts many of
society’s issues in a new light.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Take-Aways</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Wreckonomics”
is a perverse process by which a misguided policy targets an intractable
problem.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wreckonomics
policies consist of five parts that describe the process.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Cold
War set the stage for decades of unwarranted wars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The War on
Terror played on fears while botching the broader mission.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wreckonomics
policies create their own destructive momentum.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The fight
against illegal immigration contains echoes of the other wars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The War on
Drugs is the longest of the wreckonomics misadventures.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Four
strategies can help make wreckonomics policies less devastating.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Summary</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>“Wreckonomics”
is a perverse process by which a misguided policy targets an intractable
problem.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In recent
decades, Western governments have embarked on a variety of well-funded fights
against various scourges. There was a War on Drugs and a War on Terror, along
with fights against illegal immigration. But the cures proved worse than the
diseases. These wars created unintended consequences without fixing the
underlying problems. Despite the obvious failures of these wars, politicians
keep fighting them and finding new enemies. Indeed, politics in the United
States seem to be dominated by a never-ending search for new foes and a demand
from the warriors that everyone become more indignant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This habit
of waging ‘war on everything’ has spread from the early days of the war on
Communism and the war on drugs to ‘fights’ against crime, terrorism, migration
and many more complex political problems.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One theme
in these wars is that they underestimate the complexity of the challenge at
hand. Politicians view themselves as crime scene investigators – they’re
looking for the single culprit responsible for the problem. That mindset led to
the manhunts for Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein. In wreckonomics, the good
guys need one evil actor to blame, even if the underlying issue has many
protagonists. In truth, any social issue is multifaceted and difficult to fix.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“One way of
summing up this habit of wreck-and-fix is the old saying ‘If you have a hammer,
everything looks like a nail’.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That leads
to another common theme: Wreckonomics policies often are championed by
right-wing politicians. While conservatives aren’t entirely to blame for
wreckonomics policies, the right has specialized in simplifying and weaponizing
complicated issues.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Wreckonomics
policies consist of five parts that describe the process.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
wreckonomics ethos can be summed up with the acronym WRECK:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">W is for
“war fix” – Warriors sell the miracle of the kill shot. In every wreckonomics
policy, an ill-conceived notion that the targeted threat is simple and can be
remedied through force dominates. Hitting the problem with a magic bullet will
neutralize the threat, the warriors promise. Wreckonomics also provides a fix
in that the misguided actions soon become addictive. Once the war starts,
stopping it is nearly impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">R is for
rigged – Wreckonomics policies are gamed to benefit certain players. In the war
on everything, the fix is always in. No one ever comes out and says it, of
course, but those crucial players speaking most loudly against the threat at
hand are the ones who benefit most from the focus on it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">E is for
externalization – Wreckonomics policies are expensive in terms of blood and
treasure, but the interventions never hit the powerful as hard as they hit everyone
else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">C is for
cascade – The first three letters of WRECK set the stage for unexpected,
unpredictable results. Just as an avalanche starts small and escalates quickly,
the wreckonomics cascade is a result of the unacknowledged complexity of the task
at hand. Costs quickly balloon, as do the opportunities for players to further
corrupt the process.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">K is for
“knowledge fix” – Once the war is under way, its proponents set about twisting
the truth: Any victories are exaggerated, any setbacks are downplayed. The
distortions include overlooking the true costs of the intervention, and
ignoring failures and unintended consequences.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJUHTB8UYaWp3WuBL-wvZO7wZIsh5pfJQr3Mh6vwxj6L9iAY38jydhfEPLjh1rAOjUCPp1oyiNzRMak122nBzLHEe16X2SzvvvulOyCxfgWNkcVLJDVpYj4_421f8eORunBk24SAD8wrYmtDs0RUzlO5ZlPolC90eA4zg7KCBbK-1DpFU5lSYGWvxNB4/s600/cold%20war.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJUHTB8UYaWp3WuBL-wvZO7wZIsh5pfJQr3Mh6vwxj6L9iAY38jydhfEPLjh1rAOjUCPp1oyiNzRMak122nBzLHEe16X2SzvvvulOyCxfgWNkcVLJDVpYj4_421f8eORunBk24SAD8wrYmtDs0RUzlO5ZlPolC90eA4zg7KCBbK-1DpFU5lSYGWvxNB4/s16000/cold%20war.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The Cold
War set the stage for decades of unwarranted wars.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Cold
War wrote the script for the wreckonomics policies that followed. The globe’s
two great powers were embroiled in nonshooting wars against the other. Gaming
became endemic. In the United States, huge sums flowed to defense contractors.
The Soviet Union also ramped up its own armaments industry. Like all wreckonomics
policies, the Cold War launched with a real conflict and sincere intentions:
Two great powers aimed to spread their divergent ideologies. However, things
quickly spiraled. Over the decades, the Cold War turned hot in proxy wars,
perhaps most notably in Vietnam, but also in El Salvador, Indonesia and Angola.
The specter of colonialism loomed over many of these hot spots, adding
complexity to the system. What’s more, the architects of the Cold War lived in
Washington, DC, and Moscow, places unburdened with the high body counts that
were racked up in shooting wars in the developing world. One US infantry
officer wrote the memoir Kill Everything That Moves, a title that summed up how
a poor person living in Vietnam experienced the Cold War.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Seen as a
whole, the Cold War involved a very particular – and very skewed – distribution
of costs”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As the Cold
War sprawled across the globe, propaganda took over. Neither side gave an
honest accounting of its victories and defeats; instead, both turned to spin
and obfuscation. What’s more, America and the USSR assembled allies who were
gaming the Cold War agenda not out of ideological purity but for their own
advantage. The end of the Cold War underscored the addictive nature of
wreckonomics: Optimists hoped for a “peace dividend” in the 1990s as the huge
sums funneled toward arms, soldiers and spies could be redirected to schools
and health care. Instead, the United States and Europe continued to spend
heavily on their militaries, with the argument that cutting defense budgets
amounted to a surrender to global threats.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH723yrQRrqFsZdERnRAfO3bSGtp3TQBlOcHkYtFMsNCtwBaNc88Cd2fTP2V1O54NJlSJyIEpMdlPDpafT7Q2NxNj05vySmoy3Ub7OygYxu6IOjK3jnSX9hsWF1RHpTY1i0Xrmxob066JhgbZN7h8Wrsg8Z3dO0XTRL_P9ToiyWZGwy9Bg0lFEuqbvuXQ/s550/war%20on%20terror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH723yrQRrqFsZdERnRAfO3bSGtp3TQBlOcHkYtFMsNCtwBaNc88Cd2fTP2V1O54NJlSJyIEpMdlPDpafT7Q2NxNj05vySmoy3Ub7OygYxu6IOjK3jnSX9hsWF1RHpTY1i0Xrmxob066JhgbZN7h8Wrsg8Z3dO0XTRL_P9ToiyWZGwy9Bg0lFEuqbvuXQ/s16000/war%20on%20terror.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The War on
Terror played on fears while botching the broader mission.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
post-September 11, 2001, fight against global terrorism quickly devolved into a
particularly effective version of wreckonomics. A defining feature of this
policy was its appeal to emotion, particularly fear. Terror warriors became
adept at manipulating public emotions to get what they wanted. The emotional
appeal serves as an inoculation against uncomfortable questions – if the war pits
good versus evil, then no right-minded person would question how it’s being
waged or how widely it’s proliferating. The US War on Terror turned into an
all-encompassing effort, as evidenced by the creation of the Department of
Homeland Security, a bureaucracy that fought not just terror but also drug
trafficking and border security.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“In our
wars and fights, strong emotions have also effectively been stirred up and
manipulated by political and security actors.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Cold
War created the prime conditions for the War on Terror that followed. A hot war
in Afghanistan sowed the seeds of future insurgency. Then, when the Cold War
ended and communism faded as an enemy, terrorism moved into the role. Terrorism
didn’t become Public Enemy No. 1 until the 9/11 attacks. Then, the war machine
sprang into action, with the United States invading Afghanistan and then Iraq.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Wreckonomics
policies create their own destructive momentum.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Neither
invasion was clearly supported, but both illustrated a reality of wreckonomics:
The wars perpetuate themselves. A clear goal of the 9/11 terrorists was to
provoke the United States into a heavy-handed response, which then served as
evidence that America really was the iron-fisted power that the terrorists had
portrayed all along. Afghanistan and Iraq, meanwhile, saw spikes in terror
attacks after US troops arrived, acts that only seemed to reinforce the
rationale for the American invasion and ongoing presence. As Democratic
presidential candidate John Kerry said of George W. Bush, “Iraq was not even
close to the center of the War on Terror before the president invaded it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Many of
the state actors we have considered – in Washington, Moscow, Damascus and
Colombo – can cynically claim their wars have been ‘won’.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As billions
flowed into Afghanistan, the country remained unstable. A task force headed by
General David Petraeus estimated $360 million in US aid had wound up in the
pockets of the Taliban or Afghani criminals. To the credit of the terror
warriors in the United States, one goal has been achieved: No attacks have
occurred on US soil since 2001. But to hold up this fact as the only measure of
success is to miss the broader failures. These include massive spending and a
globally disruptive wave of violence not just in Afghanistan and Iraq but in
Syria, Sri Lanka and elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQB_vEtfEFhOw8mFuTg8UfRgQozxx5wbR4uLU1RB2mJTGcWtxljo9WtZ3PNY6KTrnK-oWVMoJGPReRWlx4UqeeNCYvmqhZn98pYHXXWBXqLGC0GN7RuS27LuxiUMjwI_7Bu7GpNZWlgfs0rA-ujDsxHQjuBoJfNMgOq_rGM1EPCjHo-SyLVo3NteTNb50/s600/trump-repeats-controversial-remark-against-illegal-immigrants-they-are-poisoning-the-blood-of-america.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQB_vEtfEFhOw8mFuTg8UfRgQozxx5wbR4uLU1RB2mJTGcWtxljo9WtZ3PNY6KTrnK-oWVMoJGPReRWlx4UqeeNCYvmqhZn98pYHXXWBXqLGC0GN7RuS27LuxiUMjwI_7Bu7GpNZWlgfs0rA-ujDsxHQjuBoJfNMgOq_rGM1EPCjHo-SyLVo3NteTNb50/s16000/trump-repeats-controversial-remark-against-illegal-immigrants-they-are-poisoning-the-blood-of-america.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="font-family: inherit;">The fight
against illegal immigration contains echoes of the other wars.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For
decades, the United States had been trying to stem illegal immigration across
the Mexican border. Brazen incursions across the frontier near San Diego in the
1990s led American authorities to build fences, which then pushed migration
paths into more remote, hazardous terrain. Similarly, in the 2000s, an influx
of illegal migrants into Spain led that country to build more fences. The
migrants in turn took even more circuitous and dangerous routes to Europe. In
true wreckonomics fashion, developing nations bordering wealthy powers figured
out how to make money from their geographic position. Mexico partnered with the
United States to crack down on illegal entries through Mexico’s southern
border. Mauritania accepted investments from Spain, while Libya partnered up
with Italy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Libya
emerged from the international cold thanks in no small part to Gaddafi’s
migration maneuvers.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For
opportunists south of the border, the fight against immigration is a lucrative
leverage point. Libyan strongman Muammar Gaddafi grasped Europe’s fears of
African migrants streaming in, and he threatened to allow Europe to “turn
black” unless he received compensation. The gambit worked. Libya received
billions in European aid. One scholar even labeled the strategy “weapons of
mass migration.” As the Arab Spring and the Syrian war spurred a crisis, the
wreckonomics playbook was in full force. Conservative policymakers embraced
overly simplistic solutions that were doomed to fall short. Meanwhile, shrewd
actors in the developing world figured out how to make the wreckonomics policies
work for them. In Libya, for instance, a militia leader exacted a toll from
each boat heading north. Those who declined to pay would be “rescued” at sea –
and the boat’s occupants sent to prison camps. The spoils weren’t just for
strongmen. Frontex, Europe’s border patrol agency, saw its annual budget soar,
going from less than $22 million in 2006 to more than$750 million by 2022.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTZ2wPWbgX_6Dr1rSY_xcZdw4Lcjet2qiP26exXCJMga5_21HZBWy6BcD_4y9-9CHUwhb2Ul8Lw8UtpJepfq8N6W3m-5gb0FJy3StzNe5oL7_EuWW61V_5BpgRIdC4Ixd9D5a4qL3os0ZrVhdsy0yhHd3SquuUf6LJQG6wwashzY62doBS5-v4xuUWx4/s548/236182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTZ2wPWbgX_6Dr1rSY_xcZdw4Lcjet2qiP26exXCJMga5_21HZBWy6BcD_4y9-9CHUwhb2Ul8Lw8UtpJepfq8N6W3m-5gb0FJy3StzNe5oL7_EuWW61V_5BpgRIdC4Ixd9D5a4qL3os0ZrVhdsy0yhHd3SquuUf6LJQG6wwashzY62doBS5-v4xuUWx4/s16000/236182.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="font-family: inherit;">The War on
Drugs is the longest of the wreckonomics misadventures.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
wreckonomics, the protagonists of the misguided policy invariably focus on the
wrong measurements of success. In the Vietnam War, the US military leadership
concentrated on body counts. In the drug war, the short-sighted focus is on
arrest numbers. In both cases, the putative leaders of the policy initiatives
are like gambling addicts pulling the lever over and over on a slot machine
that’s rigged against them: They believe they’re on the verge of victory, even
as the defeats pile up. In other words, the drug warriors themselves are
addicted – not to narcotics but to the never-ending cycle of fighting a losing
war. The Philippines provides an especially macabre version of the drug war. In
2016, President Rodrigo Duterte urged his citizens to kill drug addicts. In
Duterte’s first six months in office, Amnesty International estimated, his
regime killed some 7,000 people for drug offenses. In a bizarre twist, Duterte
himself was addicted to fentanyl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The
incentives of the environment in which the drug warriors operate keep pushing
them toward compulsive behavior.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Duterte
upped the ante, claiming he wanted to unleash a holocaust that would kill
millions of addicts. He paid bounties to police officers who murdered drug
users. In a bromance between strongmen, US president Donald Trump praised
Duterte’s “unbelievable job.” Duterte’s simplistic, brutal fight took a page
from the early days of the drug war in the United States. Policymakers and law
enforcement made no effort to understand why some people became addicted or why
others entered the drug trade. Instead, they focused on mass arrests and
heavy-handed tactics, often racially tinged. It was Richard Nixon who coined
the phrase “War on Drugs” in 1971, a thinly disguised jab at his predecessor
Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty. A decade later, Ronald Reagan doubled down.
The result was soaring levels of incarceration, particularly for Black
Americans. The uneven penalties for crack cocaine, seen as a drug favored by
Black users, were clearly racist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Four
strategies can help make wreckonomics policies less devastating</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The wars on
everything are costly. Here’s how to mitigate the damage:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Encourage
dissent – A society on a war footing has a clear enemy, and no space for
dialogue nor room for debate. But in the war on everything, the enemy is never
clear-cut. That’s why it’s crucial that warriors make way for dissenting
voices. Policy debates shouldn’t be stifled by an environment that mimics
martial law.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Honestly
assess the true costs – Those who fight wars on everything relish confusion and
obfuscation. The “hall-of-mirrors” effect makes it difficult to tell how the
war is progressing. To combat this syndrome, societies need robust and honest
analyses of who’s really winning and losing in any given war.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Broaden the
inputs – In Colombia, policymakers have shifted that nation’s costly war on
drugs only after decades of experience and a willingness to listen to various
voices, ranging from drug users and coca producers to academics and
intellectuals. Groupthink and willful ignorance are part of wreckonomics;
bipartisan solutions are a way to create “coalitions against complicity.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Acknowledge
complexity – As part of its rhetoric, every misguided policy war boils down the
enemy to one overly simplistic factor. Never mind that drug addiction and mass
migration are complicated, systemic issues. The warriors want to make it simple
and then ignore every factor outside their narrow view.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>About the
Authors</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ruben
Andersson is a professor of social anthropology at the University of Oxford. He
is the author of No Go World and Illegality, Inc. David Keen is a professor of
conflict studies at the London School of Economics and Political Science. He is
the author of The Benefits of Famine and Useful Enemies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Genres</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nonfiction,
Politics, International Relations, Security, Development, Sociology, Economics,
History, Philosophy, Ethics<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Review</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The book
Wreckonomics is a critical and provocative analysis of why various wars and
security interventions have persisted and prospered despite their disastrous
failures and costs. The authors, Ruben Andersson and David Keen, are both
professors of international development and experts on conflict and security.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They
examine four cases of long-running and futile wars and fights: the Cold War,
the war on terror, the fight against migration, and the war on drugs and crime.
They argue that these wars and fights are not only ineffective and harmful, but
also profitable and advantageous for various actors and interests, such as
politicians, corporations, media, NGOs, and even criminals and terrorists.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They show
how these actors and interests have exploited and manipulated the fears,
emotions, and incentives of the public and the policymakers, and have created a
system of feedback loops, distortions, and games that sustain and justify the
wars and fights.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They also
show how these wars and fights have eroded the values and principles of
democracy, human rights, and justice, and have undermined the prospects of
peace and development. They call for a radical change in the way we think and
act about security, and propose a four-step approach to end the war on
everything: 1) recognizing the costs and benefits of the wars and fights, 2)
breaking the cycles of fixation and gaming, 3) creating space for dissent and
dialogue, and 4) building alternative coalitions and solutions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wreckonomics
is an insightful and compelling book that covers a wide range of topics related
to security and development. The authors write in a clear and engaging style,
using anecdotes, examples, and metaphors to illustrate their points and make
them relevant and relatable to the reader. They also write in a balanced and
nuanced manner, acknowledging the complexity and diversity of security and
development issues, and avoiding simplistic or prescriptive solutions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The book is
well-organized and well-researched, with references, notes, and a glossary at
the end. The book is not only a valuable and authoritative source of
information, but also a motivating and empowering story of how we can challenge
and change the destructive policies and practices that fuel the war on
everything.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The book is
suitable for anyone who is interested in learning more about security and
development, whether they are students, professionals, or curious readers. The
book is also a useful resource for anyone who wants to understand the broader
social and economic issues and trends that affect and shape security and
development.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Summary:
Wreckonomics: Why It’s Time to End the War on Everything by Ruben Andersson and
David Keen. By Alex Lim. <a href="https://paminy.com/summary-wreckonomics/">Paminy</a> December 2, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ojQFDCX2K4h3-d2J8tXReZIlhOKTDWREtvur1JO8CodMk2126PnMaKU7WzywCKiX016hjHPrMgp06lWgkrXD9Gg9pAR84DuTkEMzISc50_3XGM6ydN_-PNZ3TUwtDO-mmJBgdrqYrqgDLAVGU9py4nH0c1TY3uEH_xfEofxmZhLH15KlUaqOw9wG1rc/s600/bush.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ojQFDCX2K4h3-d2J8tXReZIlhOKTDWREtvur1JO8CodMk2126PnMaKU7WzywCKiX016hjHPrMgp06lWgkrXD9Gg9pAR84DuTkEMzISc50_3XGM6ydN_-PNZ3TUwtDO-mmJBgdrqYrqgDLAVGU9py4nH0c1TY3uEH_xfEofxmZhLH15KlUaqOw9wG1rc/s16000/bush.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wreckonomics,
a study by two academics, argues that vested interests need ‘forever wars’.
That may be true, but is there a solution?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Almost five
years ago, it was reported that, according to some metrics, the United States
of America had been at peace for only 17 years since 1776. It had thus, at that
point, been at war for 93.5 per cent of its existence. What constitutes war –
whether there must be nation-states on opposing sides; whether it includes
covert or non-military operations – has long been a source of debate, but
perpetual war is today the reality. One sobering indicator is the fact that,
for several years now, a child born on September 11 2001 has been eligible to
enlist in the “war on terror” that ensued. The latter is one of many
ill-defined and catastrophic wars being waged in perpetuity around the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The human
and financial cost of these wars, which are not limited to armed conflicts, is
the subject of a new book by Ruben Andersson, a professor of social anthropology
at Oxford, and David Keen, a professor of conflict studies at the London School
of Economics. Wreckonomics is a deeply-researched and wide-ranging account of
how, despite manifest failings, the wars on terror, drugs and migration are
entrenched in Western policy as a kind of perma-crisis for which its principal
architects are never held responsible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
invasion of Afghanistan by the United States, where the war on terror and the
war on drugs have converged, was a failure on a remarkable scale. The authors
steadfastly demonstrate how the war on terror has done nothing but foment what
it ostensibly sought to combat: the number of global terrorist attacks
ballooned from a reported total of 3,300 so far in 2000 to almost 30,000 by
2015 – despite the spending of nearly $8 trillion dollars between 2001 and
2021.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Central to
Wreckonomics is the question of identifying exactly who benefits from these
wars going poorly. Beyond arms manufacturers wanting orders and bellicose
senators wanting publicity, this includes aid groups and local authorities,
whose under-scrutinised flow of funding depends on conflict and instability. To
stay with Afghanistan, Andersson and Keen point, in relation to the war on
drugs, to the example of poppy-growing areas under the protection of local
warlords, in which the job of police chief could be sold for $100,000 despite
paying $60 a month. If you then consider a recent UN report stating that since
the Taliban declared a drug ban in April 2022, opium cultivation in Afghanistan
has declined by 95 per cent, you’re left with two equally damning conclusions:
either the US-led intervention into the drug trade was ineffectual, or it was
never a true priority.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Time and
again, this pattern repeats around the world, wherever local governments are
disincentivised from bringing conflict to an end. In Mali and Sudan, foreign
aid is tied to fighting Islamic insurgents, who are in fact working in concert
with the military to prolong the discord and keep the money flowing. Through
the example of the civil war in Sri Lanka, the authors show that even when a
conflict ends, the spending may not: rather than demobilising, the army
recruited 50,000 more soldiers, in large part to protect a system of kickbacks
from arms contracts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Covid-19 pandemic – another “battle” the world had to win – provides a telling
counterpoint. As early as May 2020, the IMF estimated that $9 trillion
worldwide had been allocated to the fight. But as we enter the northern winter
of 2023, governments have long since lost their appetite for spending in this
area. One of the conditions of perpetual war, suggest Andersson and Keen, is
that its active theatres, the locales where the death and turmoil are most
keenly felt, must be at a remove from the nation waging them. Think of Turkey
and Mauritania as chosen bulwarks against migration to Europe. By contrast, it
was impossible to outsource the suffering of Covid-19 – which created a real
desire to bring that crisis to an end.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wreckonomics’s
desire to present its subject as systematic and somewhat cyclical does, at
times, hit a limit. For instance, the recent series of coups in west African
nations would have benefited from a more nuanced, regional-specific approach.
While it’s true, per the authors, that in some of those nations, there has been
a change in leadership rather than a change in regime, in the likes of Burkina
Faso, led by 35-year-old firebrand Ibrahim Traoré, something more radical may
be afoot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Andersson
and Keen close a little quixotically, suggesting some steps towards ending the
state of affairs they bemoan. They point to the need for strong dissenting
voices, dialogue, and proper cost-and-benefit analyses before actors engage in
new wars; they call for coalitions against the kind of complicity that makes
war profitable, and stress the need to “unfix” the issues that originate them:
overly simplistic (and often false) understandings of conflict that become the
fixed terms of debate. It’s hard to disagree with any of these proposals –
though it’ll remain much harder, you feel, to have such a dialogue over the
roar of exploding bombs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why the
wars on terror, drugs and migration may never succeed. By Samuel Rutter. <a href="https://www.telegraph.co.uk/books/non-fiction/review-wreckonomics-ruben-andersson-david-keen/">The Telegraph</a>, December 1, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-84025195944543990762023-12-17T18:19:00.001+00:002023-12-17T18:19:45.554+00:00Anna Atkins Made the First Book of Photographs<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4ND6wF3Kq6ZSC3pRMLF3XKZbuT_m118xviReFHFFG9IQ3q_ezBUflxkNl18V9BINfC2nXUaEh_Lu-Jxc3wcKUzMDbsKxCDtFY61JYNwZ1ezmmld4hNEuICLQmDtYuEsvv2P9Sr5yphkFYTcuhQ6dOI_1EiJg3uQDd6t1QxhGEK8nWwlakiWyviaydpo/s600/419572-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4ND6wF3Kq6ZSC3pRMLF3XKZbuT_m118xviReFHFFG9IQ3q_ezBUflxkNl18V9BINfC2nXUaEh_Lu-Jxc3wcKUzMDbsKxCDtFY61JYNwZ1ezmmld4hNEuICLQmDtYuEsvv2P9Sr5yphkFYTcuhQ6dOI_1EiJg3uQDd6t1QxhGEK8nWwlakiWyviaydpo/s16000/419572-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Detail of
Rhodomenia sobolifera from Anna Atkins’ Photographs of British Algae, ca.
1843–53</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In an era when
the Enlightenment’s orderly vision of the natural world began to unravel, Anna
Atkins produced the world’s first photography book: a collection of cyanotypes,
created across a decade beginning in 1843, that captured algal forms in
startling blue-and-white silhouettes. Paige Hirschey situates Atkins’ efforts
among her naturalist peers, discovering a form of illustration that, rather
than exhibit an artist’s mastery over nature, allowed specimens to “illustrate”
themselves.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
preface to his 1844 book, The Pencil of Nature, English inventor Henry Fox
Talbot described his “little work” as the “first attempt to publish a series of
plates or pictures wholly executed by the new art of Photogenic Drawing.”
Talbot had grandiose ambitions for the future of photography — a medium he had
played a role in creating — but this experimentation was already well under
way. He was not, as he claimed, the first person to publish a book of
photographic prints. That distinction belongs to an amateur botanist named Anna
Atkins.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Starting in
the early 1840s, Atkins created hundreds of cyanotypes, a photographic process
in which paper is treated with a chemical solution before being exposed to
sunlight. When objects are left on the treated paper — British ocean plants, in
Atkins’ case — over time they produce a white silhouette against an inky blue
ground. Bound together, Atkins’ images served as an illustrated supplement to
the phycologist William Henry Harvey’s Manual of British Algae (1841). This
arrangement was typical at the time, when printing text and images in a single
book would have been prohibitively expensive. Indeed, in this and many other
ways, Atkins’ work assumed the standard conventions of botanical illustration,
and were it not for her use of the novel medium, British Algae would have most
likely been forgotten to history.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9bKZsk6DBTtpDqbAdX3Kt7j3VscOShwI3UvuDIycRQzpTrVyChWK6RSkO-HxwxMy5rGcXbkHNTjg6Kdl5VRnfcwH3yVg4Tn4ikJVEAh9kuSsOZBLRvxmH8fx3YVu0MFI0_NIgW0vtc4HbiGqgcz0ua7BTmjo7ujqzrCNELv6ILcV0zP7jMW6WWSq71k/s600/anna-atkins-comp5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9bKZsk6DBTtpDqbAdX3Kt7j3VscOShwI3UvuDIycRQzpTrVyChWK6RSkO-HxwxMy5rGcXbkHNTjg6Kdl5VRnfcwH3yVg4Tn4ikJVEAh9kuSsOZBLRvxmH8fx3YVu0MFI0_NIgW0vtc4HbiGqgcz0ua7BTmjo7ujqzrCNELv6ILcV0zP7jMW6WWSq71k/s16000/anna-atkins-comp5.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Various
algal forms from Anna Atkins’ Photographs of British Algae, ca. 1843–53</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">As it is,
Atkins has become a posthumous celebrity, raised from obscurity in the 1980s by
art historian Larry Schaaf as quite possibly the world’s first woman
photographer. Today, her cyanotypes — of ferns as well as algae — are housed in
the collections of some of the finest museums in the world and have come to be
understood primarily as objets d’art, prized less for their scientific
contributions than their artistic merit. Yet beyond their aesthetic
innovations, these images convey something important about the understanding of
the natural world at a time of scientific upheaval, even if this was not their
creator’s explicit intent.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By her own
admission, Anna Atkins (née Children) turned to the medium of cyanotypes
because she felt they could best capture the minute details of the algal
specimens that were the subject of her first photographic book. But by the time
Atkins published British Algae, she had already demonstrated her affinity for botanical
drawing. After her mother died in her infancy, Atkins was raised by her father,
a chemist, mineralogist, and zoologist who gave her a scientific education that
would have been uncommon for a woman at that time. Under his guidance, she took
up drawing at a young age and illustrated a companion to his translation of
Jean-Baptiste Lamarck’s Genera of Shells in 1823. Her prior achievements with
hand-drawing naturally lead one to wonder why she would choose to turn to
cyanotypes, a more costly and in many ways less practical medium, and there are
potential insights to be found in the long evolution of scientific illustration
as a genre.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBm1ACi3qtuEc7OXnIv2mCx7ZJW-fFjwsL265tsFOxJu7Qh_K9mybzWaclmlvKl8o4HbkYSAmlSc-P5g_JzfYFUUKuzdYhbMJCXz7U_njRRDILa8GA0FqyG0nYciqgrqndrOmQ4c59RLMhCslwYY7aUTedyoPXGKMkQm07BCHZZBLKakMOjbuUSV2GGI/s600/57484312-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBm1ACi3qtuEc7OXnIv2mCx7ZJW-fFjwsL265tsFOxJu7Qh_K9mybzWaclmlvKl8o4HbkYSAmlSc-P5g_JzfYFUUKuzdYhbMJCXz7U_njRRDILa8GA0FqyG0nYciqgrqndrOmQ4c59RLMhCslwYY7aUTedyoPXGKMkQm07BCHZZBLKakMOjbuUSV2GGI/s16000/57484312-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Illustration
by Anna Atkins for John Children's English translation of Jean-Baptiste
Lamarck’s Genera of Shells, published in Quarterly Journal of Science,
Literature and Art, Volume 16 (1823)</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Atkins’
illustrational and photographic work situated her within an artistic tradition
that stretches back nearly two millennia, with conventions that have evolved
over time to suit its users’ needs. Among the earliest iterations of botanical
illustration were manuals or “herbals” that helped medical practitioners
identify plants with therapeutic properties. In the 1600s, naturalists began
documenting the exotic flora they encountered during exploratory trips to the
Americas, Africa, and Asia, producing lavishly illustrated books for the
homebound European scholar. But the so-called Golden Age of botanical
illustration came later, coinciding with the height of the European
Enlightenment in the eighteenth century. During this period, one of the primary
aims of botanical illustrators was to contribute to the total understanding of
the natural universe, a goal that was understood to be not just theoretically
possible but actually achievable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
field of botany, one of the most prolific contributors to the Enlightenment
project was Carl Linnaeus, who developed a standardized system for identifying
and naming all manner of flora and fauna. His popularization of binomial
nomenclature provided a globally uniform set of species names, while his
taxonomy offered an orderly system whereby plants could be divided into genera
based almost solely on the structure and number of their reproductive organs,
discounting most other features. Linnaeus was handsomely rewarded for his
contributions to the field. He was known in his time as the “Prince of
Botanists” and was knighted by the King of Sweden in 1758, but this popularity
can largely be attributed to the fact that his work reaffirmed the already
popular notion that the universe was an orderly system just waiting to reveal
its secrets to the keen minds capable of deciphering them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By the time
Atkins was working a century later, this orderly vision of the world had begun
to unravel. A confluence of scientific discoveries — from more accurate
theories about the age of the earth to the discovery of previously unknown
organisms in the fossil record — had led many naturalists, even those who had
previously believed in the fixity of species, to hypothesize that the plants
and animals that lived in their time had not existed since the world’s
beginning but had instead evolved from entirely different species through
interactions with their environment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBnuZsy4YdxD0OnNdH_GJQpg7eFyOc-_EH6_5bFUzFVSASKWl0_hXJBTn1SZh__Q9HJjXdaUqiUnvQu13Q9aAMMeJsGBoGG6b4wWTFi4SLSD1UlXDvIDFmSMdNfx6xIBgrSLMJfPdKtN6Zwx-nF3rJGZPt6i-GiAfnJiW_-P98ssxB3MSVtKCs2M_Fhs/s600/anna-atkins-double-unravel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBnuZsy4YdxD0OnNdH_GJQpg7eFyOc-_EH6_5bFUzFVSASKWl0_hXJBTn1SZh__Q9HJjXdaUqiUnvQu13Q9aAMMeJsGBoGG6b4wWTFi4SLSD1UlXDvIDFmSMdNfx6xIBgrSLMJfPdKtN6Zwx-nF3rJGZPt6i-GiAfnJiW_-P98ssxB3MSVtKCs2M_Fhs/s16000/anna-atkins-double-unravel.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Enteromorpha
intestinalis (left) and Ulva bullosa (right) from Anna Atkins’ Photographs of
British Algae,</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> ca. 1843–53</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jean-Baptiste
Lamarck put forward his theory on the “transmutation of species” as early as
1802. Thirty years later, Goethe proposed that “[t]he plant forms which
surround us were not all created at some given point in time and then locked
into the given form, [rather,] they have been given . . . a felicitous mobility
and plasticity allowing them to grow and adapt themselves to many different
conditions in many different places.” These whispers eventually culminated in
Charles Darwin’s publication of The Origin of Species in 1859, the product of
more than two decades of agonizing research.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is
difficult to say just how much Atkins may have been influenced by these ideas.
She was surely kept apprised of important discoveries by her father, who played
an active role in multiple scientific societies until his death in 1852, but
there is no written evidence to suggest that she was particularly invested in
the evolutionary debates of the era. Even so, scientific data and how it is
presented has always played a part in forming, challenging, or reinforcing its
viewers’ understanding of the world, and for all their apparent adherence to
tradition, Atkins’ cyanotypes offered a starkly different vision of nature than
the one that predominated in her time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The visual
conventions of most nineteenth-century botanical illustration had helped uphold
the idea that species were discrete, innate, and unchanging. Specimens were
typically displayed alone on a white ground, devoid of environmental context.
Although fidelity was paramount, artists would omit distracting imperfections
from their drawings, and the final image was often the composite of multiple
specimens, implying the existence of a platonic ideal. Sometimes the central
subject was surrounded by additional views of the plant in various life stages,
or in cross-section, if significant features were obscured in the primary
drawing. These conventions suited the purposes of identifying and codifying
plant species, but they also reflect a scientific approach that, to quote the
ethnobiologist Scott Atran, “emerged by decontextualizing nature, by curiously
tearing out water lilies from water so that they could be dried, measured,
printed, and compared with other living forms detached from local ecology and
most of the senses.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUuZNHZxQ4AHTPcLRZCEZeEJXNZOqiHiKJr01kEWC1DFWRMhyphenhyphenv8fTbJO7JtcPdxcIfR4t296xKgjDT9RjuiBFVG4oVHRq722ZbYOQlsiTWQEsyvpO9T440MVaFanyQf5aVFnNVMeytjCMnAodcd7qNiDGMxpoWB8rhswPNQzGc0S3AhnFSugvlO2O26U4/s600/Fern_Specimens_(Boston_Public_Library)-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUuZNHZxQ4AHTPcLRZCEZeEJXNZOqiHiKJr01kEWC1DFWRMhyphenhyphenv8fTbJO7JtcPdxcIfR4t296xKgjDT9RjuiBFVG4oVHRq722ZbYOQlsiTWQEsyvpO9T440MVaFanyQf5aVFnNVMeytjCMnAodcd7qNiDGMxpoWB8rhswPNQzGc0S3AhnFSugvlO2O26U4/s16000/Fern_Specimens_(Boston_Public_Library)-edit.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chromolithograph
of fern specimens, published by L. Prang, ca. 1861–97</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwG4mOChNYqK1oqNClYN5HCMGyuPhs1BrTD8gmVkJTKDHa2wyId_Wo8ru_Dr4xN7qmM8HpChwmNk7TCy6XZo8-wRIQUudYxBFxD67te2s3_q1eyz3T1hGYWUITxI6jOE88pDBco5uD0T06xCKsc_lBcdRAQD4n8863chibBHLgeUQa2AiAJRv7giHt2d0/s600/atkins-ferns-comp3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwG4mOChNYqK1oqNClYN5HCMGyuPhs1BrTD8gmVkJTKDHa2wyId_Wo8ru_Dr4xN7qmM8HpChwmNk7TCy6XZo8-wRIQUudYxBFxD67te2s3_q1eyz3T1hGYWUITxI6jOE88pDBco5uD0T06xCKsc_lBcdRAQD4n8863chibBHLgeUQa2AiAJRv7giHt2d0/s16000/atkins-ferns-comp3.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Various
fern forms from Anna Atkins’ Cyanotypes of British and Foreign Ferns, 1853</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Upon
initial examination, a similar charge could be made against Atkins, whose
practice necessitated tearing her subjects from their environs and likewise
presented them alone on the page, though in her case this was partly a
limitation of her chosen medium. Indeed, it was not only the natural context
that was concealed by the cyanotype process, the specimen's surface and texture
too was lost to these startling, blue-and-white silhouettes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite
these limitations, one can’t help but see in Atkins’ images of algae and ferns
the ghostly presence of their lost vegetal source, for the cyanotype
necessarily preserves the vagaries of an individual specimen. Here the torn
leaves and tangled roots, invariably captured by the photographic process, act
as an affirmation of the materiality of their subject and help retain something
of the amateur engagement with nature in which the plant is met on its own
terms, never fully revealing itself to its human observer. Though not literally
snapshots, her images capture their subjects at a particular moment in time,
granting them an exceptional degree of authenticity when compared to
traditional botanical illustration, whose practitioners were still largely
involved in upholding a static and increasingly outdated vision of the world.
By 1856, around the peak of Atkins’ career, Darwin would disparage his peers’
ongoing efforts to divide the earth’s biota into a set of fixed species as
“trying to define the indefinable.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
evolutionist’s concerns dovetailed with a contemporaneous, albeit waning,
strand of scientific inquiry, one that pushed back against the excesses of an
increasingly strict positivism and saw the sensuous engagement with nature as a
precondition for genuine understanding. This romantic approach to life science,
what Goethe referred to as “tender empiricism”, prioritized the study of
processes over organisms in isolation, and understood life to be mutually
constituted, constantly changing form through its environmental interactions.
As Amanda Jo Goldstein has argued, many of the naturalists and writers who
subscribed to this school of thought, among them Goethe, Blake, Shelley, and
Herder, put a premium on firsthand engagements with nature and aimed to capture
their experiences in poetic modes that reflected their own capacity to affect
and be affected by their objects of study.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl_9fmPNWtHznOlqoeNMYiWt8bjCrbLtXLQ7OYEuz0dZMx2yehzavar-Crg7M1kT4bBYJqRz0bGOm7kd6gFRrnFvvQ6r2wU9ZhJLTRnWKJSNIDwLfvj8AV7S0YfkmiTaXgiAmLexqTYUbr8xyXBna9Y4eYrrFTilaPIFOplDx9xkPBT1Y4UF-bfGbHtNA/s600/419634-edit-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl_9fmPNWtHznOlqoeNMYiWt8bjCrbLtXLQ7OYEuz0dZMx2yehzavar-Crg7M1kT4bBYJqRz0bGOm7kd6gFRrnFvvQ6r2wU9ZhJLTRnWKJSNIDwLfvj8AV7S0YfkmiTaXgiAmLexqTYUbr8xyXBna9Y4eYrrFTilaPIFOplDx9xkPBT1Y4UF-bfGbHtNA/s16000/419634-edit-3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sargassum
plumosum (left) and Porphyra laciniata (right) from Anna Atkins’ Photographs of
British Algae, </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> ca. 1843–53</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9AbOxpYm0W-pnT3Xn7aGxI9tnqEog3tKkA-maVwzcve3PwCGeE7lIEOQn4Fqrii9YHuDKEbdgiLLhMSfKdoRMmvCU1sdX-LovNO5HQLlvS3AqfmUF4H9TJBqHvMBumLK7XIOoA6LcTA2b6u71kA9sNlma9uQx_aMprB9j_sXogKYMYhVFrvm8FdVZTsM/s600/419634-edit-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9AbOxpYm0W-pnT3Xn7aGxI9tnqEog3tKkA-maVwzcve3PwCGeE7lIEOQn4Fqrii9YHuDKEbdgiLLhMSfKdoRMmvCU1sdX-LovNO5HQLlvS3AqfmUF4H9TJBqHvMBumLK7XIOoA6LcTA2b6u71kA9sNlma9uQx_aMprB9j_sXogKYMYhVFrvm8FdVZTsM/s16000/419634-edit-8.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Asperococcus
pusillus (left) and Myriotrichia claviformis (right) from Anna Atkins’ Photographs of British Algae, ca. 1843–53</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We can see
a similar attitude displayed in Atkins’ cyanotypes. Rather than the artist
choosing which parts of the plant to show or emphasize, her subject is put in a
position to “draw” itself. Throughout her work, Atkins acts as an equal
collaborator, arranging her specimens in desirable configurations but
ultimately endowing each plant with the capacity to produce its own image. This
authorial shift has important ramifications, not only for the study of Atkins’
work but for the understanding of the human relationship to the natural world
at a time when the professionalization of science was still underway. While the
Enlightenment vision of nature — and the illustrational conventions it produced
— supported the idea that humans existed at the apex of a rigid hierarchy of
being, Atkins’ cyanotypes, with all their individual imperfections, seem to
hint at the existence of an underlying flux that could not be sufficiently
captured by a fixed natural order.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In many
ways these images are the product of a distinct historical moment — cyanotypes
would not catch on as a viable replacement for botanical illustration — but
modern science has legitimized a version of the worldview that Atkins’ images
tacitly endorsed. Increasingly we are discovering that the maintenance of a
livable biome relies upon vast webs of entanglement, yet still many of us cling
to the nineteenth-century notion that we are somehow set apart from the natural
world. We have developed tools that allow us to “see” everything from
individual atoms to the origins of our solar system, but all of this knowledge
has not stopped us from plunging headfirst into the earth’s sixth mass
extinction. To understand Atkins’ cyanotypes as merely the relics of an
outdated science or the fanciful experimentation of a budding artist is to
disregard their most salient contribution. Her images demonstrate a way of
knowing the world that is based in mutuality rather than domination. We
discount such a lesson at our peril.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rhapsodies
in Blue Anna Atkins’ Cyanotypes. By Paige Hirschey.<a href="https://publicdomainreview.org/essay/anna-atkins-cyanotypes/"> The Public Domain Review</a>,
December 6, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7IGrisOI0BSXrjU25IB6Bbe_y8LMXxuVmqfzeOkdIrYWNuePlQk1kNFG3kboek3BAvJzey8eoO-D1T-Sxd6CyfyXlsOWr_ZXdlrYDwIWAnvh6xsRd_tgzGMoZAQknFZfh5tJPraS6pZxZKLyRjRFvFrLQT9qYXqYhFZTJib8WirEkkGBun-LuKMQcHo/s648/7811f1a750c60d96b0e733dfa380194421cb2233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7IGrisOI0BSXrjU25IB6Bbe_y8LMXxuVmqfzeOkdIrYWNuePlQk1kNFG3kboek3BAvJzey8eoO-D1T-Sxd6CyfyXlsOWr_ZXdlrYDwIWAnvh6xsRd_tgzGMoZAQknFZfh5tJPraS6pZxZKLyRjRFvFrLQT9qYXqYhFZTJib8WirEkkGBun-LuKMQcHo/s16000/7811f1a750c60d96b0e733dfa380194421cb2233.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In an
extract from an essay accompanying a newly published facsimile, Peter Walther
tells the story of how this remarkable publication came about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">British
Algae (1843-53) by Anna Atkins is thought to be the first book to be
illustrated using photographic images. The English botanist (1799-1871)
produced her collection using the cyanotype technique, which she became aware
of through her father’s friendship with its inventor, John Herschel. Later this
month, Taschen is publishing a facsimile of British Algae alongside Atkins’s
other book, Cyanotypes of British and Foreign Ferns (1853). Below is an extract
from an accompanying essay by Peter Walther, detailing Atkins’s development of
the book.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna Atkins
herself had collected and dried most of the plants included in British Algae.
At harvest time, the algae were immediately rinsed in water, then taken home
where she used dissecting forceps and camelhair brushes to remove extraneous
matter, before finally pressing and drying them. Since the backs of many of
Atkins’ images are pale blue in colour, we can assume that she did not always
sensitize the paper with a brush or sponge. Instead, she immersed it in
chemical solutions. To create a cyanotype, Atkins placed the plants on to the
suitably prepared paper set into a copy frame, which she then covered with a
glass plate so as to guarantee the closest possible contact with the support
surface. The result was a lavishly detailed outline image. Areas only partly
permeable to light appeared brighter in the image than those fully exposed,
while denser algae were less distinctly visible.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alongside
the specimen, a label showing the name of the plant was placed on the paper.
The label indicating the plant’s name was first dipped in oil to make it
transparent, so that when exposed to the light only the script remained.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Depending
on the weather and the intensity of the sun the copy frames were left [...] for
between five and 15 minutes. After a time, the paper would turn to a yellowish
green colour which, after the sheets were rinsed in water, turned to a more or
less intense blue.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna Atkins
gave her cyanotypes serial numbers. Even when she examined the plant numerous
times, there were some noticeable differences between specimens belonging to
the same series. Before each exposure, the algae were rearranged on the
prepared paper. Sometimes they appeared in reverse in the image, but at other
times they seemed to have moved only a short distance. The intensity of the
blue varied from one species to another. October 1843 saw the publication of
around 15 copies of the first volume of British Algae, which she dedicated to
her father. In a foreword, Atkins reflected on the reasons why she had produced
the book. “The difficulty of making accurate drawings, so minute as many of the
Algae and Confervae, has induced me to avail myself of Sir John Herschel’s
beautiful process of the Cyanotype, to obtain impressions of the plants
themselves, which I have much pleasure in offering to my botanical friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first
editions of the album were sent to the Royal Society, Herschel, [Henry Fox]
Talbot, the minerology and photo pioneer Robert Hunt and the book collector
Thomas Phillips. The British Museum, the Linnean Society of London and the
botanical gardens in London and Edinburgh were similarly honoured. [...] In the
subsequent years leading up to the spring of 1849, a total of ten volumes, each
containing twelve prints, [were sewn] together by hand. The recipients were
responsible for collating and binding the sections together.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: left;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna Atkins
and the Algae : how the first photobook was made in the mid-1800s. By José Da
Silva. <a href="https://www.theartnewspaper.com/2023/05/02/anna-atkins-and-the-algae-how-the-first-photobook-was-made-in-the-mid-1800s">The Art Newspaper</a>, May 2, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna Atkins.
Cyanotypes. <a href="https://www.taschen.com/en/books/classics/08133/anna-atkins-cyanotypes">Taschen</a></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJJhr7wh-q5KbgAvg_c-sX24cfDKy4_jOQQEIxxKhoeinC3LqhqewNLFyyX-XeUNZBcebh46k4A1E4MSkdgdsGxa2wx0tu9HlFEQZZ6a6NrqfzFNuj3aY4bTIXALhZr-ga0gOgC-aVriwuhcR1OB0-upRj3aoyp1YUI5bH43fDS6hMhKCW6GZZTMrmbU/s793/16blueprint-combo-superJumbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="793" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJJhr7wh-q5KbgAvg_c-sX24cfDKy4_jOQQEIxxKhoeinC3LqhqewNLFyyX-XeUNZBcebh46k4A1E4MSkdgdsGxa2wx0tu9HlFEQZZ6a6NrqfzFNuj3aY4bTIXALhZr-ga0gOgC-aVriwuhcR1OB0-upRj3aoyp1YUI5bH43fDS6hMhKCW6GZZTMrmbU/s16000/16blueprint-combo-superJumbo.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The plants
are white as ghosts, and they float in fields as sharply blue as the waters off
Dover. Each one is a little miracle, their neuron-like roots winding across the
page, their leaves revealing every branching vein. These are photographs,
produced only with the light of the sun and an amateur’s chemistry set. There
was no precedent for them in the early 1840s — when a woman invented the
photobook.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She was the
British photographer Anna Atkins, who may not be as well known as Louis
Daguerre, William Henry Fox Talbot and other men from the medium’s first
decade. But her intensely beautiful blueprints of marine plants, which she
began making in 1843, are as significant for the development of photography as
for the history of science.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her magnum
opus, “Photographs of British Algae,” whose first sections she published 175
years ago this fall, was the first volume ever to be illustrated with
photographs, albeit ones made without a camera. Dozens of pages from that book
are on view in “Blue Prints: The Pioneering Photographs of Anna Atkins,” on the
interplay of science and art at the main branch of the New York Public Library.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Atkins was
born in 1799, in the southeast of England; her father, John George Children,
was an amateur chemist who went on to work for the British Museum. He also
translated several important scientific treatises into English, like an 1823
taxonomy of shells that young Anna painstakingly illustrated for him. He
encouraged his daughter’s interest in the natural world; the New York Public
Library’s show includes an early herbarium in which she pressed dried thistles
and mint sprigs, and an album of tender watercolor landscapes, begun in 1835
and continued for decades after, that Anna painted as a gift to her husband,
the Kent landowner John Pelly Atkins.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1839,
William Henry Fox Talbot announced that he had discovered a new means of
“photogenic drawing,” which could trace the details of plants, fabrics or the
like on light-sensitized paper. (Photography has the rare distinction of being
invented twice: Daguerre and Talbot hit on two different techniques,
independently of each other, in the same year.) Talbot presented his technique
at the Royal Society, of which John George Children was the secretary, and Anna
Atkins would soon correspond with Talbot through her father. Like Talbot, she
saw that the new technology of photography would allow for a greater scientific
accuracy in botanical illustration — which until then had relied either on
letterpress printing, which was only as good as its illustrators, or else on
dried specimens that turned brittle before long.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She began
to collect seaweed from the southeast coast of England and the ponds around
Kent, and she implored friends to lend their own specimens. Then, starting in
1843, she started producing “photographical impressions” of these algae, “many
of which,” as she wrote in a letter displayed in the show, “are so minute that
accurate drawings of them are very difficult to make.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBi661AFqWwpo0zKrIQ-o7JjXSzBKHTHDMId1-OU1rjRzPeCHSqQ599JRrG9xyhmoLRk_lC8DvTA5tmsdJAf7tNCSAhDicuH68mBQuVr1Si84ZMk5xgmQ3u8W1cArpf19xwYP8y8kdyAc7hC6iq7hL5a11GwOWEz5QIbNjx1qSy3VuBTcrluZc23pe_8/s785/merlin_146222496_ab6894af-1905-4647-b57e-a9222cd11d02-superJumbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBi661AFqWwpo0zKrIQ-o7JjXSzBKHTHDMId1-OU1rjRzPeCHSqQ599JRrG9xyhmoLRk_lC8DvTA5tmsdJAf7tNCSAhDicuH68mBQuVr1Si84ZMk5xgmQ3u8W1cArpf19xwYP8y8kdyAc7hC6iq7hL5a11GwOWEz5QIbNjx1qSy3VuBTcrluZc23pe_8/s16000/merlin_146222496_ab6894af-1905-4647-b57e-a9222cd11d02-superJumbo.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her chosen
technique was the cyanotype — or blueprint, as it would later be known when architects
embraced it. You first slather a sheet of paper with a solution of iron salts,
then leave it to dry. Next, you place an object on the paper and compress it
under a pane of glass. Leave it in the sun for about 15 minutes, then wash the
exposed sheet in water, and the uncovered portion of the paper takes on a rich
Prussian blue.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The rest of
the sheet, obscured by the compressed algae or leaves, features a white
negative impression, like an X-ray or a snow angel. The species Dictyota
dichotoma becomes a bundle of thick, tangled rhizomes, while Furcellaria
fastigiata comprises spindlier, daintier strands that look like nerve endings.
One seaweed specimen has the density of a chanterelle mushroom; another appears
more like a tangle of fallen feathers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet these
are clearly more than an amateur scientist’s recordings. Atkins laid down the
plants on the page with a careful eye to composition, often with an attempt at
symmetry. Pairs of specimens are arrayed like nearly identical siblings;
thicker seaweed results in more indistinct, abstract skeins. The algae bristle
and undulate in Atkins’s cyanotypes, whose rich blues, of course, recall the
ocean. Even the captions exhibit a playful inventiveness. For the title page of
one chapter of her book, she fashioned the letters in “British Algae” out of
wispy strands of seaweed, forming its name out of its subject.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As
cyanotypes are not made from a negative, each Atkins photogram was
one-of-a-kind — making “British Algae” an arduous enterprise that took a decade
of labor. (Servants would likely have helped her, though we know next to
nothing about her working process.) The resultant books were different, too.
Atkins mailed the pages to subscribers as she completed them; readers then
sewed the fascicles together as they pleased.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her efforts
to circulate her work, both to eminent botanists and to photography pioneers
like Talbot (who was then completing his own first book, “The Pencil of
Nature”), make Atkins quite a different figure from other undersung women now
enjoying the attention of New York museums — like Orra White Hitchcock, whose
scientific illustrations for her husband’s university lessons were shown at the
American Folk Art Museum this summer, or Hilma af Klint, the Swedish
theosophist whose groundbreaking abstract paintings, now on view at the Solomon
R. Guggenheim Museum, were not exhibited during her lifetime. Atkins, while
reserved, was no outsider, and her blueprints are as significant for who saw
them as for what they depicted. The New York Public Library’s collection of
Atkins’s photograms, for one, belonged to John Herschel, the inventor of the
cyanotype process.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The library
has supplemented its showcase of Atkins with a pendant show upstairs, “Anna
Atkins Refracted,” featuring 19 contemporary photographers. Most of them make
use of cameraless photography techniques; a good number also engage with themes
of botany or the place of women in science. The German photographer Ulf Saupe
has created a rich cyanotype that resembles one of Atkins’s undulating algae,
but is in fact an impression of a plastic bag afloat in the ocean. Strange,
wonderful photograms by Letha Wilson begin from impressions of found flowers
and industrial objects; she then folds the exposed sheets, photographs them
(with a camera), and reprints the uncanny, Bauhaus-ish result.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s worth
returning to the Atkins exhibition once you’ve seen this contemporary showcase,
to look again at her blueprints with an eye on their aesthetic daring. “British
Algae” has its place in the history of photography and book publishing, but
these resonant cyanotypes are also artifacts from a time when science and art were
better acquainted. The plants look like river deltas, like plumes of smoke,
like controlled detonations, like lightning bolts scything through darkness.
The question of whether photography was art would roil audiences for more than
a century to come — but Atkins already had the answer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOw_M-ridNhW2Fz0ci1JFhG8PIG3-ttDVRdD0cakyqHkXZEQ9zSMXq9wDeNUZxFGDAqKaWFe-X3vENn3Y_MFlthVcH5_FLdo2591xi2OU-9rA7PMY5G7os3YdeqceV0aBElc1UN3-9uwkOj0opOSoSrBOAlI_lFtI8rtLYpH9UxFXZiS7zc3jlH6BTJ2Q/s600/16blueprint-15-jumbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOw_M-ridNhW2Fz0ci1JFhG8PIG3-ttDVRdD0cakyqHkXZEQ9zSMXq9wDeNUZxFGDAqKaWFe-X3vENn3Y_MFlthVcH5_FLdo2591xi2OU-9rA7PMY5G7os3YdeqceV0aBElc1UN3-9uwkOj0opOSoSrBOAlI_lFtI8rtLYpH9UxFXZiS7zc3jlH6BTJ2Q/s16000/16blueprint-15-jumbo.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She Needed
No Camera to Make the First Book of Photographs. By Jason Farago. </span><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/15/arts/design/she-needed-no-camera-to-make-the-first-book-of-photographs.html" style="font-family: inherit;">The New York Times</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">,
November</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">15, 2018. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE-6j74JgQkhaqn_MYiROHKBV4fTOzcy8y-wl5ArO_PnzOW-MmV9ywJd1E8L2bk3sWaHySvUk_3fqGKdN_KidAauiLxzb2hyphenhyphenfwfg98Vkp7S_-2XhFWayFsKyDzX1P4ogHfysHvJs94AWdTTVyaqPsmo2dDLm3nKWW0xqwm4muvg4g_f-jj1tJJTGRCMw/s657/download%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="657" data-original-width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE-6j74JgQkhaqn_MYiROHKBV4fTOzcy8y-wl5ArO_PnzOW-MmV9ywJd1E8L2bk3sWaHySvUk_3fqGKdN_KidAauiLxzb2hyphenhyphenfwfg98Vkp7S_-2XhFWayFsKyDzX1P4ogHfysHvJs94AWdTTVyaqPsmo2dDLm3nKWW0xqwm4muvg4g_f-jj1tJJTGRCMw/s16000/download%20(1).jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">If a picture
is worth a thousand words, then photo books offer even richer narratives.
Invented in the 19th century, the form allows for pictorial storytelling, in
collectible format. Carefully arranged images convey a photographer’s larger
aesthetic aims: Robert Frank’s iconic 1958 monograph The Americans offers a
lyrical glimpse of post-war society, while Nan Goldin’s 1986 book The Ballad of
Sexual Dependency still induces nostalgia for New York bohemia. Unlike the
temporary nature of an exhibition, photo books are always available for return
visits.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The tale of
photo books themselves began in 19th-century England, with a surprising subject
matter and inventor: an amateur botanist named Anna Atkins, whose work is
straightforwardly described in the book’s title, Photographs of British Algae:
Cyanotype Impressions.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Raised in
restrictive 1800s Britain,Atkins created her groundbreaking document with
support and mentorship from her progressive, scientist father, John George
Children. Atkins’s monograph proved that a new creative medium also had
important practical implications for non-artistic disciplines.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQ6uxhRPlTS56ykbdRwViZUt9bJkNV8_v4wEGlqBvovUbgk88NHBOQbz1qgWdCKmdUOXOe94haawaN8m6FRgJTODc7uILLqNteKdlxP9SiAumOkqRtKNjUamvOjx0sxVEO5_B1MIgyXdSeyOYvtKveEcDjAwr1fkXhNROG3bIj3LhTLdJULyeeeVU5Ns/s563/portriat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQ6uxhRPlTS56ykbdRwViZUt9bJkNV8_v4wEGlqBvovUbgk88NHBOQbz1qgWdCKmdUOXOe94haawaN8m6FRgJTODc7uILLqNteKdlxP9SiAumOkqRtKNjUamvOjx0sxVEO5_B1MIgyXdSeyOYvtKveEcDjAwr1fkXhNROG3bIj3LhTLdJULyeeeVU5Ns/s16000/portriat.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Atkins was
born in 1799 in Kent, England, and was raised by Children, her mother having
died shortly after childbirth. Children, a chemist, encouraged Atkins’s developing
passion for botany. Though society dictated strict gender roles—women were
expected to be content as homemakers—Children wanted to raise his daughter
differently. He offered Atkins and her friends science lessons, and employed
Atkins as his lab assistant.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Atkins was
also intrigued by photography, a medium still in its nascent stages. She
maintained a correspondence with William Henry Fox Talbot, who pioneered the
early field of photography. In 1841, Talbot had patented the calotype, which
employed a light-sensitive paper coated with silver nitrate that, when exposed
to light, recorded light and shadow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Talbot
wasn’t the only Brit to experiment with photography. Children’s circle of
friends included Sir John Herschel, an astronomer and chemist who, in 1842,
developed another light-sensitive paper that recorded images against a blue
background, which he called the cyanotype. The form became a means of
reproducing drawings, in particular, architectural blueprints.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">In 1841,
English physician William H. Harvey published Manual of British Algae; Atkins
found the work visually insufficient. Indeed, Harvey had listed and described
all the new algae specimens he could find, without offering any illustrations.
Atkins, empowered to create her own version, made cyanotypes to imprint the
images of algae for posterity. Herschel himself probably taught the process to
Atkins.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Today,
algae might seem a rather banal subject for history’s first book of
photography. Yet New York Public Library curator Joshua Chuang believes that
Harvey’s manual and Atkins’s subsequent work were part of a larger natural
history craze in Britain. People were cataloging plant life, attempting to
harness the multiplicity of nature. “[Some] of the great mysteries of the
natural world [were] things from the sea,” he said. “And algae were accessible,
beautiful, and various.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1JKDTxwKtKWWd5Z2q-l72lQAkCtx4Ck1dXTpsy4T8_Nqr4Fne3vBOSEfTq5_qNOqjq6j3plM_vowqqyami0wajvCQZW4yaUX11wpVECOodFhzIEy7mF3RYhWO7_bW8T_oJsfoU9Tnp08ZoaxF2KbMf3YXscUYnpqu4K10YN6cc-g9aOfaGjo0TyYGyRk/s790/papaver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="790" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1JKDTxwKtKWWd5Z2q-l72lQAkCtx4Ck1dXTpsy4T8_Nqr4Fne3vBOSEfTq5_qNOqjq6j3plM_vowqqyami0wajvCQZW4yaUX11wpVECOodFhzIEy7mF3RYhWO7_bW8T_oJsfoU9Tnp08ZoaxF2KbMf3YXscUYnpqu4K10YN6cc-g9aOfaGjo0TyYGyRk/s16000/papaver.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">This fall,
Chuang is mounting two exhibitions at the library: “Blue Prints: The Pioneering
Photographs of Anna Atkins” and “Anna Atkins Refracted: Contemporary Works”
(co-curated by Elizabeth Cronin, the NYPL’s assistant curator of photography).
The first exhibition examines Atkins’s achievements, while the second addresses
Atkins’s influence on and resonance within contemporary art practice.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Blue
Prints” will include multiple copies of Atkins’s photo-illustrated manuscript.
Between 1843 and 1853, she created and distributed the pages filled with
cyanotypes that would become her book, distributing the tome in parts, bound in
soft covers. Atkins sent the book to acquaintances, who had to visit
bookbinders to sew the different sections together. In all, Atkins produced 17
handmade copies; because of her process, however, no two were alike.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Today,
Atkins’s book manifests an ethereal beauty. White, feathery outlines of algae
ripple across deep blue backgrounds. Elegant white type along the bottom of
each cyanotype gives each species’ name—all sounding, to the untrained ear,
more like mystical incantations than botanical designations: Chordaria
flagelliformis, Polysiphonia affinis, Cystoseira granulata.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">When Atkins
died in 1871, her name faded in and out of history. Influential personalities
of her time, including Scottish book collector William Lang Jr., recognized her
achievement. In 1864, Lang read an article by Talbot about non-silver
photographic processes that mentioned Atkins’s work, without mentioning her
name. “Lang was so entranced that he thought to himself, ‘I have to find a
copy,’” recounted Chuang. After a several-year search, Lang identified a London
bookseller with the manuscript and bought it in 1888. He wrote an article about
the book in an 1889–90 volume of the Proceedings of the Philosophical Society
of Glasgow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Lang,
however, still wasn’t sure who’d created the book: Atkins had signed her work
“AA,” leading him to conclude that the initials stood for “Anonymous Amateur.”
A few weeks after Lang published his piece, a curator from London’s Natural
History Museum wrote to the journal editor and said that he, too, owned a copy
of the book in question, and he knew it was by a Mrs. Atkins. Lang embarked on
a series of public exhibitions and lectures, conducting, said Chuang, something
“almost like an Anna Atkins roadshow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Lang’s finances
suffered towards the end of his life, and he had to sell off a portion of his
library that included Photographs of British Algae. When he died in the early
1900s, Atkins lost a major champion. According to Chuang, a 1955 history of
photography included her name, along with just a few sentences.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZ-LPZMhgGtP9O1M0J-YzrbrsuvGn-h2P5LIFICG940SgzAENKRX6Jt8tdgsQ8n4ibWIB4uJ3tgjbVLOUT8XAIubVhTemm0MzHstc4h3Q0ExciF3yXBY9Tkyma6mIWAhs7iWn3bz7uviKwbZ0VToeA2FFsOVy83CW40i-ds0ClQLCGoY9UE5ykiSCzrU/s804/peacock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZ-LPZMhgGtP9O1M0J-YzrbrsuvGn-h2P5LIFICG940SgzAENKRX6Jt8tdgsQ8n4ibWIB4uJ3tgjbVLOUT8XAIubVhTemm0MzHstc4h3Q0ExciF3yXBY9Tkyma6mIWAhs7iWn3bz7uviKwbZ0VToeA2FFsOVy83CW40i-ds0ClQLCGoY9UE5ykiSCzrU/s16000/peacock.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Finally, in
the 1970s, an art historian named Larry Schaaf, working at the University of
Texas at Austin, discovered Atkins’s work and attempted to piece together her
biography. “He basically put her on the map not only as a pioneer of
photography, but also the first person to publish a photographically
illustrated book,” said Chuang. In 1985, Schaaf helped re-publish Atkins’s work
in Sun Gardens: Victorian Photograms.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">In the
years since, contemporary curators have bolstered Atkins’s reputation. In 2004,
the Drawing Center in New York and the Yale Center for British Art organized a
show—“Ocean Flowers: Impressions from Nature in the Victorian Era”—of
19th-century botanical photography, which included prints by Atkins alongside
those of Talbot and Herschel. A 2010–11 exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art,
entitled “Pictures by Women: A History of Modern Photography,” included
Atkins’s cyanotypes alongside work by Diane Arbus, Cindy Sherman, and other
women photography leaders.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Curators,
scholars, and artists alike are ensuring that Atkins’s name remains integral to
art canon. Her story, like so many others, reminds us that artistic innovation
isn’t enough to secure an adequate legacy—future generations must write about
and champion worthy projects. Atkins’s brilliant work, which was nearly lost to
history, is getting a new chance to shine<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The 19<sup>th</sup>-Century
Botanist Who Changed The Course of Photography. By Alina Cohen. <a href="https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-19th-century-botanist-changed-course-photography"> Artsy</a>, October 16, 2018</span></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-20075102130221647292023-12-10T13:01:00.004+00:002023-12-10T13:01:54.323+00:00The 1848 Revolutions Did Not Fail <p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nLUJ4OnksGf8mIq_HsIxF44IiRnmt-2XuY8ujexB6xrbxpyw7KKqiU8Uyb9lxiw50p4sBqkHByImtU7WqmcjZbC7K7wDp38pcQBEvQnwOl5J8n6-hY8OZgZd0Ak6tntviyaKWbVkrugHSORLNZUGiqa6fAxePmw_1QRNlfoLLpTsfmD9LJqi609mWPg/s600/Suffrage_universel_1848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nLUJ4OnksGf8mIq_HsIxF44IiRnmt-2XuY8ujexB6xrbxpyw7KKqiU8Uyb9lxiw50p4sBqkHByImtU7WqmcjZbC7K7wDp38pcQBEvQnwOl5J8n6-hY8OZgZd0Ak6tntviyaKWbVkrugHSORLNZUGiqa6fAxePmw_1QRNlfoLLpTsfmD9LJqi609mWPg/s16000/Suffrage_universel_1848.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">In their
combination of intensity and geographical extent, the 1848 revolutions were
unique—at least in European history. Neither the great French Revolution of
1789, nor the July Revolution of 1830, nor the Paris Commune of 1870, nor the
Russian revolutions of 1905 and 1917 sparked a comparable transcontinental
cascade. 1989 looks like a better comparator, but there is still controversy as
to whether these uprisings can be characterized as “revolutions.” In 1848, by
contrast, parallel political tumults broke out across the entire continent,
from Switzerland and Portugal to Wallachia and Moldavia, from Norway, Denmark
and Sweden to Palermo and the Ionian Islands. This was the only truly European
revolution that there has ever been.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But it
was also in some respects a global upheaval, or at least a European upheaval
with a global dimension. The news of revolution in Paris had a profound impact
on the French Caribbean, and the measures adopted by London to avoid revolution
on the British mainland triggered protests and uprisings across the British
imperial periphery. In the young nations of Latin America, too, the European
revolutions galvanized liberal and radical political elites. Even in far-off
Australia, the February Revolution created political waves—though it was not
until June 19, 1848 that the news of the February events reached Sydney in the
Colony of New South Wales—a reminder of what the Australian historian Geoffrey
Blainey once mournfully described as “the tyranny of distance.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
revolutions involved a vast panorama of charismatic and gifted actors, from
Giuseppe Garibaldi to Marie d’Agoult, author (under a male pseudonym) of the best
contemporary history of the revolutions in France, from the French socialist
Louis Blanc to the leader of the Hungarian national movement, Lajos Kossuth;
from the brilliant conservative liberal social theorist, historian and
politician Alexis-Charles-Henri Clérel de Tocqueville to the Wallachian
soldier, journalist and agrarian radical Nicolae Bălcescu. From the young
patriot poet Sándor Petőfi, whose recitation of a new national song for the
Hungarians electrified the revolutionary crowds in Budapest, to the troubled
priest Félicité de Lamennais, whose ultimately unsuccessful struggle to
reconcile his faith with his politics made him one of the most famous thinkers
in the pre-1848 world; from the writer George Sand, who composed “revolutionary
bulletins” for the Provisional Government in Paris, to the Roman popular
tribune Angelo Brunetti, known affectionately as Ciceruacchio, or “Chubby,” a
true man of the people, who did much to shape the unfolding of the Roman
revolution of 1848–9. Not to mention the countless women who sold broadsheets
and newspapers in the streets of the European cities or fought at the
barricades (they are very prominent in the visual depiction of these
revolutions). For politically sentient Europeans, 1848 was an all-encompassing moment
of shared experience. It turned everyone into contemporaries, branding them
with memories that would last as long as life itself.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">These
revolutions were experienced as European upheavals—the evidence for this is
superabundant; but they were nationalized in retrospect. The historians and
memory managers of the European nations absorbed them into specific national
stories. The supposed failure of the German revolutions was sucked into the
national narrative known as the Sonderweg, or “special path,” where it helped
to power a thesis about Germany’s aberrant road into modernity, a road that
culminated in the disaster of the Hitler dictatorship. Something similar
happened in Italy, where the failure of revolution in 1848 was seen as
pre-programming an authoritarian drift into the new Italian kingdom and thereby
paving the road to the March on Rome in 1922 and the fascist seizure of power
that followed. In France, the failure of 1848 was seen as ushering in the
Bonapartist interlude of the Second Empire, which in turn anticipated the
future triumph of Gaullism. In other words, focusing on the supposed failure of
1848 also had the consequence of allowing these stories to be channelled into a
plurality of parallel, nation-state-focused narratives. Nothing demonstrates
better than these connected upheavals and their fragmentation in modern memory
the immense power of the nation-state as a way of framing the historical
record—we are still feeling that power today.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">There
were three phases to the events of 1848. In February and March, upheaval spread
like a brush fire across the continent, leaping from city to city and starting
numerous spot-fires in towns and villages in-between. The Austrian Chancellor,
Metternich, fled from Vienna, the Prussian army was withdrawn from Berlin, the
kings of Piedmont–Sardinia, Denmark and Naples issued constitutions—it all
seemed so easy. This was the Tahrir Square moment: one could be forgiven for
thinking that the movement encompassed the entirety of society; the euphoria of
unanimity was intoxicating; “I had to go out into the winter cold and walk and
walk until I had worn myself out,” one German radical wrote, “just to calm my
blood and slow down the beating of my heart, which was in a state of
unprecedented and baffled agitation and felt as if it were about to blow a hole
in my chest.” In Milan, complete strangers embraced each other in the streets.
These were the spring days of 1848.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Yet the
divisions within the upheaval (already latent in the first hours of conflict)
soon became glaringly apparent: by May, radical demonstrators were attempting
to storm and overthrow the National Assembly created by the February Revolution
in Paris, while, in Vienna, Austrian democrats protested at the slowness of
liberal reforms and established a Committee of Public Safety. In June, there
were violent clashes between the liberal (or in France republican) leaderships
and radical crowds on the streets of the larger cities. In Paris, this
culminated in the brutality and bloodshed of the “June Days,” which killed at
least 3,000 insurgents. This was the long hot summer of 1848, gleefully
diagnosed by Marx as the moment at which the revolution lost its innocence and
the sweet (but deceptive) unanimity of spring made way for the bitter struggle
between classes.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Excerpted
from Revolutionary Spring: Europe Aflame and the Fight for a New World,
1848-1849 by Christopher Clark. 2023.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div><p>
</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB">1848:
Europe’s Year of Revolt and Revolution. By Christopher Clark. <a href="https://lithub.com/1848-europes-year-of-revolt-and-revolution/">LitHub</a>, November
15, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SD85467kvGcqxOinmI8wNZSww1OLWwouevRN68aDRnTIGwTy4kKqCyMbtRlczWFZwgdWRINxRdo-yvc6zPkusFGqlQfkESBpyi0S0BLu5h6BtgLjploPRVdDbb9g95vB_4SEp_FjOEYfgxsNh5Qhs6zW4ycQbalrC4Vpkb9qQF-0aQqibMdPh7wvBRI/s600/Lamartine_in_front_of_the_Town_Hall_of_Paris_rejects_the_red_flag_on_25_February_1848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SD85467kvGcqxOinmI8wNZSww1OLWwouevRN68aDRnTIGwTy4kKqCyMbtRlczWFZwgdWRINxRdo-yvc6zPkusFGqlQfkESBpyi0S0BLu5h6BtgLjploPRVdDbb9g95vB_4SEp_FjOEYfgxsNh5Qhs6zW4ycQbalrC4Vpkb9qQF-0aQqibMdPh7wvBRI/s16000/Lamartine_in_front_of_the_Town_Hall_of_Paris_rejects_the_red_flag_on_25_February_1848.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Russia
has returned to its pre-20th century role, tension between Greece and Turkey is
heightened and the revolutions of 1848 feel less distant<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Viewed
on a timeline, the events and the people of history seem to grow ever more
distant as the past slips away from a “modern” world that is constantly being
made anew. For us, it is axiomatic that “this time it’s different”, because we
are always covering new ground, always leaving the past further behind us.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But the
truth is that we have a non-linear relationship with the past, both with our
own personal stories and with history more generally. There are moments when a
history that had seemed finished and packed away suddenly moves into our
vicinity, grabs us by the shoulders and starts to speak to us. Right now, this
is happening with the 19th century.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Take the
“Eastern Question”. This central preoccupation of 19th-century European
diplomacy bundled together problems arising from the enfeeblement of the
Ottoman empire, the issue of access to the waterways linking the Black Sea with
the Mediterranean, imperial rivalries in north Africa, Syria and Mesopotamia
and the struggle to secure control over the land and sea routes linking the
great powers with their global empires.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the
course of the 20th century, the Eastern Question receded from view. The Ottoman
empire was no more, Turkey was admitted to Nato, and in the light of the
bipolar stability of the cold war, the balance of power in the eastern
Mediterranean no longer seemed of such pressing importance. There was no
shortage of conflict in the region, but it unfolded within the framework
imposed by the standoff between the two nuclear superpowers. In recent years,
the Eastern Question (or at least the bundle of issues that were once known
under that rubric) has acquired a new salience.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">We see
it in the heightened geopolitical tension between Greece and Turkey, the
squabbling between Egypt, Turkey and other players over the future of Libya,
the disastrous effects of intervention in Syria, the conflict over grain
exports from the Black Sea ports, and the consciously neo-Ottoman language and
gestures of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, Turkey’s president.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Our
epoch is marked – this is hardly a new observation – by the return of a genuine
multipolarity, such as we have not known since 1945. This multipolarity has
many dimensions. New regional powers have emerged, determined to shape events
in their own spheres – Turkey and Iran are two of the most important examples.
The transition from Deng Xiaoping’s policy of restraint under the maxim: “hide
your power and always be patient” to the confident demeanour of today’s China
is another facet of the new multipolarity. The tension between the US and Russia
remains, but it no longer has the power to stabilise the system as a whole.
This multipolarity is unsettling for us; for the people of the 19th century, it
was all they knew.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">There
are other commonalities. In the 20th century (or for most of it at least),
Russia represented a radical alternative to western-style liberal democracy, a
power driven by a philosophy of historical change whose attraction for people
on the political left worldwide was never entirely extinguished. In today’s
world, Russia has returned to its 19th-century role as the reactionary negation
of western “liberalism”. To be sure, the special status of Russia and the US as
custodians of the world’s largest strategic nuclear arsenals persists, as a
legacy of the cold war. But the current war in Ukraine has less to do with the
binary ideological oppositions of the 20th century than with a deeper history
of wars and annexations along the Russian imperial periphery, a history that
extends through and beyond the 19th century.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">I have
spent the past few years writing a book about the 1848 revolutions – a cascade
of political tumults that extended across the European continent – and here too
I have been struck by the many resonances with our own time. The present
anxiety around social precarity, the working poor and the cost of living –
exacerbated today by the return of supply chain disruptions and fuel and grain
price shocks – is reminiscent of the panic around the “Social Question” of the
1840s. Then, as now, people argued over whether mass impoverishment was the
consequence of over-regulation, whether it resulted from deregulation and the
resulting erosion of older forms of social cohesion, or whether it could be
something produced by the modern economic system itself.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
fascinating – and vexing – thing about these revolutions is their polyvocality,
the fact that so many programmes and aspirations found simultaneous expression.
The political forces that coalesced in the revolutionary spring of 1848,
shaking the foundations of monarchies across the continent, soon spiralled off
in different directions. The slow liberal politics of chambers and the fast
radical politics of clubs and demonstrations came unstuck from each other. The
rivalry between national groups pitted German and Croatian liberals and
radicals against their Czech and Hungarian fellows.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Nothing
cohered. For contemporaries, it was difficult to make out the general direction
of travel, so paradoxical and contradictory were the forces that the
revolutions had unleashed. The complexity of 1848 was not primarily a function
of the intrinsic difficulty of the problems confronting European societies, but
rather of the great number and diversity of political groups and perspectives
brought to bear on them. Karl Marx anticipated this when he observed in an
essay of 1842 that the many-sidedness of the world was a function of the
one-sidedness of its countless constituent parts.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">History
does not repeat itself, but, as Mark Twain remarked, it often rhymes. What do
these moments of déjà vu mean? They may in part be symptomatic of a narrow
“presentism” that can see in the past nothing but endless reflections of its
own preoccupations. But we should not exclude the possibility that such
resonances reveal authentic affinities between one moment in history and
another.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
revolutions of 1848 seemed as old as ancient Egypt when I learned about them at
school in the 1970s. Their complexity was a futile, antiquarian scrawl. But
it’s different today. We are re-emerging from something that they did not yet
know. The era of high industrialisation; the “take-off into sustained growth”;
the rise of the great ideological party-political formations; the ascendancy of
the nation-state and the welfare state; the rise of the great newspapers and
the national television audience. These things, which we used to call “modernity”,
are now in flux, their hold on us is waning. And as we cease to be the
creatures of high modernity, new patterns of attention become possible. As the
20th century begins to lose its power over our imagination, it becomes
engrossing, even instructive, to contemplate the people and situations of the
19th century: the fissured, multifarious quality of their politics; the churn
and change without a settled sense of the direction of travel; the anxieties
around inequality and the finiteness of resources; the entanglement of civil
tumult with international relations; the irruption of violence, utopia and
spirituality into politics.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In 2011,
as a chain of political upheavals cascaded across the Arab world, attention
turned once again to the forgotten revolutions of 1848, which had exhibited a
similarly contagious quality. In the west, too, we have seen symptoms of
instability – chamber invasions, pop-up protest movements, crosscurrents of
activism on social media – that recall the volatility of 1848. If a revolution
is coming, it may look something like 1848: poorly planned, dispersed, patchy
and bristling with contradictions.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Revolutionary
Spring: Fighting for a New World 1848-1849 by Christopher Clark will be
published on Thursday<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ancient
rivalries, social panic, revolution … the 19th century is back. By Christopher
Clark, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/apr/23/ancient-rivalries-19th-century-russia-greece-turkey-revolutions">The Guardian</a>, April 23, 2023. </span></span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB">
</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1VUtqpbMb3ZaWxAQP_AujZtyu5FF7htFdWiUaYqMfCLa3bDosSyvGoyP1AtCD1siAcL1fSLDwKxMG8XuKt8DCrNnR23m1x4Io7MoSMLmsbq3gwW6O_IyMcvB6LdNZ5eD5DIo_Zsp51LRKjyJ6TJn0Ymizphws8peC8eQLEmYQYttpte_4Pi6MvH7ktc/s600/blum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1VUtqpbMb3ZaWxAQP_AujZtyu5FF7htFdWiUaYqMfCLa3bDosSyvGoyP1AtCD1siAcL1fSLDwKxMG8XuKt8DCrNnR23m1x4Io7MoSMLmsbq3gwW6O_IyMcvB6LdNZ5eD5DIo_Zsp51LRKjyJ6TJn0Ymizphws8peC8eQLEmYQYttpte_4Pi6MvH7ktc/s16000/blum.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Christopher
Clark: The 1848 Revolutions.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In his
Winter Lecture, Christopher Clark asks why we should think about the
Revolutions of 1848 now. Recorded at the British Museum on 15 February 2019.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=782P0YcOOOQ">London Review of Books</a>, February 27, 2019. </span></span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB">
</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7fWSq9ePUIj9Rlir3HZxh-W3bUdgQtkZIKg2gyeBUGz_a6WdjlVM0_HvXgsgjevSFB7sZV8Mr6qG0CctCYC-cd7uo4qplzxugqJlOrcwEo9lYJf00oUyAVV-fnQTOU6i_3W9VvtW3eJzq_rn3jTf51QmUnNTV8_pH42U0nFd2EbuTABgj7ZIq0Ack3A/s600/banner-chris-clark1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7fWSq9ePUIj9Rlir3HZxh-W3bUdgQtkZIKg2gyeBUGz_a6WdjlVM0_HvXgsgjevSFB7sZV8Mr6qG0CctCYC-cd7uo4qplzxugqJlOrcwEo9lYJf00oUyAVV-fnQTOU6i_3W9VvtW3eJzq_rn3jTf51QmUnNTV8_pH42U0nFd2EbuTABgj7ZIq0Ack3A/s16000/banner-chris-clark1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: #131313; font-family: inherit;">In Revolutionary Spring. Europe aflame
and the fight for a new world, 1848-1849 Christopher Clark describes 1848 as
‘the particle collision chamber at the center of the European nineteenth
century’, a moment when political movements and ideas were tested and
transformed. The revolutions of 1848 were short-lived, but their impact on
public life and political thought throughout Europe and beyond has been
profound.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #131313; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #131313; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">After the key note lecture by
Christopher Clark, parallels to the current day and age are drawn in a
discussion with invited experts and the audience.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #131313; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #131313; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Do democracies need revolutions? Can
freedom thrive without? And what about the situation of the Netherlands, where
no revolution took place at all and that still went through a democratic
transformation in 1848?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXMRC3ldJVk">KNAW</a>, June
27, 2023</span></span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB">
</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYbHCFzwI1v5Nlxmy12bTQLQHho5KL6i5wlCwUBCEa_VC6AHpLpm2BDDz8w4TE7u2OKNNCfDBb7eBMe8AV-lmf78otGeKM7uFhnVFjWAz827ZxCBtKXy7MvO2LUrn_utJak4Isq_MsMEQoXDjOlsgckJ4j7lUlvI6xUAx7Vjxsb9YJOvo_TK7yfWZ-Jo/s600/Bell-Berlin_1848-ILLO-getty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="463" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYbHCFzwI1v5Nlxmy12bTQLQHho5KL6i5wlCwUBCEa_VC6AHpLpm2BDDz8w4TE7u2OKNNCfDBb7eBMe8AV-lmf78otGeKM7uFhnVFjWAz827ZxCBtKXy7MvO2LUrn_utJak4Isq_MsMEQoXDjOlsgckJ4j7lUlvI6xUAx7Vjxsb9YJOvo_TK7yfWZ-Jo/s16000/Bell-Berlin_1848-ILLO-getty.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
final pages of Revolutionary Spring, the historian Christopher Clark writes
that “the revolutions of 1848 seemed as old as ancient Egypt when I learned
about them at school.” Now, however, he sees important parallels with the
present. Just as revolutionary flames seemed to leap from country to country in
1848, so they have done in recent decades, notably in the Arab Spring of the
early 2010s, which spread from</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Tunisia
to Libya, Egypt, Syria, and beyond. Just as politics today often involves “a
blend of carnivalesque style and insurrectionary logic,” so it did 175 years
ago (the January 6 attack on the Capitol, Clark writes, “was thick with echoes”
of 1848). Then, as now, ideologies were in flux: Self-identified “liberals” and
“radicals” oscillated between uneasy alliance and open conflict, while populist
nationalism proved to be the enemy of progressive social change. “As I wrote
this book,” Clark concludes, “I was struck by the feeling that the people of
1848 could see themselves in us.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But is
Clark right to emphasize these connections? One certainly cannot criticize his
command of the material: Revolutionary Spring’s 74 pages of tightly packed
small-font endnotes—nearly 2,000 of them, in at least 10 languages—testify to
the vast extent of his research. Although the events he surveys, each with its
own chronology and cast of characters, took place across a score of separate
locales, he manages to distill everything into a clear and compelling
narrative, aided by his knack for the striking phrase. And Clark also has an
eye for wonderful details, as in his description of observers climbing the
highest buildings in Milan to observe the enemy outside the city’s walls. “To
save time,” he tells his readers, “they attached their reports to a metal ring
and sent them whizzing down ziplines to the ground, where they were picked up
and taken to headquarters by the boys of a college of orphans.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Yet
despite having written a book that emphatically deserves the term
“magisterial,” Clark ends up straining in his attempts to connect 1848 to the
present moment. Sometimes, the differences between earlier times and our own
are more instructive than the similarities. And the similarities that Clark
points to are overshadowed by one very great difference: the almost unlimited
faith that the people of 1848 put in the idea of revolution itself. That faith
died in the ashes of the 20th century.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The very
first revolution of 1848 testified to that faith. In Palermo, Sicily, printed
notices appeared at the start of the year announcing that an uprising—and an
era of “universal regeneration”—would begin on January 12. As Clark notes, it
might have seemed a silly idea for the conspirators to announce their plans
ahead of time—but there was no conspiracy. The author of the notices, a veteran
of radical politics named Francesco Bagnasco, thought “the announcement of a
revolt would suffice to bring one about,” and he was right. Long-standing
resentment of the king of Naples’s heavy-handed rule, exacerbated by severe
economic inequality, led crowds to pour into the streets on the appointed day
to fulfill—if only for a short time—the dream of Sicilian independence.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Revolution
soon spread to mainland Europe, driven by social conflict. Europeans were not,
in the aggregate, poorer than they had been in the past, but the economic
disruptions of the industrial revolution had created a newly mobile labor force
living a starkly precarious existence, especially in the cities. Nor were
reform-minded Europeans as ready as they once had been to accept social misery
as inevitable. As emerging socialist movements insisted, impoverishment was a
human phenomenon, and human action—political action—could relieve it. In region
after region, precarity and the hope for a more secure life fueled popular
support for political movements struggling against corrupt, despotic, and
foreign rulers (the working classes generally did not start the revolutions,
but revolutions could not succeed without them). And in region after region,
the news of uprisings elsewhere fell on the dry timber of troubled societies
like a shower of sparks.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In
February, the French overthrew King Louis-Philippe and proclaimed the Second
Republic (Napoleon Bonaparte had overthrown the first one 49 years earlier).
The next month, revolution spread to the German states, with many rulers,
notably in Austria and Prussia, compelled to promise liberal reforms. They granted
constitutions and guaranteed rights. Delegates from the German territories
assembled in Frankfurt to start planning for German unification. And from
there, uprisings spread across Central Europe and Italy. National minorities
throughout the Austrian, Ottoman, and Russian empires called for autonomy or
independence. The 1848 revolutions extended as far east as the Balkans and the
Ionian Islands and led rulers in many places to make anxious, preemptive
concessions to the reformers.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The 1848
revolutions also had consequences beyond Europe, notably in France’s overseas
colonies, where enslaved people seized freedom for themselves in anticipation
of legal emancipation—which the Second Republic duly enacted. Clark gives far
more attention to 1848’s global ramifications than earlier historians, and also
to the role of women—although feminists who hoped the revolutions would bring
women expanded rights were everywhere met with bitter disappointment. France’s
Jeanne Deroin, who called for female suffrage, tried to run for a seat in
Parliament herself, and campaigned for the creation of workers’ cooperatives,
ended up in prison during a wave of postrevolutionary repression.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Surprisingly,
Clark writes, self-conscious revolutionaries like Deroin “tended to play a very
marginal role in the events of 1848.” Instead, most often, uncoordinated
spontaneous uprisings led to a sudden and unexpected collapse of authority,
followed by frantic efforts to cobble together a new political order. The
pattern repeated itself in place after place, with a virtually identical
vocabulary. “The same words rang out everywhere: constitution, liberty, freedom
of the press, association and assembly, civil (or national) guard, franchise
reform.” Clark also points to a similar “euphoria” that gripped revolutionary
crowds throughout Europe, especially in the cities. He writes of “the sense of
immersion in a collective self, the presence of an emotion so intense that it
is almost painful.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In
writing these words, Clark clearly has more recent scenes in mind as well:
Tiananmen Square in Beijing in 1989; Tahrir Square in Cairo in 2011; the Maidan
in Kyiv in 2014—history not exactly repeating itself but rhyming, as Mark Twain
once put it. The parallels are clear. But they are also, in an important sense,
deceptive.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">For what
did the euphoric crowds of 1848 think they could accomplish, beyond the
immediate goals of obtaining a constitution and national rights? In this very
long and detailed book, this is one of the few questions to which Clark does
not devote sufficient attention. In his conclusion, he refers to “a mythical
ideal of revolution as the generative moment when actors in pursuit of a new
order of things smash the world and make it anew in the image of their vision.”
But to the men and women of 1848, the idea that a revolution could create a
whole new social order, perhaps even change human nature itself, was not simply
a myth: It was a burning faith they had inherited from their own recent past,
and it is to that past, not our own present, that 1848 is most closely linked.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As Clark
himself notes, very late in the book, “The revolutions of 1848 broke out in a
world that remembered an earlier epoch of transformation.” He then briefly
cites some of the “rhymes and echoes” of that earlier epoch: Phrygian liberty
caps, the slogan “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity,” and the name “Committee of
Public Safety,” all from the French Revolution of 1789. He might have added the
concept of the republic itself. France not only proclaimed itself a republic
soon after 1789 but subsequently sponsored (often at bayonet point) the
founding of more than two dozen other republics throughout Europe. But at the
start of the year 1848, every significant state in Europe, with the sole
exception of Switzerland, again had a hereditary ruler. In other words, the
1848ers were following a sort of script.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">And the
script was not limited to words and slogans. The 1848ers still remembered—and
many still believed in—the wild hopes of that earlier epoch for the radical
transformation of humankind: the imminent end to all forms of oppression and
the arrival of an era of equality and justice. The French revolutionaries had
not only held those hopes but also did more than any other group to invent the
modern idea of “revolution” as a means for realizing them. Before the era of
the French Revolution, the word had denoted a sudden, unpredictable, and most
likely violent change of regime, but little more. Many political philosophers
and political actors, as the historian Dan Edelstein noted in a recent article
for the Journal of the History of Ideas, tended to see “revolutions” as
something to avoid. They designed political systems with the goal of preventing
revolutions. But in the late 18th century, for millions of Europeans,
“revolution” ceased to be a problem and became a solution. It ceased to be a
sudden and unpredictable event and became a conscious program driven by human
will that could continue indefinitely into the future. It became a means of
repairing injustice, of relieving misery, of building new nations, and of
regenerating the spirit. It was liberation, not merely from oppression but from
unhappiness. “Happiness is a new idea in Europe,” Saint-Just declared in 1794.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">After
the Revolution of 1789 had given way to the Terror of 1793–94 and then Napoleon
Bonaparte’s dictatorship and empire, many Europeans muted those exalted hopes.
Many subsequent revolutionary movements, including those in Spain and Italy in
1820 and France in 1830, had more modest goals than their great predecessor.
Like the protesters in 21st-century Cairo and Kyiv, they fought principally for
a liberal constitution, the rule of law, and a guarantee of human rights. But
the old dreams of changing human nature and bringing about an era of equality
and peace remained potent. In Palermo, Francesco Bagnasco spoke of “universal
regeneration,” of relieving popular misery, and he promised the blessings of
heaven itself on the Sicilian Revolution. The men who took power in France the
next month named a common worker as a member of the provisional government and
promised sweeping social reforms, beginning with a series of national workshops
for the unemployed. Throughout Central and Eastern Europe, the nationalists
among the revolutionaries of 1848 spoke of reviving ancient nations, freeing
them from imperial oppression, cleansing them of troublesome minorities, and
forging them anew.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">If the
1848 revolutionaries achieved less than their 18th-century predecessors had, it
was not because of any lack of ambition, but because of the strength of the
opposition. Europe’s ruling elites in 1848, unlike those in 1789, knew exactly
what revolution meant, and they saw the threat to their power with limpid
clarity from the start. More than a few regimes (notably in Britain, Scandinavia,
and Spain) in fact managed to avoid revolution thanks to an adroit combination
of strategic concessions and targeted repression.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In
France, Louis-Philippe lost his throne, but the social elites soon regrouped
and dominated the election of the new republic’s Parliament: Two-thirds of its
members had held office under or had otherwise sworn an oath of loyalty to the
monarchy. The elites also recognized, as Parisian radicals did not, that France
was still a heavily rural society and that the peasantry had little sympathy
for social programs aimed largely at urban workers. Parisian radicals in turn
denounced the elections for what the novelist George Sand called the
“perversion” of the public will and a “false national representation.” There
followed, with sad inevitability, the bloody confrontation of the June Days of
1848, in which the French Army put down a Parisian insurrection with thousands
of casualties and decisively ended the revolution’s radical phase.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The same
pattern emerged elsewhere. Clark notes the shrewd maneuvering of Prussian King
Friedrich Wilhelm IV, who strategically withdrew his army from Berlin only to
reimpose his authority later. Faced with Hungarian calls for complete autonomy,
the Austrian emperor exploited the resentment of other national minorities who
would then have to live under Hungarian rule. As his troops fought the
Hungarian revolutionaries, Croats joined the emperor’s cause.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ruling
elites also cooperated across borders, notably in the suppression of the last
great revolution of the period, in Rome, by a France now presided over by
Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte, soon to be Emperor Napoleon III. Clark insists that
we should not think of the 1848 revolutions in terms of success or failure, and
he notes their many long-term effects, including the spread of
constitutionalism and the consolidation of recognizably socialist programs on
the left. Still, almost everywhere in Europe, the actual forces of revolution
were defeated.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It is no
accident that the most vivid character in Revolutionary Spring is also 1848’s
greatest martyr: Robert Blum, the German “former bronzeworker, lantern-seller,
theater-administrator and autodidact publisher of radical essays and lexicons,”
who opposed the ethnocentric nationalism of many of his comrades. In October
1848, Blum traveled to revolutionary Vienna to help defend it against the
approaching armies of the emperor. Arrested when the city fell, he died in
front of a firing squad. His touching letter of farewell to his
wife—“Everything I feel runs away in tears”—became a holy relic for generations
of German revolutionaries.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the
conclusion to Revolutionary Spring, Clark poses a series of what-if questions
about 1848. What if the liberals had not, in many cases, abandoned their
radical allies? What if the radicals had muted their demands? It is tempting to
play that game: Liberals and radicals love to blame each other for their
collective defeats. But Clark’s own stirring narrative strongly suggests that,
in 1848, the choices made by these groups mattered far less than the sheer
strength of reaction and what the great historian Arno Mayer called the
“persistence of the Old Regime.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This is
not the world we live in today. The men and women of 1848 had a faith in what
revolutions could achieve that is far harder to sustain after seeing what that
faith led to in the Soviet Union, China, and Cambodia. Likewise, many of these
revolutionaries—though not all, by any means—justified violence in a way that
very few radicals and liberals would be willing to do today. Yet the
alternatives do not seem to offer much hope. In the West, many still echo
George Sand’s frustration with the electoral system and the way it produces
results so often at odds with the interests of the people. But nonviolent
protest methods, from Occupy Wall Street to the French gilets jaunes and Nuit
Debout, have also failed to achieve any of their desired results. Clark himself
speaks of “the often shallow and incoherent politics of today’s pop-up
protests,” which he compares unfavorably to the rigorous 19th-century reformism
of France’s Louis Blanc.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
opposition is different as well. The Old Regime persists no more. The dominant
neoliberal elites of the West enthusiastically voice their support for the rule
of law, regular democratic elections, and human rights. Passionately
cosmopolitan, they excoriate nationalism even as their policies help push
millions into the arms of the nationalist populist right in country after
country. Faced with this situation, the left is forced either to join broad
liberal coalitions (à la Joe Biden’s) that are unlikely to achieve serious
structural reforms of the economy or of government (such as a reining-in of the
Supreme Court), or to hope that a more successful version of Bernie Sanders,
Jeremy Corbyn, or Jean-Luc Mélenchon will someday lead a radical movement to
victory. But revolution, in any case, is off the table. And while the
instructive and engaging Revolutionary Spring is a joy to read, one should not
read it in the hopes of finding, in 1848, lessons for 2023.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A Shower
of Sparks : The year Europe revolted. By David A. Bell. <a href="https://www.thenation.com/article/archive/1848-revolutionary-spring-christopher-clark/">The Nation</a>, October 31,
2023. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWPv3XJ0NSoA8tqVgjeWnEXgpCAVh8VXiNl0NILsdsItgyKUIBWvjKnF76-q7FRKzKtue23Bq3UouKym4ALsxvva20YXJmRGTiBH6Xu35CdRscwyH_H73TvKfxxIGJVLlAC1oeWYLWc0d2qDu8gH2tn-dCIVVUZ1lTZA5DE45gY5SJnK8D5U_Szh0rDY/s920/91Zb9M-AeKL._AC_UF894,1000_QL80_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="920" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWPv3XJ0NSoA8tqVgjeWnEXgpCAVh8VXiNl0NILsdsItgyKUIBWvjKnF76-q7FRKzKtue23Bq3UouKym4ALsxvva20YXJmRGTiBH6Xu35CdRscwyH_H73TvKfxxIGJVLlAC1oeWYLWc0d2qDu8gH2tn-dCIVVUZ1lTZA5DE45gY5SJnK8D5U_Szh0rDY/s16000/91Zb9M-AeKL._AC_UF894,1000_QL80_.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">What’s
the best way to build a barricade? A carriage or wagon is a good start, heaved
over to form a sturdy base. Next: Peel up the street cobbles and stack them any
which way—so long as the bulwark is tall enough to hide a regiment of street
fighters and a squadron of women with rocks in their aprons. For this rugged
foundation, any old junk will do. Dining chairs, window shutters, gilt-edged
chaises longues from the houses of the rich; bricks and lumber from warehouses;
barrels from the local breweries (which can be quickly emptied—for courage, of
course). Behind the parapet, weapons are an eclectic mix: blacksmiths’ hammers
and butchers’ cleavers, perhaps an ancient shotgun or, if luck is on your side,
a musket lifted from a slain soldier. All that’s left is to glance over at the
faces of your comrades, pale with terror at their own daring.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Much of
Europe went to the barricades in 1848—the first and last truly European
revolution there has ever been. This seismic year, documented with panache by
Christopher Clark in his authoritative new history, Revolutionary Spring,
cracked open the “all-embracing system of tranquillity” regnant since the end
of the Napoleonic Wars. In Paris and Prague, Vienna and Budapest, Berlin and Bucharest,
public squares, cafés, and clubs gave Europe fresh constitutions and new
parliaments, and a sense of the slate being wiped clean—the prospect of
beginning the project of History over again. The continental uprising, Clark
writes, was “the particle collision chamber at the centre of the European
nineteenth century. People, groups and ideas flew into it, crashed together,
fused or fragmented, and emerged in showers of new entities.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Strange
and diverse dreams brought them there. For the moderate liberal in his top hat
and frock coat, here was a chance to overturn the monarchies that sat so
heavily on top of every society and usher in a new regime of virtue and merit,
of free trade and fair exchange. The radicals had coarser, wilder ideas: that
every man (and maybe every woman too) should have the vote, that the press
censor should be dunked in the river with stones tied to his ankles, that
something should be done for the workers—something more than letting them rot
in their hovels. The workers spoke for themselves, engaging in unbridled
rebellion against this terrifying new machine called capitalism that stripped
them of all pride, which the French socialist Louis Blanc called “a system for
the extermination of the people.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja402RCLJJFxqDFEh6wfGrLREd4idf7rhGcI2AdkWsbuMCkvDc4paqmXtcADzYmgb7RtSye3vINANf2SEUUKhbdNAh-BZQvhm1Y1QaTpwcJbmqVDcUm-i4S7j3NUx6dfzqnSjSN2nfpo75PquY9sl_lB8qW1hY_B1k5reRB6vq5f7yYXyk71PjBaMzYRQ/s600/6e201152066a1b76170db008ef895c240de721b3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja402RCLJJFxqDFEh6wfGrLREd4idf7rhGcI2AdkWsbuMCkvDc4paqmXtcADzYmgb7RtSye3vINANf2SEUUKhbdNAh-BZQvhm1Y1QaTpwcJbmqVDcUm-i4S7j3NUx6dfzqnSjSN2nfpo75PquY9sl_lB8qW1hY_B1k5reRB6vq5f7yYXyk71PjBaMzYRQ/s16000/6e201152066a1b76170db008ef895c240de721b3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
collision chamber of 1848 hardened these varied and often eccentric theories
about how to change the world into solid and coherent political blocs. Our
understanding of conservatives, liberals, radicals, and socialists was formed
in the crucible of revolution. Nationalism too exploded as a potent, undimmable
force to challenge the ancient imperial order. For those enslaved at the
periphery of that imperial world, the yawning difference between legal
emancipation and the full meaning of liberation was clarified all over again.
And the experience of men’s mockery at their cries—for the vote, for
recognition, for the most basic dignities—girded isolated groups of feminists
for the combat to come. Put another way, 1848 was the breech birth of the
modern world. It arrived roaring and ashen with gunpowder, holding high the
magical documents of a new epoch.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The ink
was not yet dry before they were torn up. The barricades had barely been
assembled when they were shattered. And, for all its thrill and excitement,
1848 has not left the same impression on the public imagination as 1789 or
1917. The bite of failure still clings to that year, and as Eric Hobsbawm once
put it, “Historians, like politicians, tend to shy away from failure, unless it
can be transmuted into heroic myth.” Revolutionary Spring rescues that crucial moment
when possibility was cracked open; Clark also looks unflinchingly at the
methods used to weld that crack shut. He shows that instead of producing hot
and immediate change, the lasting outcome of 1848 was cool and slow
transformation—a longer-term set of underappreciated consequences. Even as
conservatives believed themselves to be restoring the old power, circumstances
had been decisively shattered. Nobody emerged from 1848 unscathed.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
Revolutions of 1848 were shocking but hardly unexpected. Hunger lashed the
mid-1840s with a doubly deadly grain and potato crisis (Clark’s ancestors were
among the many thousands who fled Ireland for Australia). Yet hunger alone does
not spark a sustained assault on political order. Destitution, Clark notes, was
“more likely to render people ‘speechless’ and inactive than drive them to
concerted action.” Tension had been steadily building across Europe. In the
winter before the storm, the atmosphere was so charged that in the Sicilian
port of Palermo a series of posters pasted to city walls predicting a
revolution was enough to spark an uprising.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Behind
their self-assured façades, the old regimes were proving precarious. When the
French King Louis Philippe—installed after a revolt in 1830—tried to shut down
the banquets liberals used as their campaign platform, all of Paris turned out
against him. Over the border, south German provinces with a long history of
republican agitation burst into general insurrection. Across the Habsburg
lands—Hungary, Bohemia, Wallachia, and Galicia—small cliques of revolutionaries
took the chance to openly declare for rights and privileges on the basis of
their own emerging sense of nationhood, and even demanded outright
independence. In divided Italy, Milan rebelled while Venice announced itself a
republic. The Prussian king fled Berlin; the Austrian emperor escaped from
Vienna. Between February and March, powers that had seemed so permanent and
immovable were running for their lives. Klemens von Metternich, once the
honoured architect of European reaction, left the Austrian capital for London a
blind, decaying, defeated man.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In capitals
across the continent there was a tremendous, breathless euphoria. History had
ruptured. Anything was possible. The crowds on the boulevards in Paris were,
one French politician wrote, as “naïve as the delirium of a child and as
terrible as the frenzy of a giant.” Where had the victory come from? An
alliance of the streets and the parlours, the barricade and the drawing-room,
common cause made between liberal elites and insurgent radicals rising from the
slum quarters. The early triumph of 1848 was an example of that rare thing in
history: a coming together of antagonistic social classes.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">It’s
difficult not to be roused by Clark’s stylish narrative of this intoxicating
opening phase. In the insurgent cities, provisional authorities formed in the
offices of major newspapers, new Cabinets nominated by their editors and
writers. In Paris, the staff of the liberal Le National joined with the more
radical La Réforme to decide the immediate future of the country. From these
interim bodies came a spree of diets, radas, national assemblies, and
Reichstags—popular parliamentary bodies which, though still not decided by a
truly universal franchise, represented a vast expansion of democracy in
countries that had barely known the ideal at all. And from those parliaments
came constitutions. Such an efflorescence of freedom marked the zenith of
liberalism in 1848.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
radicals and socialists had done much of the heavy lifting to establish the
legitimacy of these new governments, and sanctified the revolution with their
own blood. They placed a nervous trust in the assemblies and charters, hoping
that truly representative forums might bend the attention of deputies to the
urgency of fixing social questions: They wanted relief for the poor, rights for
workers, rescue from the ruins of unemployment. Their anxiety was quickly
vindicated. As the first votes were returned and the new deputies took their seats
in the spring of 1848, it became apparent that, as Clark puts it, the liberals
would not continue the fight. Instead they were using their hard-won newborn
institutions to spend weeks fiddling over the most impotent points of
procedure. “Poetic gleam deserts them,” the German radical Franz Schuselka
sneered while observing the inching tedium of the Frankfurt parliament, “and
their height and greatness shrink considerably.” All the while, they ignored
the building tumult and rage.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Their
hesitancy was driven by a visceral fear of proletarian violence. Unlike their
forebears of 1789, the moderates had a model on which to base their assumptions
about how the revolution was supposed to turn out. They were self-consciously
aware of the Jacobin terror 50 years earlier, and they did not flinch in
deploying undiscriminating force against any whiff of a challenge from workers
and radicals. In Vienna, the National Guard of taxpaying riflemen and the
Academic Legion of beret-clad student guerrillas were called upon to stifle
repeated risings from below. During the showdown of the June Days in Paris,
provoked by the closure of the National Workshops (a kind of make-work scheme
for the unemployed), deputies of the National Assembly were more than happy to
crush a bewildered and frustrated left with extreme violence: Many of the 3,000
dead were captured then shot without trial. If the first stage of 1848 was the
victory of a cross-class alliance, the whirlwind of the summer saw the rebirth
of irreconcilable class hatred.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">That
summer, the forces of conservatism realized that the revolution was not as
formidable as it first appeared. Social schisms were evident everywhere. Within
the patchwork Austrian Empire, national revolts were splintering domains apart.
If the Hungarian uprising had been the cause célèbre of the patriotic spring,
it was quickly being challenged from within by other groups on territory the
Magyar claimed for themselves: by Czechs, Croatians, Poles, and Ukrainians, all
desiring their own liberation. Regrettably for the health and future of the
revolution, both the Prussian and Austrian monarchs were able to escape with
their armies intact and plan next moves. Their greatest friend turned out to be
the laboring poor of the countryside.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">From
Calais to Kyiv, peasants made up between a half and two-thirds of the total
European population, and they were overwhelmingly immune to the charm of the
revolution. In October, on the eve of the Austrian counteroffensive, Emperor
Ferdinand I was mobbed by a crowd of adoring farmers on a rural road. “In
Vienna there are some people who have it in for me,” he cried out, his face wet
with tears. “They want to seduce you.” The crowd roared their approval, their
faith and loyalty firmly intact. And it was the rural French poor that
delivered Louis Napoleon, the preening nephew of France’s last great leader, a
massive supermajority in the presidential elections at the end of the year.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">By the
autumn of 1848, the old regimes were on the march—with the peasantry firmly
behind them and bolstered by a vast Russian army. The result: immense
repression. “It seems,” the German feminist Fanny Lewald mourned, “as though an
iron net has been spread out over us and we are denied even the sight of the
heavens.” With much of the French left imprisoned or exiled after the June
Days, Louis Napoleon was not only secure in his own position; he was able to
volunteer an expeditionary corps on the side of the pope to put down the
exuberant but doomed Roman Republic. South German democrats fought a dwindling
guerilla campaign. A final spasm of radical revolt in Vienna was blasted apart
in tough urban combat. The Hungarians survived longest and battled hardest in a
war of total mobilization that ended with the Austrian seizure of Budapest in
July 1849.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The old
regimes of Europe secured their victory by traditional methods. They won
through “naked violence,” Clark writes, “the triumph of one force over
another.” But this was a trick that could only be used once. Strict discipline
and pure autocracy had governed the years between 1815 and 1848 and had won
them an unsettled peace, yet such techniques would only rouse resistance in the
future. For the next 30 years they learned to adopt a more thoughtful strategy
of what Clark calls “carefully dosed counter-revolutionary prophylaxis.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">They
threw out the constitutions issued in the name of “the people” and published
their own charters finely machined to give the illusion of popular sovereignty
while cloaking the retention of their power. Post-’48 regimes finally expunged
the last residues of feudal economics and unleashed the transformative capacity
of capital in a campaign of industrialization and railway-building, in the hope
that a blooming economy might quiet down the rancor of the workers. Baron
Haussmann’s boulevards in Paris and Vienna’s Ringstrasse were gigantic urban
projects built as a monument to the productive power of the state, and as a way
to make the building of barricades impossible. The press censor—for so long a
malevolent presence in the lives of even the most pacific journalists—was
largely set aside. Instead, the post-’48 regimes realised they could massage,
corral, and manipulate public opinion rather than continually choking it. The
real revolution was followed by a more modest revolution in administration,
hand in hand with the telegraph, to bolster the authority of ministries and
enact specific publicly declared policies and programs to improve the nation
and glorify its resilience.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">These
profound alterations in European life were only possible after 1848, necessary
for the establishment to reassert its grip on the neck of the people without
squeezing too tight.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Clark
writes that he was put off studying 1848 because he had been taught to regard
it as a disappointment—a particularly bloody bump in the road toward progress.
But as his book shows, dismissal is too easy, and “failure” is a misleading word.
It suggests the revolutionaries, from radicals and workers to some well-meaning
liberals, supported incoherent goals or that their cause collapsed because of
innate flaws in their ideas. There was plenty of incoherence, sure, a great
number of poor decisions, and too much backstabbing. Clark demonstrates that
the better and more accurate term for 1848 is “defeat.” The Revolutions of 1848
were murdered: put down deliberately with overwhelming cruelty.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Defeat,
however stinging, can be revelatory. Liberals found that 1848 exposed the
vulnerability of their position (and of the concept of liberalism itself). As
February and March had shown, they could never hope to overthrow an
authoritarian ruler without the help of the lower classes. But when threatened
from below, they had to make common cause with the very same conservatives they
had sworn to challenge. For the radicals, 1848 proved that all the gorgeous,
gleaming language of the age—justice, emancipation, liberty, solidarity—was
nothing when faced with the sharp point of a bayonet.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">A
beautiful or bold idea could urge you to the barricade, but it could not, on
its own, guarantee a victory. Life and death in 1848, Clark shows, depended on
a brutal equation of power and violence, and as so often in the history of
revolutions, those who run headfirst to the fight with only a few friends by
their side and a swelling song in their chests are destined to meet the
unassailable force of the state. “Grass has grown over them all,” Clark writes
mournfully of the unremembered dead of 1848. The world built by their
vanquishers—however crumbling and decayed it might seem now—is the one that
endured.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The 1848
Revolutions Did Not Fail. By James Robins. <a href="https://newrepublic.com/article/173555/1848-revolutions-not-fail-christopher-clark-book-review">The New Republic</a>, August 8, 2023. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgan2pa_WK0Mw_iTEtE_zgtsIs13ZyzzF0o4kpbNptt1O5KtsPgWt4P_E6ZMsJv9hSb31FnJwJAE4HqQPz97mWMuLCVN_Z_6s3Da9IDda2D5GiFFal7Ji1pasPZlekAK_dsKmpVRDD2WCReaFyeMgZzMt45t0j7fz2cnWhbN_vpeMnEVfY-k9rzxd0Y14I/s600/13Clark-facebookJumbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgan2pa_WK0Mw_iTEtE_zgtsIs13ZyzzF0o4kpbNptt1O5KtsPgWt4P_E6ZMsJv9hSb31FnJwJAE4HqQPz97mWMuLCVN_Z_6s3Da9IDda2D5GiFFal7Ji1pasPZlekAK_dsKmpVRDD2WCReaFyeMgZzMt45t0j7fz2cnWhbN_vpeMnEVfY-k9rzxd0Y14I/s16000/13Clark-facebookJumbo.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
“Revolutionary Spring,” the Cambridge historian Christopher Clark argues for
the lasting impact of the uprisings that engulfed Europe in 1848.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
January of 1848, a mysterious poster appeared on the walls of Palermo
announcing a revolution set to coincide with the king’s birthday. In fact, no
insurrection had been planned, but the curious crowds that descended on the
central squares to catch a glimpse of one provided the conditions for an actual
uprising as troops moved in to clear public spaces.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Here as
elsewhere the old regime was not completely unprepared: If the Spanish Bourbon
king Ferdinand II was unpopular, he had plenty of ships, cannons and soldiers
to make up for it. “The strangest thing about the uprising,” writes the
Cambridge historian Christopher Clark in his new book, “Revolutionary Spring,”
“is that it was ultimately successful.” The breadth of social resistance — from
Palermitan gentry and liberal lawyers to armed artisans and peasant squadre —
made a purely military solution impracticable. As protests spread to Naples,
Ferdinand appeared to retreat, promising a constitution.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For
months afterward, kingdoms across the continent convulsed as insurrectionists
demanded the drawing up of constitutions that would enshrine basic political
rights and rein in monarchical authority. “There was no single issue,” Clark
explains, but “a multitude of questions — about democracy, representation, social
equality, the organization of labor, gender relations, religion, forms of state
power.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Clark
presents the unrest at street level through eyewitness accounts, and he weaves
this material into an impressive transcontinental tableau. As the feudal order
went into retreat, novel political forms emerged. Karl Marx, a figure who
floats through Clark’s book as an observer, wrote “The Communist Manifesto”
with Friedrich Engels early in 1848. The fighting spread across borders just as
new nation-states struggled to come into being. “This was the only truly
European revolution that there has ever been,” Clark writes.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
clearest indication that a new kind of revolution was at hand came a few weeks
after the uprising in Palermo and 900 miles away. In February, Parisians
streamed toward the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on the Boulevard des Capucines.
French infantry panicked and fired their guns. More than 1,000 barricades
sprang up across the city. Army units “sent to secure strategic posts found
themselves drowned in crowds, their weapons pulled from their hands by
demonstrators.” King Louis-Philippe gave up his crown and fled.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
revolutionary wave emerged from the French capital with new energy. It crossed
the Rhine into Munich, Berlin and Vienna — moving not just across, but up and
down the central spine of Europe, to Milan and Venice. Even states within this
zone that avoided major crises — Denmark, Belgium, the Netherlands and Piedmont
— did so only thanks to harried doses of political and social reform.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
Clark’s view, the press was the medium conducting this spark across Europe,
allowing city dwellers who read — or heard — the news to understand events as
interconnected. Stories from Paris brought protesters to the streets in Berlin;
word of Chancellor Metternich’s fall in Vienna caused the Prussian court to
wobble. Dispatches crossed oceans. In Martinique and Guadeloupe, slave
insurrections received an added jolt from reports of a crumbling monarchy back
in France.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
revolutions of 1848 were not organized in advance. They were, Clark writes,
“inchoate, multifocal, socially deep,” arising as trust in the old regimes
waned, and freedom of press and assembly emerged as issues capable of uniting
“heterogeneous disaffected elements” against feudal power.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
spontaneous quality that took the police and army by surprise in late winter
made the uprisings hard to organize or lead. These revolutionaries agreed on
little. Moderates favored a constitutional monarchy, while radicals and
socialists pressed for universal manhood suffrage and the creation of
state-sponsored “national workshops” that would provide guaranteed employment.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What
made city-dwelling constitutionalists most vulnerable was their isolation from
the countryside and the grievances of the peasantry, who were everywhere a
majority. There was also disharmony within cities. Affluent liberals dreamed up
the constitutions; the laboring poor fought for them. But their interests
diverged. In June 1848, thousands of the latter were killed in Paris when they
rose up against the decision of the former to close the national workshops, on
which, by then, more than 100,000 depended for survival.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nationalist
rhetoric could mobilize radicals, but it was also exploited to limit
cooperation among them — pitting Germans against Czechs and Poles, and
Hungarians against Croats and Romanians — to the benefit of temporarily
back-footed Hapsburgs, Hohenzollerns and Bourbons.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
counterrevolutions came fast. Insurrections lost steam and constitutions were
torn up. In France, radicals did poorly in elections to the Assembly in April;
in Central Europe, the Hapsburgs — forced to flee Vienna for Innsbruck in May —
regained the upper hand in June, reconquering Prague and parts of northern
Italy.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Foreign
intervention finally brought the curtain down on the revolutionary spring. In
1849, Russian soldiers swept in to suppress the Hungarian revolution on
Austria’s behalf — after Emperor Franz Joseph fell to his knees before Czar
Nicholas I in Warsaw, imploring him to save “modern society from certain ruin.”
In April, France, in violation of its own constitution, sent 10,000 men to
crush the short-lived Roman Republic for Pope Pius IX, with the backing of the
liberal statesman Alexis de Tocqueville.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
revolutions, Clark insists, did not fail. In his view, they encouraged states
from Portugal to Prussia to become far more active — channeling investments
into railways and telegraphs, and setting up statistical bureaus and ministries
to promote economic development and public health. In the Austrian Empire,
serfdom never returned. Royal ministers now had to take account of a “much
broader range of social and economic interests” than before.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Clark’s
book is a major achievement in representing the lived experience of the
revolutions. Spectators became participants almost before realizing it. Over a
few days in Berlin, Clark recounts, a radical law student gives his first
speech in the Tiergarten, sees cuirassiers beat women and kill a child outside
Café Volpi, fights alongside workers on the barricades and is hidden by a
bourgeois family under a four-poster bed “in the darkness, listening to the
boots of the officers and floorboards creaking as they search the apartment.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Revolutionary
Spring” brims with poetry, novels, memoirs and paintings, and Clark is drawn to
color, sound and dress. There must be more hats per capita here than in any
other account of 1848 — from brushed bourgeois top hats to Phrygian caps with
tricolor cockades and the black Calabrian hats with long red feathers favored
by student rebels.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If this
kaleidoscopic accumulation of details and viewpoints greatly enriches our
understanding of 1848 as a political phenomenon, it reduces other themes to
background noise. The disruption of agrarian life and the decline in living
standards that came with the onset of industrialization and the emergence of
capitalism had a lot to do with the scale and simultaneity of the discontent.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Clark
acknowledges the spectral presence of the French Revolution for the actors
involved in this drama, but, in making comparisons, he is more interested in
musing on the present. The arc of protest that runs from the Arab Spring and
Occupy Wall Street, a decade ago, to Jan. 6 — “poorly planned, dispersed,
patchy and bristling with contradictions” — may match the mood of the 1840s,
but the conclusions suggested by these resonances are a little too felicitous.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
sense of failure that hovers around 1848 cannot be dispelled by counting the
rail lines laid down in its aftermath. Just as important were the paths it
foreclosed. The revolutions were not a failure of liberals and leftists “to
listen to each other,” as Clark writes. Marx did not discount the freedoms
sought by liberals in 1848, but he expected that socialists would need to go
beyond them. Liberals, frightened of worker uprisings, embraced “Family, Work,
Property, Public Order” — in short, conservatism. They were content to see
economic liberalization proceed without the risks entailed by the political
kind.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The Only
Revolutions That Matter. By Alexander Zevin. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/06/13/books/review/revolutionary-spring-christopher-clark.html">The New York Times</a>, June 13, 2023.</span></span></div>
<br /><p></p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-21522646113260718242023-12-06T16:25:00.006+00:002023-12-06T16:27:15.717+00:00Was Teenage Roman Emperor Elagabalus A Trans Woman?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ78fNiEUK9-vE3dIlj-FmmCrLsi5aCjCQ_gefmi6RS5owD4YyJyYXntK-MbXH4dnL2pirMxwzumraA7uoyoW7FlIx-AxC3raXxnHsUhSek6v3CuXl963rjVD-V_PizeOGgtbt3lTF8kJGsA4T0I_tGNhgqnRpsJmTBlTa08SdnFp0HphxHbwtO_Mr60g/s600/p001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ78fNiEUK9-vE3dIlj-FmmCrLsi5aCjCQ_gefmi6RS5owD4YyJyYXntK-MbXH4dnL2pirMxwzumraA7uoyoW7FlIx-AxC3raXxnHsUhSek6v3CuXl963rjVD-V_PizeOGgtbt3lTF8kJGsA4T0I_tGNhgqnRpsJmTBlTa08SdnFp0HphxHbwtO_Mr60g/s16000/p001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A museum is
to relabel its display about a Roman emperor after concluding that he was in
fact a trans woman.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">North
Hertfordshire Museum will now refer to emperor Elagabalus with the female
pronouns of she and her. It comes after classical texts claim the emperor once
said "call me not Lord, for I am a Lady". A museum spokesperson said
it was "only polite and respectful to be sensitive to identifying pronouns
for people in the past".</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The museum
has one coin of Elagabalus, which is often displayed amongst other LGBTQ+ items
in its collection. It said it consulted LGBTQ+ charity Stonewall to ensure
"displays, publicity and talks are as up-to-date and inclusive as
possible".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marcus Aurelius
Antoninus, better known as Elagabalus, ruled the Roman empire for just four
years from 218AD to his assassination, aged 18, in 222AD. He became an
increasingly controversial figure over his short reign, developing a reputation
for sexual promiscuity. Cassius Dio, a senator and contemporary of Elagabalus,
writes in his historical chronicles that the emperor was married five times -
four times to women, and once to Hiercoles, a former slave and chariot driver. In
this final marriage, Dio writes that the emperor "was bestowed in marriage
and was termed wife, mistress and queen".</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The debate
over Elagabalus's gender identity is long-standing and often splits academics. Dr
Shushma Malik, a Cambridge university classics professor, told the BBC:
"The historians we use to try and understand the life of Elagabalus are extremely
hostile towards him, and therefore cannot be taken at face value. We don't have
any direct evidence from Elagabalus himself of his own words. "There are
many examples in Roman literature of times where effeminate language and words
were used as a way of criticising or weakening a political figure. "References
to Elagabalus wearing makeup, wigs and removing body hair may have been written
in order to undermine the unpopular emperor." Dr Malik added that whilst
Romans were aware of gender fluidity, and there are examples of pronouns being
changed in literature, it "was usually used in reference to myth and
religion, rather than to describe living people". However, councillor
Keith Hoskins, executive member for Enterprise and Arts at North Herts Council,
said texts such as Dio's provide evidence "that Elagabalus most definitely
preferred the 'she' pronoun and as such this is something we reflect when
discussing her in contemporary times, as we believe is standard practice
elsewhere". "We know that Elagabalus identified as a woman and was
explicit about which pronouns to use, which shows that pronouns are not a new
thing," he added.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Museum
reclassifies Roman emperor as trans woman. By Yasmin Rufo.<a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-67484645"> BBC</a>, November 21,
2023</span>. </span></div>
<br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbbiyqpsqds9egqZ4YotQOIlfaBIHmj8uVYsYD5A2LNgzOVFiBcpwQbZH2mTvhEhI1cN3vYKlvEYUy_GlbFceF07osjsE8VtwC1d1PYxz8Sf8oEGO0f69fqK6QZbJ0as5JDYpg52U7_bkN-5kZgnrMERLuOhwzj71t7CqHxzqjnLh1gTp19-pKCEhBKo/s600/2mep.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbbiyqpsqds9egqZ4YotQOIlfaBIHmj8uVYsYD5A2LNgzOVFiBcpwQbZH2mTvhEhI1cN3vYKlvEYUy_GlbFceF07osjsE8VtwC1d1PYxz8Sf8oEGO0f69fqK6QZbJ0as5JDYpg52U7_bkN-5kZgnrMERLuOhwzj71t7CqHxzqjnLh1gTp19-pKCEhBKo/s16000/2mep.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The North
Hertfordshire Museum in the United Kingdom has reclassified a Roman emperor as
a transgender woman and will refer to the ruler with she/her pronouns. The institution
cited Ancient Roman writings claiming that Elagabalus, who held power between
218 and 222 CE before being assassinated at the age of 18, wore women’s
clothing and preferred to be called “lady.”</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">While the
official classification is new, scholars have long discussed Elagabalus’s
sexual and gender identity, and the British Museum’s biography of the emperor
states that she sought a gender-affirming surgery and frequently wore women’s
garments. Depictions of the ruler in recent centuries have emphasized her
feminine qualities, beauty, and opulence.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Elagabalus,
who was born and lived in Syria before assuming the Roman throne at age 14, was
also described as being sexually promiscuous. Roman historian Cassius Dio wrote
that she had five wives, the last of whom was a man, and that she was “termed
wife, mistress, and queen.” Some scholars have pointed out that Elagabalus’s
contemporaries may have intentionally written discrediting text about the
leader, who was ultimately overthrown and assassinated by high-ranking
political leaders.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Zachary
Herz, a Classics scholar and Elagabalus expert at the University of Colorado at
Boulder, told Hyperallergic that he struggles with the concept of
retrospectively assigning identity, adding that these texts were “almost certainly
meant to discredit [Elagabalus]” and that the authors of these accounts were
working for the statesman who overthrew Elagabalus in a coup. Although none of
Elagabalus’s own writing survived, coins and portrait busts issued under the
emperor’s reign are still around today. “The people making these coins and
statues would have had a strong incentive to depict Elagabalus the way he
wanted to be seen, so you can use these media to see what Elagabalus wanted to
look like,” Herz said. “It happens that these coins and statues all depict
Elagabalus as male, right down to the sad teenage-boy mustache.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB">“On the
other hand, if a trans person today reads about Elagabalus and feels less alone
it’s hard to begrudge them that,” Herz continued. “My own personal take is that
Elagabalus doesn’t show us ‘trans people in antiquity’ but does show us other
ways of doing sex, gender, and sexuality.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The North
Herfordshire Museum owns one coin featuring Elagabalus’s face. A spokesperson
for the institution told the BBC that it is “only polite and respectful to be
sensitive to identifying pronouns for people in the past.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">UK Museum
Reclassifies Roman Emperor as Trans Woman. By Elaine Velie. <a href="https://hyperallergic.com/858237/uk-north-hertfordshire-museum-reclassifies-roman-emperor-elagabalus-as-trans-woman/">Hyperallergic</a>,
November 22, 2023. </span></span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCygbslgRKKaeKXSshiab29xN-J4-2zFeZEIEwY2FbScWkl4ARjrF072Gm-r-mWRdauYn5gO64GxBQw4ElISdxyauwVLxcUREygjbXJ2Qenr9dpvBBDV5eEUfDmbrPW85Pe0OgVkKnjRlLnf-XkMUDsIEsloSIRReleTHiEspbgNSciAWxCrNw2YElmY/s600/The_Roses_of_Heliogabalus.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCygbslgRKKaeKXSshiab29xN-J4-2zFeZEIEwY2FbScWkl4ARjrF072Gm-r-mWRdauYn5gO64GxBQw4ElISdxyauwVLxcUREygjbXJ2Qenr9dpvBBDV5eEUfDmbrPW85Pe0OgVkKnjRlLnf-XkMUDsIEsloSIRReleTHiEspbgNSciAWxCrNw2YElmY/s16000/The_Roses_of_Heliogabalus.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus
ruled as Roman emperor for just four years before being murdered in AD 222. He
was still a teenager when he died. Despite his short reign, Elagabalus is
counted among the most infamous of Roman emperors, often listed alongside
Caligula and Nero.</span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His
indiscretions, recorded by the Roman chroniclers, include: marrying a vestal
virgin, the most chaste of Roman priestesses, twice; dressing up as a female
prostitute and selling his body to other men; allowing himself to be penetrated
(and by the bigger the penis the better); marrying a man, the charioteer
Hierocles; and declaring himself not to be an emperor at all, but an empress:
“Call me not Lord, for I am a Lady”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Based on
this quote, North Hertfordshire Museum has reclassified Elagabalus as a
transgender woman, and will now use the pronouns she/her. The museum has a
single coin depicting Elagabalus, which is sometimes displayed along with other
LGBTQ+ artefacts from their collection.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When writing
about ancient subjects, from emperors to slaves, the first question historians
have to ask is: how do we know what we do? Most of our written sources are
fragmentary, incomplete and rarely contemporary, amounting to little more than
gossip or hearsay at best, malign propaganda at worst. It’s rare that we have a
figure’s own words to guide us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus
is no exception. For Elagabalus, our principle source is the Roman historian
Cassius Dio. A senator and politician before turning his hand to history, Dio
was not only a contemporary of the emperor, but part of his regime.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However,
Dio wrote his Roman history under the patronage of Elagabalus’ cousin, Severus
Alexander. He took the throne following Elagabalus’s assassination. It was
therefore in Dio’s interest to paint his patron’s predecessor in a bad light.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sexual slurs and the Romans<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sexual
slurs were always among the first insults thrown by Roman authors. Julius
Caesar was accused of being penetrated by the Bithynian king so many times it
earned him the nickname “the Queen of Bithynia”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was
rumoured that both Mark Antony and Augustus had prostituted themselves for
political gain earlier in their careers. And Nero was said to have worn the
bridal veil to marry a man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Romans
were no stranger to same-sex relationships, however. It would have been more
unusual for a Roman emperor not to have slept with men. Roman sexual identities
were complex constructs, revolving around notions such as status and power.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The gender
of a person’s sexual partner did not come into it. Instead, sexual orientation
was informed by sexual role: were they the dominant or passive partner?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To be the
dominant partner, in business, politics and war as much as in the bedroom, was
at the root of what made a Roman man a man. The Latin word we translate as
“man”, vir, is the root of the modern word “virile”, and to the Romans there
was nothing more manly than virility. To penetrate – whether men, women, or
both – was seen as manly, and therefore as Roman.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqhdu3LChNX3w2lWX2DHvOBwJznBkJu1Eb3laqhmOz5ZCH4QLr-6822PGNmNZ_CI5Yzvr2A1_WUQ5IlKRLl8a2dwmnIsF8g85HRLj_eF54xhvr2ylf6bpeVglxYUwRdZdRDHKvtFhFQGWtmDLlqcW17Zt6FDxHP7kL0dka6B8mxm5mju69S2Iy50tOnI/s939/Bust_of_Elagabalus_-_Palazzo_Nuovo_-_Musei_Capitolini_-_Rome_2016.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="939" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqhdu3LChNX3w2lWX2DHvOBwJznBkJu1Eb3laqhmOz5ZCH4QLr-6822PGNmNZ_CI5Yzvr2A1_WUQ5IlKRLl8a2dwmnIsF8g85HRLj_eF54xhvr2ylf6bpeVglxYUwRdZdRDHKvtFhFQGWtmDLlqcW17Zt6FDxHP7kL0dka6B8mxm5mju69S2Iy50tOnI/s16000/Bust_of_Elagabalus_-_Palazzo_Nuovo_-_Musei_Capitolini_-_Rome_2016.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Conversely,
for a Roman man to be passive, to be penetrated, was seen as unmanly. The
Romans thought such an act of penetration stripped a man of his virility,
making him less than a man – akin to a woman or, even worse, a slave.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A man who
enjoyed being penetrated was sometimes called a cinaedus, and in Latin
literature cinaedi are often described as taking on the role of the woman in
more than the bedroom, both dressing and acting effeminately. The implication
is always that the way they dressed, acted and had sex was somehow subversive –
distinctly un-Roman.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The word
cinaedus appears in Latin literature almost exclusively as an insult — and it’s
this literary role that is ascribed to Caesar, Mark Antony, Nero and
Elagabalus. The power of the insult stems not from saying that these men had
sex with men, but that they were penetrated by men.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s worth
noting that these rules of Roman sexuality only applied to freeborn adult, male
Roman citizens. They did not apply to women, slaves, freedmen, foreigners or
even beardless youths. These people were all considered fair game to a virile
Roman man, as uncomfortable a concept as that might be to us today.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Was Elagabalus transgender?<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While the
Romans clearly engaged in acts that we today consider gay or straight sex, they
would not recognise the sexual orientations we associate with them. The ancient
Romans did not share the same conceptions of sexuality that we do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Many men’s
sexual behaviour was what we would now term bisexual. Some lived in a manner we
might describe as gender non-conforming. The concept of a person being
transgender was not unknown. But an ancient Roman would not have
self-identified as any of those things.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We cannot
retroactively apply such modern, western identities to the inhabitants of the
past and we must be careful not to misgender or misidentify them – especially
if our only evidence for how they might have identified comes from hostile
writers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
attempting to fact check the sexual slurs and propaganda from the biographical
facts, there is a danger that we lose sight of the fact that ancient Romans did
recognise a huge variety of sexual orientations and gender identities – just as
we do today. To attempt to crudely ascribe modern labels to ancient figures
such as Elagabalus is not only to strip them of their agency, but also to
oversimplify what is a wonderfully, fabulously broad and nuanced subject.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Museum
classifies Roman emperor as trans – but modern labels oversimplify ancient
gender identities. By Andrew Kenrick. <a href="https://theconversation.com/museum-classifies-roman-emperor-as-trans-but-modern-labels-oversimplify-ancient-gender-identities-218643">The Conversation</a>., November 28, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQwwcdyJnCVMw982AUKEah_KuGs7o7qHlVpUDzoVLHjj7WWVSwX_6qGCq29twf90cZiqGvk9-xcxPLMCfPD55vzUlB_jiyJqiyn_2iVkJFxGWHnhUwKAPxrkQuCuLoKVZYCl_F8lVnqnHVsOehuvnSwn7rQqn7y5bC0vULg1cbacqL8JAJzm9da-BMTA/s600/roman-emperor-elagabalus-trans.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQwwcdyJnCVMw982AUKEah_KuGs7o7qHlVpUDzoVLHjj7WWVSwX_6qGCq29twf90cZiqGvk9-xcxPLMCfPD55vzUlB_jiyJqiyn_2iVkJFxGWHnhUwKAPxrkQuCuLoKVZYCl_F8lVnqnHVsOehuvnSwn7rQqn7y5bC0vULg1cbacqL8JAJzm9da-BMTA/s16000/roman-emperor-elagabalus-trans.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are
legendary dinner parties, and then there are the stories told about those
thrown by the Roman emperor Elagabalus. The teenage ruler, who managed just
four years as emperor before being assassinated at the age of 18 in AD222,
would serve bizarre dishes like camels’ heels or flamingos’ brains to guests,
stage themed nights when all the food was blue or green, or release lions or
bears to roam among the diners.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On one
famous occasion, according to a Roman historian, those present at a dinner were
suffocated to death under an enormous quantity of rose petals; another saw
guests seated on slowly deflating whoopee cushions – their first recorded use
in western history.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But did he
really do all those things? Or perhaps we should be asking – did she? The
obscure young emperor made headlines this week when it was reported that North
Hertfordshire Museum in Hitchin has changed the pronouns it uses with reference
to a coin of Elegabalus in its collection, and would now refer to the emperor
as a trans woman using “she” and “her”.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s not
such a stretch as it may sound. As well as throwing wild parties, Elagabalus
was also said to have openly flouted contemporary gender roles. The emperor is
said to have also dressed as a female sex worker, “married” a male slave and
acted as his “wife”, asked to be referred to as “lady” rather than “lord” and
even, according to one account, begged to have a surgical vagina made by a
physician.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The stories
led Keith Hoskins, executive member for arts at North Herts council, to say in
a statement: “Elagabalus most definitely preferred the she pronoun, and as such
this is something we reflect when discussing her in contemporary times … It is
only polite and respectful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We know
that Elagabalus identified as a woman and was explicit about which pronouns to
use, which shows that pronouns are not a new thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But do we
know that? Thanks to a growing awareness of more complex ideas of gender in
history, and a desire to reject historical prejudices, Elagabalus has been
reclaimed in recent decades as a genderqueer icon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However,
many historians disagree that the evidence is as unambiguous as the museum
says. Mary Beard, formerly professor of classics at Cambridge University,
directed followers on X to her latest book, titled Emperor of Rome, which opens
with a lengthy discussion of the “tall stories” told about Elagabalus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
accounts of sexual unconventionality (and extravagant cruelty) largely
originate with hostile historians who wanted to win the favour of Elegabalus’s
successor, Severus Alexander, and so portrayed the emperor in the worst light
possible, she says. “How seriously should we treat them? Not very is the usual
answer,” Beard writes, calling the stories “untruths and flagrant
exaggerations”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Romans
may not have shared current understandings of trans identity, but several of the
contested accounts about Elagabalus feel remarkably modern, points out Zachary
Herz, assistant professor of classics at the University of Colorado in Boulder,
who has written about how we should approach the story of Elagabalus in the
context of queer theory.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Asserting
that Elagabalus requested female pronouns is an “astonishingly close
translation” of a story written by the third-century historian Cassius Dio,
says Herz. “Elagabalus is literally saying, ‘Don’t call me this word that ends
in the masculine ending, call me this word that ends in the feminine.’ So it’s
unbelievably close to correcting someone’s pronouns.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
problem, as he sees it, is that “I just don’t think it really happened.” “The
quote-unquote biographies” written under Elagabalus’s successor are “hit
pieces”, he says. “I would be inclined to read [them] as basically fictional.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Martijn
Icks, a lecturer in classics at the university of Amsterdam and author of a
book about Elagabalus’s life and posthumous reputation, agrees that the stories
about the emperor should be taken with “a large pinch of salt”. The same
“effeminacy narrative” that has made Elagabalus a queer icon “was meant to
character assassinate the Emperor, to show that he was completely unsuitable to
occupy this position,” he says, adding that other so-called “bad emperors”
including Nero and Caligula were described in very similar terms.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Racial
prejudice also played a part, says Icks: before coming to Rome to rule it,
Elagabalus was a priest in an obscure cult in Syria that venerated a black
stone meteorite – a culture that would have been deeply strange to the Romans.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And the
stereotype that Romans had of Syrians … is that they were very effeminate and
not real men like the Romans were.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some facts
about Elagabalus’s biography can be asserted with confidence, says Herz, but in
truth, comparatively few. And so while he says he considers it “perfectly
justifiable” if his students use “they/them” to refer to the emperor (“if we
don’t know a person’s gender, it’s a perfectly polite thing to use”), he
believes “he” and “him” more accurately reflect the emperor’s own wishes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We don’t
know what Elagabalus was like. We don’t know how Elagabalus saw himself. But we
have portraits and coins that all look male, that portray him with male facial
hair, male features and in garments that would have been understood as male
within Elagabalus’s culture – including the coin that the museum has at the
centre of its display.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While
“there is a long history of people who have been expected to be good at being a
man or being a woman and have had a hard time with that”, says Herz, “I worry
that when we tell our students they should care about Elagabalus because she’s
trans or because they’re non-binary – because they fit a modern category that our
students use for themselves – we’re depriving them of the richness of history.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Was Roman
emperor Elagabalus really trans – and does it really matter? By<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Esther Addley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/society/2023/nov/24/was-roman-emperor-elagabalus-really-trans-and-does-it-really-matter">The Guardian</a>, November 24, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyw_i_VQ5o9utgnFiKdtbT0AkucvH425-0QhsLFykfZ4S50E5oV2Cs_QMbChW7YO5IWp2ScfiakignDSHHxVTbHTigUlrG4sN3n11xe0oeSH7ZUwLTW82GOKpqUrzn0J7pRvdWOImXq9vOLWDf9xJCoxYJmnDmWHeCBm_9I52SzbBabu8J7cpUt3sgPjI/s955/Heliogabalus_High_Priest_of_the_Sun_by_Simeon_Solomon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyw_i_VQ5o9utgnFiKdtbT0AkucvH425-0QhsLFykfZ4S50E5oV2Cs_QMbChW7YO5IWp2ScfiakignDSHHxVTbHTigUlrG4sN3n11xe0oeSH7ZUwLTW82GOKpqUrzn0J7pRvdWOImXq9vOLWDf9xJCoxYJmnDmWHeCBm_9I52SzbBabu8J7cpUt3sgPjI/s16000/Heliogabalus_High_Priest_of_the_Sun_by_Simeon_Solomon.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His
reputation has suffered at the pens of historians for centuries – a suspected
revisionist attempt to hide the fact that a powerful Roman Emperor was among
the first persons in history to seek a sex reassignment surgery. Emperor
Elagabalus (or Heliogabalus) came from a prominent Arab family in present-day
Syria, where he served as head priest of the sun god Helios. He came to power
at fourteen years old, and according to historical records, Elagabalus quickly
developed a reputation for extreme eccentricity, decadence, zealotry, and
sexual promiscuity. Those biases have persisted through history up until the
present day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An 18th
century English historian Edward Gibbon, wrote that Elagabalus “abandoned
himself to the grossest pleasures with ungoverned fury.” Germany’s leading
historian of Ancient Rome, Barthold Georg Niebuhr, said that “the name
Elagabalus is branded in history above all others” because of his “unspeakably
disgusting life.” An example of a modern historian’s assessment is Adrian
Goldsworthy’s view that: “Elagabalus was not a tyrant, but […] incompetent,
probably the least able emperor Rome had ever had.” Only archaeologist Warwick
Ball describes Elagabalus as “innovative” and “a tragic enigma lost behind
centuries of prejudice.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When
Elagabalus was alive, a Roman statesman who kept close tabs on the lives of his
emperors. In his writings, Cassius Dio notably referred to Elagabalus by
feminine pronouns and states that the emperor wanted to marry a former male
slave and charioteer named Hierocles. Dio stated that Elagabalus delighted in
being called Hierocles’s mistress, wife, and queen. Officially, Elagabalus was
married five times (and twice to the same woman) all before he was 18, although
there were rumours he also married a man named Zoticus, an athlete from Smyrna.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">During his
reign, women were first allowed into the senate, and his mother and grandmother
both received senatorial titles. They’re found on many coins and inscriptions,
a rare honor for Roman women. This establishment of a “women’s senate” would be
considered by his contemporaries as one of the many examples of Elagabalus’s
“moral corruption”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">According
to Dio, the Emperor wore makeup and wigs and preferred to be addresses as
“lady” instead of “lord”. It was also recorded that Elgabalus offered
significant payments to any doctor who could give him the equivalent of a
woman’s genitalia by means of a surgical incision. It is this detail that
convinces some scholars to see Elagabalus as an early transgender figure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In Ancient
Rome, cross-dressing was practiced during Saturnalia, an ancient pagan
festival, but was forbidden outside that rite, suggesting that by making such
practices unacceptable outside that rite, gender identities had been firmly
established. Romans also imposed it as a punishment, ordering deserters to wear
female clothes for three days before execution.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Modern
Historian Eric Varner notes, “Elagabalus is also alleged to have appeared as
Venus and to have epilated his entire body. Recurrent charges of effeminacy
were levelled against him, and a painted portrait was sent to the capital prior
to the young emperor’s arrival in order to accustom the inhabitants of Rome to
his exotic appearance”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Further
historical accounts claim that Elagabalus was an avid prankster. At banquets he
would reportedly serve peas with gold, lentils with onyx, beans with amber, as
well as sprinkling pearls in lieu of pepper, and at the end of the feast, he
would bring out lions and leopards, panicking the invitees, who were unaware
they were tamed. The origin of the whoopee cushion is said to be traced back to
the Roman emperor, who regularly pulled the practical joke at his aristocratic
dinner parties. Elagabalus was a teenager, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His
eccentricities (namely his relationship with Hierocles) lost Elagabalus his
support from the soldiers of the Praetorian Guard. According to Augustan
history, the hard-partying emperor lost the support of his courtiers too, who
grew weary of his decadence, zealotry, and sexual promiscuity. Dio also claimed
that Elagabalus prostituted himself in taverns and brothels. Allegedly, when
finances of the Roman Empire were in dire straits, he proposed to prostitute
himself for an insanely high price.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually,
Elagabalus’s grandmother, Julia Maesa, decided that he and his mother were to
be replaced by her other grandson, a then fifteen-year-old Severus Alexander.
Elagabalus and Alexander ruled together for about a year until Elagabalus
realised the Praetorian Guard preferred his cousin over him. At this
realization, Elagabalus supposedly organised several attempts to assassinate
Alexander after the Senate refused to strip his cousin of his title. The
Praetorians then mutinied and killed Elagabalus instead. After slaughtering his
minions and tearing out their vital organs, they then fell upon Elagabalus as
he hid cowering in a latrine. They dragged his body through the streets by a
hook and attempted to stuff it into a sewer. When it proved too big, they threw
him into the River Tiber.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This was a
teenage boy, struggling with hormones, discovering his sexuality, thrown into a
lifestyle which offered him everything he wanted – complete power and wealth,
with no hint of the consequences for acting upon his desires – and then given
the ultimate punishment for taking it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
Elagabalus’s assassination, his supporters (including Hierocles) were killed or
deposed; his religious edicts were reversed; women were re-barred from
attending Senate meetings and he was erased from the public record. In fact,
one of his larger than life statues (portraying Elagabalus as Hercules) was
re-carved with Alexander’s heteronormative face. This practice is commonly
referred to as damnatio memoriae, and it’s reserved for those who were
disgraced. It also might have scrubbed one of the first transgendered icons
from the record.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Such a vast
propaganda campaign was set up to besmirch Elagabalus following his death, that
it’s hard to know what is and isn’t true about him. The only surviving evidence
we have of his brief life was written by people with ample motivation to discredit
and villify him. Was Elagabalus an awful emperor, or had Ancient Rome already
become a vehemently transphobic and homophobic society? In his book,
Transcending Gender: Assimilation, Identity, and Roman Imperial Portraits, Eric
R. Varner says that it was directly after Elagabalus requested the sex
reassignment surgery that he was deposed, implying that the assassination could
have likely been one of the earliest recorded hate crimes in history, disguised
as the coup of an incompetent emperor. Similarly condemned emperors like
Domitian, Commodus were all criticised for receptive homosexual behavior,
prostitution, feminine interest in exotic clothing, and excessive attention to
hair care. It’s also just as likely however, that Elagabalus wasn’t trans, and
that his enemies were exploiting roman ideas of gender to suggest that
Elagabalus was so terrible at his job that he couldn’t possibly be of the male
gender. For these reasons of historical uncertainty, we were unsure of the
appropriate pronouns for this article.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Though the
term transgender might be somewhat recent to the English language,
transgendered people were present in society as early as Ancient Egypt, which
had noted third gender categories. In the 3000 year-old Egyptian story, Tale of
Two Brothers, Bata removes his penis and tells his wife “I am a woman just like
you”; one modern scholar called him temporarily “transgendered”. Mut, Sekhmet
and other goddesses are sometimes represented androgynously, with erect
penises. Sumerian and Akkadian texts from 4500 years ago document transgender
or transvestite priests known as gala and by other names, and in Ancient Rome
too, there were galli priests who wore feminine clothes, referred to themselves
as women, often castrated themselves, and have been seen as early transgender
figures.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus
is ranked by history among the worst and most degenerate emperors – (or
empresses) – but as Out History notes, “Her reported atrocities and crimes
however almost entirely fall under the categories of upsetting the gender,
cultural and religious norms of Roman society”. What good the teenage ruler did
is no doubt buried in academic slander, but might it be time for Elagabalus’s
story to be retold from a new perspective? It’s about time Hollywood made a new
sword-and-sandals biopic. Someone get Ridley Scott on the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">History
Conveniently Forgot to Tell us about the Transgender Roman Emperor. By Mary Kay McBrayer. <a href="https://www.messynessychic.com/2021/07/22/history-conveniently-forgot-to-tell-us-about-the-transgender-roman-emperor/">Messy Nessy </a> ,July 26, 2021. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlGbZDzmA8cC1KjTAOQxqgJEi3IPMchw1t0yfnr-pqR63rGVFPyicgBrwwj1WAy2kox9NLqL79gDb3HyS8PNhwKGmY59HnJ3bCrA3adi_KS1adfyhBnmpXdw5cJnmcVHHv9IviM0MghpnC14m5Sg60FrqZzN3H19oXx0A9j32ymx3xzVkmuTOa5wDuEQ/s600/Heliogabalu_and_the_Wise_Women_by_Raphael_Sadeler_I_after_Joos_van_Winghe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlGbZDzmA8cC1KjTAOQxqgJEi3IPMchw1t0yfnr-pqR63rGVFPyicgBrwwj1WAy2kox9NLqL79gDb3HyS8PNhwKGmY59HnJ3bCrA3adi_KS1adfyhBnmpXdw5cJnmcVHHv9IviM0MghpnC14m5Sg60FrqZzN3H19oXx0A9j32ymx3xzVkmuTOa5wDuEQ/s16000/Heliogabalu_and_the_Wise_Women_by_Raphael_Sadeler_I_after_Joos_van_Winghe.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For
LGBTQIA+ history month, recent Ancient History graduate Ollie Burns explores
the life of one individual who may confuse what we know about gender
non-conformity in the ancient world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*Although
the histories written in antiquity refer to Elagabalus unanimously as ‘he/him’,
examination of these sources suggest very strongly that the emperor did not
identify as a male, and so for the purpose of this article I have used the
pronouns ‘they/them’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus
is not an emperor whose name is particularly well-known outside of academic
circles, yet their reign and life is one of the most fascinating cases from
Rome’s Imperial period. Elagabalus was born Sextus Varius Avitus Bassianus in
204 AD, most likely in the Roman province of Syria. Their father was an
equestrian, who would later be admitted into the Roman Senate, and their
mother, Julia Soaemias, was the cousin of Emperor Caracalla (r. 198 – 217). As
part of the Syrian nobility, Elagabalus’ family held hereditary rights to the
priesthood of the sun god Elagabal, whom Elagabalus served as high priest. This
is where the name ‘Elagabalus’ derives. After the assassination of Caracalla in
217, the Praetorian Prefect Macrinus took imperial power, so as relatives of
Caracalla, Elagabalus and their family were exiled. However Macrinus’ reign was
highly unstable, and by 218 he had been executed. Consequently, Elgabalus was
elevated to the Imperial throne at just 14 years old, and the Senate accepted
that they be recognised as Caracalla’s son, boosting the legitimacy of their
rule.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus’
reign was short and controversial. They installed Elagabal as the new head of
the Roman pantheon, displacing Jupiter. The idea of a foreign god being
worshipped ahead of Jupiter was shocking to much of the Roman population. They
took this even further when they ordered the removal of Rome’s most sacred
relics (such as The Fire of Vesta) and had them placed at the Elagabalium, an
enormous temple dedicated to Elagabal built on the Palatine Hill. This
essentially made it impossible for Romans to worship any god without also
honouring Elagabal. Further religious controversy was stirred up when
Elagabalus married Aquilia Severa, a Vestal Virgin; Roman law very strictly
stated that all Vestal’s had to remain chaste, and any found to have engaged in
sexual intercourse were liable to be buried alive, so to many, this marriage
was unacceptable. This brings us on to the subject of Elagabalus’ sexuality and
gender identity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Based on
the sources we have, it is difficult to ascertain Elagabalus’ sexual
orientation for certain; it is reported by Cassius Dio that Elagabalus married
five times, and that they had numerous extra-marital sexual encounters with
other women. The following is a passage from Book 80 of Dio’s Roman History:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">‘’ He
married many women, and had intercourse with even more without any legal
sanction; yet it was not that he had any need of them himself, but simply that
he wanted to imitate their actions when he should lie with his lovers and
wanted to get accomplices in his wantonness by associating with them
indiscriminately. He used his body both for doing and allowing many strange
things, which no one could endure to tell or hear of; but his most conspicuous
acts, which it would be impossible to conceal, were the following. He would go
to the taverns by night, wearing a wig, and there ply the trade of a female
huckster. He frequented the notorious brothels, drove out the prostitutes, and
played the prostitute himself. Finally, he set aside a room in the palace and
there committed his indecencies, always standing nude at the door of the room,
as the harlots do, and shaking the curtain which hung from gold rings, while in
a soft and melting voice he solicited the passers-by.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
particular extract suggests that while Elagabalus married and indeed had sex
with women, this was only so that they could learn how women acted, in order to
replicate this with male partners, which would imply that they were homosexual.
In terms of gender identity, Elagabalus’ habit of playing a female prostitute
to solicit men shows a rejection of traditional Roman male identity, wherein
men (especially those of rank) were seen as weak and effeminate if they allowed
themselves to be penetrated by other men. Elagabalus was also known to have
married a man, the charioteer and former slave Hierocles, and they loved being
referred to as Hierocles’ wife or mistress. The emperor is also reported to
have frequently worn wigs and makeup, preferred to be called ‘domina’ (lady)
over ‘dominus’ (lord), and even offered vast sums of money to any physician who
could give them a vagina. In one particular anecdote, Dio wrote that Elagabalus
asked one of the Praetorian Prefects what the most painful method of removing
their male genitals would be, and offered the man money to do it. It is because
of reportings such as these that Elagabalus is believed by some modern
historians to have been transgender, as it seems clear that they preferred
being seen as a woman, and even sought to physically become one, however the
extent to which Dio’s writings can be trusted is also a cause for debate. Dio
wrote most of his Roman History after Elagabalus was already dead and
disgraced, and it is common in Roman histories to see unpopular emperors
slandered and have aspects of their reign negatively exaggerated to fit the
current regime’s status quo. To that end, Elagabalus is referred to as ‘A
tragic enigma lost behind centuries of prejudice’ by historian Warwick Ball.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus’s
religious policies and general eccentricities severely alienated the Praetorian
Guard. Fearing a coup, Elagabalus’ grandmother arranged for her other grandson
and Elagabalus’ cousin, Severus Alexander to take imperial power in 222. The
Praetorian Guard murdered Elagabalus and their mother, decapitated their
bodies, and threw them in the River Tiber. Elagabalus was just 18.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">LGBTQIA+
History Month – Elagabalus, The Trans Emperor of Rome? – Ollie Burns. By
Abigail Hudson.<a href="https://blog.bham.ac.uk/historybham/lgbtqia-history-month-elagabalus-the-trans-emperor-of-rome-ollie-burns/"> University of Birmingham blog</a>, February 18, 2021. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLV_7s_9_vOoeVke81rZCIrJ-r-Ap-YDRUU6_K7CWh4gxQ60AnvCjNuA4VNCr09xUFjk4UUUZsMai1OrrTKK_O4sp7-fr5c_g3Ve05OjrwO8PpbqoG7yifzRn2vbrqnTyRgj4cfGqhIAJEr0GkBJfpdje3ESE9W0S2Dt3Z9YLIBehotjR-JHcD4_t0tbU/s800/800px-lens_-_inauguration_du_louvre-lens_le_4_dc3a9cembre_2012_la_galerie_du_temps_nc2b0_058.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLV_7s_9_vOoeVke81rZCIrJ-r-Ap-YDRUU6_K7CWh4gxQ60AnvCjNuA4VNCr09xUFjk4UUUZsMai1OrrTKK_O4sp7-fr5c_g3Ve05OjrwO8PpbqoG7yifzRn2vbrqnTyRgj4cfGqhIAJEr0GkBJfpdje3ESE9W0S2Dt3Z9YLIBehotjR-JHcD4_t0tbU/s16000/800px-lens_-_inauguration_du_louvre-lens_le_4_dc3a9cembre_2012_la_galerie_du_temps_nc2b0_058.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This week’s
entry: Elagabalus<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">What it’s about</span></i><span lang="EN-GB">: Someone who’s been singled out as the most
colorful and controversial of all of the Roman emperors, which is really saying
something. Only 14 when he took the throne, Elagabalus was unprepared to rule,
“probably the least able emperor Rome had ever had,” in the opinion of
historian Adrian Goldsworthy. He seems to have spent most of his brief reign
challenging Rome’s sexual mores, or as onetime member of Parliament Edward
Gibbon put it, he “abandoned himself to the grossest pleasures with ungoverned
fury.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Biggest controversy:</span></i><span lang="EN-GB"> Whatever Elagabalus’ failings as
chief executive, it’s always the sex scandals that grab the headlines, even
1,800 years later. The historical record isn’t always clear, given a lot of the
material here is salacious gossip. But it seems Elagabalus married and divorced
five women in as many years. One of those, Annia Aurelia Faustina, was a
descendent of the original Marcus Aurelius, and was conveniently single after
Elagabalus had her husband executed. Another wife, Aquilia Severa, was a Vestal
Virgin. Marrying someone who had taken a holy vow of chastity was a shocking
breach of tradition, but Elagabalus claimed the union would produce “godlike
children.” And those are just the women he married. Elagabalus also had a
long-term relationship with his chariot driver, Hierocles, who Elagabalus
called his husband, and at least one source has him marrying a male athlete
named Aurelius Zoticus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus
was also a prostitute, working in taverns, brothels, and even the palace. He
bragged that he out-earned other prostitutes, and according to later Roman
historian Cassius Dio, “he had numerous agents who sought out those who could
best please him by their foulness.” In and out of the brothel, Elagabalus would
“paint his eyes, depilate his body hair and wear wigs” to appear more feminine,
and preferred to be called a lady and not a lord. Cassius Dio wrote that
“Elagabalus delighted in being called Hierocles’ mistress, wife, and queen.” He
also “offered vast sums to any physician who could provide him with a vagina,”
which may have made Elagabalus the first person on record as seeking out
gender-reassignment surgery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(A note on
pronouns: While it’s possible Elagabalus was a trans woman, we only have
speculation based on centuries-old gossip to go on, so absent stronger evidence
one way or the other, we’ll continue to use the emperor’s assigned-at-birth
gender, as the Wikipedia article does.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Strangest fact</span></i><span lang="EN-GB">: His name wasn’t Elagabalus. Like the Pope,
the emperor often assumed a new name upon taking the throne; Elagabalus’ was
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus. His given name was likely Sextus Varius
Avitus Bassianus, although the historical record doesn’t seem sure. The name
Elagabalus came from a Syrian sun god who was folded into the Roman pantheon.
Our emperor was a priest of Elagabalus as a child, and as emperor replaced
Jupiter with Elagabalus as the head of the pantheon of gods (to much
consternation from the Roman faithful), and presided over religious ceremonies
in his honor. Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus was only referred to as
Elagabalus after his death, most likely to differentiate him from Caracalla,
three emperors previous, who also went by those same four names.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Thing we were happiest to learn</span></i><span lang="EN-GB">: Women’s rights took a small step
forward under Elagabalus. Powerful women in Rome could usually only assert
power indirectly, and Elagabalus was put in power through his grandmother’s
influence. When Caracalla was assassinated, he was replaced by the head of the
Praetorian Guard, Marcus Opellius Macrinus, but Caracallas’ aunt (and
Elagabalus’ grandmother), Julia Maesa, convinced the army’s Third Legion to
revolt and put her grandson on the throne at age 14. Once in power, Elagabalus
gave senatorial titles to both his mother and grandmother (women had previously
never been allowed in the Senate chamber), and both can be found on Roman
coins, rare for women in any era of Rome.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Thing we were unhappiest to learn</span></i><span lang="EN-GB">: Elagabalus’ reign didn’t last.
After less than five scandalous years, Elagabalus had exhausted the patience of
the real power behind the throne. The Praetorian Guard disapproved of his
sexual antics, particularly his relationship with his chariot-driver husband
Hierocles, while Maesa realized her grandson had no popular support and hung
both him and her daughter out to dry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maesa
pushed Elagabalus to appoint his cousin, Severus Alexander, as his heir and
co-consul. Elagabalus quickly realized the Praetorians preferred Alexander, and
after several failed assassination attempts, Elagabalus had to be content to
strip his cousin of his titles and revoke his citizenship. The Praetorian Guard
demanded to see the two cousins in their camp. When they, along with
Elagabalus’ mother, appeared, the Praetorians cheered Alexander and ignored the
emperor. Enraged, Elagabalus ordered the arrest and execution of the
insubordinate soldiers. Instead, the guards killed him and his mother. We
return to Cassius Dio: “[T]heir heads were cut off and their bodies, after
being stripped naked, were first dragged all over the city, and then the
mother’s body was cast aside somewhere or other, while his was thrown into the
Tiber.” Hierocles and several of Elagabalus’ other associates were killed soon
after.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Also noteworthy</span></i><span lang="EN-GB">: Some more recent historians question the
narrative of Elagabalus as an oversexed incompetent. After his death,
Elagabalus suffered damnatio memoriae—his name was erased from public records,
and statues of him were re-carved to resemble Severus Alexander. As a result,
much of what was written about Elagabalus came from his enemies, and has
therefore come under question. Martijn Icks’ 2008 book Images Of Elagabalus
argues that it was Elagabalus upending the Roman religion, not his sexual
exploits, that turned the Roman elites against him. Leonardo de Arrizabalaga y
Prado’s The Emperor Elagabalus: Fact Or Fiction? from the same year suggests he
was merely a pawn in his grandmother’s power struggles, and the more salacious
stories were part of a campaign of character assassination, which quickly
followed his more literal assassination.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Further down the Wormhole</span></i><span lang="EN-GB">: We mention Cassius Dio several
times, because as historians go, he’s the closest thing we have to a primary
source on Elagabalus. Cassius Dio was his contemporary, and while he wasn’t in
Rome during much of the young emperor’s reign, he had easy access to eyewitness
accounts. He also served as consul under Severus Alexander, so his accounts may
contain a bit of bias, but in general, Dio is a terrific source, as his book
Roman History spans nearly a thousand years, starting with the arrival of
Aeneas in Italy. A hero of the Trojan War (second cousin to Hector and Paris)
mentioned in The Iliad, Aeneas is a revered figure in both Greek and Roman
mythology.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While
Aeneas may have been an historical figure, most of the stories about him are
mythological—Aphrodite and Apollo frequently intervene on his behalf, and
Poseidon rescues him after an assault by Achilles. The Iliad’s main character,
and the greatest of Greece’s warriors, Achilles also blurs myth and history,
and as with Aeneas, myth wins out, as Achilles is most famous for his heel—his
only vulnerable spot, after being dipped in the River Styx and granted magical
invulnerability. The Iliad refers to Achilles as “the brightest star in the
sky.” That star would be Sirius, visible from almost everywhere in the world,
apart from the very northernmost latitudes. We’ll beat the summer heat by
visiting the list of northernmost settlements next week.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
teenage Roman emperor may have been the earliest recorded trans woman. By Mike
Vago. <a href="https://www.avclub.com/this-teenage-roman-emperor-may-have-been-the-earliest-r-1844158583">The A.V. Club</a>, June 28, 2020. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1WhvRqeUKdSwLB_X-tB6k6mdR-qViDBUPAaHIE-iC5b9zcRBcKcWPpjF0uxQ69L4IfQrj4597p3dWWtibx1ZruTV_H8yCK7oGWu_GfqkJ0uWOOsU4BXSlMO8u3KthL2xgER1YCBBZZigh4CPw6iTZEl2YyTS_DN3zeW3TNJHGaCStaR-q095bILq9n4A/s600/1.2-2nd-century-relief-crop-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="597" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1WhvRqeUKdSwLB_X-tB6k6mdR-qViDBUPAaHIE-iC5b9zcRBcKcWPpjF0uxQ69L4IfQrj4597p3dWWtibx1ZruTV_H8yCK7oGWu_GfqkJ0uWOOsU4BXSlMO8u3KthL2xgER1YCBBZZigh4CPw6iTZEl2YyTS_DN3zeW3TNJHGaCStaR-q095bILq9n4A/s16000/1.2-2nd-century-relief-crop-2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus’
name is not quite as notorious as that of Nero and Caligula, or even Commodus,
recently featured as the villain in Russell Crowe’s Gladiator. Like the three
emperors mentioned above, Elagabalus has consistently been ranked among the
worst and most depraved holders of the Imperial honor. Her reported atrocities
and crimes however almost entirely fall under the categories of upsetting the
gender, cultural and religious norms of Roman society. In this biography I will
briefly narrate her life and evaluate what her contemporaries found so shocking
about her. I will also show how examining her life and career can teach us much
about the intersections of cultural conflict in ancient times and the lavish
amount of attention transgender phenomenon have received since at least as long
as history was recorded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Name and Pronouns<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First a
note on name and pronouns: Historical sources uniformly refer to Elagabalus
with male pronouns. The emperor is best known under this title (which is
grammatically masculine) and she was assigned male at birth. I have decided to
use female pronouns because, based on the evidence, this choice is just as
valid as male pronouns. The three extant sources from antiquity, while they do
contradict each other, still broadly concur that the sovereign did have very
strong manifestations of cross-gender behavior. Telling aspects such as the
story related by Dio Cassius that Elagabalus offered half the empire to the
surgeon that would correct her genitalia seem to go far beyond merely
scandalizing an effeminate monarch and more towards showing the desperation a transgender
person might well feel in an age long before any methods were found to modify
her body according to her desires.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Background<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus
was born in the year 203 AD, and her brief reign occurred in the years 218-222
at the end of which she was killed. Well known through the ages, Elagabalus
lived a very short but tumultuous life. Related to the family of Septimius
Severus, Elagabalus was born into the highest level of privilege in Ancient
Rome.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elagabalus
was inducted to the hereditary priesthood of the solar deity El Gabal, who was
worshipped in her native city as the supreme deity. In a different approach to
the Greeks and Romans who erected statues of their deities in their temples, El
Gabal was worshiped in the form of a meteoric black stone. Elaborate ceremonies
would mark this stone’s entry and brief residence in Rome.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Septimius
Severus was a Roman general of North African origin who wrested the supreme
power after the period of chaos that ensued from Commodus’ death (the son of
one of the last of the “Five Good Emperors,” Marcus Aurelius). While Severus
restored order to Rome, his stern and highly militaristic dictatorship undermined
traditional Roman institutions (such as the Senate). Severus’ son, Caracalla
was a ruthless tyrant, succeeding his father along with his brother Geta. The
cleverly ruthless Caracalla killed the equally ruthless but clumsier Geta.
Caracalla continued the militaristic dictatorship of Septimius Severus but was
known for more erratic behavior. His most famous legal act was the widening of
Roman citizenship to include virtually all free inhabitants of the Empire. This
act helped further weaken the Roman tradition by weakening cultural and social
distinctions. While this act seems appealing to modern sensibilities, it seems
to have simply been a brazen ploy to increase tax revenues. Caracalla was
killed by his soldiers in a plot, and the usurper Marcrinus (of commoner
descent) took the throne for a brief period. The emergence of the military as
the only legitimate source of power and the weakening of Roman tradition both
became especially present in the Severan era and help us understand the context
of Elagabalus’ brief reign.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Marcrinus’
welcome was quickly worn out when he attempted to reform the pay of the Roman
legions to assist the solvency of the Empire. His attempted fiscal reforms
angered the soldiers who, after overthrowing Caracalla, now missed that
Emperor’s generous ways. The atmosphere all over Rome became very tense. Enter
Julia Mamaea, the sister-in-law of Septimius Severus. She claimed that
Elagabalus, the young child-priest, was the illegitimate son of Caracalla and
this claim cemented that young person’s rise to the throne.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What makes
Elagabalus rise to fame and power unusual was that the soldiers who had a
chance to see her were entranced by her beauty as she danced ceremonies to El
Gabal. All the ancient authors describe her sensuous robes that she wore while
performing priestly duties. The fact that young boys could be sexually
objectified and sexualized as much as women in the Classical world no doubt
adds to Elagabalus’ ability to woo soldiers by dancing in luxurious robes and
elaborate makeup rather than gain their respect with military feats in armor
and sword.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Skilled
generals and soldiers supported Elagabalus so Marcrinus’ forces were quickly
defeated and the way was cleared for Elagabalus to reign.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Reign<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The young
Empress (for that is what she wanted to call herself) wasn’t used to the
exercise of power. All the ancient sources agree that she made irresponsible
appointments to the highest offices of government and religion. Herodian and
the Historia Augusta salaciously assert that Elagabalus was in the habit of
appointing ministers on account of the length of their penises.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The reign
witnessed many actions that caused shock and offense to conservative Romans.
Elagabalus married a vestal virgin, claiming, according to Herodian, that the
priestly marriage would create divine children. Vestals’ chastity was very
important to Roman religious practice and the punishment for violating chastity
used to be execution by live burial. This marriage was thus an unprecedented
violation akin to desecrating the Eucharist for observant Roman Catholics.
Furthermore Elagabalus arranged a marriage between her deity El Gabal and
Urania the goddess most worshiped in Carthage, which was the most ancient and
hated enemy of Rome. In order to participate in her administration and gain
Imperial favor, senators and other Roman dignitaries were forced to dress in
un-Roman ways and to participate in elaborate sacrifices and other ceremonies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The topic
of Elagabalus’ genitalia comes up frequently. One way Greeks and Romans
distinguished themselves from the near Eastern civilizations was that they did
not practice and abhorred circumcision. The ancient sources claim that
Elagabalus was circumcised as part of the requirements for the priestly
profession and the later Historia Augusta even claims that her penis was
infibulated (meaning that the head of the penis was divided in two.)
Castration, according to Dio Cassius, was one of Elagabalus’ fondest desires,
not out of religion but out of “effeminacy.” This last statement seems to very
strongly indicate a condition that would today be called transsexualism.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The only
symbols of Elagabalus reign that survive are precious metal coins and a very
few examples of statuary. Many of the coins do indeed show the religious
changes: displaying the meteoric stone of El Gabal and calling for that deity’s
blessings. The statuary on the other hand shows a young man with hair cut in
classic Roman style and thus seems designed to placate those of traditional feelings
as it showed the young ruler as being similar in appearance to Caracalla and
other Roman emperors. Some historians use this lack of archeological evidence
to claim that Elagabalus cross gender behavior was greatly exaggerated or even
simply made up to smear her. I think it is just as plausible that the fact that
only gender normative visual records of Elagabalus survive shows that her
sexual and gender variance was disapproved of and often hidden and can lead one
to suppose that only images more respectable to Ancient Roman values were
preserved, while evidence of cross gender behavior was effaced.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As
Elagabalus’ standing decreased in the eyes of powerful Romans, she was forced
to adopt her cousin Severus Alexander as a “son” and successor. Alexander was
only four years younger! Meticulous care was taken to ensure that this boy was
not corrupted by his eccentric cousin and was instead carefully reared
according to the most conservative Greco-Roman values. Understanding quickly
that Alexander was a threat, Elagabalus sought to remove him but the ploy
failed and when coming to appear before the camp of the Praetorian guards,
Elagabalus was murdered along with her mother. Their mutilated bodies were
carried through the streets and then thrown into the Tiber as if to wash away
the upset that came upon the Roman world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Legacy<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
Elagabalus’ reign, women were never allowed to enter the building where the
Senate was convened. Her establishment of a “women’s senate” was considered one
of the many examples of Elagabalus’ depravity. The fact that women like her
grandmother, mother, and aunt wielded significant power and influence was also
condemned by writers with deep patriarchal values. Care was taken to erase
Elagabalus from the historical record like other Roman emperors that were
considered tyrants in a process called damnatio memoriae. Elagabalus was used
by subsequent historians, Roman and post-Roman, as an example of one of the
worst rulers ever.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Transgender
behavior existed in Rome before and after Elagabalus. Transgender practice was
tolerated and even sometimes respected by the Roman populace when it was
practiced by the male-born priestesses of Cybele, known as the Gallae. These
women would celebrate a taurobolium which (originally meant to be the castration
of a bull) was a castration ceremony where someone formally defined as male
would lose their genitalia, bleed like in menstruation or childbirth, and then
subsequently wear women’s clothing and go by female names. Like other cultural
practices this was a highly ritualistic and mystical understanding of gender
identity. Rome was a vast empire and culturally diverse empire and in some
respects it can be said a marketplace of religions existed. A male-born person
with strong cross gender identification could potentially seek out the local
Gallae temple to Cybele and have herself castrated, both to please her goddess
and also perhaps to fix a deep inadequate feeling toward her own anatomy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Gallae
however, existed somewhat on the periphery of Roman society. While Roman
polytheism greatly revered the Goddess Cybele as a very important goddess, her
worship was not considered Roman and was not integrated with traditional Roman
practice. For a brief span that didn’t exceed four years, however, a radical transgender
and religious experiment was imposed on the Roman world by a passionate young
person known as Elagabalus. It is a mistake to suppose that Elagabalus had
goals akin to contemporary understandings of feminism and gender theory:
Elagabalus was a product of her own time and place and the social structures in
force at the time ensured her rise to power. Transgender people and phenomena
have always existed but for once a person of strong gender variance caused a
deep upset in an ancient culture.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Part of : Challenging
Gender Boundaries: A Trans Biography Project by Students of Catherine Jacquet. A
collection of biographies written by the students in Catherine Jacquet's Fall
2012 class at the University of Illinois, Chicago. The class was titled
"Gender Non-Conformity in Historical Perspective."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A Brief
Biography of Elagabalus: the transgender ruler of Rome. By Alexis Mijatovic.<a href="https://outhistory.org/exhibits/show/tgi-bios/elagabalus">OutHistory</a>, 2012. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-52179314511867620292023-12-02T14:13:00.003+00:002023-12-02T14:16:09.405+00:00Playlist : Youbet, VÄLVĒ, One True Pairing, Phét Phét Phét, O., Rainy Miller & Space Afrika ft Cobey Sey, Searows, Musta Huone, gglum, Rangleklods, Heartworms, Whispering Sons, Ada Oda, Foodman, Julia Holter, Humour, JGrrey, Honesty ft Rarelyalways, Saint Precious, Oscar Scheller, Yumi Zouma, Chalk, Batbait, Full Of Hell And Nothing, David Holmes ft Raven Violet, Amiture, body / negative ft Midwife, The Clockworks, People Museum, Maya Shenfeld<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxyBuuIZ0PG_4E2D64e06qkdpVTLsxdK_gyCpllVz3VXWaNYgwvXkos6jsvNK_AhjLNZ5avUqDOzsPfeXbNqZNtLbrncH2DC3witosNpuMvvoDgNqXQsxN9Po8c3RTMFPhKZqrc7EaBSjax2qc6ClhgQm7SVRv9OY8xxNyHuvCF6fdna3ZixzomlRAV30/s600/saint%20precious4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxyBuuIZ0PG_4E2D64e06qkdpVTLsxdK_gyCpllVz3VXWaNYgwvXkos6jsvNK_AhjLNZ5avUqDOzsPfeXbNqZNtLbrncH2DC3witosNpuMvvoDgNqXQsxN9Po8c3RTMFPhKZqrc7EaBSjax2qc6ClhgQm7SVRv9OY8xxNyHuvCF6fdna3ZixzomlRAV30/s16000/saint%20precious4.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The music videos I enjoyed in November 2023. Play Loud and Enjoy. Lots of great pop music here, great guitaring and singing, from acts I featured here before like Oscar Scheller and Youmi Douma, and from bands like The Clockworks and Youbet. It's always a strange mix of sounds and voices. I hope you like them all. 5 acts will be playing at the biggest European showcase festival in January: <b>ESNS, Eurosonic Noorderslag</b> in Groningen, The Netherlands, Ada Oda from Belgium, Batbait from Switzerland, Chalk from Northern Ireland, Honest from England and Humour from Scotland. Check out the ESNS website. Acts featured earlier </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">in this section of my blog will also be playing there : Astral Bakers (F), English Teacher (E), Library Card (NL), Pearl & the Oysters (F), Pip Blom (NL), Shapednoise (BRD), Thala (BRD) <span style="font-family: inherit;">and y</span></span><span face="Suisse-light" style="font-family: inherit;">unè pinku (Eire)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Suisse-light" style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Suisse-light" style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Suisse-light" style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Suisse-light" style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Suisse-light" style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Suisse-light" style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Youbet –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pb-lA37dpV8">Carsick</a> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4o7__3iWHyPf1vQQpp_mNofBoLZGl8-jm5hzOeX3U0LpDREReyN4kp_f1uYmGi2H9Oyq6JlmPGsoq9t5kP9TM0FB0DcQ7N0itFcEkHZi-FCCs7vNgh8z8m1VFBKQm_4rTtOtBDNbtrBlTB6agdCFZy9pRhyphenhypheng9pLg83vJPM4_66AV2VVKL9r4A2yJthk/s600/Youbet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4o7__3iWHyPf1vQQpp_mNofBoLZGl8-jm5hzOeX3U0LpDREReyN4kp_f1uYmGi2H9Oyq6JlmPGsoq9t5kP9TM0FB0DcQ7N0itFcEkHZi-FCCs7vNgh8z8m1VFBKQm_4rTtOtBDNbtrBlTB6agdCFZy9pRhyphenhypheng9pLg83vJPM4_66AV2VVKL9r4A2yJthk/s16000/Youbet.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">VÄLVĒ -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNtA5Qh3iAs">Lights [sparkled]</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfbZqOOzedCBINCzyv_1mQI3jft3GcyxNKLbTEyB4s27gIIiJajn8Dbex_HqteevByl0eV7H2wxRGFJTLxZJ77_I_uf8WwpZc6AvB7SGh3_V64R4OUc5Ql7l6yBysSdu03YA5xNLEu73MoX64kGptAayHLDbPDdA3125_lA-CAqgOLKxNqj6UaEO8iCwc/s600/valve.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfbZqOOzedCBINCzyv_1mQI3jft3GcyxNKLbTEyB4s27gIIiJajn8Dbex_HqteevByl0eV7H2wxRGFJTLxZJ77_I_uf8WwpZc6AvB7SGh3_V64R4OUc5Ql7l6yBysSdu03YA5xNLEu73MoX64kGptAayHLDbPDdA3125_lA-CAqgOLKxNqj6UaEO8iCwc/s16000/valve.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One True
Pairing – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aagm33kSNPI">Frozen Food Centre</a></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKUvW-1o_1SVPRXsKWND5MfBGKgEueJHj7MdUVw6535zO3Kxsg5f9ejPQVMkwM0kckBun3HUCcKUxs0vv7egi7uBoPKa8cPnG6Nf8axfao86WNJH6GHjMwPZGI00yX5_eAfB5NGg7qPXQxBaaRReB6dHjopKkWW8Y_w9lDiP8VJlM5RHz9FK8s_3pP00/s600/one%20true%20pairing.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKUvW-1o_1SVPRXsKWND5MfBGKgEueJHj7MdUVw6535zO3Kxsg5f9ejPQVMkwM0kckBun3HUCcKUxs0vv7egi7uBoPKa8cPnG6Nf8axfao86WNJH6GHjMwPZGI00yX5_eAfB5NGg7qPXQxBaaRReB6dHjopKkWW8Y_w9lDiP8VJlM5RHz9FK8s_3pP00/s16000/one%20true%20pairing.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div style="line-height: 35.25pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="FR" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: NL; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Phét Phét Phét –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzpCHyWjkVY">Shimmer</a></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 35.25pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 35.25pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="FR" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: NL; padding: 0cm;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvj4IKP8NvR4GzOoRdyjQaGDxmA3R3absidw6AEnHBQdOJckelhPXYkjH6-5ezYyN-ZUfz1-kCeYCBBhqZBoWbaB7mnhbPX7iaNDX9Q0E2eZv1T_cJUy8t0liZ9e4BPOUQmjytx9MDKuto6wp1i9tFghESiA_LkvA6eG44kYxOzbbbvpqnnYr0NEv3Sk/s600/phet%20phet%20phet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvj4IKP8NvR4GzOoRdyjQaGDxmA3R3absidw6AEnHBQdOJckelhPXYkjH6-5ezYyN-ZUfz1-kCeYCBBhqZBoWbaB7mnhbPX7iaNDX9Q0E2eZv1T_cJUy8t0liZ9e4BPOUQmjytx9MDKuto6wp1i9tFghESiA_LkvA6eG44kYxOzbbbvpqnnYr0NEv3Sk/s16000/phet%20phet%20phet.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 35.25pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="FR" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: NL; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">O. – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hABm994Nav0">ATM</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="line-height: 35.25pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 35.25pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="FR" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: NL; padding: 0cm;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9-MZqm4US60LbOkm9MpsxwDX-TArQTPiBKCRx7HQbMRj970E9O3YpmVX-qhTQ9c6GSXUprwKXxvbGPGr10_aA6wiFTymO6aV_dmSA-RBfbQPAHmluREDm4PXWKSXNAYA1oBAcPjm9Vox43t0AbEFCBMDAZliQEjVORdDi3x6tMUrLbBbgIiOcTsFPSo/s600/o..jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9-MZqm4US60LbOkm9MpsxwDX-TArQTPiBKCRx7HQbMRj970E9O3YpmVX-qhTQ9c6GSXUprwKXxvbGPGr10_aA6wiFTymO6aV_dmSA-RBfbQPAHmluREDm4PXWKSXNAYA1oBAcPjm9Vox43t0AbEFCBMDAZliQEjVORdDi3x6tMUrLbBbgIiOcTsFPSo/s16000/o..jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 35.25pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="FR" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: NL; padding: 0cm;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rainy
Miller & Space Afrika ft Cobey Sey - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M44LZ5qsabg">The Graves at Charleroi</a> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDF-8-62O9R5vtq7UMrD0L9C-BCs55vDS6VDtarkVFCtNtSRLTgbnPS6rx9CS-7p1CkF0uIahcIfxI5zbETW3NvhKZFno2unp6oPB_LZ4dCARH2wxqKRiID6yPUwRBsBJf2tEFAyCECCNDOuMct4u2cxRVDYjtgfcWV4jCF7YIgrczrGWHvpiNqOQBKAc/s600/rainy%20miller%20space%20afrika.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDF-8-62O9R5vtq7UMrD0L9C-BCs55vDS6VDtarkVFCtNtSRLTgbnPS6rx9CS-7p1CkF0uIahcIfxI5zbETW3NvhKZFno2unp6oPB_LZ4dCARH2wxqKRiID6yPUwRBsBJf2tEFAyCECCNDOuMct4u2cxRVDYjtgfcWV4jCF7YIgrczrGWHvpiNqOQBKAc/s16000/rainy%20miller%20space%20afrika.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Searows - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffusK6rPKrM">I Can and I Will</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLGA_lerDQcihCNtIo7NxqnlvzlDyVwbpx9tC9Xdi6bhulPxsdbxsNovczF1waYglshNHIjlhI1Rlnt2sl1uN38mf4eLCdDjjCu_uWkktDk6ySkFYig9HywGIPPx8iWqGEycuae1hGonuA-LcQRRI2otgpjxsnW1AwusCmO1jW45TsJegMNpNu5vTLPo/s600/searows.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLGA_lerDQcihCNtIo7NxqnlvzlDyVwbpx9tC9Xdi6bhulPxsdbxsNovczF1waYglshNHIjlhI1Rlnt2sl1uN38mf4eLCdDjjCu_uWkktDk6ySkFYig9HywGIPPx8iWqGEycuae1hGonuA-LcQRRI2otgpjxsnW1AwusCmO1jW45TsJegMNpNu5vTLPo/s16000/searows.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Musta Huone –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaSRGxWa1FY">Aika Valuu Sormien Läpi</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86wp0N0Q9jT-UgbGlpX-HKfB7KVyxBoAnfwoiZoBwpt51muF6bBvElOr_m2krdnOQ5bgbniAaEww5Lgnii266H8JlkLoEaZnovsN5Msx0oUB5vL3tPG8yYjxD4A5H0cm9FQ5sHzPxvOrmSHiEZlpP8hZpvo_tyeyWE-AGgUhgkIcl1noqz2OxFKagNPs/s600/musta%20huone.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86wp0N0Q9jT-UgbGlpX-HKfB7KVyxBoAnfwoiZoBwpt51muF6bBvElOr_m2krdnOQ5bgbniAaEww5Lgnii266H8JlkLoEaZnovsN5Msx0oUB5vL3tPG8yYjxD4A5H0cm9FQ5sHzPxvOrmSHiEZlpP8hZpvo_tyeyWE-AGgUhgkIcl1noqz2OxFKagNPs/s16000/musta%20huone.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">gglum -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEdzwXzlizU">Easy Fun</a></span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzP7wBcBu0gFL3s1uavHMdaEA6sGx10g9IR6lhfGvryzCe9aYhjm4F-FwrVFVGZEA4RysOQNTPhq0jKkbS66C_HMnxidrbDMhPK9bsK8IO0ynzFNYICy589JzmMWVc9yi38Do8fCb1JRh7FInMPUpdgo1-Ef_akkBO5u8Yv2Rr6pxC958prJDfIrsj24/s600/gglum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzP7wBcBu0gFL3s1uavHMdaEA6sGx10g9IR6lhfGvryzCe9aYhjm4F-FwrVFVGZEA4RysOQNTPhq0jKkbS66C_HMnxidrbDMhPK9bsK8IO0ynzFNYICy589JzmMWVc9yi38Do8fCb1JRh7FInMPUpdgo1-Ef_akkBO5u8Yv2Rr6pxC958prJDfIrsj24/s16000/gglum.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rangleklods
– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9J62mc_WzA">Alien </a> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxwtDu6_b6-kwTy-1gNRbo2Kt8nvOs8vIIt-K-aZpN-hq_9ulfLErVeRw0PNpSmRDt78nK2GyrILkIcJGSzotkFsYYlnuqxQqM-x2CdHoIsnyZJQllaELCaRy_-Mmh_l3Vhz-QJqW8OwIDeS8Xs5GLBA4GSshYpgVPcDBgfcC9MWj3ZqpWa3EWt9dHGzA/s600/rangleklods.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxwtDu6_b6-kwTy-1gNRbo2Kt8nvOs8vIIt-K-aZpN-hq_9ulfLErVeRw0PNpSmRDt78nK2GyrILkIcJGSzotkFsYYlnuqxQqM-x2CdHoIsnyZJQllaELCaRy_-Mmh_l3Vhz-QJqW8OwIDeS8Xs5GLBA4GSshYpgVPcDBgfcC9MWj3ZqpWa3EWt9dHGzA/s16000/rangleklods.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Heartworms
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdeKkA4gOPs">May I Comply</a> </span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOQNikReI-2_yreaWu23ZEPXMLzL12HKSCOuHkeujKjE60cvdHNBTmUXRCYMPPFmD5E6pC4QBOZBFRXLP8rERj8PA4zdgG81JH8OXI4jOJKhxXNx79svH0ciSgZaAayjSp1rhUud-tY0vmY_fsS_znB0SpdfCi9loxg0YKcNHk5Y9goV50nv7SoG2Ujs/s600/heartworms.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOQNikReI-2_yreaWu23ZEPXMLzL12HKSCOuHkeujKjE60cvdHNBTmUXRCYMPPFmD5E6pC4QBOZBFRXLP8rERj8PA4zdgG81JH8OXI4jOJKhxXNx79svH0ciSgZaAayjSp1rhUud-tY0vmY_fsS_znB0SpdfCi9loxg0YKcNHk5Y9goV50nv7SoG2Ujs/s16000/heartworms.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="SV"><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Whispering Sons - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNhpmVJMAas">Cold City</a></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4xOxWPfun6Ifb0idrIqpnZnMbZAcwVK5nWwQsPvTF1wFXqXbeE_cI-zU_maPYiLMC8gWrqFKhe7kvf-3lg72VUGJ3884da9IhfCd6ZCW88T2SZ5pE0IgWI0kA2FPg0qo-kuL5AQCu7gKOUyZd3J9qQT6c4A81Uq-4ZS4gswfdC5AHFSp_6MQk6aKfT1Q/s600/whispering%20sons.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4xOxWPfun6Ifb0idrIqpnZnMbZAcwVK5nWwQsPvTF1wFXqXbeE_cI-zU_maPYiLMC8gWrqFKhe7kvf-3lg72VUGJ3884da9IhfCd6ZCW88T2SZ5pE0IgWI0kA2FPg0qo-kuL5AQCu7gKOUyZd3J9qQT6c4A81Uq-4ZS4gswfdC5AHFSp_6MQk6aKfT1Q/s16000/whispering%20sons.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ada Oda – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGSpPgW_7iE">Mai Mai Mai</a></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilxEYgkaE_CbSdbQIQo9HU8ix2CPHq4jRAEKJAbk_vOoAo7T_A62oHtghU9N6u2HbX9x8aLIj9hXb3yODVrFV9ozv0BfhyphenhyphenuwWhM6bNXJh7R06Co22LEYaySDiuODQJszpdAwEHDU7FalW02ekpWSzEre_c7kc7PVMzql6cg1WyfNl-mYQbd0fuihRbdPI/s600/ada%20oda.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilxEYgkaE_CbSdbQIQo9HU8ix2CPHq4jRAEKJAbk_vOoAo7T_A62oHtghU9N6u2HbX9x8aLIj9hXb3yODVrFV9ozv0BfhyphenhyphenuwWhM6bNXJh7R06Co22LEYaySDiuODQJszpdAwEHDU7FalW02ekpWSzEre_c7kc7PVMzql6cg1WyfNl-mYQbd0fuihRbdPI/s16000/ada%20oda.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Foodman
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkkM_1z7BpQ">Hoso Michi</a> </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhkuMzj0XwAJDoxDMRuDbaI8Zik9UTp0o6Q8S6P1pKn4HLj2qDaYDX2fIjgvSpT7njdduv_A6uBYQt5DEZ0tiMWUu-JftO4q6A6gmf7uh80xpdclGx5Ne1KP-ikp0xAJcLibkCBMZBYtNN4ok7opEs9TT-HToBxdqo8MDPy8MWPXt1UEDy8OJKpQUVR0/s600/foodman.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhkuMzj0XwAJDoxDMRuDbaI8Zik9UTp0o6Q8S6P1pKn4HLj2qDaYDX2fIjgvSpT7njdduv_A6uBYQt5DEZ0tiMWUu-JftO4q6A6gmf7uh80xpdclGx5Ne1KP-ikp0xAJcLibkCBMZBYtNN4ok7opEs9TT-HToBxdqo8MDPy8MWPXt1UEDy8OJKpQUVR0/s16000/foodman.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Julia Holter - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CsmBrWiC_94">Sun Girl</a></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdW7MljEmukuXD1QEUUOUZyxc6Cv6GJoFbwTYxP4FGh9OZYNeaTwwtIEOpTDJ5bA37QSDXnS2RlOyE7l5hS1rynqppWyX1Nb2hFkz_dhNJXG6mAJ3fK9emOgk3w7cfexh36Cl_CNaOyCVSyTkcQ30OFt_diG2NqYwC6bTpXV-CHmmgqZ6ThjT7vQbSz0/s600/julia%20holter.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdW7MljEmukuXD1QEUUOUZyxc6Cv6GJoFbwTYxP4FGh9OZYNeaTwwtIEOpTDJ5bA37QSDXnS2RlOyE7l5hS1rynqppWyX1Nb2hFkz_dhNJXG6mAJ3fK9emOgk3w7cfexh36Cl_CNaOyCVSyTkcQ30OFt_diG2NqYwC6bTpXV-CHmmgqZ6ThjT7vQbSz0/s16000/julia%20holter.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span></b><span lang="EN-GB">Humour -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=46e48E22cNM">Take a Look at My Tongue</a> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RqpsyF8gBe_7UfGHl3ztB2d3IlIPxvWlx0VPguvjUbUu2I8Pl5naTNHS8rO_avVxpsrMJUkKH_-bqMw3bkRh_zqIuTloWT7p3FAjnpesOxbT8svj9-cjeTJmATrT1uEHdhB4MG2P42aCCXB9NwwWP0aB9BkAFam3vFrQ6YSWwu-B6c1MAfHDURnM9Xw/s600/humour.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RqpsyF8gBe_7UfGHl3ztB2d3IlIPxvWlx0VPguvjUbUu2I8Pl5naTNHS8rO_avVxpsrMJUkKH_-bqMw3bkRh_zqIuTloWT7p3FAjnpesOxbT8svj9-cjeTJmATrT1uEHdhB4MG2P42aCCXB9NwwWP0aB9BkAFam3vFrQ6YSWwu-B6c1MAfHDURnM9Xw/s16000/humour.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">JGrrey -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7o9sN2Ugld0">Sick of Me</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3l_V02qJVwstzbs7AUGczKwp8DRMVAfg0WbMt-QcGiir1IfoHKyoNFt_fsooYAGuOpmJH7yHtUuZyL1SfYnjgr9qlWzW9MURMa2yzzFly-LUdAi1Jx5jNBSqprNazo6HHf83Chmdm55qEZSKDc_KQaNVQvMOnpH9hXR67QjIT99nQKmzaBLsmGvbcno/s600/jggrey.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3l_V02qJVwstzbs7AUGczKwp8DRMVAfg0WbMt-QcGiir1IfoHKyoNFt_fsooYAGuOpmJH7yHtUuZyL1SfYnjgr9qlWzW9MURMa2yzzFly-LUdAi1Jx5jNBSqprNazo6HHf83Chmdm55qEZSKDc_KQaNVQvMOnpH9hXR67QjIT99nQKmzaBLsmGvbcno/s16000/jggrey.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Honesty ft Rarelyalways – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25h279Df3f0">Mr. Speaker</a></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCPg297B_efVOuqqOjA0qG3YTCD5ztxSxYGBCNxpedU3bh8cschh5XKAms_EbN3H_t7uSeodcybav6SXh3v62W32bZRfRA7jAmn2jjUNfkHWSkLru__L_CUn4WVM-WimqioAOOroQyE3KuaFzUUOe_bHs6MWMOhGYYxMAqd5TYtLSIud3ksxvXraVD98/s600/honesty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCPg297B_efVOuqqOjA0qG3YTCD5ztxSxYGBCNxpedU3bh8cschh5XKAms_EbN3H_t7uSeodcybav6SXh3v62W32bZRfRA7jAmn2jjUNfkHWSkLru__L_CUn4WVM-WimqioAOOroQyE3KuaFzUUOe_bHs6MWMOhGYYxMAqd5TYtLSIud3ksxvXraVD98/s16000/honesty.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Saint
Precious – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYyJuZNWS5Y">Sanctum</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYf9CL2_XocidpgSU5C1k1UKQvtolV0mzDzhJ74BQH40cWLqQZnIZn2ikLfr-RkdDYDQCF7nZC1Oj_0T0GE8BQ4YzNF6BJ_PUkxbXs-F9Ssumqg39IGiAakB8ognKLbsnVIQpzxBrjkBBl5QxLA8VUr8CvzFbYGNjt8sXRKcUvLjB1s9WRdKsg0rHdpdQ/s600/saint%20precious.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYf9CL2_XocidpgSU5C1k1UKQvtolV0mzDzhJ74BQH40cWLqQZnIZn2ikLfr-RkdDYDQCF7nZC1Oj_0T0GE8BQ4YzNF6BJ_PUkxbXs-F9Ssumqg39IGiAakB8ognKLbsnVIQpzxBrjkBBl5QxLA8VUr8CvzFbYGNjt8sXRKcUvLjB1s9WRdKsg0rHdpdQ/s16000/saint%20precious.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oscar
Scheller - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFdk7oU7czI">Nightmare Blunt Rotation </a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aEevmn8qI4a_V_2aKVuysL3uMKTg2MuDQj_71jXeqRotK2ItM_t1Frju2WmCXAT2lKEdOwNLZsTeq9NQ5Fr9fT9HOnF2Ve44mX7W35qOjaeziSG-VSCDLczC9Z_GO9GhkKGRBRNTYhI4Ej-vWaj_WsspIGfgqOcYwMiXSPiTWdXQ7THV5YKRIpP43pA/s600/oscar%20scheller.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aEevmn8qI4a_V_2aKVuysL3uMKTg2MuDQj_71jXeqRotK2ItM_t1Frju2WmCXAT2lKEdOwNLZsTeq9NQ5Fr9fT9HOnF2Ve44mX7W35qOjaeziSG-VSCDLczC9Z_GO9GhkKGRBRNTYhI4Ej-vWaj_WsspIGfgqOcYwMiXSPiTWdXQ7THV5YKRIpP43pA/s16000/oscar%20scheller.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yumi
Zouma - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mAFq-IvKCOA">Kicking Up Daisies </a></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjtJE3zVWGbazfgVsVwfODxlMZv0cBf4X_nc0c26aEPpS3kjggmN2gVOWVpp-6r33LDnlHZPovplm0uVvOPDllwR5Y8SkMrbxbQV1mtBImfC4KX__60ha1ik97AROteQGrbmvsdecgpHHSrmIJ-fJHRU_y7GCWFD96xoEivQtrjLBpYa0erGbpm-WCxE/s600/yumi%20douma.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjtJE3zVWGbazfgVsVwfODxlMZv0cBf4X_nc0c26aEPpS3kjggmN2gVOWVpp-6r33LDnlHZPovplm0uVvOPDllwR5Y8SkMrbxbQV1mtBImfC4KX__60ha1ik97AROteQGrbmvsdecgpHHSrmIJ-fJHRU_y7GCWFD96xoEivQtrjLBpYa0erGbpm-WCxE/s16000/yumi%20douma.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chalk –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSMfgtOl4WU">The Gate</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxgWmCHoI9PCLZrqunjl__m3sUijs3rABXfVfA7nA2F6lsxZUN7_SE138gbfGgbXvMQ_OkVpoYRpOyLy3ph2bECtbT_tthUBU5y2lp8LxqNRnqZiZB2BwfAoD-ntgpF0arWbk_4LyhxIijoXDckJhGO2emE4WG73pOmwtcIN8bcpmpaGTQjV0hg5RyFQ/s600/chalk.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxgWmCHoI9PCLZrqunjl__m3sUijs3rABXfVfA7nA2F6lsxZUN7_SE138gbfGgbXvMQ_OkVpoYRpOyLy3ph2bECtbT_tthUBU5y2lp8LxqNRnqZiZB2BwfAoD-ntgpF0arWbk_4LyhxIijoXDckJhGO2emE4WG73pOmwtcIN8bcpmpaGTQjV0hg5RyFQ/s16000/chalk.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Batbait
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQIj7TlPurs">Something's Dripping From The Ceiling</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12ClnuNXjv6sGTLfASBwt_k7M5aEP-bSyGcMQ3ir5sIrj2htPBA-FoZSrQaM71RwK0a9Rbyyt_edmuCy-tQZV-Az3CaODBbY-Rplo2FDlixp7wYjEZ-v1GK7MSkFrkTiXKz-Qe4Leq9CxdLHaQPEAMh_7wwWCBsXldOC5pcDqNvU0qQSaslaiq8iu-08/s600/batbait.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12ClnuNXjv6sGTLfASBwt_k7M5aEP-bSyGcMQ3ir5sIrj2htPBA-FoZSrQaM71RwK0a9Rbyyt_edmuCy-tQZV-Az3CaODBbY-Rplo2FDlixp7wYjEZ-v1GK7MSkFrkTiXKz-Qe4Leq9CxdLHaQPEAMh_7wwWCBsXldOC5pcDqNvU0qQSaslaiq8iu-08/s16000/batbait.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Full Of
Hell And Nothing - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVNXSuIhs4w">Like Stars in The Firmament</a> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSushDQ5KEBCNDBCfAs6iLgNPPOQcPX4tg83Om43OZYmHocWLJ7xJIeSVf6whVspS4byqPMBl6VnuDJ-DMXRvwu8Hni3YzCbyiy7JDmGfLKYsYrPWPvk39NP9vfdgUajIX8Pma-dOQGU68gSuzhJJyzxGbPfQpemGKsygzWY-DQgz0vsBJgF-hQqQRDw/s600/full%20of%20hell%20and%20nothing.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSushDQ5KEBCNDBCfAs6iLgNPPOQcPX4tg83Om43OZYmHocWLJ7xJIeSVf6whVspS4byqPMBl6VnuDJ-DMXRvwu8Hni3YzCbyiy7JDmGfLKYsYrPWPvk39NP9vfdgUajIX8Pma-dOQGU68gSuzhJJyzxGbPfQpemGKsygzWY-DQgz0vsBJgF-hQqQRDw/s16000/full%20of%20hell%20and%20nothing.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">David
Holmes ft Raven Violet - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFbIC5iadJM">Yeah x 3</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSWTzoalfnyMJ7_bK0M9zUvdLkTZNCnQAuEePDzFjO70pz8MjTNBGJX9y-ykNEVL1U0dpPReqUY4IwSS656MkAGjy0kyiQRQp9e4grBnwpg34eD2mKkY8ImB-TKcz14K6hO0ST5iCqq1xpehyVnHb16PLdfBFVKOH6STV9za9WowbOewST6GhYp4fNEw/s600/david%20holmes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSWTzoalfnyMJ7_bK0M9zUvdLkTZNCnQAuEePDzFjO70pz8MjTNBGJX9y-ykNEVL1U0dpPReqUY4IwSS656MkAGjy0kyiQRQp9e4grBnwpg34eD2mKkY8ImB-TKcz14K6hO0ST5iCqq1xpehyVnHb16PLdfBFVKOH6STV9za9WowbOewST6GhYp4fNEw/s16000/david%20holmes.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Amiture –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEgobGDce6c">Billy’s Dream</a></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hsAXmIQBO6glTp2SedibyseIDQzdQf3eX41CqEWy_hWzpRRI-TVVqN3VYfKS8sci3278RrKLxhL9HhMJwZ_KJIdLMusYQ2O6YEredQCkkTUPSi00nub_f3BmOAvuW0ZmQM2jH9WnsNcEtAhhRrkkESe1Y93ya_SpljyrEmGT3v57s8kAl-a1_TBo_WM/s600/amiture.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hsAXmIQBO6glTp2SedibyseIDQzdQf3eX41CqEWy_hWzpRRI-TVVqN3VYfKS8sci3278RrKLxhL9HhMJwZ_KJIdLMusYQ2O6YEredQCkkTUPSi00nub_f3BmOAvuW0ZmQM2jH9WnsNcEtAhhRrkkESe1Y93ya_SpljyrEmGT3v57s8kAl-a1_TBo_WM/s16000/amiture.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">body /
negative ft Midwife – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fuljsh2DV9w">Sleepy</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIa3ZV0OzhhSBBhRAYOW3qcbrW3idJ2iaJZh-IwWa7_c9fP7ueQfc6DsWMHpEKzPnOQSLE7VwRYJgcUmtANcKK1slvEtfcyP6o9TZZKMjUHWutUyIcp07xbyAnVepX-gDwIpaZADjCb9W7M9kT0v67r48NSzwT1ADhuTnNAUHcvignfUrg3xogwFSdkKw/s600/body%20%20negative.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIa3ZV0OzhhSBBhRAYOW3qcbrW3idJ2iaJZh-IwWa7_c9fP7ueQfc6DsWMHpEKzPnOQSLE7VwRYJgcUmtANcKK1slvEtfcyP6o9TZZKMjUHWutUyIcp07xbyAnVepX-gDwIpaZADjCb9W7M9kT0v67r48NSzwT1ADhuTnNAUHcvignfUrg3xogwFSdkKw/s16000/body%20%20negative.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Clockworks
– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3FA4G7GB7o">Lost In The Moment</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEDrZN3IEE0UKcFZ9JOn7MM_n_hh8ODEEnf2WwdvS10t3wqpKz8upR2gmPM4MgRzeMkA8KZ_7P_8y9wUT1C7cxcwL8LD8K9SZOrGvQuhIho9WimIFNk9EEe0JpxUWG_JjVorNIEv0Etu_M3WhA6ag2lmY-u32fT_Etd6I2f7L8zSdMHkn4Bye4wG0MWI/s600/the%20clockworks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEDrZN3IEE0UKcFZ9JOn7MM_n_hh8ODEEnf2WwdvS10t3wqpKz8upR2gmPM4MgRzeMkA8KZ_7P_8y9wUT1C7cxcwL8LD8K9SZOrGvQuhIho9WimIFNk9EEe0JpxUWG_JjVorNIEv0Etu_M3WhA6ag2lmY-u32fT_Etd6I2f7L8zSdMHkn4Bye4wG0MWI/s16000/the%20clockworks.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">People
Museum – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25ev5QbjDtk">Relic</a> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyvgma_KFuZsC_rksTxL2KrtshB_WKo705VmdgRHXkXspegx6MAB0R2HUvNd3y1i5wtnBHymIcS9voVQovrN4H6YlYbsfEr3eegjh0hKI5E4XJjuQ0EtFEAQ5fjbGwWWSHKUJo1lO_ksZY5-JMbnal6m4gYeFQYP_j_MyVypg114pfuyJnet8B0SERic/s600/people%20museum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyvgma_KFuZsC_rksTxL2KrtshB_WKo705VmdgRHXkXspegx6MAB0R2HUvNd3y1i5wtnBHymIcS9voVQovrN4H6YlYbsfEr3eegjh0hKI5E4XJjuQ0EtFEAQ5fjbGwWWSHKUJo1lO_ksZY5-JMbnal6m4gYeFQYP_j_MyVypg114pfuyJnet8B0SERic/s16000/people%20museum.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maya Shenfeld –
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vaitowZMpRI">Interstellar </a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM6qiJY2oa6pm1ntpswitUTQ1ffqnIQYLJQWYrfZIbknlDA70tOii0SWBqKiiFXqc4UWhe5dhZxqPRPX9Z-_vTrv52CI8gHvsV1KgPB6_tNPe1GbRbKhHv1AyjTrq1hm5ZPJb5gZqwXvJCXlM2R3KF2OXx2YLRMOgRegneQQuHFBP49CwXB3tl9s0tiK0/s600/maya%20shenfeld.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM6qiJY2oa6pm1ntpswitUTQ1ffqnIQYLJQWYrfZIbknlDA70tOii0SWBqKiiFXqc4UWhe5dhZxqPRPX9Z-_vTrv52CI8gHvsV1KgPB6_tNPe1GbRbKhHv1AyjTrq1hm5ZPJb5gZqwXvJCXlM2R3KF2OXx2YLRMOgRegneQQuHFBP49CwXB3tl9s0tiK0/s16000/maya%20shenfeld.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="DE"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div></span></div></div>
</span></div></span></div></span></div></span></div></span></div></span></div></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-36125766928129500312023-11-26T18:17:00.005+00:002023-11-26T18:17:55.760+00:00Georg Matthias Bose's Electric Venus And Other Attractions of Electricity in the Eighteenth Century<div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNxJcjiRaRbXgQ6c2UAiOlSTR9C_VlkTp222ck-o1pWyIcfdDkpxNRWx3IW0VPqsG5dPE-6wVuHgIZVgrU5GNPa0K6QHC1SXWbPecTZbOztSmuuYDWDFlqBI5hzMhGRf4EtlpPm73ushEu4zqBuDxZ3Px-yaEv7ayNk1W3h0Q-cP1kXkvYNKuZEm2v1s/s600/sciences_header.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNxJcjiRaRbXgQ6c2UAiOlSTR9C_VlkTp222ck-o1pWyIcfdDkpxNRWx3IW0VPqsG5dPE-6wVuHgIZVgrU5GNPa0K6QHC1SXWbPecTZbOztSmuuYDWDFlqBI5hzMhGRf4EtlpPm73ushEu4zqBuDxZ3Px-yaEv7ayNk1W3h0Q-cP1kXkvYNKuZEm2v1s/s16000/sciences_header.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB">Electricity
was one of the emblems of enlightened modernity. The “youngest daughter of the
sciences,” as the philosopher and theologian Joseph Priestley defined it,
offered a vocabulary and a repertoire of embodied sensations with which to
articulate visions of human progress. Enlightened moderns turned the page on
the nostalgic look to the past that characterized the previous centuries.
Electricity was one of the tools they brandished to articulate a historical
narrative that positioned them at the beginning of a new age of cumulative
knowledge, material progress, and racial superiority. They conceded that the
attractive properties that amber—“elektron” in Greek—acquired when rubbed had
been known since antiquity but noted that only in the present had experimenters
demonstrated that electricity was a universal power of nature.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">One of
the earliest British writers on the medical applications of electricity,
Richard Lovett, regarded the phenomena of the Leyden jar, discovered in 1746,
as nothing less than an act of divine revelation. The Italian scholar Ludovico
Muratori similarly declared that God “reserved for our times the discovery of a
most wonderful phenomenon. I mean electricity.” Jean-Jacques Rousseau believed
that if “a person had started up, in the last century, armed with all those
miracles of electricity which are now common to the meanest of our
experimentalists, it is certain he would have been burnt for a sorcerer, or
followed as a prophet.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The
widespread success of the new science was facilitated by a preexisting
experimental culture that crossed boundaries between academic and the social
realms. Academic journals and popular magazines, along with a vast variety of
other texts, popularized the surprising results of a heterogeneous group of self-styled
“electricians” or “medical electricians,” many of whom had just a smattering of
natural philosophy and often no medical training at all. The Swiss physiologist
Albert von Haller remarked in a long article on electricity that was published
in the Gentleman’s Magazine in 1747 that electrical demonstrations had awakened
the curiosity of those who would not normally pay attention to experimental
philosophy. Not only the literate but even the “ladies and people of quality,
who never regard natural philosophy but when it works miracles,” became
interested in electricity: Everyone wanted to see a “lady’s finger darting
flashes of lightning, or her charming lips setting houses on fire.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">All over
Europe and its colonies, electrical performances shocked and instructed. They
offered sensorial evidence for the existence of an all-permeating natural
substance that did not reveal itself unless properly prodded. The spectacle of
electricity relied on “electrical machines” that made the newly discovered
power of nature tangible. Participants in electrical demonstrations experienced
with their own senses the effects of the invisible power that performers
initially called “electric fire.” When connected to the electrical machine,
audience members’ bodies responded uncontrollably to the passage of
electricity: their hands attracted small feathers or pieces of papers without
their touching them, their hair stood straight up, and their entire bodies
jolted when they underwent the “electric commotion.” Only following Benjamin
Franklin’s 1752 kite experiment did the association between lightning and
electricity become widely accepted. Before then, there was no clear
understanding of the nature of the electric matter. The popular experiments
seemed to demonstrate that electricity was an ever-present natural substance,
even when invisible.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Electrical
demonstrators were eager for their audiences to understand that the electrical
machine did not create any effect, since it only revealed the electric matter
that existed in nature. However spectacular, their performances were by no
means to be confused with magic tricks. In The History and Present State of
Electricity (1767), Priestley admitted that the phenomena of electrical
attractions and repulsions “looked like the power of magic” and so, without
explanation, “and with a little art,” they could very well be used for “a
deception of this kind.” However, he underscored, the electrical machine was a
“philosophical instrument,” not a magician’s tool, because it exhibited “the operations
of nature, that is of the God of nature himself.” Just as the air pump—another
philosophical instrument according to Priestley—demonstrated that the vacuum
was a natural phenomenon, the electric machine manifested the electric fire, it
did not create it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">While
experts debated the nature and properties of electricity without reaching
consensus, electrified bodies seemed to provide evidence that electricity was
an all-permeating, if still largely poorly understood, natural power. In his
Essai sur l’électricité des corps (Essay on the electricity of bodies),
published in 1746, French physicist Jean-Antoine Nollet offered the first
comprehensive theoretical account of all known electrical phenomena, supporting
his theory with a description of the physiological responses that any
electrified audience member could feel. He believed that streams of electric
matter—which shared some features with the substance of fire—issued in and out
of electrified bodies. Participants in his lectures could use their own bodies
to understand this theory: when they brought their cheeks close to an
electrified object, they could feel the stream of electric fire causing a
delicate tingling in their faces, and they could also see sparks issue from
their fingers, hear cracking noises, and smell sulfuric odors.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Electrified
bodies jolted, whooped, and gasped, potentially disrupting the codes of
civility and politesse of eighteenth-century sociability. Natural philosophers
whose lectures attracted aristocrats, like Nollet in Paris and Georg Matthias
Bose in Leipzig, devised strategies to make the uncontrollable electrified body
socially acceptable. They turned electrical demonstrations into a new kind of
group dance. Lecturers led participants in explosive choreographies that showed
that the loss of control caused by electrification was only temporary. Just as
men and women in the group dances performed during the social gatherings of
elites were assigned different steps, so the most popular electrical
demonstrations enacted well-established gender roles, which played with the
elite culture of courtship and seduction, along with the sexual allusions
connected to the vocabulary and gestures of electrical experiments.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bose,
who performed for the duchess of Gotha, designed an experiment that turned
ladies into electric Venuses. For this demonstration, which he called “Venus
electrificata” and which Franklin later renamed the “electric kiss,” a lady
stood on an insulated stool while a gentleman tried to kiss her, only to
receive painful sparks from her lips. Gentlemen, in their turn, could perform
their virility by “inflaming spirits,” that is, setting fire to alcohol with
electrified swords. For those who preferred a less aggressive model of
masculinity, Bose designed an electric “beatification,” which made a luminous
halo appear above a person’s head. Nollet’s celebrated “electric commotion,” an
experiment where people holding hands experienced an instantaneous electric shock
at the same time, borrowed bodily gestures from the cotillion, a dance popular
at court and among the aristocracy. The first and most spectacular iteration of
such demonstration took place in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, the place
for special balls, where Nollet invited one hundred eighty people to form a
human chain. Not surprisingly, Haller commented in his article that electricity
had “replaced the quadrille” in the social gatherings of the time.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bose
also introduced a gendered terminology into his theory of electric attractions
and repulsions, which presented an innovative explanation of electrical
phenomena based on the distinction between “male” and “female” electric fire.
According to this theory, the male fire, emitted by metals and animal bodies,
was strong and powerful, and sparks, with their crackling sound, were its
visible manifestations. The female fire, on the other hand, was a weak luminous
emanation, the kind of light that characterized the aurora borealis. The
gendered roles participants were assigned at electrical soirées in which
entire families took part turned the potentially indecorous effects of
electrification into socially acceptable choreographies.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Electrical
demonstrations took place for the most part in the dark and capitalized on the
gallantry and innuendo that characterized eighteenth-century sociability. The
gestures associated with electrical experiments—the rubbing of a long glass rod
that emitted a stream of sparks or the gentle caressing of a globe—elicited the
salacious curiosity of the salon goers and captivated the imagination of
pornographers and satirists. Theories that connected the electric matter to the
principle of life, together with the discovery of animal electricity later in
the century, further excited the popular imagination. The Marquis de Sade was
profoundly inspired by the violent bodily convulsions caused by the discharge
of the Leyden jar and liberally employed electrical vocabulary in his works.
The idea that electricity could be used to promote fertility was at the core of
the Temple of Health and Hymen, the London extravaganza of the
medico-electrical quack George Graham. Among its many prodigious treatments,
the temple featured a “celestial bed” surrounded by electrical effluvia, where
couples allegedly could successfully conceive. Authors who believed that the
electric fire was connected to virility found short-lived confirmation in the
rumor that the Leyden experiment did not work on the castrati. Although the
rumor was unfounded, the very fact that it spread reveals the pervasiveness of
the sexualized interpretations of electricity.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoeaiU8L9eC3FCHzBCmeB7AIMevsxCIWPcxIk7DSj9OK2TfHTcR4yqs_2mcLA6ClTfLHZ6FqADRT9F5gJ3KqoHu4y8cEwLvYWIxCGxR06KN4b14HMQFqz7teUZc63WqS5_usEnwPWYVK-6n0VqGuVQj3eYyJchwAgkRc1J_HVdh8HGvXnIaah_rkSqD8/s912/9781421447100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoeaiU8L9eC3FCHzBCmeB7AIMevsxCIWPcxIk7DSj9OK2TfHTcR4yqs_2mcLA6ClTfLHZ6FqADRT9F5gJ3KqoHu4y8cEwLvYWIxCGxR06KN4b14HMQFqz7teUZc63WqS5_usEnwPWYVK-6n0VqGuVQj3eYyJchwAgkRc1J_HVdh8HGvXnIaah_rkSqD8/s16000/9781421447100.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Adapted
from In the Land of Marvels: Science, Fabricated Realities, and Industrial
Espionage in the Age of the Grand Tour by Paola Bertucci.. Published by Johns Hopkins University Press. 2023. .</span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The
Youngest Daughter of the Sciences : Electrical
performances shocked upper-class eighteenth-century audiences. By Paola
Bertucci. <a href=" https://www.laphamsquarterly.org/roundtable/youngest-daughter-sciences">Lapham’s Quarterly</a>, November 1, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj_8zrvZPlkXtycfe7YHZDPcjc_F9els6lo22SyPlHsPSNf8abiWhAzmZocMExdJPvY0rsslAHOPAzFalIPKIh0RkIX-t4aSVsD987vr2CwuToL-OdgTApXmRcMCCtspiJS6qFVeAVgu9YIYKoOwNxFQMFjmuMF8wJ_oE1pYYUMG3dSDPw6Q6Vys2Zko/s655/Georg_Matthias_Bose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="655" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj_8zrvZPlkXtycfe7YHZDPcjc_F9els6lo22SyPlHsPSNf8abiWhAzmZocMExdJPvY0rsslAHOPAzFalIPKIh0RkIX-t4aSVsD987vr2CwuToL-OdgTApXmRcMCCtspiJS6qFVeAVgu9YIYKoOwNxFQMFjmuMF8wJ_oE1pYYUMG3dSDPw6Q6Vys2Zko/s16000/Georg_Matthias_Bose.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB">Where
did this excitement come from?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Francis
Hawksbee the Elder built his influence machine and people experimented with
rubbing glass balls and rods of resin. And then, during the 1740s, the
phenomenon of electricity became a subject of popular wonder in the salons of
Europe, especially in Germany. Fascinated by Hawksbee’s experiments and Dufay’s
writings, Georg Mathias Bose, a young poet and physicist from Leipzig, devised
a series of technical feats intended to impress a public of respectable ladies
and gentlemen who hurried to admire the spectacle of this new fire, ‘electric
fluid’, surging spontaneously from matter.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘Sanctified
by science and frozen with surprise’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">What did
Bose’s device consist of? He would invite guests to break bread with him.
Beforehand, he would insulate all the furniture and his own chair. The
apprentice wizard would then discreetly touch a thin copper wire placed under a
tray and connected to a hidden generator activated by an accomplice; then, with
gravitas, Bose would put his hand flat on the table. The current passed along
the guests’ arms, which they would politely rest on this same table, and the
crowd, sharing a look of panic, would become overjoyed, surprised, and
dishevelled, their hair standing on end as it teemed with thousands of
crackling sparks. ‘It’s marvellous!’ one exclaimed. A few months later, Bose
invented a machine for mechanical beatification, with the ‘saint’ seated on an
insulated chair, the top of his head covered by a little pointy metal hat,
under a sort of crown of bits of cardboard and junk. The current was diffused
by a long wire that hung just above a metal plate. Situated barely a centimetre
higher than the crown, it set off a crackling of sparks that outlined a halo
above the head of the person now sanctified by science and frozen with
surprise.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘My
mouth twisted, and my teeth almost broke!’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bose’s
imagination was particularly drawn to an attraction called ‘the electric kiss
of Leipzig’, which he lyrically describes in his poem ‘Venus electrificata’.
Having been insulated from the current beforehand, a beautiful young woman
would be connected to Bose’s primary generator, her lips coated with a
conductive substance. An honourable audience member was then invited to come up
and kiss the girl. The twenty-something-year-old man would bring his quivering
lips close to those of the Venus and suffer a violent discharge. The astonished
public would then see a surging flash between the mouths of the two young
people. The man, having literally received the shock of his life, would be
momentarily dazed, the power of the electricity, the fire emanating from the
woman, leaving him breathless. ‘The pain came from up close, and my lips were
quaking. My mouth twisted, and my teeth almost broke!’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘A fire
of the purest kind’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bose,
the maths professor Hausen, and Winkler, their young colleague in Eastern languages,
all set Leipzig ablaze with audacious experiments straddling the line between
physics and quackery; in this period, the ‘electric fairy’ (la fée électricité)
was still a magical form of scientific entertainment, an irrational promise of
reason. Soon enough, the games would be replaced by theories. But, for the time
being, the fumes of this subtle fluid sparking a fire in the ether stoked the
spirits of Europe and sketched the outline of a new image of human desire.
‘Madame, you are now filled with fire, a fire of the purest kind, one that will
cause you no pain as long as you keep it in your heart, but one which will also
make you suffer as soon as you communicate it to others.’ Lying latent, perhaps
this internal fire is to blame for only revealing itself through contact with
her suitor, the man who tries to kiss her. This fire represents the
desirability of the young woman; sensual desire is like an electric force and,
conversely, electricity is like the natural libido of all matter, just waiting
for its suitor, humanity, to reveal itself.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘The
shiver of a new intensity’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the
guise of desire, electricity is not without danger, but it triggers the shiver
of a new intensity, that of an ‘unthinkable fluid’. We still did not know the
nature of this fluid or its possible uses. The human body served as the
principal conductor for these first demonstrations of electrostatic power. Like
an electric shiver through the body, something happens that makes manifest the
occult power of certain objects to repel or attract others, to heat up, to set
off sparks, and to produce a combined discharge of energy and light. But soon
the human body was replaced by metal. Flesh, muscles, and nerves were separated
from this mysterious impulse. It returned to its place within things, as the
first electrostatic generators, Leyden jars, batteries in cylinders, and trays
of thousands of jars were constructed.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘An
intoxication cultivated by the modern mind’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But then
electricity entered into humanity, where it would always remain as a sort of
intoxication cultivated by the modern mind. Like blood coursing through the
veins of society, electric light spread through optical science and transported
fabulous cinematographic images to the screen. It broke the image into a
thousand bits of light, decomposed and encoded it into short pulses capable of
being transmitted over distances, and made way for the diffusion of television.
It invaded all data, images, texts, and sounds and then placed itself in the
service of electronics. It illuminated the street lights of the great capitals
as well as the lamps above the beds of children reading late into the night. It
fed the indefatigable motor of growth and progress. It demanded that dams,
generators, power plants, and windmills be constructed. It set in motion all
things or nearly all things to the extent that humanity, without even knowing
it, became the living medium between entities (cables, telephones, radios,
pacemakers…). Little by little, humanity forgot the electric nature of those
entities, but the idea remained in the bloodstream. It was as if Leipzig’s
kiss, which sealed the modern alliance of desire and electricity, had never
ended.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Extracted
from The Life Intense: A Modern Obsession by Tristan Garcia. Edinburgh University press, 2018.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">What
Electricity Has Done to Thought: an excerpt from The Life Intense by Tristan
Garcia. By Naomi Farmer.<a href="https://euppublishingblog.com/2018/10/23/what-electricity-has-done-to-thought-an-excerpt-from-the-life-intense-by-tristan-garcia/"> Edinburgh University Pres</a>s, October 2018. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5GT5y1XV5pSBBzS-ee3Kwl8bNhB3C5mFUzJoRyX5yDm1RK4F_-a0wyrCR7Wve4Iq57ojF41d3JmZqAQHIapmlUjMw7yg4NgMvetX3GvKLfFk0GhfOrXGWa71_nCJ8g-1OusVGiBJe9l5-DMgGkPvEbC23IrioZZ3DMbnc-VRb7k_AD4zQmSJyxBzFCh0/s432/ob_25bdf6_la-machine-electrique-de-otto-de-gueri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="332" data-original-width="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5GT5y1XV5pSBBzS-ee3Kwl8bNhB3C5mFUzJoRyX5yDm1RK4F_-a0wyrCR7Wve4Iq57ojF41d3JmZqAQHIapmlUjMw7yg4NgMvetX3GvKLfFk0GhfOrXGWa71_nCJ8g-1OusVGiBJe9l5-DMgGkPvEbC23IrioZZ3DMbnc-VRb7k_AD4zQmSJyxBzFCh0/s16000/ob_25bdf6_la-machine-electrique-de-otto-de-gueri.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Nature
is generous. By endowing sulfur and glass with the property of attraction, it
has allowed everyone to seize the electrical phenomenon. The simplest stick of
sulfur or the most banal glass tubes already give beautiful effects. But these
materials lend themselves especially to the manufacture of "machines"
which will complete the "cabinets of curiosities", obligatory
attraction of any noble or bourgeois home that respects itself, from the second
half of the 17th century.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Otto de
Guericke (1602-1686)</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Among the
builders, a name emerges, that of Otto de Guericke. He is the descendant of a
family of notables from the free city of Magdeburg. His father and grandfather
served as mayor, helping to make it a prosperous and populous city. He studied
first at the University of Leipzig and then joined Leiden to complete his
studies in languages as well as in the art of fortifications and war machines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1626, he
returned to Magdeburg where his knowledge quickly became useful because, in
1631, the Protestant city was besieged by the armies of the German Emperor in
conflict with Sweden whose city is allied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On May 20,
at dawn, the troops of Catholic mercenaries of warlord Tilly, composed of
Spaniards, Italians, French, Poles and Germans enter the city. The population
resists heroically but fails to repel the attackers. Then begins what has been
remembered as the "massacre of Magdeburg": in four days, twenty
thousand civilians have been killed by the sword or burned alive in the fire of
their house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once peace
is restored, Otto de Guericke helps raise the city from its ruins and becomes
mayor. In this position, he represented Magdeburg at the peace congress which,
in 1648, ended this "thirty-year war". Good negotiator, he gets for
his city, the recognition of his old privileges. This mission leads him to sit
on the Imperial Diet. It was at one of these meetings, in Regensburg, in 1654,
that he chose to reveal the capabilities of the vacuum pump he had recently
developed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
so-called "Magdeburg hemispheres" experiment is well known. It
follows Torricelli's experiments (1608-1647) on atmospheric pressure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1643, to
respond to the problem posed by the Florence fountain-makers who had difficulty
pumping water into their wells beyond 32 feet (about 10 meters), Toricelli had
spilled a tube full of mercury on a tank containing the same liquid. He could
see that the mercury was falling down the tube to stabilize at a height of 28
inches (76cm) above the free surface. He thus demonstrated the existence of the
atmospheric pressure but also that of the emptiness which, according to his
adversaries, Nature had "horror".<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The subject
fascinates Otto Guericke who undertakes successfully, the development of a pump
capable of evacuating air from a
container full of it. After trying to empty a barrel that did not resist the
experiment, Guericke had a copper sphere made up of two contiguous hemispheres
and equipped with a tap. In front of a large audience, he is emptying into this
imposing sphere of a diameter of 1.19 meters. Twenty-four horses hitched to the
hemispheres are unable to break the adhesion between the two parts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
experience radically inaugurates the practice of "science show" whose
popularity will also be decisive in the advancement of electrical science.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
experience of the "Hemispheres of Magdeburg" is a landmark in the
history of mechanics. Guericke's place in that of electricity is more modest.
His contribution in this area was, moreover, ignored by most of his
contemporaries. Yet, nearly a century later, several physicists, and in
particular the Frenchman Dufay, note that one would have gained to consider his
experiments with more attention.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Guericke,
in fact, is not realy interested in electricity. He meets it only through the
questions he asks himself about the functioning of the Universe and first of
all about that of the earth. Among the "virtues" he attributes to our
globe, two seem to him fundamental. First a "conservative" virtue:
the earth attracts all the materials that are necessary for its formation,
water, rocks ... Then an "expulsive" virtue: it repels everything
that can destroy it. Fire, for example, whose flame rises to the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Guericke
offers of it a spectacular demonstration. Take, he says, a glass balloon the
size of a "child's head", fill it with finely ground sulfur, heat up
to the fusion of the sulfur, let cool, break the glass and collect the sulfur
globe . Equip the globe with a handle and place it on a wooden support. Rub
this ball vigorously with a very dry hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The ball
will then manifest many of the earthly virtues. "Conservative" virtue
first, attracting light objects to her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">More
amazing is the observation of the "expulsive" virtue ! The globe
sometimes repels what it first attracted. A feather, for example, after
touching the globe is repulsed. So suspended in the air, it can be walked
around the room. Better: whatever the movement of the globe it seems to always
present the same face. Exactly like the moon opposite the earth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Guericke,
who has read Gilbert, can not doubt for a moment that the attraction virtue of
the earth is simply electrical in nature. As for repulsive virtue, no one
before him seems to have noticed it. He attributes to it a different cause and
imagines it only proper to the constituent elements of the earth and among
these to sulfur. It passes, thus, beside a truth which will remain long obscure
until the French Dufay shows that the electricity also has a "repulsive
virtue"!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Guericke's
experiments contain other rich intuitions. To prove that the air is not the
vehicle of the attraction, it shows that this virtue can be transmitted by
means of a linen thread, more than a meter long, stretched from the surface of
the globe. This first observation of the electrical "conduction" will
also remain without a future. It will be up to the Englishman Gray to
rediscover it almost a century later.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even if its
title of glory remains the famous experiment of the hemispheres and if its
theoretical contribution in the field of electricity remained limited, the
talent of observer and experimenter of Guericke, recognized by his successors,
deserves the place which him is reserved in the Pantheon of electricians.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Hauksbee (
?- 1713)</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Electricity
and vacuum works together in the machines devised by Francis Hauksbee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The first years of his life are not well
known. Self-taught, he is noticed by Newton. In December 1703, the famous
physicist, author of the law of universal gravitation, became president of the
Royal Society of London, the largest English Scientific Academy. He hires
Hauksbee as his lead experimenter. Until 1705, it animates the sessions of the
Academy. In particular by classic vacuum experiments inspired by Guericke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From this
date he moves towards the study of "mercurial" or
"barometric" phosphorescence. Since 1675, a fortuitous observation
intrigues physicists. When a barometric tube arranged in the conditions of the
Toricelli experiment is jostled in the darkness, a phosphorescent glow appears
in the emptiness released at the upper part of the tube. When Hauksbee tackles
the problem, it is generally accepted that this glow comes from an emanation of
mercury. For his part he chooses to use method and study the respective roles
of emptiness, glass and mercury.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The vacuum
? Hauksbee partially fills a balloon with mercury in which he creates vacuum.
The whole remains dark as long as the liquid remains motionless. It is
therefore clear that the vacuum is not sufficient but that, on the other hand,
the friction caused by the movement is essential.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Friction on mercury or on glass? From November
1705 Hauksbee uses, to answer this question, a montage which ignores mercury.
It is a sphere of glass provided with two diametrically opposed copper pieces
serving as its axis. This sphere can be put in rapid motion by placing it on a
machine inspired by a carpenter's wheel. But its essential property is to have
been conceived so that one can realize the emptiness. Hauksbee took the
precaution of keeping a valve in one of the parts of the shaft that can be
connected to a vacuum pump.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMraEeZ78UAZC0qbXGidBWKV3KT2PUk8e-TuRfPxC4MXoQk5E0OsH_vTiolKVrUtmcsqXFL5xsSX6eawCzZeTXZVGWKaiGKeJXUVllFCPYg1tGXSA2SQ1rehfeeuzTecgjv7pxsPwPCc1oJLRHFtssIO6BwmGw2FIZGaqGdljflyyciAO_oRFk9cw2rgk/s656/ob_a9e7b2_la-machine-electrique-de-hauksbee-un.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMraEeZ78UAZC0qbXGidBWKV3KT2PUk8e-TuRfPxC4MXoQk5E0OsH_vTiolKVrUtmcsqXFL5xsSX6eawCzZeTXZVGWKaiGKeJXUVllFCPYg1tGXSA2SQ1rehfeeuzTecgjv7pxsPwPCc1oJLRHFtssIO6BwmGw2FIZGaqGdljflyyciAO_oRFk9cw2rgk/s16000/ob_a9e7b2_la-machine-electrique-de-hauksbee-un.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The sphere,
emptied of its air, is set in motion and rubbed by the hand of the
experimenter. Suddenly, in the darkness, the sphere fills with a strong diffuse
glow. A wall ten feet away is illuminated. A book held near the globe can be
read. When a finger approaches the sphere, the light is concentrated in
filaments that seem attracted by this finger. The light gradually decreases
when, little by little, the air is allowed to enter the tube.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Even when the atmospheric pressure is reached,
we can still catch some light from the globe. It is external this time, and
present themselves in the new form of sparks. Hauksbee still hesitates but for
Newton opinion, the light does not come from emptiness, nor from mercury but
from glass!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We now know
that if it is the glass that is electrified, the light comes from the air. In
the "empty" globe, there is still residual gas and it is
"ionized" under the effect of the electric field created by the
friction of the glass. It becomes, by this fact, bright, like neon in a tube of
lighting. Naturally this interpretation was impossible to those who had neither
the knowledge of the nature of the air, nor, still less, of the existence and
constitution of the atoms.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
"electrical phosphorescence" will continue to obsess generations of
physicists. His study will lead to cathode-ray tubes, which for some time still
equip our televisions and computers screens. The discovery of X-rays, that of
electrons, that of radioactivity, will also be at the end of this adventure
that we will discuss later.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For the
moment, Hauksbee's spectacular and frightening demonstrations in the darkness
of a cabinet are becoming the star experiences of physics shows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Tube or
globe?</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One thing
is certain: for those who saw glass as a secondary material and with few
electrical effects, and who continued to prefer amber, sulfur or wax, Hauksbee
opposed them a convincing denial.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Glass is
essential, but in what form? Hauksbee himself for his classical demonstrations
renounces his spheres and uses only a tube of flint-glass, the flint-glass used
for optics and of which the English are the specialists. With a tube one meter
long and three centimeters in diameter, it attracts thin sheets of copper
several tens of centimeters apart. These sheets of copper, or better of gold,
more sensitive than pieces of string or paper, will become the classic material
of electrical laboratories. To put them in motion, a glass tube is more than
enough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The globe, mounted on a tower, will be
forgotten for thirty years until, around 1733, a German physicist, Bose, takes
up the idea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Bose
(1710-1761)</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Georg
Matthias Bose, born in Leipzig, is interested in new physics and mathematics
while pursuing his medical studies. In 1738 he was appointed to a chair of
"natural philosophy" at the University of Wittenberg. From this
position, he establishes a close relationship with all that Europe counts as well-known
people, both scientists and men of letters, religion and politics. The magic
aspect of electricity seduces him. When his readings lead him to meet the
electrical experiments of Gray and Dufay (two persons of prime importance that
we will talk about again), and in particular those on conductors and
insulators; when, moreover, he finds the description of Hauksbee's globe, he
knows that he has found both his vocation and his public.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It first
completes the Hauksbee device with an assembly that will become the standard
for all European laboratories. An iron tube, sometimes in the form of a rifle
barrel, hangs horizontally from two cords of silk. He grazes, without touching
it, the rubbed glass globe. This "first conductor" will then be used
to distribute the "electrical fluid" through various chains or
conductors to the surrounding experimental devices.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bose then
organizes "electric parties" that are not limited to its student
audience. Imagine a meal where you have invited all the prominent notables in
your city. The legs of the table have been isolated by wax patties as well as
the chair that you have reserved for yourself. From the electric machine you
have operated and concealed, a connecting wire is brought near your hand. At
the moment your guests want to grab their fork, you just have to do the contact
with the table so that an electric shock comes to make them jump on their
chair. At dessert you will set a liquor cup on fire simply by the approach of
one of your fingers from where only the closest spectators will have seen a
spark escape. Your guests will then be ready to follow you in the cabinet of
curiosities where you will transport them in a universe at once wonderful and
terrifying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wonderful!
Wafers of thick wax are placed on the floor. Each participant climbs on one of
them and reaches out to his neighbors, forming a chain whose first link firmly
holds the rifle barrel suspended above the globe of the machine. When the globe
is set in motion, the person at the other end of the chain reaches out over
gold leaves placed on a plate. Each one then sees the leaves rise from a light
flight, as attracted by a magic will, towards the open hand of the
experimenter. Let's put out the candles that light up this closed-shuttered
salon and reach for the driver of the machine, we will see sparkling sparks. In
the form of apotheosis we can propose the demonstration of the "electric
beatification". The loveliest person in the assembly is invited to climb
on a cake of wax and to seize the driver. When the machine is vigorously
activated, its hair unfolds in a halo which illuminates, in the darkness, a
thousand gleams of holiness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Terrifying
! The man who has the courage to run a few drops of his blood sees them glitter
like fire beads in the dark as he grabs the electric conductor. Tense fingers
of a person connected to the machine can kill the poor flies to which the spark
will be directed. Could we not make more serious victims tomorrow? Such
manipulations would certainly have condamned their authors to be burned in the
times, still close, of the Inquisition!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Terrifying and traitor! As beautiful as the
young person haloed by the contact of the machine be, it will not be prudent to
approach his lips for a kiss. The "Electrified Venus" will defend its
virtue by a vigorous electric shock.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPWNi8kK8T0n8nXIoMuxF1u7FBOxLSr9htxTOXp7oZpcb-Q5qpvb_ii6HWwgAUjFBCn29QyrBcGN_99g-Ft8l6V3iL1mr2-rFWEkUTo_dmqaqMLp8fjlUOF5fVnhhm9xvieH0TFYx_9LLy7f9U-EyduoS1xI4g8Ym3neytkCCb-c0coHgXajgSCP7Hcs/s500/ob_141414_electricite-de-salon-01-3923a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPWNi8kK8T0n8nXIoMuxF1u7FBOxLSr9htxTOXp7oZpcb-Q5qpvb_ii6HWwgAUjFBCn29QyrBcGN_99g-Ft8l6V3iL1mr2-rFWEkUTo_dmqaqMLp8fjlUOF5fVnhhm9xvieH0TFYx_9LLy7f9U-EyduoS1xI4g8Ym3neytkCCb-c0coHgXajgSCP7Hcs/s16000/ob_141414_electricite-de-salon-01-3923a.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> L’abbé Nollet (1700-1770)</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The news of
these wonders reaches France and in particular to the Abbé Nollet who is then
one of the most prominent European electricians. He said he could not sleep
until he himself had built and perfected a machine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The globe,
one foot in diameter, used by Nollet, is thick glass. The wheel which drives it
by means of a belt passing by a pulley fixed on its axis, must be at least four
feet in diameter and be provided with a crank which allows two men to activate
it. Nollet prefers to rub the globe by hand but many European physicists have
chosen to add a leather cushion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsS3dXEmJHF3iGy3LA3ySAICuhvvKI4uaYwYJsd08Wt_5SB44UaPMXXYKr2aARznmLTnX6ZMDvy_jDzpGvQ5c70qdlfXJuTAZ23gXo2xWx2SbrJYWkwRRqq4GqwB_BlPJjxY1p2Sqy5ddGWPmZy6uEHW4O3uWk7UzUnsdsyXS_tcgsEUqv6eySBZ7wCts/s500/ob_08609a_machine-van-marum-nature-cor-ae8f7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsS3dXEmJHF3iGy3LA3ySAICuhvvKI4uaYwYJsd08Wt_5SB44UaPMXXYKr2aARznmLTnX6ZMDvy_jDzpGvQ5c70qdlfXJuTAZ23gXo2xWx2SbrJYWkwRRqq4GqwB_BlPJjxY1p2Sqy5ddGWPmZy6uEHW4O3uWk7UzUnsdsyXS_tcgsEUqv6eySBZ7wCts/s16000/ob_08609a_machine-van-marum-nature-cor-ae8f7.png" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: inherit;"> The plate machines.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> This voluminous machine will fit most physics
cabinets until the Englishman Ramsden (1735-1800) builds the first plate
machine in 1768. The plate machine is perfected quickly and will become really
effective when the first machines appear. " with electrical influence
", ie requiring no friction. The famous machine invented by the English
Wimshurst in 1883, still equips the laboratories of our high schools.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">History of
electricity. The first electric machines.
</span></span><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://histoires-de-sciences.over-blog.fr/2018/06/history-of-electricity.the-first-electric-machines.html">Le blog d'histoire des
sciences</a>, June 3, 2018.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwWkco1Wu6Y3WF7YC_DC9pwvufRuO2MkqSx2CRMJmap2REbw9WRXx3MYYZaTXpIryu0nlRPuPyfl49KglTS8dk6ZkIjPLZFFkTd0sAQZuBTAOFURIdZ2mNm-fDTO34_xd5AL7P0gEuuJP1FwlH3Sf7A8VVS8xp-g5JDunVXwxxJm-UbmEHKgUs2Xh182A/s480/129304_0417CW---Classic-Kit---Leyden-jar-drawing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwWkco1Wu6Y3WF7YC_DC9pwvufRuO2MkqSx2CRMJmap2REbw9WRXx3MYYZaTXpIryu0nlRPuPyfl49KglTS8dk6ZkIjPLZFFkTd0sAQZuBTAOFURIdZ2mNm-fDTO34_xd5AL7P0gEuuJP1FwlH3Sf7A8VVS8xp-g5JDunVXwxxJm-UbmEHKgUs2Xh182A/s16000/129304_0417CW---Classic-Kit---Leyden-jar-drawing.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">In March
2017, Elon Musk, chairman of Tesla, flamboyantly proposed a solution to South
Australia’s chronic power shortages in the ever-worsening summer heat. He would
meet peak electricity demand by building a wall of batteries capable of storing
up to 100 MWh of electricity; and it would be operational in 100 days or he
would give it away for free. The news was just the latest indication of how
spectacularly the economics of electricity storage have shifted in recent
years. Yet the problem of storage takes us right back to the earliest days of
electrical discovery, when a semi-accidental discovery by a gentleman scientist
set the world on the road toward an electrical future.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Ewald
von Kleist was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The von Kleists were one
of the more prominent noble families in the Prussian aristocracy, which for
generations would supply high ranking administrators and military officers for
the state – almost all of them called Ewald. Little is known of his childhood,
but he went to university in Leiden, Netherlands in the 1720s where he studied
law and theology. But while he would later become dean of the cathedral chapter
in Kamień Pomorski, Poland, he also seems to have fallen under the spell of
Willem ’s Gravesande, who introduced Isaac Newton’s work to the Netherlands and
quantified the idea of kinetic energy, and Jean-Nicolas-Sebastien Allamand, his
Swiss–Dutch pupil. When von Kleist returned home to Pomerania he took up
science as a hobby, a common pastime for educated gentlemen of the day.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">The 18th
century was the age of weird electrical phenomena. Building on the century-old
observation that objects could be charged simply rubbing one against another,
all kinds of electrical ‘machines’ had been built. Wonderful demonstrations
were devised. Among the most famous was Stephen Gray’s ‘The Flying Boy’, in
which a small child was suspended by silk threads and then charged up, giving
off spectacularly amusing sparks to anyone who approached. Among the masters of
the public demonstration was Georg Matthias Bose (no connexion with Satyendra
Nath Bose who developed the quantum mechanics of even spin particles in the
20th century), whose demonstrations were particularly flamboyant and piquant –
in the ‘Electric Venus’ an attractive young woman was made to stand on a disc
of insulating resin and charged up. Men in the audience were then invited to
come up and kiss her, only to receive a nasty shock on the lips. Then, with the
lights in the room extinguished, Bose would charge up a volunteer or assistant
dressed in a suit of medieval armour equipped with sharp spikes. As the voltage
rose, a blue-violet corona discharge could be seen in the darkness, a ghostly
effect effect that Bose called ‘beatification’.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">But
among the japes there was real science. Bose showed that electrical conductors
could become charged provided they were insulated from the ground using
suitable material. He ‘electrified’ water in a drinking glass, and drew sparks
from it using a finger or, more theatrically, with a sword. It presented a
contradiction: fire could somehow pass through water. In public, Bose
heightened the drama by setting fire to alcohol using a spark.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">His
demonstration experiments caused a sensation. Von Kleist, who had an electrical
machine of his own, probably wondered whether the electricity could not be
stored in the liquid itself. On 15 October 1745 he filled a small medicine
bottle with alcohol or water and stoppered it, having hammered a nail through
the cork to allow the electricity to reach the liquid. He then touched the nail
to his machine. In the dim evening light he noticed a ‘pencil of fire’ around
the nail, which lasted while he walked 60 paces around the room holding the
bottle. When he touched it with his finger he received a massive electrical
shock that stunned his arm and shoulder – enough to make von Kleist extremely
wary of his bottle.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Astonished
by his discovery, he wrote to several academics in Berlin, Hallé, Leipzig and
Gdánsk, all of whom failed to reproduce the effect. He may also have written to
university friends in Leiden, because four months later the university’s
professor of physics Pieter van Musschenbroek reported an almost identical
experiment in letters to the French scientist René de Réaumur. Arguments have
swirled among historians about how the Leiden experiment came about. It is
known that a lawyer Andreas Cunaeus, who spent his spare time with van
Musschenbroek and Allamand, was involved and he is generally agreed to have
received the first major jolt in Leiden.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Were the
three aware of von Kleist’s work? Van Musschenbroek has been dismissed by
historians as an indifferent electrical experimenter, tending to spend more
time repeating others’ work carefully than on embarking on anything new. We may
never know the precise sequence, but the uncertainty over priority has led to
the gradual disappearance of the term Kleistian, to be replaced by the more
generic Leyden (Leiden) jar – a term coined by French scientist Jean-Antoine
Nollet, who translated van Musschenbroek’s work.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUM5xzrIg7oitTgLXWWeODCq8EBWJ2w9hn6JAh_1DHfLToHZb_OvQHbpOQTaxm8v2Om6PcKKu3jpIsUe3fsFrvqm9OFT-FDCZ-a6gkiFC2QkPFo2-d1sezYFqcWwovu-9jFFkF3Nt-ZWdlDbGlgEE2GYavfhnddNSvk6JJkrX0vZegtx8X4DPJP_B7xY/s604/129303_C0264636-Pieter_van_Musschenbroek_Dutch_scientist-SPL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUM5xzrIg7oitTgLXWWeODCq8EBWJ2w9hn6JAh_1DHfLToHZb_OvQHbpOQTaxm8v2Om6PcKKu3jpIsUe3fsFrvqm9OFT-FDCZ-a6gkiFC2QkPFo2-d1sezYFqcWwovu-9jFFkF3Nt-ZWdlDbGlgEE2GYavfhnddNSvk6JJkrX0vZegtx8X4DPJP_B7xY/s16000/129303_C0264636-Pieter_van_Musschenbroek_Dutch_scientist-SPL.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Von
Kleist died less than three years after his discovery, probably oblivious to
its significance. The ability to store charge opened up new possibilities in
the study of electrical phenomena. Metallic coatings on the inside and outside
of the jar improved its performance, but American scientist Benjamin Franklin
in particular showed that the charge was stored on the glass rather than the
metal. He also began to link them in series (‘in cascade’) to make a battery of
Leyden jars. In Bologna, Luigi Galvani used the jars to make dead frogs twitch
and likened electric eels to biological Leyden jars; Alessandro Volta
(Chemistry World, June 2011, p58) used them to demolish Galvani’s speculations.
Kleist has also been referred to, rather improbably, as ‘the father of the
telegraph’ due to the role Leyden jars played in its development.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Perhaps
there is some irony that, while today there has never been a greater need to
store electricity, the first scientific studies of electricity were made
possible by a reliable storage device. There really is nothing new under the
sun.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">Von
Kleist's jar. By Andrea Sella. <a href="https://www.chemistryworld.com/opinion/von-kleists-jar/3007007.article">Chemistry World</a>, March 28, 2017. </span></span></div>
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmOcLrE5ITSiFfJCBbluJjefu5RZ5fxkrmTTM8YdGSmuuGVsFSNcmdTxjanCurOtB8Na31RUwkOUy4ILq2hWlzYbaSf2Tqt-2yGXgEouyFf3C8Ups2cpr_mnLWtGKVvFhdmZYt-N-W9vfwR6PcWU8-AgbvJCawnf7aXkwR9SrKpPJfmeigLpNTWJ0Yr4/s609/bose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmOcLrE5ITSiFfJCBbluJjefu5RZ5fxkrmTTM8YdGSmuuGVsFSNcmdTxjanCurOtB8Na31RUwkOUy4ILq2hWlzYbaSf2Tqt-2yGXgEouyFf3C8Ups2cpr_mnLWtGKVvFhdmZYt-N-W9vfwR6PcWU8-AgbvJCawnf7aXkwR9SrKpPJfmeigLpNTWJ0Yr4/s16000/bose.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB">In 1737,
a poet/physicist at the University of Leipzig, Georg Matthias Bose, became
enthalled with the electrical experiments of Hauksbee, Shilling and Dufay.
After constucting a static electric generator (little more than a rotating
glass sphere with a friction rubber of fur and a brass conductor), he proceded
to conduct demonstrations such as the electrical kiss (Venus electrificata, the
attempted osculation of an electrified young lady) and his pièce de résistance,
Beatification.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">His
poetic nature enabled him to describe the process of Beatification in such
woolly terms, that he had the monopoly on the demo. No-one could replicate his
production of a halo hovering above the cranium. It was trickery, in so much as
it required an evacuated crown to be worn, with a highly electrified conductor
above that. Rackstrow managed to replicate the process in 1748, as shown in the
engraving above. However, the controversy raged for many years....<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlbnQzzbuX3QZvl9FLupzOV4hqyn-KgdNgnx2GiROB5i5wn8lle4QyruArz7D-JwUoEiq36XAesf0XmKkbZuAhFK2qEzvlwfxHCyNhwIIERynldJ8HgM-jjJZhjmbkCikLNOwe_aD5La77l54ihNw2Fsb78RWnNgkVUgvmol_UfNbZ5_B6l175JRwSUc/s547/content.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlbnQzzbuX3QZvl9FLupzOV4hqyn-KgdNgnx2GiROB5i5wn8lle4QyruArz7D-JwUoEiq36XAesf0XmKkbZuAhFK2qEzvlwfxHCyNhwIIERynldJ8HgM-jjJZhjmbkCikLNOwe_aD5La77l54ihNw2Fsb78RWnNgkVUgvmol_UfNbZ5_B6l175JRwSUc/s16000/content.png" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGtmmjiwsOFarRQn7PBPN1OOgaSYxFTU3AWgrY998Bqv2Hh5mexkHfynE-ggRlL86MKObm9w6eiP-sCbYd-EykGb-bQHFDtAXxc8g1zZZJXJzMkDIGIid7jUw9INur55ezpZmanzlkU2WOVFrGSDOr7Dmm4ZJrkZ2JwsyaykoxlekvaJHx7KCXt_6bSY/s553/content2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGtmmjiwsOFarRQn7PBPN1OOgaSYxFTU3AWgrY998Bqv2Hh5mexkHfynE-ggRlL86MKObm9w6eiP-sCbYd-EykGb-bQHFDtAXxc8g1zZZJXJzMkDIGIid7jUw9INur55ezpZmanzlkU2WOVFrGSDOr7Dmm4ZJrkZ2JwsyaykoxlekvaJHx7KCXt_6bSY/s16000/content2.png" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBjJ5cnISZLPp2lf56fvYkmWb6MDWZiB6f50kJp2P9ZCGHHNMn7FbnthNC0hym6raox1ebcmoAJZhWd_CDcrgjBfpNBNdF7Rz2vYZEiHUPcpWghzguZ98lQUZTvadSdm-8n62WFBmvDqucj72vouhbtKUy8YQE0qgSBGYu00SpAgrAwcp9qI-Zzd_z9E/s555/content3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBjJ5cnISZLPp2lf56fvYkmWb6MDWZiB6f50kJp2P9ZCGHHNMn7FbnthNC0hym6raox1ebcmoAJZhWd_CDcrgjBfpNBNdF7Rz2vYZEiHUPcpWghzguZ98lQUZTvadSdm-8n62WFBmvDqucj72vouhbtKUy8YQE0qgSBGYu00SpAgrAwcp9qI-Zzd_z9E/s16000/content3.png" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MGyXs3tByU_ppaqTJcoYGuJEPH8d-J-yjTZS0FrlR-BfB4TOepaZPkpRVKK_cog3WdXXJKhyphenhyphenqaGflAqufY1KkgRoWvx7ddV8YQANVLnFhaJalEuv0NQl50bs7rkDEwyVTzZpyxHd9Nj2mFQsmonpRYIXGAgxA5rhAUK9s8hzvoE_x3csNIGjoH6HYF8/s391/content4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MGyXs3tByU_ppaqTJcoYGuJEPH8d-J-yjTZS0FrlR-BfB4TOepaZPkpRVKK_cog3WdXXJKhyphenhyphenqaGflAqufY1KkgRoWvx7ddV8YQANVLnFhaJalEuv0NQl50bs7rkDEwyVTzZpyxHd9Nj2mFQsmonpRYIXGAgxA5rhAUK9s8hzvoE_x3csNIGjoH6HYF8/s16000/content4.png" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfSOn-safAOXH1bKFw2IR6SBuW-Z5tWPUKUsa36MX3BPEb9F21LrnK0a-lZPlnQYBlkaduKrPjwFJ8w33OGtALItj2U6n1t76b_3F_ma8c0BBVgHUnBEKtHFe2Yd4SQvqnZV1QrrN-RvbDCgqWFwcoqTiuh3dI5xLW4TMB5RvtW4kHgRx9a6cW_9kAgU/s596/content5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfSOn-safAOXH1bKFw2IR6SBuW-Z5tWPUKUsa36MX3BPEb9F21LrnK0a-lZPlnQYBlkaduKrPjwFJ8w33OGtALItj2U6n1t76b_3F_ma8c0BBVgHUnBEKtHFe2Yd4SQvqnZV1QrrN-RvbDCgqWFwcoqTiuh3dI5xLW4TMB5RvtW4kHgRx9a6cW_9kAgU/s16000/content5.png" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /><br /><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The High
Voltage Beatification of Professor Bose at Wittenburg. <a href="http://lateralscience.blogspot.com/2015/11/the-high-voltage-beatification-of.html">Lateral Science Blog</a>, November 23, 2015. </span></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEituE_EbxYsTNQ1PfIGW-cYlYaDh5DSCxhpR939sOKsam3j7DWIrtBmIYs5EWHFRi4xjQ8SW108ypSVPhKm6VoIl-Rh8aYI3uEEReDmeVOL7ezmfbQqNUCloPzYOcvXgpwHuUeTBE2Di2CrymrGvaOGF2KNYXuEHKy-KE2VWiZeJ9wkwtWYaQV-VG_qSBA/s600/Anonymous-hand-coloured-drawing-showing-experiments-with-the-Lyeden-jar.-Courtesy-of-the-Bakken-Library-and-Museum-for-Electricity-in-Life..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEituE_EbxYsTNQ1PfIGW-cYlYaDh5DSCxhpR939sOKsam3j7DWIrtBmIYs5EWHFRi4xjQ8SW108ypSVPhKm6VoIl-Rh8aYI3uEEReDmeVOL7ezmfbQqNUCloPzYOcvXgpwHuUeTBE2Di2CrymrGvaOGF2KNYXuEHKy-KE2VWiZeJ9wkwtWYaQV-VG_qSBA/s16000/Anonymous-hand-coloured-drawing-showing-experiments-with-the-Lyeden-jar.-Courtesy-of-the-Bakken-Library-and-Museum-for-Electricity-in-Life..jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Electricity
was the craze of the eighteenth century. Thrilling experiments became forms of
polite entertainment for ladies and gentlemen who enjoyed feeling sparks, shocks
and attractions on their bodies. Popular lecturers designed demonstrations that
were performed in darkened salons to increase the spectacle of the so-called electric
fire. Not only did the action, the machinery and<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">the
ambience of such displays match the culture of the libertine century, it also
provided new material for erotic literature.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>Electric
party</i><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘A
turkey is to be killed for dinner by the electric shock, and roasted by the
electric jack, before a fire<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">kindled
by the electrified bottle; when the healths of all the famous electricians of
England, France, Holland, and Germany, are to be drunk in electrified bumpers,
under the discharge of guns from the electrical battery .’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This
description of an electrical party, penned by Benjamin Franklin in 1749,
humorously captures the eighteenth-century craze for everything electric. In
the age of Enlightenment, electricity was one of the most promising branches of
experimental philosophy as well as one of the most requested forms of polite
entertainment. Aristocratic ladies and gentlemen delighted in experimenting
with the<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">newly
discovered powers of the ‘electric fire’. In darkened salons demonstrators
choreographed simple electrical phenomena – such as attractions, sparks and
shocks – so as to turn them into interactive performances that involved the
audience and that appealed to the culture of the libertine century.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>The new
science of the Enlightenment</i><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Although
the etymology of the word electricity testifies to the fact that the attractive
properties of rubbed amber (elektron in Greek) had been known since antiquity,
at the time Franklin wrote, electricity was still regarded as a young science.
In 1767, almost two decades later, his friend<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">and
chemist Joseph Priestley termed it the ‘youngest daughter of the sciences’ .
Indeed, it was in the age of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enlightenment
that electricity gained prominence both in the academic world and in the public
sphere. Starting from the 1740s, learned audiences in Europe and North America became
familiar with a natural power as disruptive as lightning and as enchanting as
the aurora borealis, a<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">phenomenon
that also promised sensational new therapies.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Itinerant
lecturers toured capitals and provinces with their portable electrical
apparatus, offering dramatic demonstrations of the laws effects of the
‘electric fire’ in public squares and aristocratic salons. Their activity made electricity
one of the most discussed topics of polite conversations, with the media of the
time extolling instruments and inventors. As early as 1745 readers of the<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gentleman’s
Magazine would learn of the ‘wonderful discoveries’ recently made in the field,
‘so surprising as to awaken the indolent curiosity of the public’. Not only the
literate, but even ‘ladies and people of quality, who never regard natural
philosophy but when it works miracles’,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">became
interested in electrical effects: ‘princes were willing to see this new fire
which a man produced from himself, and which did not descend from heaven’ .<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Electrical
phenomena as simple as attractions and repulsions between charged bodies were
choreographed to keep audiences from boredom. Spectators could feel on their
own bodies the effects of electricity: if properly connected to the electrical
machine they could see their<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">hair
raise or their hands attract small pieces of paper. Several instruments
especially designed for scientific soirees contributed to make a spectacle of
electricity (Figure 1). Instrument-makers exploited what we now know as
electrostatic induction to make paper puppets dance or metallic bells ring,
whereas the livid light of electrical sparks was displayed in the dark in order
to increase theatricality. Spectators could so admire spirals of sparks
appearing inside glass tubes, luminescent images flashing onto wooden boards,
suggestive bluish or greenish glows filling<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">exhausted
glass vessels.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1746 the introduction of the Leyden jar
(what is now called a cylindrical condenser) enhanced the dramatic character of
electric demonstrations by allowing storage of the electric fire and its sudden
release as shocks or sparks. The instrument contributed to the design of new fashionable,
though somewhat shocking, experiments. By touching the jar’s inside and outside
coating with both<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">hands,
it was possible to provoke an instantaneous electric discharge through one’s
body. The ‘Leyden experiment’, as this phenomenon was known from the name of
the town where it was first discovered, aroused great curiosity. As Franklin
declared, for a number of ingenious lecturers who<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">showed
it for money, it meant ‘meat, drink and clothing’. The French instrument-maker
and public demonstrator Jean Antoine Nollet made the Leyden experiment
collective by forming chains of people holding hands: they would be shocked
simultaneously as the first and the last person<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">in the
circle touched the inside and the outside coating of the jar (Figure 2).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>Useful
electricity</i><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Along
with the Leyden jar, another innovation brought electricity to the fore of
learned discussions and public interest: medical electricity. The therapeutic
virtues of electricity remained a debated issue throughout the century, nonetheless
patients were receptive towards the possibility<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">that the
newly discovered electric fire might also be a healing agent. Equipped with the
most up-to-date electrical instruments, performers readily included ‘medical’
electricity in their repertoire of theatrical demonstrations, offering to
administer shocks and sparks for therapeutic purposes in<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">the
course of their performances.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If
utility was a keyword of the Enlightenment, electricity was definitely an enlightened
science. Its useful applications were not limited to innovative therapy. As it
is well-known, Benjamin Franklin was a fervent advocate of lightning rods,
grounded metallic conductors that were employed for preventing buildings and
people from the dire effects of lightning. Franklin based his promotion of
lightning rods on his own theory of electricity, according to which the
movement of the electric fire was responsible for several disruptive phenomena,
both in the atmosphere and in the<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">bowels
of the earth. As Priestley made clear in his History and Present State of
Electricity, by the second half of the eighteenth century electricity was
regarded as a natural agent that could account for several disruptive ‘unusual appearances’.
Not only lightning, but also earthquakes, whirlpools and whirlwinds were
explained in terms of the motion of the electric fire. Several instruments
helped<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">demonstrators
illustrate the implications of Franklin’s theory to the public. Thunder houses
dramatically demonstrated the difference metallic conductors would make in case
lightning struck a building, whereas the ‘aurora flask’ reproduced the aurora
borealis which was regarded as an<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">electrical
phenomenon on a small scale (Figure 3). Such demonstrations contributed to the construction
of an electrical cosmos: health, sickness, thunderstorm, earthquakes<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">and
aurora borealis, all resulted from the motions of the electric fire.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i>Science
in the salon</i><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
quick reception of electrical science in the public sphere was strictly tied to
the ongoing success of experimental philosophy. Public lectures on natural
philosophy, based on experimental demonstrations, were well-established forms
of education and recreation in the mid-eighteenth century . Newtonian natural
philosophy spread widely thanks to the courses that itinerant lecturers<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">offered
to paying audiences. Educated ladies and gentlemen delighted in experimenting
on the natural world and the conversations they hosted in their salons – which
can be regarded as one of the cultural spaces of the Enlightenment – often
focused on scientific subjects. Instruments<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">such as
the orrery (or planetarium), the air pump, microscopes and telescopes, were
familiar items not only for the learned but also for the polite. As icons of
natural knowledge, they were included in gentlemanly collections of curiosities
and rarities, or exhibited in especially dedicated physics cabinets. As
electrical experiments gained the attention of the public, lecturers readily
included the<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">new
science in their repertoire of demonstrations while instrument makers promptly
added electrical instruments in their sales catalogues.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Electrical
phenomena, on their part, lent themselves particularly well to the culture of
public performances, which blended spectacle and education. In darkened salons electrical
performers staged a repertoire of sparks and attractions that exhilarated their
audiences. The electric<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">fire
revealed itself to the eyes, the ears and even the nose: its livid light was
accompanied by a crackling noise and left a distinctive sulphurous smell.
Audiences in search of entertainment and education were particularly impressed by
the sensuous experience of the electric fire. Electrical<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">soirees
never failed to satisfy such expectation.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In 1730
Stephen Gray, a Fellow of the Royal Society of London, conceived an experiment
that demonstrated the ability of the human body to conduct electricity. The
socalled ‘flying-boy experiment’ became one of the most popular demonstrations
that made the fortune of itinerant<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">performers
throughout Europe. Suspended by silk cords, a young boy was connected to a
friction generator by his feet: by this means his hands could attract small
pieces of papers.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In the
course of the century several variations were proposed: the boy’s electrified
hands turned the pages of a book, or transmitted the electric fire to a young
girl who would attract light objects herself. Nollet involved the ladies in the
audience: as they approached their fingers to the boy’s nose a big spark could
be seen and heard (Figure 4).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
inclusion of the human body in electrical demonstrations increased their
spectacularity and the curiosity they aroused among polite society. With the
armoury of attractions, repulsions, sparks and shocks, itinerant demonstrators
could be certain of success.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiajTnL1M1mwuC7n3GEEfrBzdJXf1nSY05IL7msGoLbEDbbx7tN9lqMy0v9brYwMRdF-7iSE5kLlxpmf5DKjNUvLi6cA8BeU_RoitTCoRgK0KNv4WRtWxUg_qHhZxY9ezv2dhkj4xvC9AoFQh7A7O1PNfm5L2es9oWVaYdnapTz3LdDlwOC0eEVTh1ppiU/s600/Electric_Boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiajTnL1M1mwuC7n3GEEfrBzdJXf1nSY05IL7msGoLbEDbbx7tN9lqMy0v9brYwMRdF-7iSE5kLlxpmf5DKjNUvLi6cA8BeU_RoitTCoRgK0KNv4WRtWxUg_qHhZxY9ezv2dhkj4xvC9AoFQh7A7O1PNfm5L2es9oWVaYdnapTz3LdDlwOC0eEVTh1ppiU/s16000/Electric_Boy.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bodily attractions</i><br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Women
became essential protagonists of electrical soirees. Electrical performances
staged in courts and salons counted on their active participation and played
with sexual difference. Although both men and women could experience the
electric fire with their bodies, they would tackle it in different ways. The
most common electrical experiments provide a glimpse into the different roles salon
culture codified for ladies and gentlemen. One of the most popular
demonstrations of the time was the electrifying Venus, or electric kiss.
Invented by the German professor Georg Matthias Bose, it was soon replicated throughout
Europe. The experiment was simple to organize. The selected lady would stand on
an insulated stool while an operator charged her body with an electrical machine.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gentlemen in the audience would then be
invited to kiss her, but alas, as they tried to approach her lips a strong
spark would discourage any attempt, while exhilarating the lady and the rest of
the audience. The Gentleman’s Magazine celebrated Bose’s invention:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Could one believe that a lady’s finger,
that her whalebone petticoat, should send forth flashes of true lightening, and
that such charming lips could set on fire a house? The ladies were sensible of
this new privilege of kindling fires without any poetical figure, or hyperbole,
and resorted from all parts to the public lectures of natural philosophy, which
by that means became brilliant assemblies.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Bose, by
contrast, deliberately used ‘poetical figures’ as a way of ingratiating members
of the opposite sex, especially if there was a chance aristocratic ladies might
offer him patronage. One of the most active electricians of the mid-eighteenth
century, he wrote a poem on electricity<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">that he
dedicated to the princess of Gotha and to the duchess of Brühl-Collowrath, who
enjoyed attending his electric demonstrations. In his verses there was of
course a reference to his attempt to kiss an electrifying Venus:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Once only, what temerity!<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I kissed
Venus standing on pitch.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It
pained me to the quick. My lips trembled<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My mouth
quivered, my teeth almost broke.’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Bose
contributed substantially to making the repertoire of electric demonstrations
spicier. If his electrifying Venus gratified ladies, the defeated men could
exhibit their virility by ‘inflaming spirits’ with electrified swords (Figure
5). Bose also allowed gentlemen to show more spiritual tendencies by undergoing
‘beatification’: the volunteer sat on an armchair and, thanks to a device that
resulted<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">invisible
in the dark, after a few minutes a luminous halo would appear above his head
(Figure 6).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Bose did
not limit his creativity to experiment. Convinced as he was that academic prose
would never capture the imagination of the public he wished to attract, he
worked at changing the vocabulary of electricity so as to adapt it to the libertine
century. In his poem on electricity he presented an<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">innovative
explanation of electrical phenomena based, not by chance, on the distinction
between ‘male’ and ‘female’ electric fire. The male fire, emitted by metals and
animal bodies, was unsurprisingly strong and powerful: sparks, with their
crackling sound, were visible manifestations of<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">this
kind of fire. The female fire, instead, was a weak luminous emanation, the kind
of light that characterized the aurora borealis.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Although
Bose’s theory was short-lived, his vision of electricity as a bridge between
experimental and erotic culture continued throughout the century. In fact, both
the machinery and the gesture of electrical experiment inspired pornographic
satirists. The vocabulary of friction, attraction, sparks and flames lent
itself particularly well to verses that defeated prudery:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘What
makes our first felicity,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But this
pure electricity,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Divested
of all fiction:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Motion
makes heat, and heat makes love,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Creatures
below, and things above,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Are all
produc’d by friction’<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Such
satirical poems drew freely from the allusions so obviously offered by
electrical instrumentation. The globes of the electrical machines, caressed by
the operators’ hands<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">in order
to produce electric fire, became the subject of another poem:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Each
charm, by turns, reveal’d, must fuel prove,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">To feed
the gentle, lambent flame of love,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But most
the beauties of the Bosom please,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nor any
female charm can vie with these!<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
tempting seat of all that’s sweet and fair,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For
Nature’s Electricity is there! ‘<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">At the
end of the century the discovery of animal electricity provided new sources of
inspiration for such kind of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>literature.
If the marquis De Sade suggested that the electric eel (or gymnotus electricus)
could be employed as an instrument for sexual torture, other authors believed<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">that the
power of conducting the electric fire was strictly related to virility. Their
opinion was supported by the contemporary rumour that the Leyden experiment did
not work on the castrati. The connection between electricity and
virility/fertility stood at the core of the Temple of<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Health
and Hymen, the London extravaganza of a medicoelectrical quack, George Graham.
Among the many prodigious cures electricity afforded in the Temple, the most requested
was the Celestial Bed, a gigantic bed surrounded by electric vapours that – he
claimed – helped couples fight<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">against
barrenness.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When
Franklin described his electric lunch, experimental apparatus was common enough
for learned readers to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>get the hilarity
of his statement. Electrification of everyday life was still to come, yet
excitement about the new science<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of the
Enlightenment was widespread, in academies and<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">salons.
Electricity became the craze of the eighteenth century thanks to the thrilling
demonstrations choreographed by lecturers and demonstrators that explained the
role of the electric fire in the natural world with an eye to the tastes of
their audiences. The instrument trade, the marketing of cultural products, the
sociability of electrical experiments, all played a crucial role in spreading
interest in the ‘youngest daughter of the sciences’.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">References<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sparks in
the dark: the attraction of electricity in the eighteenth century / By<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paola Bertucci. <a href="https://hshm.yale.edu/sites/default/files/files/Bertucci%20Endeavour.pdf">Endeavour</a> , nr. 1, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>September 2007</span></div><p>
<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-29002942830584303222023-11-17T13:20:00.002+00:002023-11-17T13:20:37.845+00:00Ahead Of Her Time, Empress Elisabeth of Austria<div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfFF-DReY3jzqi_xDalZF-W37BeZa7kExsfJ-TYQPG1fn0JZMXENQNLMvwqw1yHHLctBQykbLcRgL7-NzCmXg9qMt-C6dE_fTGHV646ZimyHox7O9zjcm7Bp90jnFPPyQVVT_ESPy0PrIuVm23fWsA8mFAGsvIDbaD6BiiIZMkukt8S_ZIB1zYqCmz5c/s976/elisabeth001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfFF-DReY3jzqi_xDalZF-W37BeZa7kExsfJ-TYQPG1fn0JZMXENQNLMvwqw1yHHLctBQykbLcRgL7-NzCmXg9qMt-C6dE_fTGHV646ZimyHox7O9zjcm7Bp90jnFPPyQVVT_ESPy0PrIuVm23fWsA8mFAGsvIDbaD6BiiIZMkukt8S_ZIB1zYqCmz5c/s16000/elisabeth001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">At 28, The
age when the most famous portrait of her was painted, Empress Elisabeth of
Austria was the rare royal who looked in life like the fairytale version. Her
portrait, by Franz Xaver Winterhalter, is one half of a pair of portraits, the
other depicting her husband, Emperor Franz Joseph. She is dressed in diaphanous
white, her shoulders bare, her skirts voluminous; there is a fan in her hand
and her famous diamond stars in her famous hair. When their portraits are hung
side by side, Franz Joseph is looking at Elisabeth. Elisabeth is looking at the
viewer. Empress Eugénie of France called her “the loveliest crowned head in
Europe,” and Franz Liszt called her “a celestial vision.” She was little loved
among the palace ladies, but even one of her harshest critics had to admit that
she was “almost supernaturally lovely.” Biographies give the distinct
impression that every man she met fell instantly and irrevocably in love.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Elisabeth
was fanatical about her beauty, her crown jewel carefully guarded. She was
famous for her waist, a tight-laced 19 inches; her hair, which reached nearly
to the floor; and her weight, which, until her death, fluctuated from just
under 100 pounds to just over 110, always far too slight for a woman of her
height. The tight lacing of her corset took an hour, and washing her hair in
raw egg and brandy took up to three hours once a month. She had a language
teacher with her to occupy this time, and she counted the hairs that had fallen
from her head when it was done.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Her
niece, Marie Larisch-Wallersee, wrote in her memoirs that her aunt’s “life’s
task was to keep young, and she was always thinking about the best methods by
which she could preserve her beauty.” She slept, sometimes, in a mask lined
with raw veal and her body wrapped in wet towels to keep her waist small. When
they were in season, she smeared her face with strawberries. “The Empress,”
Marie Wallersee wrote, “took warm baths of olive oil, which she believed helped
to preserve the suppleness of her figure, but on one occasion the oil was
nearly boiling and she narrowly escaped the horrible death associated with many
Christian martyrs.” She was perpetually starving to maintain her famous waist.
Her mother worried that starving was “becoming an obsession,” and her husband
wrote to her often to express his concern about “this terrible dieting,” his
worry that she was becoming “too thin.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">No one
knows, now, what she looked like in middle age, or older. At 38, 10 years after
her famous portrait was painted, and at 48, at 58, for all intents and
purposes, she was as beautiful as ever. Beginning in her thirties, she refused
to be photographed, and later portraits of her are copied from earlier ones.
The last artistic rendering she sat for was a sculpture, when she was 42. She
lived to age 60, but there is a strange feeling almost as if she had died
earlier. She created an image of herself as forever young and forever
beautiful, an image adored in Austria and enshrined on commemorative cups and
celluloid.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She left
behind a kind of anorexic archive. In his 2010 book So Much Wasted: Hunger,
Performance, and the Morbidity of Resistance, Patrick Anderson writes that anorexia
is “an archival project of undoing and becoming,” a kind of Derridian archive
fever. Just as Derrida, in his 1995 book Archive Fever, asserts that “[t]he
archive always works, a priori, against itself,” Anderson argues that anorexia
is “[l]ikewise oriented both as and against its own preservation.”
“[A]norexia,” he writes, “archives its own compulsive rejections, even as the
anorexic body disappears.” The anorexic body archives its starvation even as it
disappears. So much wasted, so like Elisabeth. One of her ladies-in-waiting,
Marie Festetics, once wrote,<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“She
seems to me like a child in a fairytale. The good fairies came, and each of
them laid a splendid gift in her cradle, beauty, sweetness, grace … dignity,
intelligence and wit. But then came the bad fairy and said “I see that
everything has been given you, but I will turn these qualities against you and
they shall bring you no happiness. […] Even your beauty will bring you nothing
but sorrow.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On the
silver screen and the small one, Elisabeth still reigns—in a perennially
popular film trilogy from the 1950s and, in the last few years alone, in two
popular television shows and a much-lauded movie—always beautiful but always
absent, her story more malleable for the space she left behind. Elisabeth, tied
only loosely to historical memory, can be a Heimatfilm heroine or an
anachronistic feminist. Count Egon Corti, one of Elisabeth’s earliest
biographers, quoted another lady-in-waiting of Elisabeth’s as saying that she
would “live on in legend, not in history.” She made sure of it, enshrining her
image and erasing herself, leaving gaps in the archive that fiction rushed in
to fill—leaving merely, to paraphrase Derrida, her lovely impression.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Elisabeth,
also called Sisi, became Empress at 16. Her husband, Franz Joseph, was supposed
to marry her older sister, but—the story goes—he fell in love with Elisabeth at
first sight. Whether she seduced him, or unknowingly charmed him, or fell for
him too but felt awful about it, varies in the many tellings. She was unpopular
at court and left Vienna often, spending her time and her country’s money on
many trips abroad. The kitschy Sissi trilogy of films from Ernst Marischka cast
a young Romy Schneider as the idealized romantic lead. Franz Joseph, played by
Karlheinz Böhm, is dressed like a Disney prince, and everything is all
saturated Agfacolor. In Germany, the films play every year at Christmas—not
Christmas movies, but movies with a Christmas feeling. And year-round, Sissi is
everywhere in Austria; her face is on cups and postcards and chocolates.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Her
beauty is the core of her legend and in the fiction built out of the remnants
of her history. In life, her beauty was politically powerful, even if her own
role was limited. During a visit to Italy—anti-Habsburg, a wellspring of
revolutionary feeling—early in their marriage, Elisabeth was greeted with
applause. The British Consul said that “Her Majesty’s exquisite beauty, her
grace and affability, have all contributed to win the sympathy and welcome of
the masses,” and her husband reportedly said that her beauty “conquered Italy
better than his soldiers and cannons had been able to do.” The deal to create a
dual monarchy with Hungary, quelling long-simmering Hungarian resentment, is
thought by many historians to be Elisabeth’s doing, as her fondness for the
Hungarians was well known.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This,
her most significant and maybe only real political achievement, was a bargain
built by her beauty: Gyula Andrássy, a central figure on the Hungarian side of
the agreement long rumored to have been Elisabeth’s admirer or even lover,
referred to her as “the beautiful Providence which watches over my country” and
called her “the prize of all womanhood.” Franz, a reactionary who had only
recently violently opposed greater autonomy for Hungary, could hardly say no to
his wife’s beautiful face. Her beauty still has something of this ambassadorial
quality. In nearly every place where she spent time—Madeira, Corfu, Vienna,
Hungary—she is now a tourist attraction, with Sisi tours and events. In her
Romy Schneider incarnation, she is immensely popular in China.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Elisabeth’s
later years and legacy are marked by her efforts both to destroy and to
preserve her image. She spent countless hours of her life in the struggle to be
beautiful; she wanted to make something ephemeral eternal, and, in the end, she
sort of got it. She wanted, it seems, to be seen and known for her beauty and
to disappear, for fear of being found wanting. As she aged, she hid herself
from others’ eyes, retreating behind veils and fans. A police agent assigned to
her for protection on one of her many trips abroad recalled that she made “a
tremendous lot of work for us” because “no one was allowed to look at her.”
Marie Festetics, her lady-in-waiting, wrote that “an aide-de-camp (let alone an
adjutant general) in view is enough to unsheathe all her weapons; out come the
blue veil, the large parasol, the fan, and the next path that turns off the
road is taken.” She sometimes wore an “impenetrable silver-gray gauze veil,”
and sometimes it wasn’t even her behind it all. She once had her hairdresser, a
woman of similar stature, put on her clothes and greet the gathered crowds in a
foreign port, and when she went swimming off the coast of England, she had a
maid, dressed in a matching bathing costume, enter the water at the same time
accompanied by a guard, so the crowds that gathered on the nearby cliffs with
spyglasses to their eyes could never be sure that they were seeing her. Many of
her letters were destroyed, at her request, by a loyal lady-in-waiting; more
were removed from official archives by her daughter after her death. Always,
everywhere one looks for her, Elisabeth is slipping away.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkNpp1zN9KUjOKg5SeCv4J76k-Kz1jXUu0pO4SVf4RtTXXFvvSZUwv1xFCP8F-BN9LGGmi3apHsFmLz57g02oYs4JFbO6IyPEuOofnaGp9Dt3oZ7wAqY3jqrmTJyQD9ocS0qHBTX9CwwYV5lYgjIm-EOtBCsorFaOg8kqUYcjmujMZy_r7f_WrUEcGgU/s943/cover_1724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkNpp1zN9KUjOKg5SeCv4J76k-Kz1jXUu0pO4SVf4RtTXXFvvSZUwv1xFCP8F-BN9LGGmi3apHsFmLz57g02oYs4JFbO6IyPEuOofnaGp9Dt3oZ7wAqY3jqrmTJyQD9ocS0qHBTX9CwwYV5lYgjIm-EOtBCsorFaOg8kqUYcjmujMZy_r7f_WrUEcGgU/s16000/cover_1724.jpg" /></a></div><br /> </o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She is
ubiquitous elsewhere but has been—until, perhaps, recently—relatively unknown
in the United States, where we like our beauty queens homegrown and
Marilyn-miserable. I first came across her, I think—my memory fails—on a
pro-ana website, pink text on a white background, pretty. I only looked, I
never commented. I starved myself for years; sometimes I refused to eat and
sometimes threw up everything I ate. I was obsessed with famous anorexics,
starving girls and Christian mystics. “Anorexia,” Anderson writes, “compels its
own archival drive, beckons us to seek the vicissitudes of its histories,
stimulates a desire to encounter the ghosts of its historical presence.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Elisabeth
was an ancestor of sorts to anorexic girls on the internet, having assembled her
own proto-pro-ana photo book. In 1862, she wrote to her brother, “I am creating
a beauty album, and am now collecting photographs for it, only of women. Any
pretty faces you can muster […] I ask you to send to me.” The same request went
out, to some scandal, to Austrian diplomats in foreign countries. The albums
remain, intact, in the archives.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She left
behind her, too, traces of her body, flesh made text. As Maud Ellman notes in
her 1993 book The Hunger Artists, anorexics have an affinity for writing, record-keeping,
as if “fat is to be transubstantiated into prose.” Elisabeth always had a scale
at hand, and like many an anorexic, she kept careful, compulsive track of her
weight and measurements, writing them down daily. A Count Wilczek once recalled
walking in on Elisabeth and Empress Eugénie of France, who, “with their backs
turned to the door behind which [he] stood […] were busy with two tape
measures, measuring surely the most handsome calves to be found in all of
Europe at the time.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
specifics of her diet and her exercise regimen were recorded by those who knew
her, and later by her biographers, with the same painstaking attention as those
details were recirculated on the anorexic internet. She often refused to come
to dinner, and when she did, she ate “alarmingly little,” as one member of her
entourage, Count von Rechberg, noted. “We too,” he complained, “have to suffer
for this, for the whole meal, consisting of four courses, four desserts, and
coffee, does not last more than twenty-five minutes.” Her diet at times
consisted of milk, orange juice, beef broth, or a mixture of egg whites and
salt, and she sometimes ate violet-flavored ice. Marie Festetics once wrote
that “[s]he is so obsessed with the idea that she is getting stout. I believe
that if I did not insist so often, she would long since have died of
starvation.” For a time, she alternated “milk days” and “orange days,” on which
she would eat nothing else.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Her life
was a study in the constraints and freedoms available to the beautiful and
wealthy; you can only escape to Madeira and Corfu if there’s someone footing
the bill. Beauty is a kind of currency, and she was so beautiful that she could
afford to be unreasonable. At the Hofburg, the primary residence of the royal
family (though Elisabeth, whenever she could help it, was elsewhere), she had a
large gymnasium installed and had gymnastic rings hanging from the ceiling in
her dressing room. At her Hermesvilla, a manor in Vienna far from the crowds at
court, which Franz Joseph had built for her in the vain hope that she might
stay more often close to home, the gymnasium was the finest room of all. When
she traveled, which was often, her exercise routine traveled with her, as did
her cows, to ensure she had the highest-quality milk. She would ride for hours,
as good or better than any man, and she did gymnastics and exercised with
weights each morning and evening. When she went to England to participate in
the hunt, she rented Combermere Abbey in Cheshire; before she arrived, she had
a gym installed. When she gave up riding, she took up fencing and long walks.
She would hike for hours, in any weather.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">These
habits were thought to make her modern—a match for her rumored insider’s
anti-monarchism, her independent streak—but they mostly made her thin.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">These
records of her, weighed and measured, and the recollections by those who knew
of her routines, replace any visual record of her body in later years, when she
effaced herself, erased herself from the archives and nearly from life.
(Self-starvation, Anderson writes, enacts “the continuous disappearance of the
live.”)<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I have
my own starving archives; I still find, sometimes, in my bedroom at my parents’
house, notebooks with scribbled-down lists of calories eaten and burned, whole
days when I know what I ate, what I weighed, how I moved, and what I measured.
The first summer I starved myself, I ate only grapes and air-popped popcorn,
women’s magazine snacks, descendants of Elisabeth’s oranges and milk. “One
wonders,” Ellman writes, “what historians a hundred years from now will make of
this new genre, these interminable inventories of the alimentary canal where
dieters immortalize their every snack.” There is a kind of perverse pleasure in
the genre, she suggests—in the way it ostensibly operationalizes writing as
restraint when, at the same time, “one could also argue that they eat in order
to keep writing, since every stolen morsel represents the pretext for a further
composition. What is more, their words preserve their food for future delectation,
deep-frozen or freeze-dried upon the page.” Anorexia, she writes, has “provoked
this orgy of verbosity”—it creates an urge to archive.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Derrida
asserts that the archive begins right as memory starts to disintegrate. I
starved myself for years, consuming coffee and carrots; any meal I couldn’t
refuse I could refuse to keep down. I remember little of it—some bad decisions,
some binges, some nights on the bathroom floor with a book. Every so often, I
search “eating disorder memory loss” online and turn up studies on the many
memory disturbances found in those with eating disorders, including, most
severely, some in which researchers have identified Wernicke-Korsakoff
syndrome—a rare disorder characterized by extreme memory loss—in some cases of
anorexia. Anderson writes that “[w]hat some clinicians summarize as a
‘disorientation in place and time,’ this disintegration of the function of
memory enacts an almost literal incarnation of Derrida’s archive fever as
simultaneous destruction and preservation.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
Sissi films, by far the most popular portrayal of Elisabeth, give her fairytale
face a fairytale story. She has a husband who loves her and subjects who adore
her; she is always full of hope. They end with Elisabeth in her thirties. A
fourth film was planned, but Schneider—as eager to distance herself from the
image of Elisabeth as Elisabeth was herself—refused to participate, lending the
movies a kind of metarealism. But while Schneider’s Sissi is the prototypical
portrayal of Elisabeth, it is far from the only one. She has been the subject
of novels and made-for-TV movies, and, in the last few years alone, the recent
Netflix series The Empress, the German television channel RTL’s show Sisi, and
the movie Corsage.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
Empress and Sisi both wear history lightly: both protagonists are gorgeous
girlbosses with hearts of gold. In the former, Franz Joseph is well intentioned
and kind, and the plot centers on a (fictional) attempted coup by his brother;
in the latter, Franz Joseph is probably evil but in a sexy way, and the plot
centers around a rebel plot to kill him (fictional in the specifics, though a
Hungarian nationalist did attempt to assassinate him before he married
Elisabeth). In both, as in the Sissi movies, Elisabeth’s beauty is a given, a
gift: her starving, if mentioned, is the brief result of her occasional grief,
while her love of riding and walking are signs of her independence or her
naturalness, not her obsessiveness.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWLA7QzcSCRWtC4Coq-ols-KDmfYiSxagAa7tdt71GeIzWvmv75GdDZwhaYk2Nf-1h-KzFvKfg5375U3_R272H72j4m_kEXkeKhvXoH9qIJxfwuvAGV_0iQXf4f0jrezFl0ZnDhJgWecqPoq-QnexvubUV3pSQxBC0WPOAjuDyCG6csQZUejHpDaViGY/s600/i-102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWLA7QzcSCRWtC4Coq-ols-KDmfYiSxagAa7tdt71GeIzWvmv75GdDZwhaYk2Nf-1h-KzFvKfg5375U3_R272H72j4m_kEXkeKhvXoH9qIJxfwuvAGV_0iQXf4f0jrezFl0ZnDhJgWecqPoq-QnexvubUV3pSQxBC0WPOAjuDyCG6csQZUejHpDaViGY/s16000/i-102.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Corsage,
however, is a rare depiction of Elisabeth in middle age, and takes her eating
disorder as a primary concern. From the moment the movie starts, Elisabeth,
played by Vicky Krieps—her face cold, the skin barely concealing the
contemptuous muscles of her jaw—is being weighed and measured, surrounded by
dumbbells and gymnastics equipment. At her birthday party, the guests sing a
song with the refrain “Beautiful may she remain” when the cake comes out.
Elisabeth refuses to eat. The movie is not a historical drama so much as an
archival one, its purposeful anachronisms emblematic of the gaps in history.
While she is in her brocaded rooms, her husband stands waiting outside in a
bare concrete hallway lined with stacks of chairs, looking less like a room in
a castle than a staging area.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Krieps—who
previously, in 2018’s Phantom Thread, acted out intense desire born of or
enabled by unyielding hunger, exacting standards, and disturbing illness—plays
Elisabeth not as frigid, exactly, despite what so many biographers want to
insist. To be hungry all the time is, after all, to be constantly wanting—and
what she wants is to be wanted. The Sissi movies, of course, are all romance
and no sex, the recent TV shows sexy, soap-soaked, and silly. In Corsage, it
seems that Elisabeth gets off on her beauty, or on the recognition of it. When
she is in England, her riding companion, Bay Middleton (a man as obviously in
love with her in the movie as he was rumored to be in life), comes to her, at
her request. She is dressed in only a corset and riding pants. “Do you think
I’m beautiful?” she asks him, with him on his knees in front of her. The camera
shifts from her face to his eyes, and back. He tells her, “You’re sunshine.
You’re the fucking sun.” He moves his hands up her thighs—we watch them watch
each other, close—but then he realizes: “That was all you wanted, wasn’t it?”
She tilts her head, nodding slightly, and replies, “I love to look at you
looking at me.” When he leaves, she makes herself come in the bath.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
another scene, her husband sits on the bed, and she tells him to look at her,
not to stop, while she makes herself come. What she cannot stand is any slight
to her beauty. The emperor, looking at a new portrait of her, one painted from
earlier portraits when she refused to sit, tells her that the painting is
lovely. He means it, but he also means to hurt. “I wonder,” he muses, “how you
managed to look so young.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In the
film’s final third, Elisabeth appears heavily veiled at an event, looking ever
so slightly stouter. The camera shifts; Elisabeth is inside shooting up (the
real-life Elisabeth’s cocaine needle is in an Austrian museum), and the woman
in the veil—her lady-in-waiting, Marie—runs in, unable to breathe through the
lacing of the corset she is wearing. The film’s ending is its most effusive,
sweeping departure from history. Elisabeth cuts off her famous hair and has it
made into a wig. She gorges on candies and instructs Marie, her nascent body
double: “Three orange days a week, clear beef broth in the evening, lean meat
if you want. Nothing more. No potatoes, no bread, no dumplings. And no pastry,
for God’s sake.” Marie begins to be weighed while Elisabeth begins to eat cake,
and at the end, like Edna Pontellier in petticoats, she jumps into the sea,
effacing and replacing herself completely.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Among
on-screen depictions of the empress, only Corsage’s relationship to history is
more melancholic than mythic, interested in dwelling in the spaces left in the
archive instead of skipping over them. Freud, for his part, considered anorexia
a kind of melancholy, though the history of the disease is also bound up with
the history of hysteria. Melancholics and hysterics both, in the words of Caryl
Flinn, are “people who remember too much. Specialists in the past, they are
consummate historians.” Anorexics, consummate historians, chroniclers of their
own disappearance—which is to say, archivists, writing everything down, memory
laced tight through holes.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Corsage
is slow, circling; it repeats Elisabeth’s refusal to eat much at all, her
compulsive exercise. It recognizes what so few accounts of anorexia do, that
anorexia is less a plot than a pattern. Many narratives of anorexia follow a
familiar narrative of recovery, tracing the onset of illness, the rock-bottom
weight, the treatment, and finally recovery. These narratives forget that many
never recover, and even those who do are recovering forever, another repetitive
behavior. “[N]o repetition compulsion,” writes Derrida, “no ‘mal-de’ can arise
for a person who is not already, in one way or another, en mal d’archive”—there
can be no sickness that is not, in some way, an illness of the archives.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Towards
the end of Elisabeth’s life, a doctor who examined her found that she was
suffering from edema caused by starvation, a condition more commonly associated
with soldiers in wartime than empresses at resorts by the sea, but she had been
starving for so long. Hers was the diet of someone who had to die to be
beautiful, and just might. In the end, though, it wasn’t the starving that
killed her; it was an anarchist, concerned not with her body but with her crown
(he intended to kill a different royal, but didn’t time it right). While
Elisabeth was out walking in Geneva, a man named Luigi Lucheni peered under her
parasol, then stabbed her in the ribs with a needle. One version of the story
has it that she didn’t die on the spot because of how closely her famous corset
held the knife in place, though it seems too neat a metaphor for the paradox of
beauty’s privation and protection to be true.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When he
was asked about his motives, Lucheni kept repeating, “Only those who work are
entitled to eat.” He can’t have known that his phrasing would scan almost as a
joke. She died starving and worked hard at it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
Corsage, an early scene shows the Empress at a museum opening in Vienna. A man
tells her they are fortunate that there are so many depictions of her in the
city. She is absent so much that “we almost think of Majesty as a phantom,” he
says, as if, even before death, she existed more as image than flesh. After she
died, she was brought back to Vienna, her perpetual point of departure, to be
buried. The Viennese were eager to gaze at her famous body. (At their darkest,
the websites I used to read laid out the fantasy of being a beautiful corpse.)<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Her
subjects waited in line for hours to see her. But her coffin, of course, was
closed.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Empress
Elisabeth and the Archives of Anorexia. By Meghan Racklin <a href=" https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/empress-elisabeth-and-the-archives-of-anorexia/"> </a><a href=" https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/empress-elisabeth-and-the-archives-of-anorexia/">Los Angeles Review of Books</a>, October 20,
2023 </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRGIVBPzjVrT4SKJUyNvADBaHD5OCqUDVz_TDOz6P5dAFG_QVUcI1G7TkB-RQDg1XwA6PWbp1AAPZoKmD2azPp7HZna4ryvXoRYRWtfsjNiB52f5xCQTkJcJnnMeiu-zCi4zUcmiDsxvgiP7oGmHjoyOb8KkVrwJWRh4_8SphgL0ghhQYukvyzgwzx63w/s600/50065_027a4519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRGIVBPzjVrT4SKJUyNvADBaHD5OCqUDVz_TDOz6P5dAFG_QVUcI1G7TkB-RQDg1XwA6PWbp1AAPZoKmD2azPp7HZna4ryvXoRYRWtfsjNiB52f5xCQTkJcJnnMeiu-zCi4zUcmiDsxvgiP7oGmHjoyOb8KkVrwJWRh4_8SphgL0ghhQYukvyzgwzx63w/s16000/50065_027a4519.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">he
19th-century Empress Elisabeth of Austria is everywhere in Vienna: on chocolate
boxes, on bottles of rosé, on posters around the city. The Greek antiques she
collected are at Hermesvilla, on the city outskirts; her hearse is at
Schönbrunn Palace, the former summer residence of the Hapsburg royal family;
and her cocaine syringe and gym equipment are on display at the Hofburg, which
was the monarchy’s central Vienna home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">These
traces paint an enticing, but incomplete, picture of an empress who receded
from public life not long after entering it, and spent most of her time
traveling the world to avoid her own court. She had a tattoo on her shoulder;
drank wine with breakfast; and exercised two to three times a day on wall bars
and rings in her rooms. These eccentricities, combined with her refusal to have
her picture taken after her early 30s, fueled an air of mystery around her.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;">Now,
nearly 125 years after Elisabeth’s assassination, at age 60, two new
productions — a new Netflix series called “</span><a href="https://archive.ph/o/jaKod/https:/www.youtube.com/watch?v=KfySe96FPr8" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank" title=""><span lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: windowtext; padding: 0cm; text-decoration-line: none;">The Empress</span></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;">” and a film called “</span><a href="https://archive.ph/o/jaKod/https:/www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7LpMtLRe2E" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank" title=""><span lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: windowtext; padding: 0cm; text-decoration-line: none;">Corsage</span></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;">” that debuted at the Cannes Film Festival in
May and will hit American theaters on Dec. 23 — offer their own ideas.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Growing
up in Austria, , she was the main tourist magnet, aside from Mozart,” said
Marie Kreutzer, who wrote and directed “Corsage.” Nevertheless, she added,
Elisabeth, who was married to Emperor Franz Josef I, is largely a mystery. “Her
image is one you can reimagine and reinterpret and fill with your own
imagination, because we have a lot of stories about her, but you don’t know if
they’re true,” Kreutzer said.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #363636;"></span></span></p><aside aria-label="companion column" style="-webkit-box-align: center; align-items: center; border-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; display: flex; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 0px auto; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: 100%; vertical-align: baseline; width: 130px;"></aside><div style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
moody, intellectual and beauty-obsessed empress has had many reincarnations.</span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #363636;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent;">While alive, Elisabeth, who also went by “Sisi,” traveled constantly,
often to Hungary, Greece and England, and was rarely seen by the Viennese
public. In private, she wrote poetry, rode horses and hunted, hiked high into
the Alps, read Shakespeare, studied classical and modern Greek, took warm baths
in olive oil and wore leather masks filled with raw veal as part of her skin
care routine.</span></span></div></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnWLRyFAqbLaMGcXY3rvDaHJBKgRmAuXQ3imUFqScra69sOGTIbVoBPuVO4E3sXYkP5InOd63GNbSPo1EvfplNoAPX2qYbJ_Ek4MTDTMafOS9RF6WdlSYaZTG19VzegBKdbPh8WWbMV2ufHKOH1Wkxdru61WotEQKQYBIWzRnGtUYw9bzuFVveDtAQdg/s600/07sisi04-articleLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="460" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnWLRyFAqbLaMGcXY3rvDaHJBKgRmAuXQ3imUFqScra69sOGTIbVoBPuVO4E3sXYkP5InOd63GNbSPo1EvfplNoAPX2qYbJ_Ek4MTDTMafOS9RF6WdlSYaZTG19VzegBKdbPh8WWbMV2ufHKOH1Wkxdru61WotEQKQYBIWzRnGtUYw9bzuFVveDtAQdg/s16000/07sisi04-articleLarge.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></p><aside aria-label="companion column" style="-webkit-box-align: center; align-items: center; border-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; display: flex; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 0px auto; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: 100%; vertical-align: baseline; width: 130px;"></aside><figure aria-label="media" role="group" style="border-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-block: 0px; margin-inline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: 100%; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; clip: rect(0px, 0px, 0px, 0px); overflow: hidden; text-size-adjust: 100%;"> “She was such a recluse,” said Michaela
Lindinger, a curator at the Wien Museum, who has studied Elisabeth for more
than two decades and wrote “</span><a href="https://archive.ph/o/jaKod/https:/amalthea.at/produkt/mein-herz-ist-aus-stein/" style="border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: 1px solid rgb(50, 104, 145); text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank" title=""><span lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: windowtext; padding: 0cm;">My Heart Is Made of Stone: The Dark Side of the Empress
Elisabeth</span></a><span lang="EN-GB">,” a book
about the Empress that inspired “Corsage.” “People didn’t see her, and she
didn’t want to be seen,” Lindinger said.<o:p></o:p></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;">Nevertheless,
she was the empress of Austria, and later the queen of Hungary, too, so she was
widely discussed. “No matter how much she fled the attention and scrutiny and
the court, she was always pursued,” said Allison Pataki, who wrote </span><a href="https://archive.ph/o/jaKod/https:/allisonpataki.com/books/sisi-empress-on-her-own/" style="border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: 1px solid rgb(50, 104, 145); text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank" title=""><span lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: windowtext; padding: 0cm;">two historical novels</span></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;"> about Elisabeth, “The Accidental Empress”
and “Sisi: Empress on Her Own.” “She was thrust into the spotlight as this
young girl who was chosen by the emperor, in large part because of her physical
beauty.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="align-items: center; font-stretch: normal; margin-left: auto;"><aside aria-label="companion column" style="-webkit-box-align: center; align-items: center; border-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; display: flex; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 0px auto; padding: 0px; text-size-adjust: 100%; vertical-align: baseline; width: 130px;"></aside></span>After
Elisabeth was killed by an anarchist in Switzerland, in 1898, she became an
object of fascination throughout the Hapsburg Empire, and her image appeared on
commemorative coins and in memorial pictures. In the 1920s, a series of novels
about her were published, focusing on her love life.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;">During
the 1950s, </span><a href="https://archive.ph/o/jaKod/https:/www.youtube.com/watch?v=q4zV81VvWRI" style="border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: 1px solid rgb(50, 104, 145); text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank" title=""><span lang="EN-GB" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: windowtext; padding: 0cm;">the “Sissi” film trilogy</span></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit;">, starring Romy Schneider, revived Elisabeth as
a happy-go-lucky Disney princess come to life, clad in bouncy pastel dresses
and beloved by animals and people alike. The syrupy films, which appear on
German and Austrian TV screens every Christmas, are part of the “Heimatfilm”
genre, which emerged in the German-speaking world after World War II and
feature beautiful scenes of the countryside, clear-cut morals and a world
untouched by conflict.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I grew
up watching the Romy Schneider movies in a campy way,” said Katharina Eyssen,
the show runner and head author for “The Empress,” who is from Bavaria, in
southern Germany. As played by Schneider, Elisabeth is “just a good-hearted
girl that has no inner conflicts,” she said.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eyssen’s
take on Elizabeth, played by Devrim Lingnau in “The Empress,” is feistier,
wilder and edgier than Schneider’s. The series opens shortly before Elisabeth
meets her future husband (and cousin), during his birthday celebrations in Bad
Ischl, Austria. As the story goes, Franz Josef was expected to propose to
Elisabeth’s older sister, Duchess Helene in Bavaria, but he changed his mind
once he saw Elisabeth.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Where
Schneider’s eyes sparkle with joy and excitement, Lingnau’s are heavier and
signal a darker inner world</span></p>
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<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><button aria-label="Expand image captioned Philip Froissant as Emperor Franz Joseph II and Devrim Lingnau as Elisabeth in “The Empress,” a new Netflix series." data-testid="photoviewer-expand-button" style="-webkit-writing-mode: horizontal-tb; appearance: button; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; bottom: 10px; color: black; cursor: pointer; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; height: 60px; margin: 0px; opacity: 0; padding: 0px; position: absolute; right: 10px; vertical-align: middle; width: 60px; word-spacing: 0px;"><svg fill="none" height="60" style="fill: none; height: 60px; min-height: 60px; min-width: 60px; width: 60px;" viewbox="0 0 60 60" width="60"><circle cx="30" cy="30" fill-opacity="0.5" fill="#000" r="30" style="cx: 30px; cy: 30px; fill-opacity: 0.5; fill: rgb(0, 0, 0); r: 30px;"></circle><path clip-rule="evenodd" d="M23.9665 37.3668L26.5997 40H20V33.4003L22.6332 36.0335L26.6667 32L28 33.3333L23.9665 37.3668Z" fill-rule="evenodd" fill="#fff" style="clip-rule: evenodd; fill-rule: evenodd; fill: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></path><path clip-rule="evenodd" d="M36.0335 22.6332L33.4003 20H40V26.5997L37.3668 23.9665L33.3333 28L32 26.6667L36.0335 22.6332Z" fill-rule="evenodd" fill="#fff" style="clip-rule: evenodd; fill-rule: evenodd; fill: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></path></svg></button>In
the biographies Eyssen read while developing the show, she said, Elisabeth’s
character is portrayed as “difficult, fragile, almost bipolar, melancholic.”
But Eyssen didn’t fully buy this perspective. “There has to be a creative and
passionate force, otherwise she wouldn’t have survived that long,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;">Much of what is known about the empress’s personal life comes from her
poems, as well as letters and written recollections from her children, her
ladies-in-waiting and her Greek tutor. “She’s a myth in so many ways,” Kreutzer
said. “It was a different time, there was no media as there is today. There are
so few photographs of her.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #363636; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
her early 30s, Elisabeth refused to have her picture taken, and the last time
she sat for a painting was at age 42. Photos and paintings of her that are
dated later are either retouched, or composites. “She wanted to stay in the
memory of the people as the eternally young queen,” Lindinger said.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMZaNdDFabrZ5UR4aVw9oYJUyce2awd5wICG9J818O0aW5iBlO1Qac_BfVvGTg1fsRi98ZK6IMk0tyvcBLvS67ynT2fdhRO7LfbtTJDZGdz9Wx0vd3Cf0s9W-cpJIpblPZYovpDWiBud5hFOtJCEdAE1FG1RmsEEvZim8oaZo4yaSZIzIee3IuNp9t4rI/s600/the-tragic-austrian-empress-who-was-murdered-by-anarchistss-featured-photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMZaNdDFabrZ5UR4aVw9oYJUyce2awd5wICG9J818O0aW5iBlO1Qac_BfVvGTg1fsRi98ZK6IMk0tyvcBLvS67ynT2fdhRO7LfbtTJDZGdz9Wx0vd3Cf0s9W-cpJIpblPZYovpDWiBud5hFOtJCEdAE1FG1RmsEEvZim8oaZo4yaSZIzIee3IuNp9t4rI/s16000/the-tragic-austrian-empress-who-was-murdered-by-anarchistss-featured-photo.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Corsage”
goes further than “The Empress” down the dark pathways of Elisabeth’s
character, offering a punk-gothic portrait of the empress at 40, as a deeply
troubled soul who grasps for levity and freedom in the stifling atmosphere of
the Hapsburg court. She smokes, she’s obsessed with exercise and the sea, and
she weighs herself daily (all true, according to historians).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
title of the movie, in German, translates as “corset.” Famously, Elisabeth
maintained a 50-centimeter waistline throughout her life.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kreutzer
and Vicky Krieps, who stars as Elisabeth, decided that, for the sake of
authenticity, Krieps would wear a corset like the Empress’s during filming.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s
a real torture instrument,” Krieps said. “You can’t breathe, you can’t feel.
The ties are on your solar plexus, not on your waist.” She said she almost gave
up on filming because of how miserable the corset made her.</span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kreutzer
also noticed a change in Krieps, with whom she had worked on another movie
several years earlier, that began during one of the first fittings.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“She became slightly impatient with the women
working on it and the women who were surrounding her and touching her,” she
said. “I know now it was the physical tension and pain that made her feel
unwell and act differently than I know her to be. It was like her getting into
the skin of somebody else.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">”</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Having
grown up on the Romy Schneider films, Krieps said she felt as a teenager that
there was something darker in the empress that was being shielded from view,
and started to relate to the entrapment she imagined Elisabeth had felt during
her life.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
Krieps went through puberty, she said, “suddenly I had a sexuality and my body
was always related to this sexuality.” Later, as a mother, she said, “my body
became something like a prison,” and society expected her to be an entirely
different person.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
began to see in Elisabeth’s struggles with her body and the roles assigned to
her as “a heightened version of something every woman experiences,” she said.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
final years of Elisabeth’s life have remained largely unexplored in popular
culture. (“Corsage” takes artistic liberties with the portrayal of her death.)
After Elisabeth’s only son, Crown Prince Rudolf, killed himself in 1889, her
longstanding depression became deeper and more permanent. While sailing on her
yacht, Miramar, she would sit on the deck even in bad weather, her ever-present
black lace parasol her only defense against the rain and breaking waves,
according to “Sisi: Myth and Truth” by Katrin Unterreiner. Once, during a heavy
storm, she had herself tied to a chair above deck. According to her Greek
tutor, Constantin Christomanos, she said: “I am acting like Odysseus because
the waves lure me.”</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pataki,
the novelist, said that throughout her life, Elisabeth fought against the
constricting role of being an empress. From her poems, intellectual pursuits
and travels, it appears as though Elisabeth was always looking outward,
imagining herself anywhere but where she was. In one poem from 1880, she gave a
hint of what she might have been thinking during all the time she spent on the
deck of the Miramar: “I am a sea gull from no land/I do not call any one beach
my home./I am not tied by any one place,/I fly from wave to wave.”</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In some
ways, Pataki said, she might have felt more comfortable in today’s society than
in 19th-century Vienna. “Her primary role and the expectation put on her was,
have sons, produce heirs,” Pataki said. “But Sisi was very ahead of her time in
wanting more for herself as a woman, an individual, a wife and a leader.”</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An
Empress Ahead of Her Time Is Having a Pop Culture Moment. By Valeriya
Safronova. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/07/movies/the-empress-corsage-sisi.html">The New York Times</a>, October 7, 2022. </span></p></figure></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">
<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8_WQ0cGRLawG9U50ME5sRYLslJF6yGuvidg0fVy3o8I2SWXXQOPVLhGwmufY0pggusICzZtOZ5jGxAZRFYrzGF1QmBTvlciQ0hzA6Xq4Cn-O8dU-CZ4TC4hgmyQY2LqzLfkkpcCxRcUWgEf2LGSKdBA7ZDaYA0lL5AF5TVtqj38ryJgBCw7b67PtSF4/s965/elisabeth002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8_WQ0cGRLawG9U50ME5sRYLslJF6yGuvidg0fVy3o8I2SWXXQOPVLhGwmufY0pggusICzZtOZ5jGxAZRFYrzGF1QmBTvlciQ0hzA6Xq4Cn-O8dU-CZ4TC4hgmyQY2LqzLfkkpcCxRcUWgEf2LGSKdBA7ZDaYA0lL5AF5TVtqj38ryJgBCw7b67PtSF4/s16000/elisabeth002.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I collect
women. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The saved tab of my Instagram
account contains—in addition to recipes, funny videos I intend to DM to
crushes, and nimble axioms on wellness in pastel fonts—images of women, each
serving a purpose for the ongoing Frankenstein project that is me: a haircut I
want to get, an outfit I want to buy, a body I want to emulate. Sisi did the
same, albeit without the algorithms that permit us to assemble our little
archives in relative seclusion. “I am creating a beauty album,” she wrote to
her brother-in-law in 1862, “and am now collecting photographs for it, only of
women. Any pretty faces you can muster at Angerer’s”—i.e., Hapsburg court
photographer Ludwig Angerer’s— “or other photographers, I ask you to send me.” How
embarrassing.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The West
has a grand tradition of Women with Too Much Time on Their Hands. Empress
Elisabeth of Austria, a key if underappreciated figure in this history, was
struck with all the listlessness and suffering of a modern heroine. The
Bavarian princess, born in 1837 and known to all as Sisi, enjoyed an unusually
informal upbringing, then married Emperor Franz Joseph I at the age of sixteen.
Elisabeth had a famously difficult time at court, spending most of her
never-ending leisure hours clashing with her mother-in-law, sympathizing with
the democratic yearnings of the people, traveling solo (whenever she could),
and assembling a collection of some two thousand photographs. She organized
these images into albums, which will be on view at Cologne’s Museum Ludwig in
an exhibition opening October 24.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The show
is titled “Sisi in Private,” but what kind of privacy displays itself for
posterity? Are we violating her privacy or operating on the assumption that she
didn’t really want it—or that the dead don’t deserve it? In her own lifetime,
Sisi brooked the growing pains of celebrity. There is no feminine pathology,
however private, that has not metastasized into its own aesthetic, and
celebrity itself is a kind of metastasized subjectivity—one we now all share.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sisi
called her most remarkable compendiums “albums of beauty,” and I believe she
had to in order to procure their contents—photographs of beautiful women. But
the subtext of these images in the aggregate hints at something sexier and
unspeakable, the early stirrings of a new affect that had yet to be named but
was keenly embodied by the leg-flashing courtesans Sisi pored over (racier
photographs were supplied to her by Parisian ambassadors). The word Beauty is
freighted with moral baggage, exclusion, a certain Latinate stuffiness that,
along with most Western ideals, has not aged well. Now everyone wants to be
hot—the term has the punch of cruder diction. It’s queer, not as hopelessly
cathected to whiteness, and infinitely more flexible than beauty. Now fully
fledged and preening under its own rubric, hot is smarter than beautiful, more
seductive, more self-aware, and for those reasons, sinister. It is the revenge
of the libido after generations of limp, lifeless perfection. The direct gaze
of Manet’s Olympia, coupled with her louche, specific, unidealized body, is
what made her so unsettling to a bourgeois audience. The Black woman standing
near her, as Lorraine O’Grady writes in her watershed 1992 essay “Olympia’s
Maid,” exemplifies “the West’s construction of non-white women as
not-to-be-seen.” Her erasure is its own form of objectification, helping to produce
the new affect Olympia so boldly models.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMobJKfv_jM8Hly916o3XcrLcBbyeY1oEW3-ZRdq0DiU-lrRkln35XlZAR3deXbDSa24Mf3tWR3-7bcA7R_xY7iel60y8FT0FL3D4eAWGeIfYXQ84ujXTqqIHCjAWJQkg2gKOdxjalCWd11il9ISJvf1zEWlV8ryERNY9CqWA5Stf1u_4RDl-bF2ZW80I/s655/elisabeth003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="655" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMobJKfv_jM8Hly916o3XcrLcBbyeY1oEW3-ZRdq0DiU-lrRkln35XlZAR3deXbDSa24Mf3tWR3-7bcA7R_xY7iel60y8FT0FL3D4eAWGeIfYXQ84ujXTqqIHCjAWJQkg2gKOdxjalCWd11il9ISJvf1zEWlV8ryERNY9CqWA5Stf1u_4RDl-bF2ZW80I/s16000/elisabeth003.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In Ways
of Seeing, John Berger noted that glamour, another uniquely modern phenomenon,
is contingent on the object of the gaze knowing it is being looked at; its
engine is the creation of envy. Hot is similarly an attitude, a highly
subjective synthesis of sex and attention cultivated in private and then
projected outward. It’s not hiding from the gaze so much as smirking back,
because we now know privacy is a joke. In an essay reprinted in the show’s
accompanying catalogue, Olivia Gruber Florek juxtaposes T. J. Clark’s remarks
on the gaze of Manet’s Olympia with descriptions of the frank expressions in
the photographs of Parisian prostitutes in one of Sisi’s albums—photographs
intermingled with reproductions of paintings by Franz Xaver Winterhalter, the
German painter known for his idealized portraits of the European upper crust.
Sisi deconstructed the modern gaze despite herself, while it was still being
established. And then she was murdered—stabbed to death by an assassin in 1898.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Both
modern painting and the camera informed the development of modern subjectivity.
Sisi’s uncle, King Ludwig I of Bavaria, had his own “gallery of beauties,”
which would have been familiar to the young princess. Ludwig commissioned these
portraits of women and handpicked the models, who ranged from family members
and fellow aristocrats to anonymous peasants. It was a public, patriarchal
template for Sisi’s albums. Do the albums really record a private practice,
then? Look at this woman. Do you think I could get away with her haircut?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I
believe everyone is an artist, and lacking title or institutional pedigree,
anxiety can manifest in ways as compelling as what we call art. In Sisi’s
albums, we see the etiology of our own pathologies preserved like pressed
flowers. There is a poignancy and a fascination in them, bordering on hotness,
but not quite escaping the onus of beauty.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Beauty
Queen. Christina Catherine Martinez on “Sisi in Private”.<a href="https://www.artforum.com/columns/christina-catherine-martinez-on-sisi-in-private-248498/"> Art Forum</a>,
October-November 2020. </span></span></div>
<br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dR1XZHBWmmeNqyCYNELSjDM82yBekfNDzhkQFsHJceONxcWReyTJ_4aZqnkXhrkE7b6quHFsNCUqt4w9QJHOhO6tZ_NsY4jv5V_ojcGA89XUQ5OrI7_S8fP-xfZZEjoDIilZX8SX1K5-pCju2oPRTTTjZBspltjzToQLKHgNDC_qJDwNlMOqAxp9nSY/s900/elisabeth004a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dR1XZHBWmmeNqyCYNELSjDM82yBekfNDzhkQFsHJceONxcWReyTJ_4aZqnkXhrkE7b6quHFsNCUqt4w9QJHOhO6tZ_NsY4jv5V_ojcGA89XUQ5OrI7_S8fP-xfZZEjoDIilZX8SX1K5-pCju2oPRTTTjZBspltjzToQLKHgNDC_qJDwNlMOqAxp9nSY/s16000/elisabeth004a.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">
</p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Earlier
this month, fashion's fanciest gathered in Salzburg for the annual Chanel
Métiers d'Art collection. The runway show, meant to showcase the brand's
couture bona fides, was held in a palace, featured Alpine-inspired looks and
models looped around a centerpiece laden with fruits and sweets. To launch the
festivities, Karl Lagerfeld made a short film imagining Pharrell Williams and
Cara Delevingne as a pair of glamorous Austrian royals.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">US
Weekly cooed: "Pharrell Williams, Cara Delevingne Channel a Prince and
Princess for Chanel Short Film: See the Glam Clip!" Well, that
"prince and princess" are better known as Franz Joseph and Elisabeth,
emperor and empress of Austria, the last major ruler of the Habsburgs and one
of nineteenth-century Europe's most famously beautiful women, respectively.
Empress Elisabeth, not actually a princess, is best known as Sisi.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In the
English-speaking world, Sisi is admittedly a deep cut, as female royals go. If
there's an Austrian aristo most Americans can name, it's Marie Antoinette,
daughter of Habsburg empress Maria Theresa. (But of course, hardly anybody
remembers the ill-fated French queen was born in Vienna.) Still, Sisi remains a
byword for glamour, one that designers drop when they want to conjure opulence
without the guillotines. Since her death, she's inspired a Barbara Cartland
novel, a trilogy of beloved Austrian films, an entire cottage tourism industry
and, oddly enough, Jessica Simpson's wedding gown. She gets a loving paragraph
in Diana Vreeland's memoirs, D.V.:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And Elisabeth, Empress of Austria and
Queen of Hungary, is one of my heroines…. Elisabeth adored her hair, took great
care of her hair…. perhaps you remember the great Winterhalter portrait. She
was one of the first modern women. She was one of the first women who did
exercises, one of the first who did gymnastics, and one night a week she'd go
to bed in special sheets of bath toweling packed in beefsteaks—for her skin.
Apparently, she never looked older than thirty—ever.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sisi was
also one of the most famously miserable royals who ever drew a breath. She
despised the snotty, formal Habsburg court and spent as much time as possible
far from Vienna and her dutiful, plodding husband. Shy to a degree that was
practically paralyzing, she loathed public appearances and dodged them whenever
she could—far too often, critics said. She feuded endlessly with her
adamantine-willed mother-in-law. She spent years drifting around Europe,
writing maudlin poetry, bemoaning her (very, very privileged) life. She was a
complicated, high-strung woman who emphatically refused to live by others' rules;
unfortunately, she couldn't seem to hammer out her own code, either. Her story
is a bracing corrective to every princess trope Disney has ever pumped into
popular culture. And now she's remembered, by and large, as a pretty lady with
a tiara.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">History
does strange things to dead women.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Let's
orient ourselves, using Princess Diana as our royal North Star. Sisi's story
overlaps significantly with that of the People's Princess: Both married young
and naive, both were saddled with domineering mothers-in-law, both grew into
beautiful, glamorous and tragic figures, and in both cases, it didn't take
Susan Miller to see trouble coming.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But
there's a pretty major difference in how their stories open: Prince Charles
came to his marriage grudgingly, and Diana was practically pulled from a lineup
of perfect princess candidates. With Sisi, it was obvious from the beginning
she was dreadfully unsuited to the job—but the young emperor Franz Joseph
wanted her, and that was that.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jean
Haslip's The Lonely Empress records Sisi's birth in 1837, in Munich, one of
eight siblings. She was a Wittelsbach, a member of the ruling family of
Bavaria, though not (and this is important) from the branch that actually sat
on the throne. The family had a longstanding reputation for kookiness; Sisi's
cousin Ludwig would later fritter away much of their dynastic fortune building
castles like Neuschwanstein, an enormous and enormously tacky homage to Richard
Wagner that's said to have inspired Cinderella's castle at DisneyLand. Sisi's father
Max was famously eccentric, with his drinking and his liberalism and his
raucous crew of artsy and intellectual friends. He didn't much stand on
ceremony, and he had little patience for courtly rigamarole.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Franz
Joseph, the man who'd make Sisi an empress, was practically an animate sack of
courtly rigamarole. He found himself on the throne at 18. That was thanks in no
small part to his mother, the Bavarian-born Archduchess Sophie, who redefined
the term formidable. Seemingly every account that mentions her claims that
Sophie was for a time known as "the only man in the Hofburg."
Apocryphal, maybe, but certainly telling. When the upheavals of 1848 drove out
Prince Metternich—the foreign minister and legendary political scheme who'd
helped reassemble Europe after Wellington finally stomped Napoleon, as well as
less-than-effective Emperor Ferdinand—Sophie made sure her husband took a pass
on the throne so it skipped to their son, Franz Joseph. (For more on this fancy
bit of governmental footwork, see Andrew Wheatcroft's Habsburgs: Embodying
Empire.) They put off the democracy-demanding hordes by swapping the old boss
out for a younger, much better-looking new boss.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This
woman who so thoroughly influenced Franz Joseph in his early years was a
dyed-in-the-wool reactionary. She believed in the rituals and the ceremony and
the formalities. She wasn't the type to give two shits whether a
daughter-in-law felt stifled. From Brigitte Hamann's The Reluctant Empress
(noticing a theme, here?):<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Archduchess Sophie was still entirely
caught up in eighteenth-century thinking. She had no high opinion of
individualism, let alone emotion, as an element in court politics—in contrast
to her daughter-in-law-to-be. On one occasion, Sophie wrote to Princess
Metternich that one should not believe "that individual personalities have
any significance." She had always noticed that one person was replaced by
another, without making the slightest difference in the world.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwaidkaPWmdFu67WZr7UYMmFcB-Oasydxl44oFzTAUS0WqVU1nxBN643_xkZfXHh0wGv4sUsO1JQI-_xnPUnLTBwPHI71ebknqKViMDb_toFOaeueY4X2QJMocMc11XcRXzXrliY3KQCcsxRGq7y21ljR3jFcu5L8c7D9NE0MeP1hdTdD8bavvpawDjNo/s863/elisabeth015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="863" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwaidkaPWmdFu67WZr7UYMmFcB-Oasydxl44oFzTAUS0WqVU1nxBN643_xkZfXHh0wGv4sUsO1JQI-_xnPUnLTBwPHI71ebknqKViMDb_toFOaeueY4X2QJMocMc11XcRXzXrliY3KQCcsxRGq7y21ljR3jFcu5L8c7D9NE0MeP1hdTdD8bavvpawDjNo/s16000/elisabeth015.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sophie
was Sisi's aunt, and for various personal and political reasons, she liked the
idea of her son marrying one of her sister Ludovika's daughters (because that's
the way you roll when you're European royalty, I guess). Specifically, she
liked the looks of Helene, Sisi's older sister. Sophie and Ludovika arranged a meeting
in the Austrian resort town of Bad Ischl, but their plan went sideways when
Franz Joseph fell for Sisi practically on sight. Sophie described their meeting
in a letter to Marie of Saxony, via Hamann: "He beamed, and you know how
his face can beam when he is happy. The dear little one did not suspect the
deep impression she had made on Franzi."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Don't
mistake that anecdote for wholehearted approval. Sophie also wrote: "He
told me, his expression beaming, that he found Sisi charming. I begged him not
to act rashly, to think the matter over carefully, but he felt that it would
not be right to delay." According to her diary, he praised her "soft,
lovely eyes," her "lips like strawberries," calling her
"fresh as a budding almond." Sisi was, for the record, 15, and not
really in the position to turn him down. (She apparently burst out to Sophie:
"I love the Emperor so much! If only he were not the Emperor!")<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And so a
moody teenaged girl married into one of the stuffiest, fussiest courts in
Europe. It did not go well.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When
Sisi arrived, the Austrian aristocracy didn't exactly roll out the welcome
wagon. As far as they were concerned, she might as well have been born in a
barn. (Presumably plenty of mommas were miffed their daughters hadn't gotten a
fair shot if this sort of girl was the final selection.) Nor did she have the
necessary training—her wardrobe, education in Austrian history and crash-course
in protocol were all rush jobs. Nor did Sisi turn the charm up to eleven. She
couldn't cope well with the crowds and the pressure. Hamann writes:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"At the sight of so many strangers,
the young Empress panicked and fled to an adjoining room, where she broke out
in tears. We can easily imagine the whispering among the ladies in full regalia
waiting for the bride in the audience chamber. When Sisi finally joined the
reception exhausted and unsteady, her face tear-stained, she provided new food
for gossip. For she was too timid to make conversation with each of the ladies
presented to her. According to protocol, however, no one was allowed to speak
to the Empress except to reply to questions."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Wrote
one witness, Baron Karl Kübeck, in his diary (via Hamann): "On the podium
and among the spectators, jubilation and expectant joy. Behind the scenes,
increasingly somber, very somber signs."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A
sampling of the sort of poetry she was writing almost immediately after her
wedding: "Fresh spring returns/And trims the trees with new green/And
teaches new songs to the birds/And makes the flowers bloom more
beautifully./But what is springtime bliss to me/Here in the faraway, strange
land?/I long for the sun of home,/ I long for the banks of the Isar."
(Another poem contains the line, "I have awakened in a dungeon,/With
chains on my hands.") You can't really blame her, considering she married
into the sort of situation where the whole palace knew the morning after she'd
been deflowered. She was expected to offer her subjects her hand for the
kissing, even if they were friends or relatives. She wasn't allowed to wear a
pair of shoes more than once.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sisi
grew increasingly miserable, and her mother-in-law bore the brunt. She didn't
like the micromanaging, the constant correction of her behavior, the fact that
one of Sophie's closest friends was assigned as lady-in-waiting and therefore
followed her everywhere. Their relationship went from bad to worse when the
empress began having children. Sophie took charge of their upbringing, parking
the nursery closer to her apartments than Sisi's. Years later Elisabeth told
one of her ladies in waiting, after the birth of her fourth (and favorite)
child (via Hamann):<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Only now do I understand what
bliss a child means. Now I have finally had the courage to love the baby and
keep it with me. My other children were taken away from me at once. I was
permitted to see the children only when Archduchess Sophie gave permission. She
was always present when I visited the children. Finally I gave up the struggle
and went upstairs only rarely."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But
slowly, surely, Sisi began to act out. She welcomed her brother's wife into the
family—an actress who'd already borne him a daughter out of wedlock. She donated
to help a Protestant congregation build a steeple—and remember, the Habsburgs
were once Holy Roman Emperors. She took increasingly liberal political stances,
increasingly loudly. She threw balls but invited only young people, not their
higher-ranking mothers.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In 1860,
her health collapsed. It's not entirely clear why, but historians speculate
that her punishing exercise regimen and aggressive diets—which, to a modern
eye, look awfully like disordered eating—might've contributed. Her son's birth
in 1858 was hard. She was coughing constantly. Then there were rumors Franz
Joseph had taken a mistress. Whatever the reasons, she decamped to Madeira for
several months, returned, temporarily, then took off for Corfu. And when she
returned, she came into her prime.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For one
thing, she'd grown into a full-blown beauty and she knew it. The famous
portrait by Franz Xaver Winterhalter (which appears in Lagerfeld's short film)
was painted in 1865. So often, you look at portraits of famous beauties and
think, "Eh." Looks just don't translate very well from generation to
generation. But you look at that and the racier companion painting, and you can
see it. The delicate features, the piles and piles of hair. She has the
coquettish little closed-mouth smile of Vivien Leigh or a young Elizabeth
Taylor.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">"The
Empress, as I have often told you before, is a wonder of beauty—tall,
beautifully formed, with a profusion of bright brown hair, a low Greek
forehead, gentle eyes, very red lips, a sweet smile, a low musical voice, and a
manner partly timid, partly gracious," Hamann quotes an American envoy
writing home in 1864—the famously lovely Empress had become one of Vienna's
great tourist attractions even then. But she hated being on display. Her
lady-in-waiting Marie Festetics repeats a conversation about gawking
theatergoers: "How happy the people are when they see Your Majesty,"
she said, with Elisabeth replying,"Oh, yes, they're curious—whenever
there's something to see, they come running, for the monkey dancing at the
hurdy-gurdy just as much as for me."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Two
years after that portrait was painted came her greatest triumph: Her coronation
with Franz Joseph as King and Queen of Hungary. This may sound like a matter of
procedure, but in fact it was a major break with the beginning of her husband's
reign, which had launched with the bloody repression of a Hungarian break for
freedom. But things had changed by the late 1860s. By this point, the
Habsburgs' domain was a cobbled-together jalopy rolling down the road of
history, wheels rattling loudly, parts of varying importance flying off. They
lost a province here, an ally there. Nationalism was an increasingly powerful
force, eroding the bonds that held this polyglot empire together. (Ultimately a
Serbian nationalist would shoot Franz Joseph's heir, Franz Ferdinand, and
launch the war that brought the whole thing crashing down around their ears.)
Plus, the 1866 Austro-Prussian War pretty much snatched their power among the
German states. They couldn't lose Hungary.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How
exactly to hang on to Hungary—that was the question. They wanted their
constitution back, as well as a Hungarian coronation for Franz Joseph (a nod to
Hungary as an entity separate from Austria). Sophie loathed the country, and
Franz Joseph's old-guard advisors largely opposed any leniency or special
recognition. (Plus, the emperor had survived an assassination attempt at the
hands of a Hungarian in 1853.) Naturally, in contrast to her mother-in-law,
Sisi had developed a capital-R Romantic love for the country and an admiration
for the dashing leader Gyula Andrássy, and she maneuvered relentlessly on their
behalf, pestering her husband incessantly, bringing all her charms to bear,
wearing him down as he considered his options. Ultimately, he agreed to the
dual monarchy.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
coronation itself was pretty much peak Sisi. Haslip quotes Franz Liszt, who
wrote that, "Erzsebet was a celestial vision." There's a reproduction
of the gown she wore on display in Vienna today, and it's stunning:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was
around this time that Franz Joseph's younger brother Maximilian was killed, the
culmination of his fucking fool attempt to become emperor of Mexico at the
urging of Napoleon III. (Yes, that really happened.) Between that and the
ascendance of Hungary, Sophie was pretty much finished as a force to be
reckoned with. That dragon was vanquished.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If you
rolled the credits here, it would still be possible to see Sisi's story as a
fairy tale. But of course, life doesn't work like that.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
young Sisi makes a sympathetic figure, but the deeper you get into her life,
she's increasingly frustrating. Most of the information in this article comes
from Haslip's fairly straightforward 1965 biography and Hamann's more overtly
feminist 1986 work. Haslip often seems downright disgusted with her subject.
Hamann puts Elisabeth's unhappiness in context, and yet you still get the
feeling she occasionally wants to screech at the woman. As one of Sisi's own
ladies in waiting wrote (via Haslip):<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"The Empress is sweet and good,
but she makes everything a burden for herself, and what to others is a source
of happiness becomes for her a source of discontent. She seems to me like a
child in a fairytale. The good fairies came, and each of them laid a splendid
gift in her cradle, beauty, sweetness, grace… dignity, intelligence and wit.
But then came the bad fairy and said 'I see that everything has been given you,
but I will turn these qualities against you and they shall bring you no
happiness. I will deprive you of something which a man bears within him
unconsciously—moderation in your actions, occupations, thoughts and
sensibilities. Nothing will bring you happiness, everything will turn against
you. Even your beauty will bring you nothing but sorrow and you will never find
peace."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You see
this theme more and more, the longer you watch Sisi's life unspool. After the
coronation she played little role in politics. She spent long stretches in
Hungary, Bavaria and other assorted European locales; she had little to discuss
with her prosaic husband back in Vienna. The decades were dominated by passions
that flared and then were just as quickly dropped: Her mania for horses, which
took her "riding to hounds" in England and Ireland; her villa in
Greece, built at tremendous expense and promptly abandoned; the spiritualist
period, which was admittedly de rigeur for the nineteenth century. She wrote
reams and reams of maudlin poetry, often painting herself as the untouchable
fairy queen Titania. The effort dedicated to maintaining her looks intensified.
Her niece Marie Latisch outlined a wide variety of outlandish beauty measures:
"nightly face masks with raw veal, during strawberry season a strawberry
mask, warm olive-oil baths to maintain the smoothness of her skin…. 'damp
cloths over her hips to maintain her slenderness, and for the same reason, she
drank a dreadful mixture of five or six egg whites with salt.'"<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Her
behavior was growing strange, too. Her daughter Valerie (13 at the time) wrote
in 1881 in her diary: "Mama had a very strong bath, and when I went in to
her, she could not stop laughing, the bath had made her completely nervous. I
was afraid, but fortunately she is already well again today." Four years
later, she wrote during one of Sisi's illnesses: "Much worse than the
ailment is Mama's indescribable despair and hopelessness. She says that it is a
torment to be alive, and she indicates that she wants to kill herself."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She also
told poor Valerie things like, "I really love nobody but you… the whole of
that capacity for loving which has hitherto been imprisoned in my heart I have
poured out upon you" (via Haslip) and (via Hamann): "Marriage is an
absurd arrangement. One is sold as a fifteen-year-old child and makes a vow one
does not understand and then regrets for thirty years or more, and which one
can never undo again." Fair to the institution of monarchical marriage,
perhaps, but not a particularly kind thing to say to a daughter who loves her
father, too.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In 1889
came the greatest catastrophe of Sisi and Franz Joseph's lives. Their son
Rudolf died at his hunting lodge, Mayerling, as part of a suicide pact; he shot
his young mistress then several hours later put a bullet through his own brain.
He was their only son, and he died without an heir, which is the only reason
Franz Ferdinand ever found himself in the historical spotlight.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After
Mayerling, Sisi's spa-to-spa drifting intensified, as everyone around her
fretted about her dark depressive spells. She was on yet another trip—Geneva,
this time—when she was stabbed on the street by an anarchist. Her corset was so
tight nobody realized what had happened until she made it back to her ship,
collapsed, and died.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Visit
Vienna today, and it's obvious that Sisi is essentially the German-speaking
Scarlett O'Hara. She's everywhere. The Winterhalter portrait appears on
brochures, magnets, coffee cups, chocolates, tote bags, Christmas ornaments—you
name it, they're selling it. Gift shops on every corner carry replicas of the
diamond stars she wears in the painting. Sites connected (even tangentially!)
to Elisabeth always seem the most crowded. One of the most popular attractions
in the Hofburg, the centuries-old seat of Habsburg power, is her exercise
equipment. You see her popping up in cafes and coffee houses all over town.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The most
up-to-date exhibits I saw in Vienna were in the wing devoted to the Sisi
Museum. The show-stopper is the room full of carefully preserved remnants of
the empress's wardrobe, which is kept dim and more thoroughly
climate-controlled than the Treasury holding literal religious relics. Much of
the museum is dedicated to gently but firmly correcting the misinformation in
the beloved Austrian film trilogy that began with 1955's Sissi, which is
perhaps most responsible for Elizabeth's legacy.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Take
everything I just told you and chuck it out the window, because history bears
hardly any relation to these flicks. Gone is the difficult woman who spent much
of her life lurching unhappily from obsession to obsession, frantically working
to maintain her beauty and avoid the public eye. Picture Rebecca of Schonbrunn
Farm; Anne of Bavarian Gables. Their appeal is obvious. They offer the hoop
skirts, sweeping soundtrack and breathless romance of Gone with the Wind,
without Scarlett's bitchiness or, you know, the slavery. Plus Austria looks
absolutely lovely in mid-fifties film stock, like an ancient copy of National
Geographic.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LA4veuO5uiGfO_hBWg0VPZ70wZnhM8nNE_SMLaN4zetwWKc28hl5rViydeaiMSQMnLJcgGzeiBjeIHjTxSkKa6ppiC5YFLx8NzM32c8LONi4ZnQIsULReQ2a-Kr7QwCXyhRpRVFvShmzKREyGSG0DCEAcsDwO8FKhKz3WU1PDDudRduZY1mXlhH_CQM/s600/elisabeth008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LA4veuO5uiGfO_hBWg0VPZ70wZnhM8nNE_SMLaN4zetwWKc28hl5rViydeaiMSQMnLJcgGzeiBjeIHjTxSkKa6ppiC5YFLx8NzM32c8LONi4ZnQIsULReQ2a-Kr7QwCXyhRpRVFvShmzKREyGSG0DCEAcsDwO8FKhKz3WU1PDDudRduZY1mXlhH_CQM/s16000/elisabeth008.jpg" /></a></div><br /><o:p><br /></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Star
Romy Schneider is flat-out adorable, harmlessly cute like a young Debbie
Reynolds and outfitted in a series of fluffy gowns like meringues. She first
bursts into the frame on horseback, whooping happily, and shortly thereafter
cheers on a baby deer in a scuffle with an equally harmless dog. She loves her
home in Possenhofen and spends her days hiking with her beloved Papa, kitted
out in traditional Bavarian garb. She meets Franz Joseph when she accidentally
catches him with a fishing pole. This is patently ridiculous; nothing that
charming ever happened to Franz Joseph in his entire life. (Bless his heart, he
was a natural-born bureaucrat.) But of course the cinematic character bears no
resemblance to his real-world analogue. He's a darling strawberry blonde
cutting a dashing figure in his military uniforms and most of his dialogue
seems to be saying "Sisi" in varying emotional tones. He bursts with
incandescent happiness at seeing his beloved bride.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">His
mother, the archduchess, is unequivocally the villain of the piece. She's
constantly making trouble between Franz and Sisi, lurching around one palace or
another in black and purple and dark blue like a scheming crow. Vilma Degischer
plays her as the archetypal bitchy mother-in-law, and it's actually pretty
entertaining. But once again. the rough edges have been filed off. Forget the
woman who seized a power vacuum to put her son on the throne of imperial
Austria and replace her with Agatha, from Bewitched.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Pitted
against this judgmental version of Sophie, Sisi becomes a romanticised,
dramatically simplified figure who just wants her freedom, where freedom seems
to be defined as plenty of fresh air and ample opportunities to gambol. She's
endlessly, unfairly chided for breaking the rules, which she always does
charmingly: She simply can't help her natural high spirits! The power struggle
over her children's upbringing is taken as an opportunity to paint her as a
doting Victorian mama. The portrayal of her relationship to Hungary is
especially telling—she's portrayed as guileless and apolitical, Angel in the
House-ing her way into harmony between the two countries.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Conveniently,
the third movie ends before Franz Joseph and Elisabeth lose their eldest child
to a sudden illness in Hungary and decades before Rudolf's disastrous suicide
at Mayerling—in other words, before it would've become hard to sustain the
portrayal of the empress as a chipper, wide-eyed little dear. Schneider bailed
and didn't reprise the role until 1972's Ludwig, about the Wagner-loving cousin
king of Bavaria, where she appeared as an older, vastly more cynical Sisi.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sisi
hasn't been wholly reduced to the woman portrayed by Schneider. Her misery is
sufficiently well known that in the 90s, a German pharmaceutical company
declared the existence of "the Sisi Syndrome," a particular subset of
depression common in women and characterized by listlessness. But the films
have set the terms on which Sisi is memorialized, framing her legacy in a very
specific way.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Outside
Austria and Germany, Sisi is remembered primarily as a fashion icon, by people
like Vreeland and Lagerfeld. Watch this clip, in which Carolina Herrara
explains how Sisi and the iconic Winterhalter portrait inspired Jessica
Simpson's custom-made wedding gown. "I love it that you're inspired by a
painting," replies the clueless Newlyweds star. "That makes me feel
special."<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Of
course, Sisi would probably relate to the relentless dieting (though certainly
not the reality TV or blatant tabloid attention-seeking).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Lagerfeld's
"Reincarnation" is more of the same romanticising. It's just an
excuse to put Cara Delevingne in a poofy dress so she can twirl about with
Pharrell (another upgrade for Franz Joseph, who'd probably die all over again
if you played him something as boppy as "Happy"). (And Sisi would've
loathed that getup Delevingne is wearing, which is some straight costume shop
garbage.) The headlines are pretty telling. Elle: "Pharrell and Cara
Delevingne Sing and Dance in Chanel Fairy Tale." The Gloss: "You'll
Swoon When You See Pharrell As Cara Delevingne's Prince Charming In This New
Ad." Cosmo: "Introducing Chanel's New Prince and Princess."
Delevingne teased the film with Instagram images straight out of Cinderella:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Not that
Lagerfeld gives two shits about accuracy, of course. "There's a touch of
Pop Art in it," he told Women's Wear Daily. "It's not meant to be a
historical reconstruction or something heavy like that. This is light and
funny." You could compare her to any number of famous women (Princess Di,
Kate Middleton, Kim Kardashian, Marie Antoinette). But Sisi reminds me of
nobody so much as Marilyn Monroe—a complicated woman who died and was promptly
reduced to a series of very, very lovely pictures. Nothing heavy, just a lady
in a pretty poofy dress.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Most Miserable Princess Ever: Sisi, Empress Elisabeth of Austria. By Kelly
Faircloth. <a href="https://jezebel.com/the-most-miserable-princess-ever-sisi-empress-elisab-1671950113">Jezebel</a>, December 18, 2014. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-60665153917072789812023-11-12T10:03:00.003+00:002023-11-12T10:04:50.640+00:00Levitating Saints<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhdDTspYaOtkkhXXzC-GAqFRQLJOZJ4T6MIhAE4r7y2TTKUCv3JjOEdw3bHvuikuoWwySsdz7fYNsWeOIgVG7uiPYl8FLNbOgKkR71DMr1z7tud1oyv1lB4oNz5_3f455ZDc_Hvp0THuqQh-R9TjiZrL6iwxSQaluoyKqe8svMvI6WZSsLKg_ez-Abx4/s600/avila004.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhdDTspYaOtkkhXXzC-GAqFRQLJOZJ4T6MIhAE4r7y2TTKUCv3JjOEdw3bHvuikuoWwySsdz7fYNsWeOIgVG7uiPYl8FLNbOgKkR71DMr1z7tud1oyv1lB4oNz5_3f455ZDc_Hvp0THuqQh-R9TjiZrL6iwxSQaluoyKqe8svMvI6WZSsLKg_ez-Abx4/s16000/avila004.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB">Levitation was the last thing Teresa of Avila wanted. It drew the wrong
kind of attention and embarrassed her in public. She tried to remain grounded,
clinging to furniture when the weightlessness set in, and then suddenly, it
stopped for good. Carlos Eire reads Teresa's autobiographic Vida and finds the
16th-century saint complaining to God about the aethrobatic miracles that he
forced her to endure.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">One of the best-known levitators of the early modern age, and one of the
most unwilling, is Saint Teresa of Avila. Teresa de Ahumada y Cepeda
(1515–1582) became a Carmelite nun in her teens, at the Convent of the
Incarnation in her native Ávila, a walled city in Old Castile. During her
twenties she was plagued by an illness no doctor could properly diagnose or
cure. Brought to death’s door, literally, she was taken for dead and readied
for burial but regained consciousness only a few hours before being lowered
into her grave. Teresa remained paralyzed afterward for quite some time and
eventually recovered, albeit slowly and painfully. A lukewarm nun for many
years after returning to her convent — according to her own disparaging
estimation — Teresa began to experience visions and raptures in her forties. As
these intensified quickly and dramatically, she naturally came under suspicion
of being either demonically influenced or a brazen fraud. At the same time,
however, many around her were convinced that her experiences were genuinely
divine in origin. Consequently, her superiors ordered her to write a detailed
account of her life and her ecstasies, under the watchful eye of the
Inquisition. That text, which came to be known as her Vida, or “autobiography”,
is an attempt to convince everyone that her remarkable experiences are truly
supernatural. And an essential part of the narrative is Teresa’s constant
emphasis on her own humility and on the pain and embarrassment caused by the
ecstasies she experienced in public, or which became public knowledge,
especially those ecstasies in which she levitated.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Teresa’s raptures and levitations are unique for several reasons, three of
which are most significant. First, no other Christian levitator has provided as
full a first-person account or described and analyzed the experience in as much
detail as Teresa. Second, no other levitator has complained as often and as
loudly about levitating as Teresa. And third, few other levitators have brought
about an end to levitations as suddenly and dramatically as Teresa. Obviously,
her detailed analysis of her own levitations cannot be taken as empirical
“proof ” of the reality of her levitations, but they do provide an
exceptionally clear window into her perceptions, or at least into how she
wanted others to understand the phenomenon. And as of yet, no other Christian
levitator has ever surpassed Teresa on this account.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In her Vida Teresa tends to use the term “arrobamiento”, or rapture, for
the experiences that take her into the heavenly realm of the divine. Sometimes,
however, she also uses “arrebatamiento”, or ravishment, for such experiences or
suggests that arrebatamiento is in fact a kind of arrobamiento, as she does
when she says, “While I was reciting a hymn, there came to me an arrebatamiento
so sudden that nearly took me out of myself: something I could not doubt, for
it was so clear. This was the first time that the Lord had granted me the favor
of any kind of arrobamiento.” Regardless of the term used, Teresa makes it
clear that whether one levitates or not during an arrobamiento, the body is
often affected intensely, even violently, primarily through sense deprivation
and paralysis and a lapse into a trance-like state accompanied by physical
aftereffects that linger for a while. “Let us now return to raptures
[arrobamientos], and to their most common traits. I can attest that after a
rapture my body often felt so light that it seemed to weigh nothing at all: and
sometimes this was so overwhelming that I could hardly tell if my feet were
touching the ground. For, during the entire rapture, the body remains as if dead
and unable to do anything itself.” And in whichever way it was positioned when
seized by the rapture, that is how the body stays: whether standing, or
sitting, or with the hands open or clasped.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZdjxsxOTFfBuSUPJaHBk3Lc5gvdkXy39GGOuc0abHW3AmGGb-9naC0hZd8QVSsO5VQl9jEaToufVFnzUgP-4A_oRS7owm6IaXt5s9bKQJFJBMnDnO_EN5Qvuyp0pFpGF9rwbxdVtD4NgZQz6KHAH_b-4uDg37Y7bhoVRjCWz2UlnOU5v5qqemvhd3-s/s850/avila002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZdjxsxOTFfBuSUPJaHBk3Lc5gvdkXy39GGOuc0abHW3AmGGb-9naC0hZd8QVSsO5VQl9jEaToufVFnzUgP-4A_oRS7owm6IaXt5s9bKQJFJBMnDnO_EN5Qvuyp0pFpGF9rwbxdVtD4NgZQz6KHAH_b-4uDg37Y7bhoVRjCWz2UlnOU5v5qqemvhd3-s/s16000/avila002.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="DE"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This state of suspended animation brings the body close to death and takes
quite a toll on it. In one passage, Teresa says that during these raptures one
can feel “like someone who is being strangled, with a rope around their neck,
still struggling to catch a breath.” Again and again, Teresa stresses the
physical dimension of her raptures, probably because it was the visibly
alarming way her body behaved that drew attention to her mystical experiences.
She needed to explain what others were witnessing as something inherently
spiritual rather than any of the awful alternatives: demonic fits, mere fakery,
mental illness, or a physical malady. Based on her own descriptions of her
body’s responses to rapture, others could easily mistake such reactions — which
would instantly paralyze her and leave her as rigid and insensate as a marble
statue — for mere cataleptic seizures: “The hands get freezing cold and
sometimes stretched out stiffly like pieces of wood, and the body stays in whatever
position it is when the rapture hits, be it standing or kneeling . . . and it
seems as if the soul has forgotten to animate the body.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Teresa also claims that all sensory input ceases to function, as if the
connection between body and soul is temporarily sundered. At the highest point
of rapture, she says, “one will neither see, nor hear, nor perceive”, and this
is because the soul is then so “closely united with God” that “none of the
soul’s faculties are able to perceive or know what is taking place.” Even if
the eyes remain open, she adds, “one neither perceives nor notices what one
sees.” Elsewhere, she also highlights the effects of this near-death experience
on the body, not only while the event is unfolding but also afterward:
“Occasionally, I come close to losing my pulse altogether, according to those
of my sisters who have sometimes found me like this . . . with my ankles
disjointed, and my hands so stiff that sometimes I cannot even clasp them
together. Until the next day my wrists and my body will continue to hurt, as if
my joints had been torn asunder.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOXiJY2emwNqfvw9dv9q_APWL5VfhLkKG6kALYR6dRZnSNmXpu8a7acNw6ftY51toP_e5nz2jI6QTy8TdoAkPTbuy9Lgr-ku1ihxw2TnfRM_Mr-NDRttvwbbjmq32fgK_jVNOG8FX7LQgzeEUfmIMenGs8mGMnqF3MWagdocTrtffIxsflKT2wnkAFtE/s600/avila003.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOXiJY2emwNqfvw9dv9q_APWL5VfhLkKG6kALYR6dRZnSNmXpu8a7acNw6ftY51toP_e5nz2jI6QTy8TdoAkPTbuy9Lgr-ku1ihxw2TnfRM_Mr-NDRttvwbbjmq32fgK_jVNOG8FX7LQgzeEUfmIMenGs8mGMnqF3MWagdocTrtffIxsflKT2wnkAFtE/s16000/avila003.jpg" /></a></div><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Stressing the raw physicality of these experiences alongside their exalted
spiritual nature — and again flummoxed by the inadequacy of human language —
Teresa also dwells repeatedly on the paradoxical intertwining of pain and
bliss, both bodily and spiritual. “These raptures seem like the very threshold
of death”, she avers, “but the suffering they cause brings such joy with it
that I do not know of anything comparable.” Consequently, she adds, these
raptures are “a violent, delectable martyrdom.” Elsewhere, Teresa confesses
that during those days when her arrobamientos were constant, she went about “as
if stupefied” (embovada) and adds: “I did not want to see or speak with anyone,
but only to hug my pain, which caused me greater bliss than can be found in the
whole of creation.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Discerning when Teresa is speaking of the spiritual effects of rapture
rather than the physical ones is often difficult, if not impossible. But in
some passages she explains that trying to resist arrobamientos takes intense
physical effort, further reinforcing her claim that body and soul share in
these events with equal intensity and making it abundantly clear that
levitations are nearly as impossible to resist as purely spiritual raptures.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “I have wanted to resist many, many times,
and have put all my strength behind it, especially with raptures in public, and
often also with ones in private, when I feared I was being deceived. Sometimes
I could resist somewhat, at the edge of exhaustion. Afterwards I would be
completely worn out, like someone who has fought against a powerful giant. At
other times resisting has been impossible, and my soul has been carried away
instead, and quite often my head too, along with it, without being able to stop
it, and sometimes my whole body too, which has even been lifted off the ground.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In other instances, Teresa explicitly refers to levitations, and what she
has to say about her inability to resist these “favors”, as well as the
physical trauma involved in resisting, is basically identical. “When I tried to
resist these raptures”, she says, “it seemed to me that I was being lifted up
by a force beneath my feet so powerful that I know nothing to which I can
compare it, for it came with a much greater intensity than any other spiritual
experience and I felt as if I were being torn to shreds, for it is a mighty
struggle, and, when all is said and done, there is no point to it if this is
the Lord’s will, for His power can never be overcome by another.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Teresa’s stress on the irresistibility of raptures and levitations
ultimately needs to be placed in the context of the power relationship between
her and her confessors and superiors, as much as in the context of whatever she
might have felt or thought about the power relationship between her and God.
Urged to resist her raptures when they first began and blamed by her confessors
for not preventing them, Teresa needed to highlight this issue of resistance in
the autobiographical account she was ordered to write. And she also needed to underscore the point
that she continually begged God to refrain from showering her with
arrobamientos, especially those in which she levitated in the presence of
eyewitnesses who would immediately broadcast news of the wondrous miracle they
had just seen. As Teresa saw it, the wider that tales of her levitations spread
and the more that adulation of her intensified, the worse for her and the
church as a whole. Outlining the experiences that can be expected in the
penultimate stage of the mystical ascent — the sixth of the seven mansions that
she charts in The Interior Castle (1577) — Teresa has this to say: “In this
mansion arrobamientos occur continually without any way of avoiding them, even
in public, and then the persecutions and murmurings follow, and even though the
soul wants to be free from fears, she is never free of them, because so many
people foist them on her, especially her confessors.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Teresa’s efforts to control her levitations were much more than purely
verbal or limited to prayer. According to eyewitnesses, there was a brute
physicality to her resistance. Domingo Bañez, a prominent Dominican theologian
who served as one of Teresa’s spiritual advisors, said he and many other people
once saw Teresa levitate immediately after receiving communion and that she
clung to a grille in the church, “greatly distressed”, and begged God, out
loud: “Lord, for something that is as unimportant as putting an end to these
favors with which you shower me, do not allow a woman as wicked as me to be
mistaken for one that is good.” Others, too, would testify that they saw her
clinging to the mats on the choir floor and rising up in the air with them in
her hands, which she did to signal the other nuns to pull on her habit and
bring her back down.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo04XBQBxLpm4-ZeygUUn9o5YF8UHxGgHl-KFsHP8Zo2xDPWCrS4Ip9xSnaPYoeh4Pu2yU-Y7g8LkW5yQmbiCu0_aKmoh9OSLVfv7osrkwYd6gtYJoCkg7nlGdjrpPGTplPAQxD9kK0Kw4A1K3rj9KXasI9oBx2heTGy4HI5KAz4NOzjqt5qaGtP42g3U/s600/avila005.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo04XBQBxLpm4-ZeygUUn9o5YF8UHxGgHl-KFsHP8Zo2xDPWCrS4Ip9xSnaPYoeh4Pu2yU-Y7g8LkW5yQmbiCu0_aKmoh9OSLVfv7osrkwYd6gtYJoCkg7nlGdjrpPGTplPAQxD9kK0Kw4A1K3rj9KXasI9oBx2heTGy4HI5KAz4NOzjqt5qaGtP42g3U/s16000/avila005.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">When all is said and done, one of the most remarkable aspects of Teresa’s
levitations is her attitude toward them and how much she complained about them,
not just to those around her but to God Himself. As she says in The Interior
Castle, speaking of herself in the third person: “She does nothing but beg
everyone to pray for her and beseech His Majesty to lead her by another road,
as she is advised to do, since the road she is on is very dangerous.”15 Much
like Saint Catherine of Siena, who received stigmata that were invisible,
Teresa preferred to receive raptures that were hidden from others’ eyes.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">According to her and to those around her, she suddenly stopped levitating,
and her nonlevitating public raptures became much less frequent. Although she
mentions this in the Vida and says that it happened when she was writing the
final version of the twentieth chapter, she does not dwell on the subject. In
fact, this information is easy to miss, tucked away as it is in a long rambling
narrative, somewhat cautiously, almost as an aside. Chances are that Teresa did
not want to press her luck, for she would not want her superiors and confessors
to think that she was boasting in any way or that she was underestimating God’s
omnipotence and His absolute control of her ecstasies. “I often begged the Lord
not to grant me any more favors with visible external signs”, she explains,
“for I was weary of having to contend with such worries and, after all, His
Majesty could grant me such favors without anyone knowing it. Apparently, He,
in His kindness, was inclined to hear my pleas, for up until now — even though
in truth it has only been a short while — I have never again received any such
favors.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Yet no matter how much Saint Teresa sought to distance herself from levitation,
belief in this phenomenon would only intensify among Catholics after her death,
thanks in no small measure to her fame. During the seventeenth century, the
beginning of the so-called Age of Reason, levitators kept popping up throughout
the Catholic world, not just in Europe but also in those places where Spain,
Portugal, and France had colonies. And quite a few of them walked the earth —
or hovered over it — at the same time as Isaac Newton was using empiricism and
inductive reasoning to come up with his law of universal gravitation. Many of
these baroque aethrobats followed the paradigms established by the likes of
Saint Teresa. Others, however, flew higher and more spectacularly than ever
before.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Excerpted and adapted
from They Flew: A History of the Impossible by Carlos Eire, new from Yale
University Press, 2023.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The Reluctant Levitator:
Teresa of Avila’s Humble Raptures. By Carlos M. N. Eire.<a href="https://publicdomainreview.org/essay/the-reluctant-levitator/"> The Public Domain Review</a>, November 8, 2023. </span></span></div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiylwsUCawLH8SklGyzVk3HRRWOBVLHvAq_qBVeGXvruS4GSWuP9nhx6EAgDNtUaLZ3shiqIRgc1BfusD6L5ruNN31BDhb7KyvJB3E_By0ieNp2NCZ1w106cCpSrgYDmKEjVxhOHmdg0Q94fuRONV3IH06f6Eg_eSPkkWHbYQaYm-wuYLMuZ_zUE1sOcow/s600/avila009.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiylwsUCawLH8SklGyzVk3HRRWOBVLHvAq_qBVeGXvruS4GSWuP9nhx6EAgDNtUaLZ3shiqIRgc1BfusD6L5ruNN31BDhb7KyvJB3E_By0ieNp2NCZ1w106cCpSrgYDmKEjVxhOHmdg0Q94fuRONV3IH06f6Eg_eSPkkWHbYQaYm-wuYLMuZ_zUE1sOcow/s16000/avila009.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">While strolling in the garden one day…a priest said to him, ‘Father Joseph,
oh, how beautiful God has made heaven!’ Then Joseph, as if he had been called
to heaven, gave a loud shriek, leapt off the ground, flew through the air, and
knelt down atop an olive tree, and—as witnesses declared in his beatification
inquest—that branch on which he rested waved as if a bird were perched upon it,
and he remained up there about half an hour” (Paolo Agelli, Vita del Beato
Giuseppe di Copertino, 1753).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">What kind of nonsense is this? Who is this liar quoted above? Human beings
can’t fly or kneel on slender tree limbs like little birds. So, how is it that
in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—the very era that gave birth to
aggressive skepticism and empirical science—countless people swore that they
had witnessed such events? And how is it that some of these sworn testimonies
are legal records, archived alongside lawsuits and murder trials, from all
sorts of people, not just illiterate peasants but also elites at the apex of
the social, intellectual, and political hierarchy?<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Reports of flying or hovering humans reached a peak at the dawn of
modernity, along with reports of other phenomena also deemed impossible by many
in our own day and by some doubters back then. Unlike spontaneous healing
miracles, which really do occur with some frequency, levitations and
bilocations are extremely rare events that are seldom taken seriously outside
certain belief systems. They are but two of several physical phenomena that
have been linked to mystical ecstasy in various cultures and religions around
the world for thousands of years. They are also among the oddest of wonders,
not just because they seem to happen infrequently but also because they appear
to serve no practical purpose other than confirming the special status of the
person who levitates or bilocates. In a religious context—and most accounts of
levitations and bilocations have religious origins—the unseen force is usually
ascribed to some higher being, but it can also be ascribed to the levitators
and bilocators themselves, who are so obviously unlike most of their fellow
human beings, for whom the tug of gravity within a single location is
inescapable. In Christianity, that higher being could be God or the devil, and
levitators could be viewed as either holy or diabolical, or, in some cases, as
clever frauds. As awesome displays of raw unnatural power, the phenomena of
levitation and bilocation have few equals.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">But how is it possible to speak about something that can’t possibly happen?
Acts of levitation or bilocation are “wild facts,” to use a term coined by
William James over a century ago. As he defined it, a wild fact is any
occurrence that has “no stall or pigeonhole” into which “the ordinary and
critical mind” can fit it. The alterity of any such phenomenon is so extreme,
said James, that it becomes “unclassifiable” as well as an unimaginable
“paradoxical absurdity” that must be considered inherently untrue as well as
impossible. Such wild facts puzzle scientists so much, he observed, that they
“always prove more easy to ignore than to attend to.” James was intensely
interested in psychic and mystical phenomena and greatly pained by the
dismissive attitude his fellow scientists displayed toward these phenomena.
Most of them, he quipped, thought that passing “from mystical to scientific
speculations is like passing from lunacy to sanity.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The situation James described long ago has not changed much, and in some
respects has worsened for anyone who wants to take wild facts such as
levitation and bilocation seriously. This leaves the historian or anyone with a
critical mind in a tight spot. If wild facts are “paradoxical absurdities,” are
there any facts whatsoever left to study? The answer is yes. The fact we can
explore is not the act of levitation itself, the wild fact that is inaccessible
to us. The fact we can deal with is the testimony. This issue is as brutally
simple as it is brutally circumscribed: since we have no films or photographs
to analyze for authenticity with the latest cutting-edge technology, all we have
is the fact that thousands of testimonies exist in which human beings swore
they saw another human being hover or fly, or suddenly materialize in some
other location. Consequently, a history of the impossible is a history of
testimonies about impossible events. Our dominant culture dismisses these
testimonies as unbelievable and merely “anecdotal”—that is, as accounts that
have no point of reference beyond themselves, no wider context, and little or
no credibility. So why not call it a history of lying, a history of
hallucinations, or a history of the ridiculous? Because the testimonies
themselves self-consciously accept the impossible event as impossible, as well
as bafflingly and utterly real—even terrifying—and of great significance.
Moreover, the sheer number of such testimonies is so relatively large, so
widespread across time and geographical boundaries, and so closely linked to
civil and ecclesiastical institutions that they most certainly do have a
broader context into which they fit. And that is a very rare and credible kind
of evidence, as unique as the events confirmed by it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Levitation is one of the best of all entry points into the history of the
impossible, principally because it is an event for which we have an
overabundance of testimonies, not just in Western Christianity but throughout
all of world history. Yet levitation is still a subject that attracts
disparagement and repels serious inquiry: the very claim that any human being
can defy the laws of gravity seems way too absurd nowadays, more than two
centuries after Newton, despite the existence of high-speed trains that employ
magnetic levitation to hover and fly forward while suspended just a few
centimeters above their tracks. Human levitation seems incompatible with
seriousness. Even a crank such as Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo, a Spanish
historian who eagerly defended absurd notions—including the claim that Catholic
orthodoxy was genetically transmitted among pure-blooded Spaniards—had no
patience with levitation and other physical phenomena associated with mystical
ecstasy. What this most unreasonable man had to say long ago about levitation
and other related phenomena, such as stigmata, is still very much in line with
prevailing thought: “Leave all these cases lying in oblivion. Let them be
brought to light, in due course, by those who are researching folk customs, or
those who wish to satisfy a childish sort of curiosity.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Bilocation is another entry point into the history of the impossible and
another subject that Menéndez y Pelayo would have wanted to sink into oblivion.
Like levitation, it is a phenomenon found in many religions and cultures from
ancient times to the present. But, like levitation, it seems incompatible with
seriousness, and therefore it receives an equal amount of disrespect and
contemptuous dismissals. Testimonies of bilocations are fewer in number than
those of levitations in Christian history, and the phenomenon is impossible in
a double way: not just as something that “cannot” happen but also as something
that no one can ever witness in both locations simultaneously. Verifying its
occurrence requires matching up eyewitness accounts from different locations ex
post facto, something that makes all testimonies less immediate and therefore
more open to the likelihood of fraud. But there is no denying the fact that
such corroborations have been recorded and accepted as factual, as in the case
of the bilocation of St. Ignatius Loyola to the bedside of the ailing Alexander
Petronius.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhygNgVmYhXzWPk4KAAz_rL2XvVrbXZh-W5ejCv1RxQzl6fc27Pm3fuK1jjghlvSVu5ipcb4RVC-DIDyei3pHEdGeltZXD7jmblv_q-YE6MY3-SBM5DwdVZNp1T93F1eii4Ji4SulsSNp9zS9SsuxlIIiD2R48WrTAD4Qp03WXl5OuGmkBCWGajvuXdFg/s1134/avila010.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhygNgVmYhXzWPk4KAAz_rL2XvVrbXZh-W5ejCv1RxQzl6fc27Pm3fuK1jjghlvSVu5ipcb4RVC-DIDyei3pHEdGeltZXD7jmblv_q-YE6MY3-SBM5DwdVZNp1T93F1eii4Ji4SulsSNp9zS9SsuxlIIiD2R48WrTAD4Qp03WXl5OuGmkBCWGajvuXdFg/s16000/avila010.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">If the past itself includes bizarre events and beliefs, are these to be
dismissed simply because they seem illogical or because our current frame of
reference differs so much from that of previous centuries? The easiest path is
to say, yes, of course. But a wiser path to take might be to say, no, of course
not. As Lucien Febvre, a very savvy historian, once said: “To comprehend is not
to clarify, simplify, or to reduce things to a perfectly clear logical scheme.
To comprehend is to complicate, to augment in depth. It is to widen on all
sides. It is to vivify.” And this vivifying requires not only embracing what
might seem strange in the past but accepting the strangeness as an essential
rational feature of the past, not as something irrational. As Darren Oldridge
has observed: “However peculiar they now seem, the beliefs of pre-modern people
were normally a rational response to the intellectual and social context in
which they were expressed.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Levitations are among the most ambiguous of mystical phenomena in Catholic
Christianity for two reasons: because of the belief that they can be caused by
the devil rather than God and because of the fact that they can also be faked
and have been regularly faked for millennia by all sorts of wizards and
hucksters. Contrived acts of levitation performed under tightly controlled
conditions can seem real indeed when those performing them are experts at
creating illusions and at fooling their audience’s senses. It matters little if
the illusion is performed on a stage as entertainment or in a chapel or some
dimly lit parlor as deceit. Reports of bilocations are even more vulnerable to
dismissal than levitations. To fake a bilocation seems easy enough. All one
needs to do is to recruit or bribe expert liars at both locations. Consequently,
believing in reports of bilocations requires a more intense leap of faith than
believing in levitations.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The likelihood of deceit haunts levitations and bilocations in yet another
way, for not too long ago these phenomena became intensely linked with ghosts
and spirits rather than God or the devil. This happened due to a rise in
popularity of the quasi-religious occult movement known as Spiritualism, which
spread like wildfire across North and South America, Europe, and other corners
of the Western world between the 1860s and the 1920s. Spiritualism had its
detractors, for sure, especially among the Christian clergy, professional
illusionists, and an array of skeptics, but it was not restricted to quirky
outcasts on the margins of respectability. Quite the contrary. As hard as it
might be to imagine nowadays, Spiritualism attracted a broad spectrum of
devotees, some of whom belonged to the upper echelons of society, such as the
eminent chemist and physicist Sir William Crookes; novelist Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle, the creator of the hyper-rational and immensely popular fictional
character Sherlock Holmes; evolutionary biologist Alfred Russel Wallace,
Charles Darwin’s closest collaborator and competitor; the Nobel laureates
Pierre and Marie Curie, pioneers in the study of radiation; and Mary Todd
Lincoln, the wife of American president Abraham Lincoln, who regularly held
séances at the White House.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The term “levitation” was coined by spiritualists in the nineteenth
century. Although accounts of hovering or flying men and women stretch back to
antiquity, no specific term had ever been applied to the phenomenon. But, given
its centrality in spiritualist ritual, especially during séances at which
mediums levitated objects, their own bodies, or those of others—ostensibly
through the agency of spirits—the amazing feat needed a name, and “levitation”
seemed to suit the cult’s quasi-scientific needs perfectly. Derived as it was
from the Latin levitas, or “lightness,” the exact opposite of “gravitas,” or
“heaviness,” the newly minted term had a distinctly Newtonian feel to it,
evoking his law of universal gravitation and empirical objectivity while
conveying a sense of the mysteriously spiritual and otherworldly. “Bilocation”
was another quasi-scientific term favored by spiritualists, who believed that
the human body had an “astral double,” a spiritual component that could leave
the physical body and appear elsewhere.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Spiritualism never disappeared completely. In fact, the ever-popular Ouija
board, still a best-selling game, made and marketed as a toy by Hasbro, the
same company that makes Monopoly, is a spiritualist device. But as
Spiritualism’s heyday waned, so did interest in levitation and bilocation. By
1928, when Olivier Leroy published the one and only comprehensive history of
levitation written in the twentieth century, the popularity of Spiritualism was
already fading fast. And no comparable effort was ever made to cover the
history of bilocation. Doyle, who died in 1930, seemed to embody the cult’s decline
in his final years. His zealous defense of communication with the dead and of
photographs of ghosts and fairies had by then become more of a disposable
Victorian curiosity than a set of beliefs to embrace, and since levitation and
bilocation were part of the spiritualist package deal, they, too, gradually
vanished into the cobwebbed attic of the public’s imagination.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbMP1pXAvZtVvUdgeDbBl638GbuwMzOKa15Xj1tW2dBX27DfGL7Ql91Q24lDw8ZhXWhMh2-g03rlhIHZrJlgyN4-6toYZr9eyrNvkPiW3p1viSuvrJ_2Xp8ZXfhz42yNXyQ4sslOAnhpIN62K3-3VOW2bsClyU6TrckocwcfEtOzXIB5PMtf_sfGi5J0/s902/avila011.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbMP1pXAvZtVvUdgeDbBl638GbuwMzOKa15Xj1tW2dBX27DfGL7Ql91Q24lDw8ZhXWhMh2-g03rlhIHZrJlgyN4-6toYZr9eyrNvkPiW3p1viSuvrJ_2Xp8ZXfhz42yNXyQ4sslOAnhpIN62K3-3VOW2bsClyU6TrckocwcfEtOzXIB5PMtf_sfGi5J0/s16000/avila011.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Levitation and bilocation might have had a shady lineage to overcome, but
they nonetheless had—and continue to have—a very different past upon which to
claim legitimate significance. Within the Catholic tradition, levitation and
bilocation have an immensely rich history, especially in the lives of the
saints. Because holy levitation and bilocation are considered miracles in
Catholicism—that is, supernatural gifts, or “charisms,” that accompany mystical
ecstasy and can be markers of exceptional sanctity—they have never completely
lost their luster and are not likely to lose it. The Greek term charisma
denotes any gift bestowed on humans through God ’s benevolent love (charis).
Belief in such gifts is as old as Christianity itself and was initially given
theological shape by the apostle Paul, who delineated their function in the
shaping of the Church:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “There are different kinds of
gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. There are different kinds of
service, but the same Lord who works all things in all. Now to each one the
manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good. To one there is given
through the Spirit a message of wisdom, to another a message of knowledge by
means of the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts
of healing by that one Spirit, to another miraculous powers, to another
prophecy, to another distinguishing between spirits, to another speaking in
different kinds of tongues, and to still another the interpretation of tongues.
All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he distributes them to
each one, just as he determines. “ (Corinthians 12:4–11)<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Among such extraordinary supernatural gifts, some not mentioned by Paul
were later recognized as legitimate, including levitation, bilocation, and
several others that accompanied mystical ecstasy. During the Middle Ages, a
long list of these divine mystical gifts evolved, especially through the
process of evaluating the holiness of candidates for sainthood and of writing
narratives of their lives as part of that process. By the thirteenth century,
when bilocation and levitation accounts begin to appear regularly in Western
hagiographies, many supernatural phenomena were believed to be definite signs
of sainthood, but there was no fixed list of the miraculous physical phenomena
that could accompany mystical ecstasy in the life of any saint. Much in the
same way that a medical text might contain lists of all the known symptoms for
specific maladies, this list of miraculous mystical gifts or charisma would
have simply catalogued those known to occur, but the primary characteristic of
holiness was always a virtuous life, rather than any miraculous mystical
phenomena—those were just a bonus. In the seventeenth century, this attitude
deepened in the Catholic Church as the process of canonization was revamped and
“heroic virtue” came to be emphasized more than miracles.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">No holy mystic was ever expected to have all the charisms that could be
listed, and these charisms could manifest themselves in varying degrees: some
saints could levitate more often or higher than others; some might just hover;
others might actually fly. All these gifts were wild cards of sorts, and so
were the particular combinations any mystic might be dealt by God. The most
significant of these charisms could be sorted into two categories: first, those
phenomena that were overtly physical and visibly involved the body; second,
those phenomena that were not visible but could be conjoined with mystical
ecstasy.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the first category, there were at least fifteen overtly physical
phenomena commonly linked with holiness and mystical experiences. Visible
ecstasies, raptures, and trances: when the body enters a cataleptic state and
becomes rigid, insensible, and oblivious to its surroundings. Levitation: when
the body rises up in the air, hovers, or flies. Weightlessness: when the body
displays a total or nearly total absence of weight during trances and
levitations or after death. Transvection: when the body is transported through
the air from one location to another in some indeterminate measure of time.
Mystical transport or teleportation: when the body transverses physical space
instantaneously, moving from one place to another without any time having
elapsed, sometimes over great distances. Bilocation: when the body is present
in two places simultaneously. Stigmatization: when the body acquires the five
wounds of the crucified Christ or other wounds inflicted during his passion.
Luminous irradiance: when the body glows brightly. Supernatural hyperosmia: a
heightened sense of smell that allows the mystic to detect the sins of others.
Supernatural inedia: the ability to survive without any food or with very
little food at all. Supernatural insomnia: the ability to survive without much,
if any, sleep. Visible demonic molestations: physical attacks by demons that
wound the body. Odor of sanctity: when the body emits a unique and immensely
pleasant smell. Supernatural incorruption: when the corpse of a saint does not
decompose but remains unnaturally intact for many years, decades, or centuries.
Supernatural oozing, or myroblitism: when the corpse of a saint discharges a
pleasant-smelling oily substance capable of performing healing miracles directly
or through cloths dipped in it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">And in the second category, holy mystics could have at least ten different
kinds of otherworldly experiences not visible to others or supernatural powers
with which they could be imbued. Some of these were physical gifts, some
spiritual, and some mental. Visions, locutions, and apparitions: when the
mystic has various sorts of encounters with the divine that are not visible to
others, and the mystic receives communications from God that are visual, aural,
or purely spiritual. Invisible demonic molestations: when the mystic is
assailed by demons spiritually or mentally, sometimes with a visual component
that is invisible to others. Telekinesis: the ability to move objects at a
distance by nonphysical means, without touching them. Telepathy: the ability to
read the minds and consciences of others or to communicate mentally. Prophecy:
the ability to know and predict future events accurately, including one’s own
death. Supernatural remote vision: the ability to see events that are occurring
elsewhere. Supernatural dreams: the ability to receive divine communications
while sleeping. Infused knowledge: learning directly from God, without formal
education, through ecstasies, visions, locutions, and apparitions. Supernatural
control over nature: the ability to command the behavior of weather, fauna, and
flora and to communicate with animals. Discernment of spirits: the ability to
distinguish whether any event is of divine or demonic origin.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Tellingly, only one of the phenomena listed above can be called genuinely
and exclusively Christian: that of the stigmata, the miraculous duplication of
the wounds of Christ on the mystic’s hands, feet, and torso, the first recorded
instance of which involves St. Francis of Assisi in the thirteenth century. All
other physical phenomena can be found in accounts from other cultures and
religions, in which such gifts are linked to individuals with spiritual powers.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Naturally, fraud and delusion could certainly be involved in claims about
such charisma and the miracles associated with them, and the likelihood of that
could be obvious to anyone, but in cultures where such phenomena were assumed
to be possible, it was belief in the charismata that had to be suspended rather
than disbelief.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Accepting these phenomena as possible requires a certain way of thinking
about the fabric of reality. It requires accepting as fact that the cosmos
consists of two dimensions, the natural and the supernatural, and that these
two dimensions, though distinct, are nevertheless intertwined in such a way
that the natural is always subordinate to the supernatural. In this mentality
or worldview, which was reinforced culturally by social custom and the
political forces of church and state, the natural order could be constantly
interrupted and overpowered by the supernatural. Any such irruption of the
supernatural was a miracle (miraculum or prodigium), and the natural world
constantly pulsated with the possibility of the miraculous.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">This binary approach to reality extended to the human being, for humans
were believed to have been created in “the image and likeness of God” and to be
composed of a mortal material body and an immortal spiritual soul. Saints could
tap into the supernatural because they were “holy”—that is, they were more
spiritual than other human beings, more attuned to the sacred and divine. As
individuals who embraced self-denial and focused intensely on spiritual
realities rather than on the needs of their corruptible material bodies, they
were able to avoid sinful behavior and live virtuous lives. This made them
“holy” and therefore closer to God, and that closeness transformed their mortal
bodies, imbuing them with supernatural abilities.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Such abilities were deemed celestial in origin: charisma granted to holy
human beings in and through whom God worked miracles. Some of these charismata
had dark parallels in pagan magic and witchcraft, so discerning the actual
source of the gift was always necessary for Catholic Christians, and that
process of discernment could be immensely complicated, awkward, and often
painful. In essence, the process involved reckoning the difference between
religion—that is, whatever was truly supernatural—and magic, which was never
truly supernatural but rather involved the diabolical agency or some sort of
humanly devised trickery.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Given this conundrum, and the inherent instability and ambiguity of the
miraculous, every levitation or bilocation—no matter how wondrous—had an
unavoidable tragic dimension, and all miracle-workers had to contend with it in
various ways. The more extreme the miracle claim, the worse the ordeal that the
miracle-worker had to face. Whether it was being grilled by the Inquisition,
being confined to a small monastic cell like a prisoner, or having one’s
writings destroyed or hidden away under lock and key, miracle-workers usually had
to be refined in some sort of crucible. Magic, religion, and the demonic were
too closely intertwined to allow Church authorities to approve of miracles
instantaneously. Distinctions had to be maintained, and those distinctions were
understood in precise terms by educated folk, especially the clergy tasked with
the job of doing the discerning. But at street level, among the faithful, the
line between religion and magic was anything but precise, especially when it
came to popular piety and the ways in which most Christians approached what
they believed to be supernatural.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The advent of the Protestant Reformation brought about a sudden
redefinition of concepts such as religion, magic, superstition, and idolatry,
as well as of assumptions about the relation between the natural and
supernatural realms. Distinctions that had reigned largely uncontested in the
Catholic Church of the West and the Orthodox Churches of the East since the
first century suddenly began to be challenged in the early 1520s when an earth-shaking
paradigm shift took place. The change in thinking resulting from this new
Protestant take on reality was similar in scope and significance to the one
caused by Copernicus in astronomy, but its impact was much more immediate and
widespread. It gave rise to a disparate mentality that still saw reality in
binary terms but drew the line between religion and magic differently,
rejecting the intense intermingling of the natural and supernatural as well as
of the material and the spiritual, thus placing much of Catholic ritual and
piety in the realm of magic. Moreover, this Protestant mentality also redefined
the concepts of holiness and sainthood, and rejected the assumption that
self-denial and virtuous behavior could allow human beings to be gifted with
supernatural powers.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">As if this were not enough of an assault on medieval assumptions about the
relation between the natural and the supernatural realms, Protestants of all
stripes also rejected the proposition that God had continued to perform miracles
beyond the first century, a doctrine that came to be known as “the cessation of
miracles” or “the cessation of the charismata.” The miracles mentioned in the
Bible had really occurred, they argued, but such marvels became unnecessary
after the birth of the early Church and would never happen again. Consequently,
all of those miraculous supernatural phenomena associated with holiness
throughout the Middle Ages, including levitation, could not be the work of God.
But by designating these phenomena “false”—that is, not attributable to
God—Protestants did not declare them impossible. As most Protestant Reformers
and their later disciples saw it, ecstatic seizures, levitations, luminous
irradiance, and all such phenomena did in fact occur, but they were all diabolical
in origin.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtwASgrgq-UxEfBwFAWfV8U4d-gIcDgcm4m9X5hlVVZE8uNyY9KkNeAfIKcyU2nMGAcXXhTbv4KA70FXFsD6_-NiluVbluDC6SXDX077C1nrICT0YZHBVbQzX5ZrSQ3UqrRelBGWrzVXDT6wjTp5BUqj4SGXSKYs-AsgFsiobf5kfXH5nxQ4AIBwOPow/s735/avila012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="735" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtwASgrgq-UxEfBwFAWfV8U4d-gIcDgcm4m9X5hlVVZE8uNyY9KkNeAfIKcyU2nMGAcXXhTbv4KA70FXFsD6_-NiluVbluDC6SXDX077C1nrICT0YZHBVbQzX5ZrSQ3UqrRelBGWrzVXDT6wjTp5BUqj4SGXSKYs-AsgFsiobf5kfXH5nxQ4AIBwOPow/s16000/avila012.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Given the religious, social, political, and intellectual turmoil caused by
the advent of Protestantism and its great paradigm shift, it is not at all
surprising that miracles became a marker of difference between Catholics and
Protestants, as well as a flash point of discord and a polemical weapon. For
Catholics, holy levitation could serve as proof of the divine source of their
Church’s authority and of the truth of their teachings and sacraments. If
miracles such as this occurred in the Catholic Church, could it really be the
seat of the Antichrist, as Protestants argued? Protestants simply countered by
insisting that if such weird phenomena were not fraudulent, they could only be
demonic, their existence damning evidence of the falsehood of the Catholic
Church, which employed the devil’s ability to easily fool the unwary. After
all, witches hovered and flew too. As Thomas Browne argued in 1646, since Satan
was a “natural Magician” he could “perform many acts in ways above our knowledge,
though not transcending our natural powers.” Meanwhile, however, Protestants
and Catholics alike continued to believe that witches hovered and flew and
should all be exterminated.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">At exactly the same time that Catholics were canonizing levitating saints
and burning flying witches and Protestants were busy tossing flying witches
into the flames, too—by the thousands—modern empirical science was emerging and
creating paradigm shifts of its own. The peak period for flying humans in
Western history coincides with the initial development of a new materialistic
way of thinking about reality that would reject all this flying as absolutely
impossible nonsense. One could say that the oddest fact about two of the most
extreme exemplars of miraculous baroque Catholicism, Joseph of Cupertino
(1603–1663), “the Flying Friar,” and María de Jesús de Ágreda (1602–1665), the
bilocating and levitating nun, is that they walked the earth—and ostensibly
hovered over it—at the same time as Isaac Newton (1642–1727).<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> Beyond the factual historical
dimension of baroque-era levitators, divine or demonic, one runs into more
abstract issues in the metaphysical and epistemological dimension of these
accounts. And the questions there make historians very uncomfortable. Did these
people really float in the air? If so, how and why, and how could it be proved?
As soon as these questions begin to pop up, we historians proudly bring out our
brackets and wield them with all the epistemological brawn we can muster. “We
bracket the question of whether this happened or not,” we say, and by that we
mean that since we cannot prove that any of this hovering and flying happened,
we put those questions aside. We limit ourselves to analyzing narratives and
the beliefs expressed in those narratives but not the events reported in them.
Those events remain suspended in an ether of their own, much like some
stiff-jointed levitating saint, in that vast limbo where all unprovable and
unusable testimonies get squirreled away. And all we are left with is the fact
of the testimonies given and of the beliefs reflected in them.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The issue of whether so-and-so really flew cannot be addressed. And the
same goes for bilocation or any other charisma associated with mystical
ecstasy, for there is no way anyone today can prove that someone really hovered
or flew or bilocated in the sixteenth or seventeenth century. No one’s
testimony from the distant past can be taken as absolute proof, not for
something as uncommon and unnatural a phenomenon as levitation, even if corroborated
by hundreds or thousands of similar testimonies, for a simple reason: like all
miracles, by definition, phenomena such as levitation and bilocation are
totally unlike others in history. If in fact they have taken place, the number
of witnesses has been far too small, relatively speaking. And the further back
one goes in time, the more difficult it becomes to defend the credibility of
those witnesses. The argument made by David Hume in 1748 about the
impossibility of proving any miracle solely from testimony is worth quoting at
this point:<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> “A miracle is a violation of the
laws of nature; and as a firm and unalterable experience has established these
laws, the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the fact, is as
entire as any argument from experience can possibly be imagined…. Nothing is
esteemed a miracle, if it ever happens in the common course of nature…. There must, therefore, be a uniform
experience against every miraculous event, otherwise the event would not merit
that appellation…. The plain consequence is (and it is a general maxim worthy
of our attention), “That no testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle,
unless the testimony be of such a kind, that its falsehood would be more
miraculous, than the fact, which it endeavors to establish.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Nonetheless, while it is ultimately impossible for anyone to prove that any
levitation or bilocation actually took place, the fact that there are
eyewitness testimonies of such instances is easy enough to prove. And those
testimonies, which are often rich in detail, tell us something about the past
that our present-day culture predisposes many people to overlook or deride.
This brings us back to Febvre’s observation: “To comprehend is to complicate,
to augment in depth. It is to widen on all sides. It is to vivify.” The
testimonies of witnesses to impossible events, which are themselves full of
complexities and ambivalences, vivify the past. They allow us a glimpse of the
world as some of those who lived long ago actually saw it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Making Sense of Levitating Saints : Historians must take the impossible
seriously. By Carlos Eire. <a href="https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/saints-levitation-bilocation-eire-miracles-history">Commonweal Magazine</a>, September 6, 2023. </span></span></div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XtJJtwo-r2ybdGbUoSGBazEOKu-9w-QdBzyYnDphiKjpPt7wvrCSKwbE1n4dQS4XeoiKk_b720hTwtga4BR-_LEaZoaz_6206lX6XfHM4ExLva-hPBo29jIFVzLJzkuXDiHRrRQC93ljjrxZ645A256xDvXEY7qui5TBiqu2WCSA18GOLjHzgLb8PiI/s600/avila013.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="429" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XtJJtwo-r2ybdGbUoSGBazEOKu-9w-QdBzyYnDphiKjpPt7wvrCSKwbE1n4dQS4XeoiKk_b720hTwtga4BR-_LEaZoaz_6206lX6XfHM4ExLva-hPBo29jIFVzLJzkuXDiHRrRQC93ljjrxZ645A256xDvXEY7qui5TBiqu2WCSA18GOLjHzgLb8PiI/s16000/avila013.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span lang="EN-GB">Accounts of levitation
were far from uncommon in medieval Europe. In some cases, dozens of witnesses
attested to the miraculous events.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The 17th-century English physician Thomas Browne confessed being “thankful
that I lived not in the days of miracles, that I never saw Christ nor his
Disciples; I would not have been one of those Israelites that passed the Red
Sea.” A devout Anglican, Browne was not what we would call a skeptic. He
believed the biblical miracles had happened, and he believed that witches
roamed the Earth. He also was one of a growing number who thought that things
like walking on water, levitation and resurrection no longer occurred.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Looking at Browne’s period, we might think that he wasn’t paying much
attention to the world outside his Norwich medical practice. As Carlos Eire
demonstrates in “They Flew,” the 16th and 17th centuries were bursting with the
impossible. Levitations, bilocations, divine encounters, healings, demonic
possessions—such things were the stuff of the daily gossip and the Sunday
sermon. “They Flew” provides a bridge to a part of history that is rarely taken
seriously today and challenges the well-worn narrative of “the triumph of
rationality over primitive credulity and superstition.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The author, a professor of medieval history at Yale, won the National Book
Award in 2003 for his memoir, “Waiting for Snow in Havana.” Here he focuses on
aethrobats (air walkers), using levitation as a case study of how we might
better approach events that we consider to be impossible. Levitation as a
reported phenomenon is quite old and crosses many religious and cultural
boundaries. Aethrobats pop up throughout the historical record, as far back as
ancient Greece and the ancient Near East. In the Christian world after the
fifth century, levitation begins to appear more regularly. The 13th-century
life of Francis of Assisi—whose levitations were one of his “many mystical
gifts”—was a watershed, according to Mr. Eire.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Levitation was a popular preoccupation throughout late medieval and early
modern Europe. Some levitations were only “modest hoverings.” Others were
full-blown “flights.” Some lasted only a few minutes, while others went on for
hours. A few people glowed while levitating, and many lost all sensation.
Almost all aethrobats reported being in a trance, completely overcome by divine
power and lost in contemplation. Importantly, such experiences were understood
to be of a different order than things like demonic possession and witchcraft.
They were, instead, seen as sacred gifts from God that demonstrated the
individual’s piety.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">While levitation accounts shared many common threads, there was a great
deal of variety too. Mr. Eire follows three aethrobats to illustrate this
variety. The levitations of St. Teresa of Ávila in the 16th century, and St.
Joseph of Cupertino and María de Ágreda in the 17th century, are well
documented, Mr. Eire reports. The dozens of witnesses to these events present
significant challenges to any out-of-hand dismissal of these kinds of events.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbV81hO7CiY2mrOEg0P9wH2o9K_vKurT4EpsASTzU3VIRJjpVamI6tdO3SwYnCtiCW_br69J8OFb2StKAUDeNYP_VIqggljo216fteYWqU6n7PUnCSiAZOIBxevNALVl5z41mh6GBkGVMqgDaN4Q0auVTI697xEbeZnDElyXWnBfo9Dn8aRLnhPrOfaa8/s702/avila001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="702" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbV81hO7CiY2mrOEg0P9wH2o9K_vKurT4EpsASTzU3VIRJjpVamI6tdO3SwYnCtiCW_br69J8OFb2StKAUDeNYP_VIqggljo216fteYWqU6n7PUnCSiAZOIBxevNALVl5z41mh6GBkGVMqgDaN4Q0auVTI697xEbeZnDElyXWnBfo9Dn8aRLnhPrOfaa8/s16000/avila001.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The most well-known of these three, Teresa of Ávila began levitating during
times of intense prayer. The frequency of her levitations increased to include
more inconvenient moments, such as when she was in the kitchen cooking, “frying
pan in her hand.” They became so regular, and public, that Teresa begged God to
take them away (a request, Mr. Eire notes, that was granted). In the end, it
seems that although levitation was evidence of the “ultimate levels of mystical
ecstasy,” the attention it attracted was too embarrassing and shameful.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Teresa’s aversion to levitation is unusual among aethrobats. The author,
who previously published a short biography of the saint, wonders why she turned
away from levitation so completely. Her account of the experience is one of the
most thorough; she described levitation as an extreme expression of divine
love.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“They Flew” walks a fine line as it examines such accounts. Mr. Eire treats
them with caution without being incredulous, and is not without his own doubts.
At the same time, he points out that “every age and culture has its own
unquestionable beliefs” and invites readers to consider how our own definitions
of the impossible and the unquestionable are rooted in a particular way—as
fallible as our forebears—of seeing the world.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Where Teresa was born to a wealthy merchant family, Joseph of Cupertino was
born in a stable to a carpenter father. And Joseph, unlike Teresa, seems to
have been fond of his mystical experiences, as well as a severe routine of
self-mortification. A chapel in La Grottella in southern Italy played home to
Joseph, known as “The Flying Friar.” His levitations and bilocations were
witnessed by “high clergy and nobility” from across Europe, as well as
countless others. His popularity even won him an audience with Pope Urban VIII,
whom Joseph impressed, Mr. Eire reports, by floating above the Holy Father’s
head while in a mystical trance.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zBA2msA0hBycDa5V68VZMM2os534v2EJ66G6roOXSOi5ixoHbYSHhIHLLfG3Imex21FE8pLlZ71ESV13QYuHFln5ZoiGJTkkflMTDfa8SJw24fwe_cOsbDD6p7lBNJ4oX92hJf_UnbjVtKDj1ddbKf0vd0nF7cjONPwIDx4LX9X3Krk9yChl57EYqMw/s599/flying%20blue%20nun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zBA2msA0hBycDa5V68VZMM2os534v2EJ66G6roOXSOi5ixoHbYSHhIHLLfG3Imex21FE8pLlZ71ESV13QYuHFln5ZoiGJTkkflMTDfa8SJw24fwe_cOsbDD6p7lBNJ4oX92hJf_UnbjVtKDj1ddbKf0vd0nF7cjONPwIDx4LX9X3Krk9yChl57EYqMw/s16000/flying%20blue%20nun.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Likewise, María de Ágreda was not as shy as Teresa about her experiences.
As a child, she reported that she “often heard voices, saw visions, entered
trance-like states, and talked to invisible beings.” Her mother transformed the
family home into a nunnery, the Convent of the Immaculate Conception. When
María began levitating, the family invited crowds to witness the unconscious,
floating girl, turning a religious experience into what Mr. Eire calls a
“carnivalesque display of supernatural power.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">Mr. Eire also raises an eyebrow at one of María’s most impressive feats,
her bilocations to Mexico, where she claimed to have visited with and
evangelized the Jumano tribe. The visits, however, coincided with other
missionary journeys to the Jumanos, and Mr. Eire points out that it is very
possible that María had access to those missionaries’ written accounts.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">The author also notes the doubts of many people at the time. Few miraculous
accounts were accepted without question, particularly by church authorities.
The Catholic Church was not in the business of authorizing frauds, and there
were plenty of fakes and tricksters unmasked during the period. Teresa, Joseph
and María faced scrutiny from their confessors, and all three were investigated
by the Inquisition. In fact, María barely avoided charges of heresy for her
book on the Virgin Mary, which she reported had been given to her by direct
revelation. It is very possible that King Philip IV of Spain’s support of María
spared her a severe judgment from the church.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">“They Flew” is historically rich and superbly written; it has only one real
weakness. The author overstates the power of the Protestant Reformation as the
major cause for the decline in impossible experiences. As Mr. Eire notes,
“Protestants continued to believe . . . in impossible events such as
levitation”; they were, however, far less willing to ascribe divine agency to these
events. This is entirely true, but his account leaves little space to discuss
the intellectual skepticism of the Renaissance as well as the emerging
rationalist and empiricist philosophies of the 17th century, none of which had
much time for the miraculous.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">That, in the end, is the true subject of Mr. Eire’s study: the power of
belief, and unbelief, in our experiences of reality. What we deem possible or
impossible has less to do with what is happening than how we understand it to
be happening. Whether we believe in God, human reason, science or Jedi mind
tricks, belief shapes our perceptions of the world around us and the meaning we
assign to it.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">—Mr. Davis is a professor of history at Houston Baptist University.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">‘They Flew’ Review:
Hovering Saints, Floating Friars. By
David J. Davis. <a href="https://www.wsj.com/arts-culture/books/they-flew-review-hovering-saints-floating-friars-5705f011">The Wall Street Journal</a>, October 27, 2023. </span></span></div>
<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdSqfufmmpad_123oyYRWdmFaCLKg2DM9v4APGubftH6gOTzVEl6Cft4nblnoUm_7C9ierSpUGGEhKl6tZjE73mBKAS5_ApzMpX6eGRT9KSzoQptR92R6014cgpG1_bAVAbMHYdNJNJZntL3NjBGh3EOAmjUGJJiWZVRLYPkTQHRQW7N-MRKgmFOaCQ0/s640/avila020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdSqfufmmpad_123oyYRWdmFaCLKg2DM9v4APGubftH6gOTzVEl6Cft4nblnoUm_7C9ierSpUGGEhKl6tZjE73mBKAS5_ApzMpX6eGRT9KSzoQptR92R6014cgpG1_bAVAbMHYdNJNJZntL3NjBGh3EOAmjUGJJiWZVRLYPkTQHRQW7N-MRKgmFOaCQ0/s16000/avila020.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They Flew: A history of
the impossible<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span>In this episode, Dr.
Carlos Eire talks about his new book, They Flew: A History of the Impossible.
The book explores the seemingly impossible physical phenomena of levitation and
bilocation by Christian mystics, as well as some of the charlatans who managed
to fake these feats. Dr. Eire's book also delves into malevolent mysticism,
including witches and those who claimed to receive their powers from Satan.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><a href="https://shows.acast.com/the-christian-mysticism-podcast/episodes/they-flew-a-history-of-the-impossible"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span>The Christian Mysticism
Podcast</a>, November 5, 2023</p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://yalebooks.co.uk/book/9780300259803/they-flew/">Yale University Press</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-17075604723529933852023-11-08T16:30:00.002+00:002023-11-08T16:35:20.296+00:00 The Meow Is A Feline Invention For Conversing With People, The Hidden Language of Cats<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNSUWKj8Xxs63NfL0y5mhYjuF31rCwPMjNJ1R5ThYdIPKIUvA8zJuRaOWholQJVWByRrHkcNsJEBF576U7Dhg8PiG9a6xmPI77cTW0vLDFmfpk1Gv3JZXR4-NXMQOvXOg0nnD2_BpuGm7pzJGgFlQseY0pq68gpxAj0E-fHt4wDZsh8kFelKqv2lYIj8M/s700/9780593186411.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNSUWKj8Xxs63NfL0y5mhYjuF31rCwPMjNJ1R5ThYdIPKIUvA8zJuRaOWholQJVWByRrHkcNsJEBF576U7Dhg8PiG9a6xmPI77cTW0vLDFmfpk1Gv3JZXR4-NXMQOvXOg0nnD2_BpuGm7pzJGgFlQseY0pq68gpxAj0E-fHt4wDZsh8kFelKqv2lYIj8M/s16000/9780593186411.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chapter 1</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wildcats
and Witches<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cat said,
"I am not a friend, and I am not a servant. I am the Cat who walks by
himself, and I wish to come into your cave."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">-Rudyard
Kipling, The Cat That Walked by Himself<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I stood in
the corridor outside the walk-in cat pen at the rescue center and watched
through the wire mesh door. The center manager, Ann, already inside the pen,
approached the big glaring ginger cat who was crouched against a side wall,
eyes like saucers, fur fluffed to the maximum, hissing and growling in a truly
terrifying manner. Undeterred, Ann wielded her syringe of vaccine and, with
fearless skill and dexterity, quickly jabbed him with the needle. Big Ginger,
as we later named him, launched himself. Not at Ann, but up the wall, across
the ceiling, down the other side, and into a box to hide in the blink of an
eye. Retracing his route with my eyes, I asked Ann, "Did he actually just
run over the ceiling?" She smiled. "The ferals often do that."
Rookie postgrad that I was, I had to confess to her this was my first proper
experience with feral cats, which are unsocialized domestic cats that have
reverted to a semi-wild existence. People had laughed when I said I was going
to study domestic cat behavior for my doctorate. "Domestic cats? Aren't
they a bit boring? Don't you want to go abroad and study big wildcats
somewhere?" I figured this one was probably wild enough for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While Big
Ginger and the other cats from his colony were being looked after at the rescue
center, my colleagues and I visited the cats' future home, a farm. We put up a
shed as a base from which to feed them and, lining the shelves inside with
beds, cut a cat-size hole in the door so they could use it for shelter too. A
few months later, to offer them some extra cover, next to the shed we built a
square wooden structure with a hinged lid containing four compartments,
separated from one another internally and each with its own entrance hole. We
grandly named it the "catterama."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The day
after the cats were released at the farm, I stood hopefully by the shed, a tin
of cat food in my hand, and surveyed the land around. There was not a cat in
sight. Occasionally a flash of black and white or ginger would catch my eye and
then be gone. At one point I could just about make out two little eyes
reflecting back at me from the darkness of the bushes nearby. Hmm, so much for
a "study" colony, I thought-would any of them ever venture out into
the open again?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I
embarked on my studies of cats and their communication, words like tame, feral,
domestic, socialized, and wildcat floated through the literature in a
bewildering fashion. So much to disentangle. What did they all mean? Can you
tame a wildcat? What, really, is a domesticated animal? And is a feral cat
still a domestic cat? Slowly, as I learned more about Big Ginger, his colony
mates, and their ancestors, I began to find answers to my questions. I realized
that when looking at how my colony cats communicated, it was important to
consider the history of cats, and how they have adapted and changed. For
example, the life of a wildcat is so different from that of a domestic cat,
there surely had to be differences in their language too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Domestication<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Is the
"domestic" cat actually domesticated? It is a question that's been
asked time and time again, the cause of endless debates and raised fur among
cat-loving and cat-hating communities around the world. Looking for an answer
requires some consideration of the difference between a tame animal and a
domesticated one and where the modern-day cat fits in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Taming
describes the process whereby an animal becomes biddable and often friendly
toward the handler over the course of its lifetime. It applies to a single
animal, not a population or species. Wild individuals of many species are tamed
by people and have been for millennia.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Domestication,
on the other hand, is a much longer process that involves genetic change in a
whole population over time. Humans have been trying to domesticate animals, to
adapt them to living with us under our terms, for thousands of years. While we
have succeeded with some-like dogs-for other species it has proved an
impossible challenge. Often the best result we can achieve is taming, and with
many animals, even that option remains elusive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
challenge is that for domestication to occur, a species needs certain
qualities. The first, and most important, is approachability and the potential
to be handled by humans-that is, they must possess the capacity to become tame.
For tameness to develop into domestication, the general rule of thumb is that
the animals must have the ability to live in social groups or herds controlled
by a leader (and be accepting of humans in this role). They must also be
flexible with their diet, eating whatever we have available to feed them. In
particular, for domestication to progress, animals must be able to breed in
captivity, again under the control of humans who select individuals that
possess the most favorable traits. All in all, a big ask for many species of
animal-not least the cat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do we
tell if a species is domesticated? In 1868, Charles Darwin noted, with some
intrigue, how domesticated mammals have certain behavioral and physical
characteristics in common with one another compared with their wild ancestors.
As well as the expected increase in friendliness toward people, there were odd
things such as smaller brains and coat color variations. Ninety years later, in
a remote research station in Siberia, what is probably the most famous ongoing
domestication study in history began. Russian scientists Dmitri Belyaev,
Lyudmila Trut, and their team re-created the domestication process starting
with a captive population of silver foxes that had originally been reared for
their luxurious fur. Although the foxes all appeared very wild, there was some
natural variation in their behavior toward people. Belyaev selected those that
were least reactive to approach by humans and bred from them. He then chose the
tamest offspring of these matings and bred from them and so on until, after
only ten generations, he had a small population of friendly, waggy-tailed,
vocal, and interactive foxes. As more generations were bred, the foxes started
to display physical changes, too, such as spotted coats, floppy ears, and
shorter, curlier tails. Amazingly, these traits appeared simply as a side
effect of selection for tameness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Domestication
syndrome, as it is now described, refers to an array of both physical and physiological
traits exhibited by species that have undergone domestication. The list has
grown over the years as Belyaev's fox study and others have identified
additional traits, including smaller teeth, a tendency toward more juvenile
facial features and behavior, reduced stress hormone levels, and a change in
the reproductive cycle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most
domestic animals exhibit a selection of these changes but rarely all of them,
their expression varying among species. With so much variability, some
scientists have begun to question whether domestication "syndrome" as
such exists. Even Belyaev's studies have come under deeper scrutiny with the
discovery that the original foxes on his farm came from fur farms in Canada and
may therefore have already undergone some previous selection for handleability.
While the debate about an overall syndrome continues, there seems little doubt
that domestication does bring about some physical as well as genetic changes in
many species compared with their wild ancestors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Interestingly,
these types of changes have also been observed in contemporary populations of
certain undomesticated species. With more and more species adapting to thrive
near people, some are starting to exhibit traits similar to those of
domesticated species. In the UK, for example, red foxes have become
increasingly present in urban areas where they show reduced fear of people.
Some of these urban foxes have been found to have shorter and wider snouts and
narrower brain cases compared with rural foxes, physical changes that resemble
those associated with domestication in other species.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Domesticated"
cats show a few physical features that distinguish them a little, but not a
whole lot, from their wildcat ancestors. Their legs are a bit shorter, their
brains slightly smaller, and they have longer intestines. Domesticated cats'
coats vary in color and pattern, too, compared with the consistently striped
(mackerel) tabby markings of the wildcat. Floppy ears, however, do not occur,
and neither do shorter, curlier tails. That there are so few obvious physical
differences between them and the wildcat has caused many to question how
domesticated the cat is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So just how
qualified are cats in the domestication stakes? They certainly have the
capacity to become tame. On the whole, they seem happy to eat what we feed them
(apart from those who have perfected the art of fussiness)-their longer
intestine compared with that of wildcats is thought to be an adaptation to
feeding off human scraps. They have also adapted to living in groups, although
mostly only where necessary or advantageous to them. However, the list fizzles
out around there. That cats regard humans as their "leaders" seems
highly questionable. And perhaps because of this there is another, much bigger
gap in the cat's qualification for true domestic status. Although cats are able
to reproduce in captivity, selective breeding by humans to produce those with
known pedigrees is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating from around the late
1800s. The popularity of such pedigreed cats as pets has grown in recent years,
yet surveys indicate that still only 4 percent of owners in the US and 8
percent in the UK acquire their cats from a specialist breeder. Most domestic
cats are what are known as random bred, with mixed or unknown parentage. Some
are lucky enough to live as well-cared-for pets, either permanently indoors or
with outdoor access, but millions of cats worldwide have no home and live very
different lives, often quite independently from humans. Today many pet house
cats are neutered, itself a form of breeding control by humans, albeit preventive
rather than selective in nature. However, huge numbers of pet cats remain
unneutered, many of them wandering freely outdoors, and these cats, along with
the millions of unowned ones, form a vast reproductively intact cat population
on the lookout for mates. These cats breed indiscriminately, very much not
under the control of people, although often literally right on our doorsteps.
Some say this widespread lack of human influence over cats' choice of mates
means that they aren't fully domesticated. As a result, cats have been
variously described as semidomesticated, partially domesticated, or commensal
in their unique relationship with humankind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Socialization
and Feralization<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However we
decide to label it, the modern-day "domestic" cat does possess a
genetic predisposition for friendliness toward humans. It is only a
predisposition, though, and cats aren't just magically friendly to humans from
the minute they're born. Kittens must first meet humans at a very early
age-between two and seven weeks old-in order to become tolerant of and friendly
toward humans as adults.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Take this
scenario. A friendly, socialized female pet cat, let's call her Molly, falls on
hard times. Molly's owners move away and abandon her, so she resorts to a life
on the street, finding food where she can. If unneutered, she may become
pregnant courtesy of a wandering tomcat and give birth to kittens, tucked away
wherever she can find a safe, sheltered spot. These kittens may not encounter a
human in the first two months of their lives, even if Molly is still friendly
toward people, because, to the best of her ability, she will hide her babies
from any potential danger. If left long enough without human contact, the
kittens will grow up nervous toward people and will avoid them for the rest of
their lives, often hanging around human habitation to glean food but avoiding
interaction. As these growing kittens then breed with other stray cats, their
offspring and successive generations become increasingly wary of people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">These are
known as feral cats. They are still genetically identical to domestic cats and
retain the domestic cat's ability to live in close proximity to other cats when
necessary. This is usually to exploit a local concentrated abundance of food,
such as handouts from a restaurant or scraps from waste bins. Groups of feral
cats often become established in an area, and if allowed to reproduce, they
rapidly expand in number to form larger colonies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's not
just a one-way process, though. Molly's kittens could become quite feral within
a generation through missing out on socializing with people. But as domestic
cats, they still retain and genetically pass on the ability to be friendly
toward humans if socialized. The progeny of these potential ferals, if
introduced to people early enough, could become properly socialized and live
with people as happily adjusted pet cats, just like their grandmother Molly
once did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was in
just such a colony that Big Ginger started life. We have no idea how many
generations of ferals had lived under the school buildings where we first met
him and his colony mates, but it's safe to say Big Ginger was well and truly
suspicious of people. As were most of the other adult cats. Four of the females
gave birth to litters of kittens while in the rescue center-judging by the
telltale ginger and tortoiseshell coats among them, we assumed Big Ginger was
the father of at least some of them. Despite their antisocial dad, these
kittens were young enough to be introduced to people and socialized at the rescue
center before finding homes. This would not have been possible for Big Ginger.
He would never be able to tolerate living in such close proximity to humans,
although as time went on, he gradually accepted my daily presence outdoors at
the farm and would sit politely some distance away waiting for his dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Origins
of the Domestic Cat<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Where did
it all begin? It is only really in the past twenty years that we have
discovered the true origins of today's domestic cat. Prior to that, from the
many artistic portrayals of cats on ancient Egyptian tombs and temples from
around three and a half thousand years ago, we simply knew that a special
relationship with cats existed at that time. Images of cats sitting under
people's chairs or on their laps led to the assumption that it was the ancient
Egyptians who first domesticated the cat. But which "cat" did they
domesticate? And did cat domestication only occur in ancient Egypt?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first
step toward finding the answers to these questions came in 2007, when a study
of the DNA of the entire cat family-the Felidae-revealed that it was composed
of eight distinct groups or lineages. These groups diverged from their common
ancestor, the catlike Pseudaelurus, at different times, beginning with the
Panthera lineage (containing, among others, lions and tigers) over ten million
years ago. The very last group to branch off the family tree, around 3.4
million years ago, was a lineage containing various species of small
wildcat-the Felis lineage. From genetic comparisons within the study,
researchers found that the domestic cat fit within this lineage.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Excerpted
from The Hidden Language of Cats by Sarah Brown. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/690536/the-hidden-language-of-cats-by-sarah-brown/">Penguin Random House</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_8oH3TBzwdXV2Q4Ss5eHPExgg8QQNbo5BzyAVpBK5SGCFqLyPYdD-I7UnDMIY34iLoZ6E2hc48Ge6OK0KcUgyO1FQmIfvLvVmlyRNoGcHTres_ft54MrRlgCtO6C4fDJgbuJBCHQgyhrHpbu_Znhqaoj5YCxb2mCmxEF0rs2eu0hFftcQm5J0ZhOTPs/s600/8055191654_c93f9c9257_c.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_8oH3TBzwdXV2Q4Ss5eHPExgg8QQNbo5BzyAVpBK5SGCFqLyPYdD-I7UnDMIY34iLoZ6E2hc48Ge6OK0KcUgyO1FQmIfvLvVmlyRNoGcHTres_ft54MrRlgCtO6C4fDJgbuJBCHQgyhrHpbu_Znhqaoj5YCxb2mCmxEF0rs2eu0hFftcQm5J0ZhOTPs/s16000/8055191654_c93f9c9257_c.jpg" /></a></span></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That one
in there—he just sits and hisses.” The school caretaker pointed to a hole
underneath the old building. I crouched down, peered in, and said, “Hello
there,” to the dirty, scrawny little cat, who promptly hissed at me with all
his tiny might. Hissing Sid, as he became affectionately known, was one of a
colony of feral cats that my colleagues and I went on to rescue from the
grounds of the school, where they were becoming something of a nuisance. After
a little sojourn in a rescue shelter where they were all neutered and their
kittens found new homes, the cats were relocated to a farm. Over the next few
years, feeding them in their special cat shed on the farm every day, these cats
became part of my life. Here, as they learned to trust me, they worked out new
ways to communicate with me. Ways that included less hissing and more of the
friendly sounds we associate with our sweet‐talking pet cats.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In a cat’s
world, where smells are paramount, it must be a bewildering experience when
they first hear a person speak. So many different, unfamiliar sounds directed
either at another person or, even more perplexingly, at the cat. Humans are
very preoccupied with the spoken word, babbling away at everyone and everything
we meet. Intrigued as to what their “spoken” sounds mean, we have developed
something of a fascination with the vocalizations of cats too. Nestled deep in
the history books, a diary entry by the Abbé Galiani of Naples, dated March
21, 1772, offers some of the earliest recorded insights into cat vocalizations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I am
rearing two cats and studying their habits—a completely new field of scientific
observation . . . Mine are a male and a female; I have isolated them from other
cats in the neighborhood, and have been watching them closely. Would you
believe it— during the months of their amours they haven’t miaowed once: thus
one learns that miaowing isn’t their love language, but rather a signal to the
absent.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Little did
he know it, but Galiani was ahead of the game with his observation that his two
cats never meowed to each other. The true purpose of meowing would only be
discovered centuries later, when larger scientific studies of cats became more
accepted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Through the
intervening years, feline literature embarked on something of a magical mystery
tour of the apparent linguistic talents of cats. Writers mostly attempted to
define cat vocalizations along the lines of human language, identifying
consonants and vowel patterns and certain “human” letters in their cats’
speech. Reflecting on the differences between cats and dogs, Dupont de Nemours,
an eighteenth‐century naturalist, wrote, “The cat, also, has the advantage of a
language which has the same vowels as pronounced by the dog, and with six
consonants in addition, m, n, g, h, v, and f.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some
authors took this a step further to describe cats’ use of actual human words.
In 1895 Marvin R. Clark, a musician and lover of cats, published an enchanting
and slightly bewildering book titled Pussy and Her Language. In this he
includes “A Paper on the Wonderful Discovery of the Cat Language,” apparently
penned by a French professor named Alphonse Leon Grimaldi. In it, Grimaldi
claimed to have elucidated the language of cats, providing an in‐depth analysis
of the cat’s use of vowels, consonants (apparently used “daintily” by cats),
and grammar, as well as words and numbers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Grimaldi’s
paper included a list of what he considered to be seventeen of the most
important words in the feline language:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He went on
to elaborate, “In the feline language the rule is to place the noun or the verb
first in the sentence, thus preparing the mind of the hearer for what is to
follow.” As if this weren’t skilled enough, Grimaldi also considered cats
capable of counting. He compiled a comprehensive list, including “Aim” for
number one and “Zule” for millions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Grimaldi’s
“translations” were not surprisingly met with mixed reactions; many authors
dismissed them as nonsense. However, among his rather bizarre suggestions, he
did include a few wonderful nuggets of insight. His description of an enraged
cat, for example, will resonate with many people:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The word
‘yew’ . . . when uttered as an explosive, is the Cat’s strongest expression of
hatred, and a declaration of war.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1944,
Mildred Moelk revolutionized the world of cat language with her in‐depth study
of the phonetics of the sounds produced by her own house cats. Her approach was
to divide the vocal sounds of domestic cats into three main categories based on
how they are produced. First, those made by the cat with their mouth closed,
such as purrs, trills, chirrups, and murmurs. Second, the sounds made while the
cat’s mouth is opened and then gradually closed—these include the meow, the male
and female mating calls, and the aggressive howl. The last group are all made
while the mouth is held continuously open, generally associated with
aggression, defense, or pain in cats. They include growls, snarls, yowls,
hisses, spits, more intense mating cries, and shrieks of pain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
difficulty in this vocal categorization lies in the huge amount of variation in
the production of sounds, both between cats and within the repertoire of a
single individual. As Moelk so elegantly put it, “The house‐cat, unlike man,
has enforced upon it no model of traditional language and no standard of
correct pronunciation to which it must conform.” Her work has been used as the
basis for the analysis of cat vocalizations ever since. Some investigators have
attempted to classify them using phonetic criteria like Moelk, while others
have examined their acoustic qualities or concentrated on their behavioral
contexts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although
cats have a huge range of vocalizations, in cat‐to‐cat interactions they
generally reserve these sounds for three types of occasions: finding a mate,
fighting, and communicating between kittens and their mothers. The first two
involve supernoisy sounds that we tend to hear at nighttime. Caterwauling,
shrieking, bloodcurdling noises—the sorts of calls that make you rush outside
to identify the source or cover your ears to block them out. In their quest to
communicate with humans, cats seem to have ingeniously worked out that it is
the gentle sounds, like those used between a mother cat and her kittens, that
appeal to us most.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Newborn
kittens start life with the ability to purr, spit, and produce a few simple
“mew” noises. At least they sound simple to us. What sounds like a lot of
squeaking to the human ear is actually a range of different kitten calls. In
addition to crying when they are hungry, kittens have a distress call that
varies in tone, length, and volume depending on the reason for their anxiety.
The mew of a kitten that is too cold has the highest pitch; becoming lost from
the nest produces the loudest mew; and the most urgent and persistent mew is
reserved for when they are somehow trapped. This last cry often happens as the
mother sprawls out on her side to allow her kittens to nurse, inadvertently
lying on some of them in the process. Depending on the type of cry, she responds
by retrieving the lost kitten or by changing her position a little. Shifting
her body as she lies nursing her litter encourages a kitten that has dropped
off a nipple and become chilled to snuggle back in, or enables a squashed
kitten to wriggle back out. A study by Wiebke Konerding and co‐researchers
looked more closely at the responses of both male and female adult cats to
recordings of two different types of cries made by kittens. One type had been
recorded in what the authors describe as a “low arousal” context, made by
kittens that had simply been spatially separated from their mother and the
nest. The other was recorded in a “high arousal” context in which, as well as
being separated from their mother, the kittens were held by the experimenter (restrained/trapped).
On hearing these recordings, adult female cats oriented themselves toward the
source of the cry (a loudspeaker) faster for the more urgent (trapped) kitten
calls compared with the less urgent (strayed from nest) ones, indicating that they
distinguished between the two. This happened regardless of whether they had
ever had kittens themselves. Male cats, on the other hand, although they
reacted to the kitten cries, showed no difference in their reactions to the two
call types. Female cats therefore seem somehow hardwired to identify distress
calls of kittens. Studies have also shown that each kitten develops its own
individual versions of these calls and that these remain constant as it grows
older. Whether mother cats can recognize their individual kittens from their
calls alone remains unknown. In turn, mother cats have a very special type of
call they use when interacting with their kittens. Often described as a chirrup
or chirp, this gentle trill‐like sound was written by Moelk as “mhrn”*
phonetically. It is a delicate, cheerful sound, described by the
nineteenth‐century writer Lafcadio Hearn as “a soft, trilling coo, a pure
caress of tone.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To humans
this enchanting call sounds much the same in all mother cats. Kittens, though,
can recognize the chirrup of their own mother when they are only four weeks
old. They can distinguish it not only from her meows but also from the chirrups
and meows of different mothers. Researchers discovered this by videoing and
analyzing the responses of four-week‐old kitten litters when hearing
vocalizations of their own and other mother cats. While a mother cat was absent
from the room, experimenters played recordings of vocalizations from behind a
screen to her litter of kittens still in their nest. They played them a meow
and a greeting chirrup from their own mother as well as a meow and chirrup from
an unknown mother cat, at an equivalent stage of motherhood to their own.
Looking at the kittens’ responses, the researchers found that they became alert
faster to chirrups than to meows. They also stayed alert longer, were quicker
to approach the source of the sound (the loudspeaker), and stayed there
significantly longer when hearing their own mother’s chirrup compared with any
other of the sounds. That kittens can do this from such an early age suggests
an advanced level of cognition at a time when they are only just beginning to
move around and explore their world. This may be an adaptation for survival in
the wild, where litters of kittens are often hidden out of sight by their
mother while she goes off to hunt or find food. Her reassuring chirrup as she
returns lets them know that it is safe to come out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As kittens
mature into adult cats and their vocal cords develop, their tiny mews gradually
change into the more elaborate sounds that we describe as “meows.” I’d been studying
my adult hospital and farm cats for a while before I realized, just like
Galiani back in 1772, that I had never heard them meow to each other. They
would hiss occasionally and may well have quietly purred when sitting together,
but that was the extent of their vocalizations. Later studies confirmed this
discovery—the iconic meow of adult cats is almost exclusively reserved for
cat‐human interactions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
wild, away from the comforts of a human home, mew vocalizations gradually
decrease as kittens become more independent. In house cats, though, meows are
by far the most frequent vocalizations directed toward humans. Our pet cats
often combine the meow with extra sounds such as trills or purrs. Some cats,
like people, are chattier than others. Certain pure breeds, particularly
oriental ones such as Burmese and Siamese, have a reputation for being more
vocal. That said, many random‐bred house cats, or moggies, spend their days
meowing hopefully at their owners.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So why do
they meow at us? It seems that over the ten thousand odd years that they have
associated with us, cats have learned that we don’t always understand their
wonderfully subtle language of scents, twitches of the tail, and flicks of the
ears. They need to make noise in order to get our attention. And lots of it.
For the ever‐adaptable cat, what could be more logical than to use
vocalizations that, as a kitten, so effectively achieved a response from their
mother?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What
exactly is a meow? A simple answer is hard to find, and it depends on who you
ask. Nicholas Nicastro from Cornell University has studied the meow and our
understanding of it extensively. His wonderful though head‐spinningly technical
definition describes the acoustics of the meow: . . . a quasiperiodic sound
with at least one band of tonal energy enhanced by the resonant properties of
the vocal tract. The call ranges between a fraction of a second to several
seconds in duration. The pitch profile is generally arched, with resonance
changes often reflected in formant shifts that give the call a diphthong‐like
vowel quality. . . . This call type very often includes atonal features and
garnishments (trills or growls) that may serve to differentiate the calls
perceptually.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A slightly
simpler, more phonetic version comes from Susanne Schötz and her team in the
Meowsic project at Lund University in Sweden: “. . . a voiced sound generally
produced with an opening‐closing mouth and containing a combination of two or
more vowel sounds (e.g. [eo] or [iau]) with an occasional initial [m] or [w]…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Urban
Dictionary’s definition is far more succinct but to the point: “Meow is the
sound a cat makes. It is also the sound a human makes when they are imitating a
cat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To the
human ear, meows can sound friendly, demanding, sad, assertive, persuasive,
persistent, plaintive, complaining, endearing, and even annoying. Some
investigators have attempted to categorize meows into different subdivisions,
but their classification proves tricky because, just like other cat
vocalizations, the meow varies substantially among cats—and even changes in the
same cat at different times. Despite this variability, there seems to be a word
for “meow” in every language, from the Danish “mjav” to the Japanese “nya.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However we
choose to say or spell it, the sound of a cat meowing is unmistakable. Unless
that meow you thought you heard is actually a baby crying? Both sounds are
generated by the vibration of the vocal cords in the larynx, and the acoustics
of the two are remarkably similar, particularly with respect to what is known
as fundamental frequency, or the number of waves of sound that occur per
second. To the listener this frequency is perceived as the pitch of the
sound—the higher the frequency, the higher the pitch. The cries of healthy
babies have been shown in various studies to have an average frequency of 400
to 600 Hz and are described as having a falling or rising‐falling pattern as
the cry continues. Adult domestic pet cat meows, although hugely variable, were
found by Nicastro to average 609 Hz. Other researchers, such as Schötz, have
reported similar figures.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pitched
around the same level, both cat meows and baby cries seem to be particularly
hard to ignore. The much‐researched cries of babies have been shown to elicit
alertness and distress in adults. In fact, Joanna Dudek and coworkers from the
University of Toronto demonstrated that hearing babies’ cries affects our
ability to perform other tasks. No one has tested yet whether cat meows have
the same effect but, given the acoustic resemblance to baby cries and the
creativeness of cats, we can probably assume they are quite distracting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Is this why
cats are so hard to ignore? Have they somehow hot‐wired our brains so we simply
must respond to an urgent need to take care of them like a baby? Possibly yes,
but probably not intentionally. Throughout domestication, we may have
unwittingly selected for cats with the most persuasive meows, those that tend
to resemble the cries of our own infants. Nicastro’s study showed that compared
with African wildcats (the ancestors of the domestic cat), the meows of
domestic pet cats sound much more pleasant to human listeners. This may well be
related to the differing pitches of their vocalizations, with the wildcat calls
averaging 255 Hz compared with the much higher 609 Hz pitch of the domestic
cats. Another study, exploring the acoustics of feral cat and pet cat meows,
found the pitches of feral cat meows to be much lower than those of pet cats
too. The meows of the ferals more closely resembled those of the wildcats in
Nicastro’s study. This suggests that socialization and experience with humans
in some way modifies the meows of domestic cats.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Interestingly,
while feral cats barely meow at all when first looked after by a human, rescue
workers often report that ferals increase their rate of meowing as they spend
more time in their company. Even some of the feral cats that I watched on the
farm, who only ever came near me very briefly when I dished up their food
before leaving each day, gradually began to learn to meow a little as time
passed. Cats learn fast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Excerpt
from : Sarah Brown’s The Hidden Language of Cats: How They Have Us at Meow. Dutton.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You Had Me
At Meow: On the Hidden Language of Cats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Scientist Sarah Brown Confirms That Your Cat Really Is Talking To You.
By Sarah brown. <a href="https://lithub.com/you-had-me-at-meow-on-the-hidden-language-of-cats/">LitHub</a>, October 18, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrjQ9AebGF4pUSnLFmQhmaEk6oLTznWFFh1EasXzgzFbo12we2dZWGohfEqC-9XI66IgjsUUe357g_b3B2k-XlyGWRJWBgcrCwfiK6M5OTanjpdNyixOIS3PPwF3QSxPzKR2b7QqP2usvcY4wDWpC-lBKYqH1koGLgX5Cv7Hkx-etnIBNPJ4AroOlgcy8/s600/1c1659061948245146b861ea9e0993bd.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrjQ9AebGF4pUSnLFmQhmaEk6oLTznWFFh1EasXzgzFbo12we2dZWGohfEqC-9XI66IgjsUUe357g_b3B2k-XlyGWRJWBgcrCwfiK6M5OTanjpdNyixOIS3PPwF3QSxPzKR2b7QqP2usvcY4wDWpC-lBKYqH1koGLgX5Cv7Hkx-etnIBNPJ4AroOlgcy8/s16000/1c1659061948245146b861ea9e0993bd.jpg" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Few animals
are more aloof and impenetrable than the cat, no matter how much we bond with
them. Eager to unlock the mysteries of her own cat, Olivia Petter invited
feline expert, and author of the forthcoming ‘The Hidden Language of Cats’, Dr
Sarah Brown to meet – and hopefully diagnose – her adorable Blanche DuBois</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If there’s
any domestic animal in need of some good PR, it’s the cat. In the pet world,
they are a much-maligned anomaly. While other animals are permitted depth of
character, cats are often reduced to stereotypes. They’re aloof. They’re
demanding. They think they’re better than you. Some of that might be true. But
internationally renowned cat expert Dr Sarah Brown has made a career out of
proving why it isn’t always the case.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dr Brown
began her studies more than 30 years ago, and has spent years analysing the
minutiae of feline behaviour, highlighting all the quirks and complexities that
motivate cats. Having done her PhD on feral cats, she also works as a cat
behaviour counsellor, visiting owners in their homes to try and help solve
their pets’ problems. Typical issues range from spraying around the house to
attacking owners’ ankles. On one occasion, Dr Brown dealt with a cat who’d been
chewing the television cables. “That was a pretty dangerous one,” she recalls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve
invited her to my house to meet my own cat, Blanche DuBois, and it only takes a
few minutes for her to decipher our entire dynamic. “I imagine you don’t leave
her alone much,” she says. “I can tell you’re very bonded with her.” She’s
right: I am completely obsessed with Blanche. Although I’m not sure it takes a
cat expert to work that one out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Much of Dr
Brown’s new book, The Hidden Language of Cats, revolves around debunking some
of the common misconceptions surrounding the animals. In it, she traces cats
back to their ancestral roots and examines historical records and scientific
studies to illustrate some of the previously unexamined magic behind these
furry creatures. “A lot of people misunderstand cats,” she says, putting this
down to the fact that they descend from North African wildcats, which is an
entirely solitary species.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They didn’t
come across each other very much and would communicate via scent,” Dr Brown
explains. “Face-to-face contact wasn’t really a thing for these animals; unlike
dogs, which descend from social wolves, cats had to develop their language from
scratch, so to speak.” In short, they had a lot more work to do, and some have
clearly worked harder than others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cats also
haven’t been domesticated for as long as dogs, which, in part, is why their
signals for communication are often more subtle. “It’s things like whether
their tail is up or down, and which way their whiskers are pointing,” says Dr
Brown. “Their ears alone have seven different ways of moving. It’s not that
they’re aloof; it’s that most of what they’re doing we’re not noticing. You
just need to look harder.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">New
research is coming out all the time to prove this. In fact, just this week a
new study published in the Behavioural Processes journal revealed that cats
have 276 facial expressions, a range that is thought to have evolved as a
result of living with humans. The researchers found that through a variety of
facial muscle movements, including nose licks, nose wrinkles, and blinks, cats
were able to express themselves in far more ways than experts have previously
thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s a
number that isn’t far off from the 357 expressions that have been spotted in
chimpanzees; but it’s a far cry from the 27 facial movements observed in dogs,
though no one has studied the number of expressions that can be derived from a
combination of these movements. Still: take that, dog lovers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In terms of
the things cats are trying to communicate, Dr Brown explains it’s mostly along
the lines of, “feed me, let me out, let me in, pet me, play with me, leave me
alone!”. “The thing with cats is that they like to lead interactions, to have
them on their own terms,” she says.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is
something I know all too well. You see, Blanche does not like to be told what
to do. Whenever I have to shut her in a room, for example, she scratches
furiously on the door, meowing until I open it. That said, she is hardly a
problem cat. If anything, her only issue is that she does not have enough
issues. An indoor high priestess who spends her days perusing her kingdom (my
flat) from either her palace (cat tree) or her conservatory (chest of draws
that overlooks a shared garden), Blanche is nothing if not overindulged.
Occasionally, I worry this affects her behaviour. Dr Brown, who has spent the
last 30 minutes assessing her, assures me this is not the case.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“She seems
like a pretty standard, marvellously rewarding cat,” she says, holding up a
piece of string that Blanche is happily pawing at. “For an indoor cat like her,
enrichment is really important. So it’s great you have things like the
scratching post and plenty of toys. It’s key to make her life as interesting as
possible.” Throughout our chat, Blanche pads around the flat, climbing her cat
tree, hiding under a chest of drawers, and meowing into the room. “She’s very
busy, isn’t she?” Dr Brown remarks, noting how her tail flicks up when she
comes towards her, which, apparently, is a sign she’s greeting her and being
friendly. Phew.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We have a
very close relationship, Blanche and I. And I explain as much to Dr Brown.
Again, though, I think this requires no explanation. Given that I work from
home, we spend a lot of time together. She sleeps on the pillow next to me most
nights, sometimes placing her paw over my hand, and enjoys being near me
wherever I am in the flat. “Clearly, she feels very safe with you,” says Dr
Brown. “She doesn’t really seem that interested in wanting her own space and
actually just wants to be in your space and be a part of your social group.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Much of Dr
Brown’s book is about how cats communicate with us. There are many types of
meows, for example, and they differ between cats. “People who live closely with
their cats may develop a repertoire where you start to understand some of their
meows,” she says. “They use it as a prompt to tell you what they want or need.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s all
very well and good. But what about when it comes to us communicating with our
cats? There are endless memes on the internet, for example, about how cats
don’t even know their own names. This, Dr Brown points out, is not strictly
true. “Studies have shown that cats can recognise their own name among other
words that sound similar to it,” she says. “They won’t come running down the
stairs when they hear it like dogs, but they might stop what they’re doing and
suddenly pay more attention to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We can also
tell them that we love them, although perhaps not in those exact terms. “The
best way of showing cats love is to notice what they’re doing and try to read
their signals and respond,” says Dr Brown. “That might be giving them space
when they need it or affection when they ask for it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are a
few specific things Blanche does that I want to ask Dr Brown about. Why, for
example, does she always roll on her back with her little feet in the air when
I come home? “That’s a really big compliment and means she’s really relaxed and
comfortable,” she says. “But people think that means ‘come and rub my tummy’
and most cats hate that.” Indeed, Blanche is not always a fan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another
thing she hates? Children. She has hissed at three toddlers in the past year
alone. “That’s quite common,” says Dr Brown. “Children can be quite forthcoming
with their movements and cats don’t like it when people go straight in to
handle them. They like any form of contact to be on their terms.” So far, so
straightforward. A slightly more niche query I have: why, whenever I roll out
my yoga mat at home, does Blanche rush to lie on it with me, often stretching
herself. Does she want to do yoga too? “Cats really like it when you get down
on the floor because then you are on their level,” says Dr Brown. “I think it’s
a case of you’re doing something interesting that you don’t normally do and she
thinks that’s fun and wants to get involved.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I also want
to address one key concern. Aside from me, Blanche doesn’t tend to like women,
at least not for a while – she meows and wriggles away whenever they try to
pick her up or interact with her. However, she has always warmed very quickly
to men, flopping into their arms to let them cuddle her, posing in her
prettiest positions whenever one comes round. Is my cat a misogynist? Or
perhaps just a bit slutty?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This is
possibly down to her early upbringing,” suggests Dr Brown. “It might be that
she was around more men than women when she was between two and seven weeks
old, which is where all the socialisation happens for cats. Maybe they had an
interaction style with her that she particularly liked, or she enjoys the way
men handle her. It’s interesting because generally cats prefer the way in which
women interact with them.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This brings
me to my last question for Dr Brown. I want to ask her about the people who own
cats. Because as much as cats themselves might be misunderstood, that stigma is
nothing compared to that which we attach to cat owners, particularly if, like
me, they’re women. As any female cat owner will know, the “crazy cat lady”
trope is a pervasive one both socially and culturally, making appearances
everywhere from Friends to The Simpsons. It’s also something I’ve been called
many times.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Am I one? I probably am,” says Dr Brown, who
herself has one cat named Smudge. I assure her that if she is, then I am too.
“It’s interesting because cats have a long history of being associated with
women, beginning with Egyptian goddesses, and then witches.” It’s not clear
exactly when women started being accused of witchcraft, or when cats started
being perceived as their familiars and, in some cases, their magical doubles.
But by 1233, cats had become so closely linked to witchcraft and evil spirits
that Pope Gregory IX gave a sanction to exterminate all cats. And so from the
13th to 17th centuries, cats were massacred and often burnt at the stake along
with women who’d been accused of witchcraft. So while cats have had a bit of a
rollercoaster relationship with humans in general, women seem to have always
been inextricably linked with them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking to
Dr Brown and reading her book has only strengthened my love of and fascination
with cats, particularly in comparison to other animals. “They’re less
domesticated than dogs,” says Dr Brown. “So I think that makes them more
interesting. Perhaps more challenging, too.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And if
people want to call me a “crazy cat lady”, it’s a label I’ll embrace with
pride.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I asked
an expert why my cat hates women and children. By Olivia Petter. <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/cat-language-talk-pets-b2440296.html">The Independent</a>,
November 4, 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF7OJV_gLbjHiHw1aNoJ6ZrCgMPezVY1WEFx2R8jYFREiABR2u4z3NSEypkhvLjc-J0bSXEEYdfCVg2TSgby-NGscHgB7bbCUOIkvGPzeYHwZkuI-xTWxID2I28LsQ6zAlPVmarSMK1xHYlRUw_9kQrWrD8mpJtiD9J0poFuPH_BS3DoLjHsvYdDvkOso/s600/Cat-fight-scaled.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF7OJV_gLbjHiHw1aNoJ6ZrCgMPezVY1WEFx2R8jYFREiABR2u4z3NSEypkhvLjc-J0bSXEEYdfCVg2TSgby-NGscHgB7bbCUOIkvGPzeYHwZkuI-xTWxID2I28LsQ6zAlPVmarSMK1xHYlRUw_9kQrWrD8mpJtiD9J0poFuPH_BS3DoLjHsvYdDvkOso/s16000/Cat-fight-scaled.jpg" /></a></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“At
last, a brilliant voice to give cats the recognition they deserve." –Brian
Hare and Vanessa Woods</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cats are
fascinating animals. I'm always eager to learn what research is revealing about
their hidden and not-so-hidden lives and the often mysterious ways in which
they negotiate their own social worlds and their relationships with humans.1
These are among the reasons I was thrilled to learn of a new book by cat expert
Dr. Sarah Brown called The Hidden Language of Cats: How They Have Us at Meow.
In this wide-ranging discussion of cat behavior that will help make you
"fluent in feline," we learn about different forms of
communication—cat language—including vocalizations, tail signals, scents,
rubbing, and ear movements and that the cat's meow is a feline invention for
conversing with us.</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's
what Sarah had to say about her extremely important, myth-busting book.
Although intriguing and somewhat mysterious, cats aren't as asocial as some
people claim they are. In fact, they're extremely adaptable and actually have
plenty to say for themselves.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Marc
Bekoff: Why did you write The Hidden Language of Cats?</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sarah
Brown: During my studies of and work with cats over the last 30 years, I’ve
often felt they were rather misrepresented, frequently described as aloof,
inscrutable, or uncommunicative, particularly in comparison with our other best
friends, dogs. In reality, cats have a whole host of social signals that they
use both with one another and with us humans. It’s all just a bit more subtle
than with dogs. So, my aim was to show, by exploring all the wonderful
scientific research on cat behavior, the many ways in which cats communicate,
hopefully enabling readers to better understand the cats in their lives.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">MB: How
does your book relate to your background and general areas of interest?</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">SB:
Having studied zoology as an undergraduate, I was fascinated by animal behavior
and began studying cats in the late 1980s when I embarked on my doctorate. Focusing
my studies on two colonies of neutered feral cats, I discovered some intriguing
new scientific facts about the social interactions within these groups,
particularly how they used tail signals and rubbing in their day-to-day lives.
After my Ph.D., I continued to work with cats, and have done ever since,
keeping up with the science and working as a cat behavior counselor and a
consultant for the cat toy industry and carrying out research for cat rescue
organizations in the UK, as well as writing books about cats.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">My book
pulls together all the science, both older and more modern, on cat
communication. It also includes stories from my work with cats, right from the
earliest farm cats that I studied, to the cats I worked with in shelters, and
some of my own cats, too.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">MB: Who
is your intended audience?</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">SB:
Anyone who has a cat or loves cats and is interested in learning more about how
cats communicate, and about how best to interact with them.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">MB: What
are some of the topics you weave into your book and what are some of your major
messages?</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">SB: I
discuss the varied forms of communication cats use and about how amazing this
is considering they are descended from a solitary wildcat ancestor that relied
mainly on scent for communication. These wildcats rarely met one another apart
from to breed, and so long-distance methods of communication by scent were
ideal. As cats became more domesticated, they had to adapt to living in close
quarters with other cats and with people, too, so they found more visual and tactile
ways to communicate. I talk about the behaviors I recorded cats using in their
day-to-day interactions with one another such as Tail Up, which is a good
indicator of friendly intentions when one cat approaches another. This often
leads to rubbing between cats, an intriguing cat behavior that I explore in
more detail. Cats use these same behaviors when interacting with people, too.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">For
humans, the preferred method of communication tends to be talking. Cats seem to
have worked this out and have developed their iconic meow especially to
communicate with people—they rarely meow to one another apart from the little
mews from kittens to their mothers. I explore meows in detail—What are the
different types? Why are they so hard to ignore? And do we really understand
what they mean?</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I also
take a look at the different ways in which humans interact with cats. One of my
most important messages is for people to be very conscious of the ways in which
they interact with cats. Try and let the cat lead the interactions, bear in
mind how cats prefer to be petted, and notice from their body language when
they have had enough. Hopefully people’s conversations with cats will be much
longer and more rewarding as a result!</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">MB: How
does your book differ from others that are concerned with some of the same
general topics?</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">SB: My
book combines a detailed look at the many scientific discoveries of cat
behavior (both my own work and that of other researchers) with stories of some
of the cats behind this science, plus other cats I have had the pleasure of
working with and living alongside over the years. It also contains simple,
light-hearted line drawings of cats being cats. I hope this combination of
science, illustrations, and meeting cats such as Hissing Sid, one of my feral
farm cats, helps make the science feel more accessible.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">MB: Are
you hopeful that as people learn more about the language of cats they will
treat them with more respect?</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">SB: Very
much so. As people realize how well cats have actually learned to communicate
with one another and with us, even though their language is less obvious than
that of dogs, I hope that cats will lose their reputation for being cool or
aloof. They are far from it, and often work much harder than humans at trying
to get their message across. Their ability to live both in social groups or as
solitary individuals and to easily change from one to the other shows an
amazing adaptability, one which deserves some serious respect!</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">References</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
conversation with Dr. Sarah Brown. Sarah gained her Ph.D. on the social
behavior of neutered domestic cats while working at the Anthrozoology Institute
at the University of Southampton in the United Kingdom. She has since worked as
an independent cat behavior counselor and as a consultant for the cat toy
industry, and has conducted research for and worked with several UK animal
charities. Sarah's other books include The Cat: A Natural and Cultural History
and The Behaviour of the Domestic Cat, 2nd edition, and she contributed to The
Domestic Cat: The Biology of Its Behaviour, 3rd edition.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Hidden and Not-So-Hidden Social Lives of Cats.
Cat expert Sarah Brown's new book will help make you "fluent in
feline." By Mark Bekoff. <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/animal-emotions/202309/the-hidden-and-not-so-hidden-social-lives-of-cats">Psychology Today</a>, October 16, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXx-jwdd2F4rTMmhZQAZRiXU1v-tv8Eq4W7doGnRdTeK6M_4eSoryRgcN-7YymuANvpaGgfuvTx9Fe16VNnhGYExLSaHquP_2rAEIphGgrvSw1RM57cRcWDIGKXXb90cb9sIyGYSoskUZy-zYfP2_8C-tbxj70H07j42jT5fqq5QXQjW7bILvB1Ca4xVo/s600/BlackCat-Illustration-scaled.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXx-jwdd2F4rTMmhZQAZRiXU1v-tv8Eq4W7doGnRdTeK6M_4eSoryRgcN-7YymuANvpaGgfuvTx9Fe16VNnhGYExLSaHquP_2rAEIphGgrvSw1RM57cRcWDIGKXXb90cb9sIyGYSoskUZy-zYfP2_8C-tbxj70H07j42jT5fqq5QXQjW7bILvB1Ca4xVo/s16000/BlackCat-Illustration-scaled.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">How well do
you know your pets? Pet Psychic takes some of the musings you’ve had about your
BFFs (beast friends forever) and connects them to hard research and results
from modern science.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> What does the phrase cat communication make
you think of? Probably a meow—or a hiss, if you’ve ever crossed a kitty’s
boundaries. Yet much of what cats “say” to each other and to humans isn’t
expressed out loud. Rather, it’s conveyed by their tails.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> There’s the side-to-side swish when they’re
agitated; the straight-down, puffed-out position of fright; the horizontal line
for neutrality; and many more back-end gestures shared among the feline family.
But one movement is largely confined to adult domestic cats: tail-up, whereby
the articulate appendage is held perpendicular to the cat’s back, with the tip
pointed forward at an approaching individual.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> “You look at all the other wild cats in the
world and they all have very similar mannerisms and behaviors. [The tail-up
signal] is specific to domestic cats and to lions,” says Sarah Brown, a cat
behavior specialist and author of The Hidden Language of Cats. “I think that’s
just amazing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> In the early 1990s, Brown tracked the
behaviors and relationships of a free-living cat colony in Southampton,
England. She observed that the tail-up position preceded amicable interactions,
with cats often affectionately rubbing heads and sometimes sitting together
afterward. Subsequent studies by researchers elsewhere bore those observations
out. In tests where cats were presented with images of felines whose tails
pointed up or down, the tail-up pictures elicited friendlier responses.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> It’s also been demonstrated that cats use the
tail-up cue in a similar manner with their humans—attentive kitty keepers may
have already come to this conclusion. But it’s less evident where the
expression came from. How did our lap-loving, couch-climbing companions end up
sharing a behavior with the so-called king of the jungle?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> Even Felis lybica, the African wildcat from
whom domestic cats evolved, makes the tail-up gesture in kittenhood. That’s a
telltale sign of an origin in their domestic history, which is thought to have
started about 10,000 years ago as wild cats congregated to hunt rodents around
the fields and storehouses of Mesopotamian farmers. There they lived in closer
proximity to one another than ever before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> Suddenly, cats had a pressing need to
negotiate social interactions. Having an easy-to-read pose that quickly
conveyed approachability and ease would help them avoid unnecessary conflict.
Natural selection would “favor this behavior because it improves the cohesion
of that social group,” says Eugenia Natoli, an evolutionary biologist who has
studied the behaviors of free-living cats in Rome. “The reproductive success of
individuals who cooperate would be higher than the success of individuals who
don’t cooperate. It would then move on to the next generation, and so on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> Some scientists have even suggested that
tail-up evolved in captive-bred colonies of ancient Egypt, where cats were
sacred and also sacrificed in mind-boggling numbers—an estimated 385,000 feline
mummies were buried in a single temple. These large-scale rearing facilities
would likely have been a crucible for new adaptations to communal living.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> Whether this body language started on farms or
in cat mills, we may never know, but both possibilities dovetail with its
presence in lions, who typically live in prides with up to several dozen
individuals. Other cat species are mostly solitary: They may have consistent
relationships—mountain lions, for example, belong to complex hierarchical
societies—but they’re not spending much time together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> Only domestic cats and lions share that life
history. However, if sociality can explain the evolution of the tail-up signal,
here’s a question: How did cats settle on that rather than some other behavior
to convey good vibes?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> There are three possible answers so far,
summarized by Brown in her book. According to one, tail-up was a riff off the
crouching, haunches-raised sexual displays of female cats. The second idea is
that it originated from the tail position that cats use when spraying urine to
mark their territory or send a message to neighbors. The last hypothesis
suggests that it comes from the movements kittens reflexively make when
approaching their mothers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> “As soon as they become mobile and Mum’s
coming toward them, that little tail goes up,” says Brown. “They all do it.”
Precisely why is another mystery. Natoli thinks it’s a biologically hard-wired
way of helping mothers identify kittens by smell—cats have scent glands on
their flanks and tails, and by lifting their tails, they make these easier to
sniff. But both she and Brown think the third explanation for the tail-up
origin is most likely.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Perhaps [solitary wild cats] didn’t meet many
other cats once they left their mother. They got out of the habit of putting
their tail up. But [domestic] cats today are so constantly surrounded by other
cats or people, they just carry on doing it,” says Brown.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> That would make tail-up a neotenic
behavior—one that is performed early in life and continues during adulthood.
Kneading—when nursing kittens and snuggling mature cats flex their paws—is
another neotenic behavior. (This one may be shared across felines.) Tail-up has
positive emotional associations for a little one who’s happy to see Mom, and it
could retain those associations for grown-ups.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> At some point, cats took the small leap to
pointing their tails at their favorite humans. Over a 10,000-year history, we
became members of their group. They chose to befriend us—and they remind us of
that every time that tail forms a furry thumbs-up.<o:p></o:p></span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span> This tell-tail sign means your cat likes
you. As they grew tamer over time, cats
forged an unlikely friendship using their tails. By Brandon Keim. <a href=" https://www.popsci.com/environment/cat-tail-up-position/" style="font-family: inherit;">PopSci+</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">, October 12, 2023. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-25078944277293172962023-11-03T15:36:00.001+00:002023-11-03T15:36:09.787+00:00Playlist : Atka, Frost Children, Jockstrap & Taylor Skye, Joe Unknown, Mannequin Pussy, Zea, Caroline Davis' Alula, Bingo Fury, Jolie Holland, Bar Italia, Mary In The Junkyard, Blue Bendy, Nadine Shah, Klein, UKAEA ft Dali de Saint Paul, John Francis Flynn, You Are Wolf, Royel Otis, Library Card, Laura Jane Grace, Torres, Abstract Concrete, Gazelle Twin, Lip Critic, Jenn Champion, Slauson Malone 1, ĠENN, pencil, Lila Blue, Maria BC, The March Afternoons<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8Nf9Wp66i6_fjFxY1jAZ6oVfPkBVoyiEMmUesFB_PfKTNeFlRYCN5Qm9Q2MHETBiZHYNIFn07SD8KjV9qAsHejfXrcRABm8DuxSPWtOiSpZE0JRpxueRc_uFiMsAHvoTgfjJX5BHfEuPutrKCw5CgytgrzYBkTcKNpZyURlWYJF6F_vpmAr4kTAx4sY/s600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8Nf9Wp66i6_fjFxY1jAZ6oVfPkBVoyiEMmUesFB_PfKTNeFlRYCN5Qm9Q2MHETBiZHYNIFn07SD8KjV9qAsHejfXrcRABm8DuxSPWtOiSpZE0JRpxueRc_uFiMsAHvoTgfjJX5BHfEuPutrKCw5CgytgrzYBkTcKNpZyURlWYJF6F_vpmAr4kTAx4sY/s16000/maxresdefault.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Again a choice of my favorite music videos. I've enjoyed a lot of good music in October. In this selection probably the most moving song of the year, Eye in the Sky by by Atka. The masters of irony are back, Blue Bendy. John Farncis Flynn's Willy Crotty is groundbreaking. There's a lot of scribbling going on, language too. There a band called pencil (from London) and one called Library Card.(from Rotterdam). If you like violins... pay attention. If you are a religious person, well....see and believe. The Question : Are music videos awful artless things? </span></div><p> </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Atka – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuAgEDfaEis">Eye In The Sky</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXzKAvll9xBeCMQDnMheDmPRzzh4tZgc9yDqbbNVUmnKaH06oPP2QYqphnSJT3DlTJSmSZGGmOOcfk6Q29Sj3jCGjXzjzn5E-atFoCXbBIPWrCWBPMCirpUWikrZGxM6QkXopQ-sk2yqBnOnG3E7nmGOxJbOwf-q7HU6R8s8J6jHN7bUFV2UP2NN1vvjM/s600/atka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXzKAvll9xBeCMQDnMheDmPRzzh4tZgc9yDqbbNVUmnKaH06oPP2QYqphnSJT3DlTJSmSZGGmOOcfk6Q29Sj3jCGjXzjzn5E-atFoCXbBIPWrCWBPMCirpUWikrZGxM6QkXopQ-sk2yqBnOnG3E7nmGOxJbOwf-q7HU6R8s8J6jHN7bUFV2UP2NN1vvjM/s16000/atka.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><br /><p></p><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Frost
Children - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DM4WkKDWlaE">Stare At The Sun</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOKgHFypEkooysAbpoZ-y1pDSnjRroAPc5q_Cuup5EMG0o_OhRkG4gEw3336qCllXwBOPwxOCVbKxtMcncwRXVVPGOl-lE9tQZ0Riz_0cGgUGjWbj_SjBo0aLz9ITh4tSqcUpssXo3vVcRYQUMvY8IVxxcpJjG5rMe4B7XLSaGVWnyPGX5FsKtyJgZIQ/s600/frost%20children.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOKgHFypEkooysAbpoZ-y1pDSnjRroAPc5q_Cuup5EMG0o_OhRkG4gEw3336qCllXwBOPwxOCVbKxtMcncwRXVVPGOl-lE9tQZ0Riz_0cGgUGjWbj_SjBo0aLz9ITh4tSqcUpssXo3vVcRYQUMvY8IVxxcpJjG5rMe4B7XLSaGVWnyPGX5FsKtyJgZIQ/s16000/frost%20children.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jockstrap
& Taylor Skye - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AraqJiF6ozM">Good Girl</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-kFnkfazI7_vay5JENyrUl7dbkqxx9dc4CLU7BuQ1i_AsKsNzi26U3yBxsnNzRKSZBop2S-XVw3Svng1uQzH3sj5h6lsdwUjLddCQ3jmEC9c1yEhst6g33HCqBfSNDDme8xvJQiYfKhy-3tNF0SMF1B_y7EccDChqTYbwBzTuhaG5okjX9Sw0iQABjQ/s600/jockstrap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-kFnkfazI7_vay5JENyrUl7dbkqxx9dc4CLU7BuQ1i_AsKsNzi26U3yBxsnNzRKSZBop2S-XVw3Svng1uQzH3sj5h6lsdwUjLddCQ3jmEC9c1yEhst6g33HCqBfSNDDme8xvJQiYfKhy-3tNF0SMF1B_y7EccDChqTYbwBzTuhaG5okjX9Sw0iQABjQ/s16000/jockstrap.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Joe Unknown
- <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrpZYb3_AcU">Dreams</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCfhgr3XMgNx5b5ELaE585FJsqlP2Vkav1L0XRn66lK_2B9B3Ywr3i2a2dddMARAnnBKSVuyHRe3nztn7OE31GOosmL2kM0l-TQZ7n9ym4tChRa4TeOjK7bBXXTnWrxDXceDUwmz3w_ESOIU_yLfpvdSXXaqpRvm29l9YaGkVKneSNbFKBUy_i92s9Us/s600/joe%20unknown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCfhgr3XMgNx5b5ELaE585FJsqlP2Vkav1L0XRn66lK_2B9B3Ywr3i2a2dddMARAnnBKSVuyHRe3nztn7OE31GOosmL2kM0l-TQZ7n9ym4tChRa4TeOjK7bBXXTnWrxDXceDUwmz3w_ESOIU_yLfpvdSXXaqpRvm29l9YaGkVKneSNbFKBUy_i92s9Us/s16000/joe%20unknown.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mannequin
Pussy - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4OYERIEpYA">I Don't Know You</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0fT70uWyJN5eMv_xPxTj-hMtl5bHl0RE2SowN3sQWchszgODmjpbqMq9Ek1YHKJODJZmHEa1hPTqBgOItjZLJ20UGZRzCZG5GnO7eP1BkEdwVAUZQa0aUwcnUJS-YxerAdHUKUESyyN70YhsdsA2kB7iLgXJgyHR7oFVwO1xlK_cG0uAm1RS-0qZH5w/s600/mannequin%20pussy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0fT70uWyJN5eMv_xPxTj-hMtl5bHl0RE2SowN3sQWchszgODmjpbqMq9Ek1YHKJODJZmHEa1hPTqBgOItjZLJ20UGZRzCZG5GnO7eP1BkEdwVAUZQa0aUwcnUJS-YxerAdHUKUESyyN70YhsdsA2kB7iLgXJgyHR7oFVwO1xlK_cG0uAm1RS-0qZH5w/s16000/mannequin%20pussy.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Zea -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=451UrSsz9Tw">Burial Salt</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWF3s5MZfwkt89BT2as8OSjJNfMABRWys6-BV-c-6iR87Dy21qHEr4oWCQIfjcocgxZTasA58RE8HCTfd2GOEmyxWeZdYhEVTXw9chn2Z-Ym8F2BgSSdRpy-V2s0fhcOnR-MZZEAdC5qsbtl1f8y8XbjePmAHLoHYTRun6-FVsDbbIugZlpwMII1HQ88/s600/zea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWF3s5MZfwkt89BT2as8OSjJNfMABRWys6-BV-c-6iR87Dy21qHEr4oWCQIfjcocgxZTasA58RE8HCTfd2GOEmyxWeZdYhEVTXw9chn2Z-Ym8F2BgSSdRpy-V2s0fhcOnR-MZZEAdC5qsbtl1f8y8XbjePmAHLoHYTRun6-FVsDbbIugZlpwMII1HQ88/s16000/zea.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Caroline
Davis' Alula -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4VgFysDA_wg">Burned Believers</a> [for
Agnes and Huguette]</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKyNCL-PJKiltmFTvVB6pOpzKotiGbkZ7XgynvPNzlpCvGHUi1Pq8_mOKbxyNKAiJsrIXX6_9HCTAX58Nz0t0xdm6K1maNZKbT-mb-5cOuWuN-c1rRIdV6eHoqxXRZ7cFr1-DvM2m-b7tdUBVifSe4ULE5ArzeYOrk-zadBavWztU5cLvzsVrP411JzE/s600/caroline%20davis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKyNCL-PJKiltmFTvVB6pOpzKotiGbkZ7XgynvPNzlpCvGHUi1Pq8_mOKbxyNKAiJsrIXX6_9HCTAX58Nz0t0xdm6K1maNZKbT-mb-5cOuWuN-c1rRIdV6eHoqxXRZ7cFr1-DvM2m-b7tdUBVifSe4ULE5ArzeYOrk-zadBavWztU5cLvzsVrP411JzE/s16000/caroline%20davis.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bingo Fury
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBxN2qHWVTM">Power Drill</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfHy-3po4rvIvQh7EV8Xs6QIu2YS_2sTfjPUWLPcrLzUuqMSuskIXY0TS3Sxc0kYW2dXkGkxDiiJ6vOQYi52UF14q5DdGBk7mXs6QGQNtVZZLvmdXAxrVK2c5s7dfSCfzHHmVJxzXj0Uy6tDmplHOLEmalYjlLH1Fx-gyDZ1vHCnJeuOscHIH_IVrBxw/s600/bingo%20fury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfHy-3po4rvIvQh7EV8Xs6QIu2YS_2sTfjPUWLPcrLzUuqMSuskIXY0TS3Sxc0kYW2dXkGkxDiiJ6vOQYi52UF14q5DdGBk7mXs6QGQNtVZZLvmdXAxrVK2c5s7dfSCfzHHmVJxzXj0Uy6tDmplHOLEmalYjlLH1Fx-gyDZ1vHCnJeuOscHIH_IVrBxw/s16000/bingo%20fury.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jolie
Holland<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfJwej7FFSA">Haunted Mountain</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIqk6KDTcyOWL-8clqB2E4WrKdZSg8vR66htg1ZfUfCC6h1mI3QF9SCgJzwt85CaoBmMcpdKLPXE-8chdsqgsEA3oaMpP05yquOsZ887GAu44HUswcdU7iZZfpCtIBSlepoXwcbFjjo1I_6jsX6h5xr5MtTsFf_lht4WXsAQ8DAg1D5HsyQH_wbyuXzM/s600/jolie%20holland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIqk6KDTcyOWL-8clqB2E4WrKdZSg8vR66htg1ZfUfCC6h1mI3QF9SCgJzwt85CaoBmMcpdKLPXE-8chdsqgsEA3oaMpP05yquOsZ887GAu44HUswcdU7iZZfpCtIBSlepoXwcbFjjo1I_6jsX6h5xr5MtTsFf_lht4WXsAQ8DAg1D5HsyQH_wbyuXzM/s16000/jolie%20holland.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bar Italia
– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6T-u6-4ZLCM">Jelsy</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9y5d3pUAPk8OPVO17z4kGO7ug1UIwF0RmxsRcHwq52e_yD5XAZ-Bd6Kqk6diXiM36y8uH3bxUdi6IstcKzT8tHLnp2VKkrYqaYLCDULGsDsgNnK6OyBSnjbI7W4Mkvc3IVVy48-f2i664Z3A1Vs5I_ezMe1fnGZIQ3aULeFBMBwuHad0PRT0ncHVvVI8/s600/bar%20italia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="382" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9y5d3pUAPk8OPVO17z4kGO7ug1UIwF0RmxsRcHwq52e_yD5XAZ-Bd6Kqk6diXiM36y8uH3bxUdi6IstcKzT8tHLnp2VKkrYqaYLCDULGsDsgNnK6OyBSnjbI7W4Mkvc3IVVy48-f2i664Z3A1Vs5I_ezMe1fnGZIQ3aULeFBMBwuHad0PRT0ncHVvVI8/s16000/bar%20italia.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mary In The
Junkyard – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uo2xhyGIzak">Tuesday</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplynT06Jubr1sfO-q6YsYdwD3TMTL14xR-aTszu7Y8iOLh6PI3wOwkpsDzc6Q15Nc_BSUFgz3Nr8hC4dlbp5GbzjQxyqYrS_2AjxPHHbrMotxN4fVrs96LIVML6-hUFFVO0bp4n6dn83RMwCpp9J6z0kiwAESXrxx8WK4sSWhU2IQdt9Vy8ntHt-172A/s600/mary%20in%20the%20junkyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="362" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplynT06Jubr1sfO-q6YsYdwD3TMTL14xR-aTszu7Y8iOLh6PI3wOwkpsDzc6Q15Nc_BSUFgz3Nr8hC4dlbp5GbzjQxyqYrS_2AjxPHHbrMotxN4fVrs96LIVML6-hUFFVO0bp4n6dn83RMwCpp9J6z0kiwAESXrxx8WK4sSWhU2IQdt9Vy8ntHt-172A/s16000/mary%20in%20the%20junkyard.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Blue Bendy
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fiuGqNiT4A">Mr. Bubblegum</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0puAMN9Jm5H5EJoS8hpq_U_dOdfS1na6UhQpnKd3yDJXUWq7kC29O1b-F6qGxkb2VP8WFM2ujgCZbUytMfaVyAbL6nheW-Abl35SkwLSbzBikjBEjx-gvpfOKJJM4Px9Icl-pZGwXXmtFfPE-9p741w73rXuQgRd_SR7gJ7quIE0W58l61nASiPqH_5Q/s600/blue%20bendy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0puAMN9Jm5H5EJoS8hpq_U_dOdfS1na6UhQpnKd3yDJXUWq7kC29O1b-F6qGxkb2VP8WFM2ujgCZbUytMfaVyAbL6nheW-Abl35SkwLSbzBikjBEjx-gvpfOKJJM4Px9Icl-pZGwXXmtFfPE-9p741w73rXuQgRd_SR7gJ7quIE0W58l61nASiPqH_5Q/s16000/blue%20bendy.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nadine Shah
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7RgQFHQGbpM">Topless Mother</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyD8A5_69HSvW-uTE-uzldAuPn9Hd1bF-ae2UfwnkoGy3xaHGaY4rnIAvdLrJQ6uPpG_4MnhEhdXvhAkoE97BEavedjCmhKbMosMFjzIz_ZHerICsYKgBfDafJbFsrwVZdRT4b4kF5ztGZTL6cPDMGvrmcEPl1D74r-JsR4VhVtt2Qw1alUz4MHZzE4dI/s600/nadine%20shah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyD8A5_69HSvW-uTE-uzldAuPn9Hd1bF-ae2UfwnkoGy3xaHGaY4rnIAvdLrJQ6uPpG_4MnhEhdXvhAkoE97BEavedjCmhKbMosMFjzIz_ZHerICsYKgBfDafJbFsrwVZdRT4b4kF5ztGZTL6cPDMGvrmcEPl1D74r-JsR4VhVtt2Qw1alUz4MHZzE4dI/s16000/nadine%20shah.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Klein – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j8SDK-SdIg">Black Timbs</a></span><o:p></o:p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcff_VuG4MFoigg4pBfg5TLYAFLK4U_MHSDX8FjoLwCRy6_csYVpSCGVtlDQ-DW0Pd232IzK-7lDRdH3rc0ulK2QoMSJlIqJl0LympFhfo-MBqheMuxolYCv8ifqdCrQjBYj6grVrP7QY8IJPSqBHryu68H77J-Hcf5cn0-sp1Vd5qSjfQUPJG4oMkxxE/s600/klein.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcff_VuG4MFoigg4pBfg5TLYAFLK4U_MHSDX8FjoLwCRy6_csYVpSCGVtlDQ-DW0Pd232IzK-7lDRdH3rc0ulK2QoMSJlIqJl0LympFhfo-MBqheMuxolYCv8ifqdCrQjBYj6grVrP7QY8IJPSqBHryu68H77J-Hcf5cn0-sp1Vd5qSjfQUPJG4oMkxxE/s16000/klein.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">UKAEA ft Dali de
Saint Paul - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0l876ApxRY">Habibi</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaVdW5J1g77ZzzlEQx-EHlXjQNumSTh4963gQsGCibGvBjXDc38NRZNC2-oFVUCcjmen7R6We9oXagD7IVef9xMMv7opSNvi9Cg5O-_CbfABjYtTY7knBZs_4FNuENTwEVugVDKeDfa8ZOm_VLM4MiS6NVf2R_eMxQqMrhYzWiOp5Qw1laqTV8gUfSw4/s600/Ukaea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaVdW5J1g77ZzzlEQx-EHlXjQNumSTh4963gQsGCibGvBjXDc38NRZNC2-oFVUCcjmen7R6We9oXagD7IVef9xMMv7opSNvi9Cg5O-_CbfABjYtTY7knBZs_4FNuENTwEVugVDKeDfa8ZOm_VLM4MiS6NVf2R_eMxQqMrhYzWiOp5Qw1laqTV8gUfSw4/s16000/Ukaea.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">John
Francis Flynn – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nv0ZuqeZylw">Willy Crotty</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnOmi13HHXuUVXPqNpxCMbC7sIgPJKlm1XE-jSr8ZPV2toATpEByb16DJcappvQ6yLYmZ5Nj7IaM_6JLjLIPqvvIawRFNrH-mnaTswxMk_O3YDziwOvmpjgu6dEyKU3Av_ak-NXqbHk0WK1EWGT2uk4KDHtNEOyvKoSBjWaJA56CL2IiVtTi4i1Rz4N4I/s600/john%20francis%20flynn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnOmi13HHXuUVXPqNpxCMbC7sIgPJKlm1XE-jSr8ZPV2toATpEByb16DJcappvQ6yLYmZ5Nj7IaM_6JLjLIPqvvIawRFNrH-mnaTswxMk_O3YDziwOvmpjgu6dEyKU3Av_ak-NXqbHk0WK1EWGT2uk4KDHtNEOyvKoSBjWaJA56CL2IiVtTi4i1Rz4N4I/s16000/john%20francis%20flynn.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You Are
Wolf – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jo_scdjGRb0">Blue Men</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzVXTGTRjMaCpKCVUszATsjCL5EUhm6HmklD_GAt2gS7k4_mTfNLODlMJLsF8GYwP1xejER5OCoZun_l5aUoDBjEtgZpxVQTsrbVPj8tWEFxjzL5s7IVz7veSjEYNdC7fOSW6bavSn8lme4UtbXd4XdVzqeRwMfEbvcznp43EBFXe03Gx9Qi3RCi_6bU/s600/You%20are%20wolf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzVXTGTRjMaCpKCVUszATsjCL5EUhm6HmklD_GAt2gS7k4_mTfNLODlMJLsF8GYwP1xejER5OCoZun_l5aUoDBjEtgZpxVQTsrbVPj8tWEFxjzL5s7IVz7veSjEYNdC7fOSW6bavSn8lme4UtbXd4XdVzqeRwMfEbvcznp43EBFXe03Gx9Qi3RCi_6bU/s16000/You%20are%20wolf.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Royel Otis
- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-RmH9trNgUA">Fried Rice</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQxW4U4Fpr9NaLTjym1Dsv2ci-b4vPp4S0uzw4gPcTMhoV_SpVYEexQO3ayDX4OiXP1aeDQiWuGac3HeuZREQFx4eqKFOpQT-4FKylUSw3oCe-XP5WTpEIt9Uk1H6IdS_j54XVWdw1xuY60jpcGiZj7DNlAmjeXaz0HwrYaSBSAkG-iaN7n4XFpX3FVo/s600/royel%20otis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQxW4U4Fpr9NaLTjym1Dsv2ci-b4vPp4S0uzw4gPcTMhoV_SpVYEexQO3ayDX4OiXP1aeDQiWuGac3HeuZREQFx4eqKFOpQT-4FKylUSw3oCe-XP5WTpEIt9Uk1H6IdS_j54XVWdw1xuY60jpcGiZj7DNlAmjeXaz0HwrYaSBSAkG-iaN7n4XFpX3FVo/s16000/royel%20otis.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Library
Card - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLMxHWGKank">Cognitive Dissonance</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TrgdUNH9aWkBgkg8352pQ5xM3sqXEZW0Q92DICEYVbRn1v4edUzk42s7oji_SOij5CDAOZw9gXjc5H44LlO9n9imtKJy2M58Bn4rIjIBfElrWU40TVeVp1F_nJeCLinmrqdFvFrF2STKkdnFKF8K8euy2lveYCS0GyZgp3o3z-7_tcHEBzfeWa5JvNs/s600/library%20card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TrgdUNH9aWkBgkg8352pQ5xM3sqXEZW0Q92DICEYVbRn1v4edUzk42s7oji_SOij5CDAOZw9gXjc5H44LlO9n9imtKJy2M58Bn4rIjIBfElrWU40TVeVp1F_nJeCLinmrqdFvFrF2STKkdnFKF8K8euy2lveYCS0GyZgp3o3z-7_tcHEBzfeWa5JvNs/s16000/library%20card.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="FR"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Laura Jane Grace
– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=miGIgIqcsXA">Dysphoria Hoodie</a></span></span></div></span></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ITq_u3gteglETHm0ikTcFl4lkn0niaiYqTA8F_GtwJK5C5Uu5ZPzHoFT4h2r4lNLVkNhq1dyH2bfN4WkbKLxNfv0zjz-bTEgqSn3gIO44W0pv6ul5yyhgYRXFAD3bcM2iBOGcog2yqsX0yQNLSX9oWzWMF7hNIemUOXAqBeDsDYtD6_p3VvvTfptZdI/s600/laura%20jane%20grace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ITq_u3gteglETHm0ikTcFl4lkn0niaiYqTA8F_GtwJK5C5Uu5ZPzHoFT4h2r4lNLVkNhq1dyH2bfN4WkbKLxNfv0zjz-bTEgqSn3gIO44W0pv6ul5yyhgYRXFAD3bcM2iBOGcog2yqsX0yQNLSX9oWzWMF7hNIemUOXAqBeDsDYtD6_p3VvvTfptZdI/s16000/laura%20jane%20grace.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Torres – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GP9kh_F3F54">Collect</a></span></span></div><div><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="SV"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="SV"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5kEyqz66E2Iq62pyu4W5bjx1Aq-lI8NuimaOZkU1ysjcXnW4tV4sZIeD3K6It9Xr6eLeZXD2-0wWr3XEut8P_SyPTzGzjLYf_jM2E02lEx8pijMi0iybntE_Clb_itYdD4SdvHlgCcpK42flpoKkiKPCJzt52sw4tVDWWqnxHGoPFG6TSxaRZ_KZLITQ/s600/torres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5kEyqz66E2Iq62pyu4W5bjx1Aq-lI8NuimaOZkU1ysjcXnW4tV4sZIeD3K6It9Xr6eLeZXD2-0wWr3XEut8P_SyPTzGzjLYf_jM2E02lEx8pijMi0iybntE_Clb_itYdD4SdvHlgCcpK42flpoKkiKPCJzt52sw4tVDWWqnxHGoPFG6TSxaRZ_KZLITQ/s16000/torres.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Abstract
Concrete - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nKFJPgTSa0">Ventriloquist/Dummy</a></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5pS3EG-NJYg8U5FGfgwoL6MhiQQm-2tJd_9XEycgyFyRDwvSYob3x1lvJA4AiMDHZjtUx_KS1M3KY3yDHKg2fN1g-nWOcBHDAIQTOLT8Y5LDguiCYH7s4fK-OV6l7WXHlRBjQo7t89xXGntpygnYuxrTgqIvoxc6pOP7j3g5Tm5_d_qoopbnP93ocCs/s600/abstract%20concrete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5pS3EG-NJYg8U5FGfgwoL6MhiQQm-2tJd_9XEycgyFyRDwvSYob3x1lvJA4AiMDHZjtUx_KS1M3KY3yDHKg2fN1g-nWOcBHDAIQTOLT8Y5LDguiCYH7s4fK-OV6l7WXHlRBjQo7t89xXGntpygnYuxrTgqIvoxc6pOP7j3g5Tm5_d_qoopbnP93ocCs/s16000/abstract%20concrete.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gazelle
Twin - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5S-Scq3vJM">Fear Keeps Us Alive</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenh-ZJ-6V4tGBucHudYoaYa13OR-2b-RCZKBSK7eiSIxSM67wz_vCNEr0Ga4Mg0kewxg8uB_ZK-XeL8YSM6GmSY5Cj_vCvz8iKuc2GB-h2yBTqDfREx_8vSewZVoThAMs7T55fQmLBtZ3BjaO_IyMtcmhnuDDsRPrrCMOqsV19I12Q4iRgsRLbbXpko8/s600/gazelle%20twin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenh-ZJ-6V4tGBucHudYoaYa13OR-2b-RCZKBSK7eiSIxSM67wz_vCNEr0Ga4Mg0kewxg8uB_ZK-XeL8YSM6GmSY5Cj_vCvz8iKuc2GB-h2yBTqDfREx_8vSewZVoThAMs7T55fQmLBtZ3BjaO_IyMtcmhnuDDsRPrrCMOqsV19I12Q4iRgsRLbbXpko8/s16000/gazelle%20twin.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: white; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #0f0f0f; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lip Critic - <a href=" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YAAVap_kZYQ">It's The Magic</a> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSxW0NGrAP-vhMryoGk6u0RElVIapYeCOp4q5-8Aamxe3LU5EppnxnHYII9V58WUXc82ZrP2cyNpKQ1_ATOrxbDB7gx1F1TCuG9wrz8zHeuMxGiZ19_MMBWZ5AITEjdtaO-xyy6-yu-kpndzW9BKg8q7H9dhR0fDi89OmSOJfySH6Ep4EuR8bjz21sZUI/s600/lip%20critic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSxW0NGrAP-vhMryoGk6u0RElVIapYeCOp4q5-8Aamxe3LU5EppnxnHYII9V58WUXc82ZrP2cyNpKQ1_ATOrxbDB7gx1F1TCuG9wrz8zHeuMxGiZ19_MMBWZ5AITEjdtaO-xyy6-yu-kpndzW9BKg8q7H9dhR0fDi89OmSOJfySH6Ep4EuR8bjz21sZUI/s16000/lip%20critic.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jenn
Champion – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pg5wMgAcDf8">Good News, Bad News (We're All Gonna Die)</a></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8s3arKBj5dh7BE1ZjNX1OTjFOnPHsQ39xkefjo1zkg53n720vHS76JVN6bpVv4p6LIoK1Z0mRdjD5IMUNne8HNQCZdbHFS3mjbDy19gYkKrhD3sV1zxqcDS8XLGuWsC7p2erqxgmuPQ2NI4JAXunWhwVbSKnb_MobSj2gRhivIZGNUb5u62rNT3mrpHw/s600/jenn%20champion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8s3arKBj5dh7BE1ZjNX1OTjFOnPHsQ39xkefjo1zkg53n720vHS76JVN6bpVv4p6LIoK1Z0mRdjD5IMUNne8HNQCZdbHFS3mjbDy19gYkKrhD3sV1zxqcDS8XLGuWsC7p2erqxgmuPQ2NI4JAXunWhwVbSKnb_MobSj2gRhivIZGNUb5u62rNT3mrpHw/s16000/jenn%20champion.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Slauson
Malone 1 - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wL1hZSrO2U">Half-Life</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05nVwF_MWplTfFL7DZhqhHs6r8Tf3SmbsSFcbE8YJXf4u8TBszQg5e2NtbmA0eYioNvspTX7uQN9MFn2GEuwAqTJz1fZ2tywHaPaSq-CwW1TtT3t2RdcO1kTYn35JOKe_KOvihyphenhyphenyCJBNWfvYR1hA9jgRLRuC8Y9lwjEzM9LKXvhrP5Qa8goIfl-Ab4no/s600/slauson%20malone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05nVwF_MWplTfFL7DZhqhHs6r8Tf3SmbsSFcbE8YJXf4u8TBszQg5e2NtbmA0eYioNvspTX7uQN9MFn2GEuwAqTJz1fZ2tywHaPaSq-CwW1TtT3t2RdcO1kTYn35JOKe_KOvihyphenhyphenyCJBNWfvYR1hA9jgRLRuC8Y9lwjEzM9LKXvhrP5Qa8goIfl-Ab4no/s16000/slauson%20malone.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">ĠENN – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPtUzIx1XkU">The Sister Of</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5jQbPk8yVO3hgX72wNtWn85o0XttzJ5qtNoRJCcaCs9VbeSk_02z85olcEQPL2MByEgUwcJTVPu1jNrtMxxtRWGoAHM8X7s8UcU1dnPisz00QS6vxCpsa68aHFE_ZpfxsaA5PAIfAX_8gwc4sW0MZ0VmJ3DS61KW5A5gKuayQ-jHy9fWiXxchGuB4KQ/s600/genn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5jQbPk8yVO3hgX72wNtWn85o0XttzJ5qtNoRJCcaCs9VbeSk_02z85olcEQPL2MByEgUwcJTVPu1jNrtMxxtRWGoAHM8X7s8UcU1dnPisz00QS6vxCpsa68aHFE_ZpfxsaA5PAIfAX_8gwc4sW0MZ0VmJ3DS61KW5A5gKuayQ-jHy9fWiXxchGuB4KQ/s16000/genn.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">pencil -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Siw19knHIUQ">The Giant</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmf5gw-3C-KucdOacbYQzGLzosjIZn8WXb4xkSmC_zrTFh9879nx74cN_Hj6oQthkhdG_R2OMQbqAKWxjHi31MvgpXrlR0yZBsK_EyTS9CpAcIxKR6dxiSF-vB7ryncQZmQUTz2eEJT_sDPuEvI8o7zk7GZP1LTarnFRsORhrpnW9DRyIcO3ags9ulP9E/s600/pencil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmf5gw-3C-KucdOacbYQzGLzosjIZn8WXb4xkSmC_zrTFh9879nx74cN_Hj6oQthkhdG_R2OMQbqAKWxjHi31MvgpXrlR0yZBsK_EyTS9CpAcIxKR6dxiSF-vB7ryncQZmQUTz2eEJT_sDPuEvI8o7zk7GZP1LTarnFRsORhrpnW9DRyIcO3ags9ulP9E/s16000/pencil.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lila Blue -
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGWvrtIPQM4">Changeling</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumroR6jq2PpRftPbHsBYOWM36ukI4ABa0Na7BxvNjgsdU0z2vp3deZnJatstlZ310I0OJ0-ne2PIsBqRRid8E-FKXXsKgvqcB_Q3A4tgJZQWX4t-x0yR1TiFQtl_zQ7xcO2lFikeUfsRVL7Zq4IA_F1rK24zN1sMlqe9UWLG2RDnsQmaQe4ckF-d9ojQ/s600/Lila%20Blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumroR6jq2PpRftPbHsBYOWM36ukI4ABa0Na7BxvNjgsdU0z2vp3deZnJatstlZ310I0OJ0-ne2PIsBqRRid8E-FKXXsKgvqcB_Q3A4tgJZQWX4t-x0yR1TiFQtl_zQ7xcO2lFikeUfsRVL7Zq4IA_F1rK24zN1sMlqe9UWLG2RDnsQmaQe4ckF-d9ojQ/s16000/Lila%20Blue.jpg" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maria BC - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lPTp9-d7ark">Lacuna</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYIGk-Bv962tpD3tosoxLajhtB0rAC5T9OVHu7KqKCM8fxnVxHhwaUZiakZ6Iak2a5IvvFRmnh1JJhZzVrXDOR6UdYFRyUJrP2dLRF77dctEuFbDjB_JXWAoATgYDpr4lBFGaCTo0D6fDwa6TFrl71Pd-taBSKZ2zzVYojXPF2cr-_2pceGJCXcTqn-Y/s600/Maria%20BC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYIGk-Bv962tpD3tosoxLajhtB0rAC5T9OVHu7KqKCM8fxnVxHhwaUZiakZ6Iak2a5IvvFRmnh1JJhZzVrXDOR6UdYFRyUJrP2dLRF77dctEuFbDjB_JXWAoATgYDpr4lBFGaCTo0D6fDwa6TFrl71Pd-taBSKZ2zzVYojXPF2cr-_2pceGJCXcTqn-Y/s16000/Maria%20BC.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The March
Afternoons – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMLV10KkYZY">Me & My Sister</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXogiW0dBCN6BiISv1oNwAsvFF15ZP3avCx7eKKhmgAp-4zeSj1Mmkk__Eol50L3SzAqWu2Ao_9tbJtgTXepxdbihgenkjSEFD54yt4R2MpNDUhYkGSMgmxAO69c5-BDqtTitvB7CPHLt3cpyO204yfMxVDE6Mkw1D1Y8zAYuAYeO80GIdwjGJ9cI3iSA/s600/march.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXogiW0dBCN6BiISv1oNwAsvFF15ZP3avCx7eKKhmgAp-4zeSj1Mmkk__Eol50L3SzAqWu2Ao_9tbJtgTXepxdbihgenkjSEFD54yt4R2MpNDUhYkGSMgmxAO69c5-BDqtTitvB7CPHLt3cpyO204yfMxVDE6Mkw1D1Y8zAYuAYeO80GIdwjGJ9cI3iSA/s16000/march.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8151966846668566560.post-26903842601559918142023-10-29T18:28:00.005+00:002023-10-29T18:39:15.355+00:00The Littlehampton Libels<p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVI00hKQFpI_FXrp7eHUAYbbDHF0ib1Xz4PdMVFKJ0sSSqfPbDTMbPosvS6OfYd99azGiYoF2b5rw2vJFnC9HjyDlKWDm4Nk3N-EER-wyd8sSzu7Luf7qYETUbdG0g8N0HtmzQy3krR93-JT9k50C5I3tSMxb4f_8AAppk31FLYxv-9sh_1PXOlaFY3w/s600/WickedLittleLetters_hero.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVI00hKQFpI_FXrp7eHUAYbbDHF0ib1Xz4PdMVFKJ0sSSqfPbDTMbPosvS6OfYd99azGiYoF2b5rw2vJFnC9HjyDlKWDm4Nk3N-EER-wyd8sSzu7Luf7qYETUbdG0g8N0HtmzQy3krR93-JT9k50C5I3tSMxb4f_8AAppk31FLYxv-9sh_1PXOlaFY3w/s16000/WickedLittleLetters_hero.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
pleasures of Wicked Little Letters, which just premiered at the Toronto International
Film Festival, are simple. Would you like to see two of our finest actresses
clad in period garb, screaming hilarious (and ridiculous) profanities at one
another? You would? Good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The film
from director Thea Sharrock reunites The Lost Daughter stars Olivia Colman and
Jessie Buckley for a far goofier tale. The Oscar winner and Oscar nominee,
respectively, play warring neighbors in a tiny English village in the 1920s,
and there is a glorious gusto to their very funny performances.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colman is
Edith Swan, an uptight and ostensibly pious woman who lives with her demanding
father (Timothy Spall in full grumbly mode) and her timid mother (Gemma Jones).
The action kicks off with the arrival of the 19th “poison pen” letter that
Edith has received, a vindictive missive that targets the lonely woman with
scandalous name-calling. The immediate suspect: Buckley's Rose Gooding, a
boisterous Irish immigrant and widowed single mother, who drinks, curses, and
has sex with her boyfriend (Malachi Kirby)—sex that Edith can hear through
their thin walls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rose is
quickly arrested by the bumbling local authorities thanks to Edith's holier
than thou account. In Edith's telling, the two were friendly when Rose moved to
town, with Edith attempting to show her the ways of a respectable woman, but
Rose rebuked her help (and accidentally hit her in the face with a toilet brush
in the process).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But there's
something amiss, which police officer Gladys Moss (Anjana Vasan of We Are Lady
Parts) sniffs out. Why would Rose, who never minces her words, hide behind
anonymity? The mystery deepens where more residents of Littlehampton start
being targeted. Who is calling people "piss country whores" and
"foxy asses"? And why? And what's a "foxy ass"?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ultimately,
Wicked Little Letters turns out to be not much of a whodunnit—frankly, you can
probably guess now and get it right. But the lack of a real mystery doesn't
really matter when Buckley and Colman are as delightful to watch as they are in
this film. Colman understands Edith is a sad character deep down, but she also
relishes in making the character subtly hateable. With a flick of her eyes or a
purse of her lips, her Edith just can't hide her superiority complex, or the
pride she takes in the attention she is getting as a quasi-martyr. Meanwhile,
Buckley is having a raucous good time as Rose, who cares little what others
think. It's a performance that recalls her breakout work in Wild Rose. Rose
Gooding may be something of a mess, yet you want to spend time in her company.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The rest of
the cast is filled out with equally amusing work from the likes of Vasan, whose
big, searching eyes are excellent vehicles for exasperation, as well as Hugh
Skinner as her doltish colleague and Joanna Scanlan as an unhygienic local
woman who helps Gladys unearth the real letter writers and loves eating boiled
eggs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Remarkably,
Wicked Little Letters is based on a true story. There’s a lot of meat in the
narrative—about class prejudice and expectations placed on women in post-WWI
society—that mostly goes unexplored in Jonny Sweet's script. In fact, the film
falters the most when it tries to swerve into the serious; though Buckley can
handle the tonal shift as it relates to her character, the rest of the
production cannot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Still, the
film’s flaws can be largely ignored by the time it builds to the big showdown
between Buckley and Colman—where acclaimed performers who seem to be having the
time of their lives hurl unprintable words at each other, all while dolled up
in garb that's more appropriate for Masterpiece Theatre. While, as of its TIFF
debut, Wicked Little Letters doesn't have U.S. distribution,this storyit should
appeal to viewers who wish that their BritBox programming occasionally got a
little raunchy—and anyone who can't help but love watching Colman and Buckley
do their thing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Olivia
Colman and Jessie Buckley Are Having a F---ing Blast in Wicked Little Letters.
By Esther Zuckerman. <a href="https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2023/09/wicked-little-letters-movie-review">Vanity Fair</a>, September 11, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHM2HFovRhmiqwb8-QHz6blu-18Lh0prhFDq9hTAMY7lKmOYgXrqCNSTBjcL2frLHlL2G7bZQI7rNgAxUQDwidBnqBK69jQ_G68ZrI1LZM_PR0t6wP6RVqlm0hxYbX0Rr5oaG5pufXTiQTs_Pe8reQcru6rHoUeBH_oFnMn6fu9wUJTinbnMFP05RS8HY/s600/_methode_times_prod_web_bin_ddd8f102-2586-11ee-8c1b-d5d52b458fbd%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHM2HFovRhmiqwb8-QHz6blu-18Lh0prhFDq9hTAMY7lKmOYgXrqCNSTBjcL2frLHlL2G7bZQI7rNgAxUQDwidBnqBK69jQ_G68ZrI1LZM_PR0t6wP6RVqlm0hxYbX0Rr5oaG5pufXTiQTs_Pe8reQcru6rHoUeBH_oFnMn6fu9wUJTinbnMFP05RS8HY/s16000/_methode_times_prod_web_bin_ddd8f102-2586-11ee-8c1b-d5d52b458fbd%20(1).jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trial
was begun at Lewes Assizes yesterday of Edith Emily Swann, 32, of
Littlehampton, on the charge of maliciously publishing a defamatory libel
concerning Charles Thomas Gardner, sanitary inspector of Littlehampton, and
also with sending a postal packet containing an indecent article at
Littlehampton on June 24.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mr Travers
Humphreys appeared for the prosecution, and Mr Collingwood for the defence. Mr
Travers Humphreys said that during the last year or two there had been sent to
different persons at Littlehampton a number of documents of an obscene and
libellous character.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Watch had
been kept for some time at the Beach post office. When Mr Baker, the
sub-postmaster, saw the defendant post two letters he put his hand into the
tray of the box and caught them. One of the letters was addressed to Miss
Swann, sister of the defendant, at an address near Woking, and the other, in
pencil, was addressed to the sanitary inspector of Littlehampton. Mr Bowler, an
official from the General Post Office, opened the latter envelope, and found
the document which was the subject of these proceedings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On June 23
the defendant had purchased two stamps at the post office from a special stock
which had been marked in invisible ink by Mr Bowler. The stamps on the letters
were developed, and certain initials were found on them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
defendant said she was not guilty of sending the letter to the sanitary
inspector. She was told about the purchase of the two stamps, and said she put
one on a letter to her sister, Miss Swann, and the other on a letter to another
sister, Mrs Thompsett, of Cranleigh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Evidence
would be given that no such letter was either posted at Littlehampton or
received at Guildford. Mr Walter Edward Bowler said that on June 24 the Beach
post office was under observation from early morning until 5.29pm. Every letter
which dropped into the box was caught and examined.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mr Baker,
the sub-postmaster, in cross-examination, said he saw the defendant post the
letters by means of a special mirror. The letter to the sanitary inspector was
folded. If it had been posted by someone else and caught up he would have found
it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The case
for the prosecution was concluded, and the hearing adjourned until today.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A
poison-pen libel trial unfolds at Lewes.
On this day 100 years ago. From The Times, July 19, 1923. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/a-poison-pen-libel-trial-unfolds-at-lewes-x0sbgsvlq">The Times</a>,
July 19, 2023. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80SLcOCe5rQ1v7mEcgvhvrUg79yTCx_sLMVEdFFmxKj6pUlu3LEn3k_9ggSZKIQPvUOMQHlzt_Gkcj69uhTRb_RolkJli4djFgZqCvtX92jS4lLNcqkpGCBeylA8n5sNNLKy842zqKq_OtZfSlh5OR_TNkwoEDf2v1ck_4Y_ApoUfWvUuzudqZkKstJg/s450/swan.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80SLcOCe5rQ1v7mEcgvhvrUg79yTCx_sLMVEdFFmxKj6pUlu3LEn3k_9ggSZKIQPvUOMQHlzt_Gkcj69uhTRb_RolkJli4djFgZqCvtX92jS4lLNcqkpGCBeylA8n5sNNLKy842zqKq_OtZfSlh5OR_TNkwoEDf2v1ck_4Y_ApoUfWvUuzudqZkKstJg/s16000/swan.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Littlehampton,
with its sandy beach on the Sussex coast, was the perfect spot for
holidaymakers after World War I: a peaceful, old-fashioned town where the
biggest excitement was a walk to the end of the pier.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But in
1920, a scandal erupted that put the sleepy settlement in the spotlight. The
Seaside Mystery — as the Daily Mail called it — caused a sensation. It involved
a series of poison-pen letters, filled with obscene language and outrageous
accusations — and it had the entire country riveted.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Seaside
Mystery was solved only after the intervention of a detective from the London
murder squad, a secret sting operation and no fewer than four trials, attended
by reporters from all the newspapers and omnibus-loads of spectators.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
intriguing story is now being brought to life in a forthcoming movie, Wicked
Little Letters, starring Oscar-winner Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley as
friends-turned-enemies Edith Swan and Rose Gooding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The letters
at the heart of the Seaside Mystery were sent to Swan (and, later, to others)
just after Easter 1920, with 'cow' and 'bloody' initially being the worst
insults.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They became
progressively more vile, accusing their recipients of being 'whores', 'f***ing
whores,' 'foxy a** whores' or even 'bloody f***ing p*** country whores'. It was
colourful language for any era, but truly shocking in the 1920s when
respectable people, particularly women, did not swear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet the
letters were written by a woman, one whose identity was at the heart of the
mystery that arose after a friendship turned toxic. Historian Christopher
Hilliard tells the fascinating tale in The Littlehampton Libels, which
chronicles how a woman's reputation counted for more than the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Swan, 30, a
spinster played by Colman in the movie (currently being filmed in Sussex),
seemed a model of working-class respectability. She lived with her parents and
two brothers in their terraced house in Western Road, just two streets back
from the seafront.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Swans'
neighbours, the Goodings, were very different: theirs was a far rowdier
household. Rose, 28, was 12 years younger than her shipbuilder husband, Bill,
and had an illegitimate daughter from a previous relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The couple
were often heard rowing. Bill sometimes hit his wife, accusing her of
infidelity. With them lived Rose's sister Ruth who had three illegitimate
children. The sisters' relationship was strained, as Rose suspected Bill and
Ruth were having an affair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rose was
known for her quick temper, foul language and unconventional behaviour.
According to her neighbour, a policeman, she once went 'into the street with
her hair down her back and wearing a thin frock, no stockings and white shoes'
— tantamount to being half naked in those days.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite
their differences, when the Goodings arrived in Littlehampton in 1916, Edith
and Rose got on well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhVyn-ck8Pl8hUdP3_5-mqW9SNnt2wdAK2SjMBQSR7qGsbg40tRUMyMGox-NPpWje3hbRsWzMC4w_XKpBCzKrWXeJs8q1vPP-069zIxcMa6jktswIaXjfcSI1pM9Nq9qUZtl0Kj7JPJGEfe22M1ow-zeSZAnLim7UBkLPlUJlU7paE1lOCcYhzE9bGno/s450/img.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhVyn-ck8Pl8hUdP3_5-mqW9SNnt2wdAK2SjMBQSR7qGsbg40tRUMyMGox-NPpWje3hbRsWzMC4w_XKpBCzKrWXeJs8q1vPP-069zIxcMa6jktswIaXjfcSI1pM9Nq9qUZtl0Kj7JPJGEfe22M1ow-zeSZAnLim7UBkLPlUJlU7paE1lOCcYhzE9bGno/s16000/img.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Things
turned sour when a dispute arose over their shared back garden. Edith
complained about the Goodings' overflowing dustbins. The Goodings protested
about the smell of rabbits the Swan family bred for food.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Swans
began to view the Goodings as nightmare neighbours after a row on Easter
Sunday, 1920, between a drunken Bill and his wife.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some days
later, an inspector from the NSPCC turned up. Edith had accused Rose of beating
Ruth's toddler, Albert, with a cane. The inspector found no evidence — all the
children appeared healthy and the cottage spotless.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shortly
afterwards, Edith received a postcard: 'You bloody old cow, mind your own
business and there would be no rows.'<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">More
postcards followed, calling Edith a 'bloody whore,' and insulting her family,
signed variously 'R' or 'RG', Rose Gooding's initials.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Swans'
laundry customers also began receiving malevolent missives, warning that if
they knew how dirty the Swans were, they wouldn't give Edith their washing.
Edith's fiancé Bert, a soldier in Iraq, got a letter accusing her of becoming
pregnant by the neighbouring policeman.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Distraught,
he broke off the engagement, although they were later reconciled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The manager
of the hotel where Edith's brother Ernest worked received three postcards,
accusing Ernest of stealing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In fact,
anyone who encountered the Swans on a regular basis began receiving offensive
letters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Swans
told everyone that Rose was the letters' author and Edith repeated her
accusations to the police. The police had a word with the Goodings, who denied
having written any of them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then,
remarkably, Edith brought a private prosecution for libel against her former
friend — at the cost of £30, or two years' rent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rose was
remanded in custody for two and a half months before the trial. Incredibly, no
handwriting expert was called to examine the letters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead,
the judge instructed the jury that if Rose Gooding had not written the letters,
then Edith Swan must have written them herself. They must decide which woman
they believed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The jury
believed prim and proper Edith Swan. Rose, with her lack of stockings and
morals, was found guilty and sentenced to a further two weeks in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Released on
December 23, still protesting her innocence, her relief was brief. On New
Year's Day, the filthy letters started again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edith
launched another prosecution. Yet another jury was convinced of Rose's guilt.
This time, the judge sentenced her to 12 months' hard labour at Portsmouth
prison. Rose appealed but it was rejected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then the
Seaside Mystery took a new turn. A notebook, filled with libellous obscenities
in the same handwriting as the letters, was allegedly found near
Littlehampton's Western Road and posted to the police. As Rose was in prison,
she could not have sent it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, who
had? With the story hitting the national papers, Scotland Yard sent Inspector
George Nicholls, fresh from a murder case, to investigate. He saw similarities
between the handwriting in the notebook and the letters.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He searched
the Swans' house and found blotting paper with indentations that, when
examined, matched the handwriting on the indecent letters and notebook.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edith had
an explanation: the Goodings had borrowed the blotter. But Nicholls began to
suspect Edith was a liar. The Director of Public Prosecutions, Sir Archibald
Bodkin, read Nicholls's report and examined samples of both women's
handwriting, comparing them with the notebook and letters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He believed
Edith might have written the letters to frame Rose. The Appeal Court eventually
overturned Rose's conviction. She was freed and awarded compensation of £250.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Goodings and the Swans stayed apart, avoiding one another.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But then
another neighbour who shared the yard, Violet May, began receiving notes even
more obscene than the previous letters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However,
unbeknown to Edith, a policewoman had been watching the yard from a hiding
place in a shed and witnessed Edith dropping the notes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edith was
arrested for criminal libel. Incredibly, the judge still refused to believe
that this respectable-looking woman could possibly have written such appalling
letters. 'If I were on the jury, I would not convict,' he pronounced. Edith was
duly acquitted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet the
letters started again. The Daily Mail's correspondent reported that they were
'more indecently and subtly worded and spread over wider area than before'.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Goodings, desperate to clear their name, begged Scotland Yard to help. So the
Yard authorised a sting operation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two Post
Office Special Investigation Branch clerks were sent to Littlehampton. They
arranged for Edith's local Post Office to be put under surveillance and to sell
stamps, marked 'S' with invisible ink, only to Edith Swan. She was witnessed
buying the stamps and using one to post an offensive letter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was
enough. At the next trial, attended by a large crowd, Edith was finally found
guilty of libel and of sending indecent, obscene and grossly offensive letters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trial
judge, Mr Justice Avory, who found it 'difficult to believe that you could be
in your right mind in writing filth of this description,' sentenced her to 12
months hard labour.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">'End of
Seaside Mystery' announced the Daily Mail.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Was Edith
insane, as Justice Avory implied? A doctor told one newspaper he believed Edith
was suffering from 'a criminal impulse arising out of a sexual disease'. The
News of the World agreed that the letters were a symptom of an 'obscure but
well recognised sex mania'.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With Edith
in prison, the libellous letters stopped. In Littlehampton, peace was restored.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span>But Edith
never explained her actions. Therefore, to this day, the most intriguing part
of this seaside mystery — why she did it — remains unsolved.</span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Who sent
the obscene letters that scandalised a seaside town... the snobbish spinster or
the working-class mum next door? As Olivia Colman stars in film about infamous
1920s trial, why part of the mystery remains unsolved. By Annabel Venning. <a href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-11388183/Who-sent-obscene-letters-scandalised-seaside-town.html">The Daily Mail</a>, November 3, 2022. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYj55nPHqQS3WdEK9KaHR_Kh9ypmq4QK_o0yOZEg6TWqlVfWGPmEhPpGpoZAVPtMSLp0x5RRhPBC5zzIeefKgAzWta9nO9GKdXf-2nAoXdXM7B7Sv0irjf5ZBBpFRas310rnRghBKsC9C-NxAJh-iG3dctuJfDrB4e0-q0qGoeQCo4LodwKneHkzRg3A/s600/2_Olivia-Colman-movie-Wicked-Little-Letters-34jpgi.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYj55nPHqQS3WdEK9KaHR_Kh9ypmq4QK_o0yOZEg6TWqlVfWGPmEhPpGpoZAVPtMSLp0x5RRhPBC5zzIeefKgAzWta9nO9GKdXf-2nAoXdXM7B7Sv0irjf5ZBBpFRas310rnRghBKsC9C-NxAJh-iG3dctuJfDrB4e0-q0qGoeQCo4LodwKneHkzRg3A/s16000/2_Olivia-Colman-movie-Wicked-Little-Letters-34jpgi.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Filming
crews have flocked to Sussex over recent weeks for the filming of a new comedy
Wicked Little Letters, set to be released next year. With famous faces such as
Olivia Colman, who featured in The Crown, being spotted in Arundel and
Worthing, film crews have taken to the same spots where the true story behind
Wicked Little Letters played out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although
most people in Sussex are simply excited for the film to be released next year,
especially as so much of it is being produced and filmed locally, not everyone
knows how this comedy is actually capturing a true story from the Sussex county
itself. With various parts of Sussex, including Arundel and Worthing seafront,
being converted to look like 1920s Britain, the true story the film is based on
is expected to really come to life on TV screens next year.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The story
behind Wicked Little Letters originated from Littlehampton, when some ladies in
the coastal town began to receive "scandalous letters written with foul
language" from an unknown source. One of the ladies to receive the letters
was Edith Swan, who immediately assumed the foul-mouthed notes were from her
neighbour Rose Gooding, who she didn't get on with.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The story
behind Wicked Little Letters originated from Littlehampton, when some ladies in
the coastal town began to receive "scandalous letters written with foul
language" from an unknown source. One of the ladies to receive the letters
was Edith Swan, who immediately assumed the foul-mouthed notes were from her
neighbour Rose Gooding, who she didn't get on with.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With
suspicion pointing at Rose, who was of a lower class than Edith, Rose lost her
freedom and the custody of her daughter, who she had out of wedlock. With these
"outrageous letters" spreading around the town, an inspector called
George Nicholls suspected something was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">George,
with the help of other women, then solved the mystery and liberated Rose, who
was innocent all along. The eventual finding was that it was in fact Edith who
wrote the letters in an attempt to frame Rose, which he discovered through
looking at handwriting, which was the same as the letters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When the
inspectors suspicions of Edith grew, he sent policewoman Gladys Moss to watch
Edith, which is when Edith was caught dropping one of the notes on someone's
doorstep. After being trialled a few times, with her class allowing her to
appear innocence, it was a few months before Edith was finally sentenced for
the letters, which were proven to be hers through various detective work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is
thought that Edith went to such lengths to frame Rose after some petty rows and
class differences. Suggestions also arose that Edith may have been struggling
with her mental health.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With both
Rose and Edith living on Western Road in Littlehampton at the time, it is not
known whether the filming of Wicked Little Letters will actually feature on the
exact same road. So far, film crews have been spotted in Arundel and Worthing
mainly, with the seafront being converted to look exactly like 1920s Britain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is
thought that Olivia Colman will be playing Edith Swan, with all the main
characters of the true tale featuring in the comedy film. Scenes so far have
been filmed at The Lido in Worthing, in Arundel town centre and along the
seafront, with mass security operations to keep the cast and crew safe during
filming.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The exact
release date is not yet known, but Sussex residents can eagerly anticipate to
watch some Sussex history being played out by some fantastic actors. With the
time period of the movie being the 1920s, we can also expect to see interesting
outfits, vehicles and certain attitudes in the upcoming movie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The true
Littlehampton story behind Wicked Little Letters as filming continues across
Sussex. By<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jasmine Carey. <a href="https://www.sussexlive.co.uk/whats-on/whats-on-news/true-littlehampton-story-behind-wicked-7682216">Sussex.Live</a>,
October 10, 2022. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8DDEHjqshZf0hyphenhyphenjMZzEFaFfAV8a1JcppDuojk8rIGeGxpNZQo56cfG_pzLi6LyDMD4XOkKT328q85mO-Gxq4xvWAoPWALvxJ4Z9cDoPnjgyrkLwrJOYTeHeZucdyggwjMHvG4exHA2L3joqKzC62ZoumqrzBSYyGgwwYLyyE960XdqrHbOMUoYoNHkg/s970/742x1200.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8DDEHjqshZf0hyphenhyphenjMZzEFaFfAV8a1JcppDuojk8rIGeGxpNZQo56cfG_pzLi6LyDMD4XOkKT328q85mO-Gxq4xvWAoPWALvxJ4Z9cDoPnjgyrkLwrJOYTeHeZucdyggwjMHvG4exHA2L3joqKzC62ZoumqrzBSYyGgwwYLyyE960XdqrHbOMUoYoNHkg/s16000/742x1200.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">As an
exciting experiment in merging the genre of the mystery novel with a work of
historiography, Hilliard’s The Littlehampton Libels succeeds in crafting an
engaging, pacey, and intellectually stimulating account of an unusual criminal
case in 1920s England. Oriented around a series of libels sent to the
close-knit inhabitants of the seaside town of Littlehampton, ranging from
imputations about prostitution, extramarital affairs, thefts, and other
neighborly grievances, the monograph keeps its readers guessing about the
culprit until the final chapters. Part of Hilliard’s brilliance lies in
demonstrating how these libels signified more than “petty” grievances to their
recipients, for whom issues of reputation still had economic consequences.
Among those whose employment was often precarious, and who depended on credit
and neighborly assistance for survival during periods of hardship, the libels
imperiled crucial relationships that were already fraught due to the proximity
of their living arrangements.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hilliard’s
painstaking examinations of “the textures of writing and speech” (177), as
recorded in police interviews with suspects and witnesses, courtroom testimony,
contemporary letters, and the libels themselves, flesh out how increasing
levels of literacy in this era profoundly impacted the ability of the poor to
express their individuality. Indeed, the writing style—both penmanship and
literary coherence—of one suspect, who displayed the ability to modify her
letters to become “proficient in the language of official correspondence”
(139), serves as a fascinating example of the kinds of agency that literacy
afforded, creating a means to interact across social classes and institutions.
Herein lies the significance of sometimes derided “micro-histories” and the
case-study approach. As Hilliard writes, The Littlehampton Libels offers “an
attempt to push my earlier exercises in intellectual or literary history ‘from
below’ further, and treat vocabularies and handwriting styles as sites of
individuality and ambition” (177).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This work
is interdisciplinary in format rather than methodology. It inhabits the style
of a novel successfully, but is unmistakeably an academic text, informed by
exhaustive research into the lives of its protagonists as well as the local and
institutional structures that they encountered. Hilliard also explores broader
themes of poverty, gender, class, and notions of respectability at intervals
that enhance the development of the main “story” without jarring shifts in
tone. As such, The Littlehampton Libels is an outstanding work of social
history, but it also deploys cultural history’s emphasis on conflicting
narratives of the past in a manner doubly effective because the case actually
hinged on these concerns. Playing with historians’ abilities to act as
“detectives” when confronted by testimonies that deliberately sought to obscure
the truth, Hilliard’s book creates a new template for exposing the
methodological and intellectual challenges of claiming to “know” the past in a
way both elegant and engaging.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chapter 9
(133–144), following the revelation of the culprit’s identity, marks a change
to a more conventional style of academic writing. Hilliard discusses the
etymology of the “bad language” used in the libels and its resonance in the
period and place under study. This change in tone would be problematical in a
history that sought exclusively to appeal to a “popular” audience, but this
chapter and its successor bridges the gap between academic and popular
histories by summarizing the key arguments succinctly. It recalls Summerscale’s
excellent The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher, albeit with a more explicit
social-historical emphasis.</span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Littlehampton Libels is an engaging and ambitious work that scholars in the
fields and sub-disciplines of history and English will mutually enjoy,
particularly for its suggestive insights into working-class agency through
literacy.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
Littlehampton Libels: A Miscarriage of Justice & a Mystery about Words in
1920s England by Christopher Hilliard (review). By Elisabeth Moss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href=" https://muse.jhu.edu/article/696384/summary">Journal of Interdisciplinary History</a>. The MIT
Press.Volume 49, Number 1, Summer 2018<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxMQU4_XBfb5b4x02q3ILLWu3LFaBmhg63sAdsEqz0oyoMqJmW-tzLqn9AfMHhACjZkz_eZLCIFXcSnl-odzZVpv4dwkhehGxXT3BmdNf7c8RrdhtIr9H-oZv77U4L0UPrWxwvwbX6wdrO6DAq89BHAUcQCM0hW9Mb2AfMe7iw9h8IQPsc8lrBkn146k/s520/wils08_4003_01.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxMQU4_XBfb5b4x02q3ILLWu3LFaBmhg63sAdsEqz0oyoMqJmW-tzLqn9AfMHhACjZkz_eZLCIFXcSnl-odzZVpv4dwkhehGxXT3BmdNf7c8RrdhtIr9H-oZv77U4L0UPrWxwvwbX6wdrO6DAq89BHAUcQCM0hW9Mb2AfMe7iw9h8IQPsc8lrBkn146k/s16000/wils08_4003_01.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A series of
poison pen letters being circulated in a small English village is the subject
of Agatha Christie's 1942 novel The Moving Finger, yet there are a number of
other books in which they appear as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dorothy Sayers, Edmund Crispin, and John Dickson Carr spring to mind
immediately as just a few examples; in the hands of these authors murder
generally followed as a result.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In The
Littlehampton Libels there are no killings, but the poison pen letters
circulating in the 1920s within Littlehampton, a "middling town"
along the Sussex coast (and beyond), eventually merited police investigations,
resulted in four different trials, widespread news coverage,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>imprisonment, and, as the title reveals,
"a miscarriage of justice."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The stories of the two women involved, according to the author, is a<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"kind
of English story told over and over in fiction and film but rarely in works of
history..."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it all began with "a quarrel between
neighbors."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1918,
Bill and Rose Gooding moved into the town of Littlehampton, at No. 45 Western
Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rose's sister Ruth Russell shared
the house with them and their daughter Dorothy; Ruth had two children of her
own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No. 45 shared garden space with
two other houses:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No. 47, the home of
the Swan family, as well as No. 49, the "police cottage," where
police officers and their families could sublet the house which was rented by
the West Sussex Constabulary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the
time "the libels started flying," the police cottage housed Constable
Alfred Russell and his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first,
Rose Gooding and Edith Swan (age 30 and living with her parents), seemed to get
along well, but an incident in May of 1920 led Edith to call in the National
Society of Prevention of Cruelty to Children against Rose, in a complaint of
"illtreating a child."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
inspector who came out in response to Edith's complaint found nothing amiss,
but it was just after his visit that "a flood of filthy postcards"
began, with the bad language escalating each time; since they were signed
"R--", "R.G.," or "with Mrs. Gooding's compliments,"
the assumption was that the letters had come from Rose Gooding in retaliation
for Edith's complaints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rose
consistently denied that the letters had been her doing, and the police were
satisfied, but that wasn't enough for Edith -- eventually she consulted a
solicitor and instituted a prosecution against Rose for "criminal
libel," which ultimately resulted in a two-week imprisonment for<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rose, as well as her being responsible for
keeping the peace for two years after her release.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I won't go into details here, mainly
because this bizarre story really has to be experienced on one's own, Rose
found herself back into prison, appealed, and her case was reopened, along with
a major investigation to find the true culprit which reads at times like something
you'd find in a work of crime fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In this
truly splendid work of microhistory, written in a way I personally believe the
best histories should be written,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the
author traces not only the events in this case, but uses his investigation to
also examine how, as he says, these<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"outlandish insults form part of a larger
story of individuality and originality in unexpected places."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Bee Wilson says in her review in the London
Review of Books, (which you should absolutely refrain from reading until you've
finished the book),<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Littlehampton
Libels<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>reveals "the uses and abuses
of literacy. " It also gives a concise history of the legal use of libel
up to this point in time as well as an insight into how the legal system was
used by members of the working class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It's important to note here that one's respectability as a member of
this class was based on several factors and there were gradations in the class
structure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this particular case, as
Mr. Hilliard notes, it wasn't "just circumstances that counted against
Rose Gooding," but more to the point, it was the fact that she and her
family were viewed as belonging to "a slightly rougher class" than
her accuser, a woman seen to be of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"very good character" and one who would never use the sort of
language found in the poison pen letters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As the trial testimony was given, and that particular point was made,
something popped into my head right out of Christie's<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Moving Finger<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and I had to go look it up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There's a scene in which Jerry Burton tells
us that<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"In novels, I have noticed,
anonymous letters of a foul and disgusting character are never shown, if
possible, to women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is implied that
women must at all cost be shielded from the shock it might give their delicate
nervous systems." <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Given the
"foul and disgusting character" of the Littlehampton poison pen
letters and the truth behind who actually wrote them, well, I couldn't help but
inwardly giggle thinking about that particular passage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Obviously
my short post here just scratches the surface of this book, but The
Littlehampton Libels is a phenomenal work of history,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>giving credence to the idea that quite often
truth is stranger than fiction. I knew it was going to be something right up my
alley when I first read about it, and I don't regret forking over more than I
generally pay for a book to read it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
can't speak highly enough about it.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Littlehampton Libels: A Miscarriage of Justice & a Mystery about Words in
1920s England, by Christopher Hilliard. By NancyO. <a href="http://www.nonfictionrealstuff.com/2018/04/the-littlehampton-libels-miscarriage-of.html">The Real Stuff</a>, April 16, 2018. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgTGPc26TxrpMUAkKZNWgtmCH7Ft4uG30gFZsElg4txjseUXR-v8lPxkWXUtXhIxQOnWGIXFWYMt3e6VwQa35dDVbnF6-6xMKBVuLOq3djpzyoSQpcChLI2-3PzaMgGTaDU84T1m_aoySTrWH2-0HTtsMMBGTo9W1T5chiSZCOywrLmfWs8Q8YbStoWY/s600/49BF2EB900000578-5456203-image-a-20_1520027720388.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="379" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgTGPc26TxrpMUAkKZNWgtmCH7Ft4uG30gFZsElg4txjseUXR-v8lPxkWXUtXhIxQOnWGIXFWYMt3e6VwQa35dDVbnF6-6xMKBVuLOq3djpzyoSQpcChLI2-3PzaMgGTaDU84T1m_aoySTrWH2-0HTtsMMBGTo9W1T5chiSZCOywrLmfWs8Q8YbStoWY/s16000/49BF2EB900000578-5456203-image-a-20_1520027720388.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In July
1923 at the Lewes assizes, Mr Justice Avory handed an anonymous letter
containing some ‘improper words’ to a respectable-looking woman. He asked her
if she had ever used such foul language. ‘Never during the whole of my life,
either in writing or talking, never,’ she replied. The woman’s father, a
retired house painter with a grey beard, was asked whether he had ever heard
his daughter use indecent language. ‘Never,’ he said. ‘She was brought up quite
differently. I have never heard such language from her or any others of my
family of nine children.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edith Swan,
a 30-year-old laundress from the seaside town of Littlehampton in Sussex, was
accused of sending a letter to a sanitary inspector called Charles Gardner that
contained words of ‘an indecent, obscene and grossly offensive character’. The
full letter has not survived, but the gist of it was that Mr Gardner would be
very sorry that he had ever called Swan’s ‘dust boxes’ a nuisance. Three
witnesses had seen Swan post this letter. Offensive letters had been
circulating in Littlehampton for several years, and the police had taken the
unusual step of installing a periscopic mirror in the post office’s mail drop.
Whenever anyone posted anything, it was retrieved by post office staff and examined
by two clerks from the Special Investigation Branch. Looking through the
periscope, Edwin Baker, one of the clerks, saw Miss Swan’s hand posting the
letter to the sanitary inspector along with a letter addressed to her sister in
Woking. The stamps on both letters had been marked with invisible ink, and had
been sold to Swan at the request of the police, who had long suspected her of
being behind the rash of anonymous letters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite all
of this, Mr Justice Avory was not convinced that the slender, self-possessed
woman in front of him was capable of writing such a letter. The Brighton Argus
reported that he directed the jury to ‘consider whether it was conceivable that
she could have written this document’ given that her ‘demeanour in the witness
box was that of a respectable, clean-mouthed woman’. The judge said that the
jury must ask themselves ‘whether there might possibly be some mistake’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Littlehampton Libels by Christopher Hilliard is a short but dazzling work of
microhistory. It uses the story of some poison pen letters in a small town to
illuminate wider questions of social life in Britain between the wars, from
ordinary people’s experience of the legal system to the way people washed their
sheets, and is a far more exciting book than either the title or the rather
dull cover would suggest. For a short period, the mystery of these letters
became a national news story that generated four separate trials and, as
Hilliard writes, ‘demanded more from the police and the lawyers than most
murders’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is a
book about morality and class, about the uses and abuses of literacy and about
the tremendous dislocations in British society after the First World War, which
extended far beyond those who had suffered the direct trauma of battle.
Hilliard uses these poison pen letters – written in language that was as
eccentric as it was obscene – to ‘catch the accents of the past’. The
Littlehampton Libels is about a battle between two women who were members of
only the second generation in Britain to benefit from compulsory elementary
education, women for whom the written word was a new and exhilarating weapon.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hilliard
asks what it was like to live in a society where ‘nice’ women had to pretend
that they were ignorant of all profanity. Melissa Mohr claims in her excellent
book Holy Sh*t: A Brief History of Swearing (2013) that the British started to
swear more during and after the First World War, because strong language – like
strong drink – is a way to alleviate despair. In 1930, John Brophy and Eric
Partridge published a collection of British songs and slang from the war. They
claimed that soldiers used the word ‘fucking’ so often that it was merely a
warning ‘that a noun is coming’. In a normal situation, swear words are used
for emphasis, but Brophy and Partridge found that obscenity was so over-used
among the military in the Great War that if a soldier wanted to express emotion
he wouldn’t swear. ‘Thus if a sergeant said, “Get your —ing rifles!” it was
understood as a matter of routine. But if he said, “Get your rifles!” there was
an immediate implication of urgency and danger.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As former
soldiers re-established themselves as civilians, swearing became normalised,
but it was only acceptable when used by men and addressed to men. The story of
the Littlehampton libels reveals the extent to which British society at this
time clung to certain beliefs about women and language. One of these
prejudices, fiercely held, was that a ‘respectable’ woman was incapable of
allowing a dirty word to sully her mouth. Another was that women who did swear
were beyond the pale, and therefore capable of anything. The tenacity of these
prejudices within the legal system would allow Edith Swan to send multiple
poison pen letters to her neighbours over a period of three years and contrive
to have a less ‘respectable’ woman – Rose Gooding – twice sent to jail for
crimes of which she was entirely innocent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Swan was
accused of libel for the first time in 1921, charged with sending a series of
obscene letters, mostly addressed to her neighbours Violet and George May. Here
is an extract from a letter dated 14 September 1921: ‘You bloody fucking
flaming piss country whores go and fuck your cunt. Its your drain that stinks
not our fish box. Yo fucking dirty sods. You are as bad as your whore neybor.’
The Mays were sent many such letters in the course of 1921. Swan claimed that
she had received similar letters herself, such as this one from 23 September:
‘To the foxy ass whore 47, Western Rd Local. You foxy ass piss country whore
you are a character.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There was
compelling proof that Edith Swan was the author of these letters, even the ones
she received. The police searched the house where she lived with her parents
and two of her brothers and found a piece of blotting paper which contained
clear traces of some of the letters. Swan protested that the blotting paper had
been found by her father in the washing house. A still more devastating piece
of evidence was that Swan had been seen by a policewoman throwing one of the
letters into the garden her family shared with their neighbours. Gladys Moss,
the policewoman, was keeping watch on Swan through a slit in a garden shed when
she saw her throw a folded piece of buff-coloured paper in the direction of the
Mays’ house. The paper was addressed to ‘fucking old whore May, 49, Western Rd,
Local’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">As in the
1923 trial, the judge simply refused to accept the evidence of Swan’s guilt.
Sir Clement Bailhache was not convinced by Moss’s testimony because it
conflicted with what his eyes told him: that Edith Swan was the kind of
Englishwoman who was incapable of swearing. ‘If I were on the jury, I would not
convict,’ Bailhache announced. The jury followed his guidance.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For Travers
Humphreys, the barrister who acted for the prosecution in the 1921 trial,
Swan’s case exposed a flaw in the English justice system, as he explained in
his memoir 25 years later. Humphreys thought that juries were very rarely
wrong, but that a miscarriage of justice was possible if a woman of respectable
appearance was prepared to lie in court. Swan was that woman. She dressed for
court in a blue serge dress with a long grey cloak over it and a white
chrysanthemum pinned to her breast. ‘She was the perfect witness,’ Humphreys
wrote. ‘Neat and tidy in her appearance, polite and respectful in her answers,
with just that twinge of feeling to be expected in a person who knows herself
to be the victim of circumstances, she would have deceived, nay she did
deceive, the very elect.’ What Humphreys did not say was just how willing ‘the
elect’ were to be deceived, eager as they were to refute the notion that a
woman like her could conceivably use such language.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
immediate cause of the letters was a dispute between Swan and her neighbour
Rose Gooding that began in 1920. Swan lived with her parents at 47 Western Road
and Rose Gooding lived at 45 Western Road with her husband, Bill, a seaman who
worked as a ship’s cook, and her younger sister Ruth Russell, who was
unmarried. Between them, Rose and Ruth had four illegitimate children. Rose and
Bill also had a son, Willie. Both families were working class, but the presence
of illegitimate children in the Gooding home made them less respectable than
the Swans. Another thing that set the families apart was that the Goodings were
known for having loud rows and swearing at each other. In 1919, Rose Gooding
was fired from her job as a servant in the house of a local publisher. He
complained about her ‘habit of making horrible accusations particularly about
her husband and sister ... that her husband was sleeping with her sister, he
treated her as his wife, that he took no notice of her [Mrs Gooding] when she
was in the room and if she made a remark she was told to shut up.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The fiery
Rose Gooding had little in common with Edith Swan, who was described by
Inspector Nicholls, a detective, as having a ‘stony expression’ that made her
seem ‘possibly wrong in the head’. Edith had a fiancé, Bert Boxall, a soldier
who had served in India and then in Afghanistan, but at the age of thirty she
was still sharing a bedroom with her parents, both in their seventies. The
Swans had always lived in Littlehampton, a middling-sized Sussex town with a
sandy beach and a pier whose architecture was described by Pevsner as ‘a rather
bewildering mixture of Old Hastings and Bournemouth’. By the time of the
libels, most of her older siblings had left home. Only two brothers, Stephen
and Ernest, both of them labourers but often unemployed, remained. Edith’s
mother is described by Hilliard as ‘quiet and unobtrusive’ whereas her father
was irritable and quick to meddle in the affairs of others. At the time of the
libels, Edith was earning money by taking in laundry. The whole family was
thrifty and Edith was a keen member of the Tontine Club, a group that met at a
local pub and put their savings in a mutual fund.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The houses
in Western Road were ‘jammed in against each other’, as Hilliard puts it. The
communal garden was also ‘the site of a motley collection of sheds and home to
the residents’ rabbits and chickens’ as well as the location of the ‘drying
ground’, where the women hung out laundry. The front door of No. 45 and the
scullery of No. 47 were practically adjacent, so that it was possible to
eavesdrop on conversations in the other house. As Inspector Nicholls observed,
‘everything that went on in the Goodings must have been known in the Swans and
vice versa.’ There were spats over the smell from the Goodings’ dustbin or the
nuisance caused by the chickens owned by Alfred Russell, a policeman who lived
with his wife, Edith, at No. 49.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
relationship between Edith Swan and Rose Gooding got off to a fairly good
start. When the Goodings moved in late in 1918 Edith Swan made an effort to be
friendly. Questioned by Inspector Nicholls, Edith recalled that she ‘went in
and out’ of the Goodings’ house and sometimes took the children out. Her father
gave Rose Gooding a large marrow he had grown and Edith gave her a recipe for
marrow chutney. She also gave Rose a knitting pattern for socks and encouraged
her to join the Tontine Club to help her build up some savings. Rose lent the
Swans patty pans, clothes pegs and a suet scraper – a cutter for shredding beef
suet into tiny pieces. These details would resurface as points of controversy
in Rose Gooding’s trial.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Edith and
Rose disagreed about the reasons for their falling out. Rose said in court that
the whole Swan family ‘seemed to turn against her ever since one Saturday
afternoon, when she was unable to lend Mrs Swan her flat irons’. The court
exploded with laughter at such a trivial casus belli. Edith Swan’s version of
events was different. She maintained that Bill and Rose Gooding had had a
vicious row, as a result of which she wrote a letter to the NSPCC accusing Rose
of ‘ill-treating a child who was living with her’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The row
happened over the Easter weekend of 1920. On Easter Sunday, Edith claimed to
have overheard a row in which Rose accused Bill of being the father of her
sister Ruth’s last baby. She said she heard Bill reply that Rose’s guts were
‘bloody rotten through going with other men while I was risking my life at
sea’. Some of her story was corroborated by other neighbours. Edith Russell
confirmed that Rose Gooding was a woman of ‘a very bad temper’ who frequently
shouted at her children and quarrelled with her sister. Russell said that Rose
Gooding had told her that her husband would call her ‘a rotten cow, and a
bloody sod’. Bill Gooding was not usually a drinker, but several neighbours
said that he had been drinking heavily that weekend. At 51 Western Road, a
bathing machine proprietor called William Birkin overheard some of the row on
Easter Sunday. He heard Bill shout: ‘You bloody rotten cow – You rotten
bugger.’ The couple were using ‘the filthiest language I had ever heard’,
Birkin said. The next day he saw Rose Gooding with her eye bandaged and
‘surmised that Mr Gooding had struck her’. The one part of Swan’s story that no
one else could corroborate was her insistence that Rose Gooding had beaten her
sister’s baby.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When the
NSPCC inspector arrived – a man from Chichester called A.C. Bailey – he found
the Gooding home to be ‘spotlessly clean and the children in a perfect state in
every way’. Bailey met with Edith Swan and Rose and Bill Gooding and, in Rose’s
confusing translation, he gave her ‘a good name and credit for how all the fine
little children looked after for a poor person he told me not to brood over it
as the person who wrote him had no cause whatever’. He saw the baby who was
supposed to have been beaten and found him healthy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was
after the inspector’s visit that the first scurrilous postcards started to
arrive. The first libel, Edith Swan would later testify, was an unstamped
letter which said: ‘You bloody old cow, mind your own business and there would
be no rows.’ Most of the letters targeted Edith Swan or those close to her. In
a single week, three letters were sent to the Beach Hotel where Edith’s brother
Ernest worked accusing him of stealing things. Various letters were sent to
local people for whom Edith did laundry telling them not to send their washing
to her. Shopkeepers were sent letters saying that Edith was a whore and her
family was ‘a dirty drunken lot’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of
these early letters were signed ‘R – –’ or ‘R.G.’ or on one occasion ‘with Mrs
Gooding’s compliments’. The letters also included words and phrases that people
had overheard the Goodings using in conversation, such as ‘bloody old cow’.
Edward Swan told the police that he had ‘heard them use the language that was
on the postcard’. Often they were sent to people with whom Rose had recently
had contact. Several times, as a kindness, she had sent some cakes or a bit of
fish to the young son of Constable Russell. Whenever Rose sent one of these
gifts, it would be swiftly followed by an offensive letter or card to Constable
Russell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As the
mother of an illegitimate child, and someone who was known to swear, Rose
Gooding was already guilty in the eyes of many. As Mohr notes, in this period,
swearing was deemed ‘morally wrong’ partly because it was seen as
characteristic of the lower classes: ‘people who would violate linguistic
decency, it was thought, would not hesitate to commit any sort of outrage
against moral decency.’ It was this kind of reasoning that enabled Edith to
frame Rose. As Hilliard writes, ‘Rose Gooding was serving her second prison
sentence before anyone thoroughly examined the evidence against her.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In July
1920, Swan consulted a solicitor who began to build a libel case against
Gooding. In order for something to count as ‘criminal libel’ in the eyes of the
law, there had to be a public interest at stake. In September, the Director of
Public Prosecutions ruled that these were private libels and not of ‘general or
public importance’. Undeterred, Swan took what Hilliard calls the
‘extraordinary step’ of launching a private prosecution. Gooding was detained
in prison for two and a half months awaiting trial and then prosecuted at the
assizes in December 1920 in the case of Rex v. Gooding. There was no expert
testimony on the handwriting of the libellous letters. Essentially, the jury
had to decide whether they believed Gooding had written the letters in question
or whether they were the work of Swan. Gooding was found guilty and sentenced
to 14 days at Portsmouth prison, in addition to the two and a half months she
had already spent locked up awaiting trial.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">During this
three-month period not a single libellous letter was sent in Littlehampton. But
within two weeks of her release, they started up again and the Goodings became
frightened that Rose would be framed again. This time, a solicitor for the
Goodings, William Smith, tried to outwit Swan. Smith told Gooding to leave
Littlehampton in secret and go to stay with her mother in Lewes. All the time
that she was gone, the rest of her family made a show of shouting out loudly to
Rose, to make the Swans believe she was still at home. Rose sent regular
letters with Lewes postmarks to prove that she was not in Littlehampton. One of
them has survived in the police files. In its diction, its spelling and its
softness of tone it is quite unlike the poison pen letters: ‘Dear ruth i have
got a suit fore your Billie and one fore Little Willie and a Dress fore your
Gertie and one fore Dorie and some stockings for them and a Black skirt ...
Dear ruth I am coming nix wensday in the afternoon same time ... xxxxxxxxx’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While
Gooding was in Lewes, Swan was seen posting a letter at the Littlehampton post
office and the mailbag was found to contain an abusive letter addressed to
Alfred Russell’s wife, who was in hospital. This should have been enough to
show that Gooding couldn’t be the culprit, but Alfred Russell said he didn’t believe
that she had really gone away. He did not believe it because Edith Swan and her
mother insisted that they had seen her crossing the yard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rose’s
watertight alibi counted for nothing. She was arrested and tried for libel a
second time. The judge apologised to the sole woman on the jury for asking her
to read letters of an obscene nature. Gooding’s lawyer produced the sock
pattern and the recipe for marrow chutney that Swan had given Gooding in 1919,
to show that Swan’s handwriting looked similar to that of the libeller, but
Swan simply denied that the writing was hers. The jury asked to see a sample of
Gooding’s handwriting but the judge refused. In summing up, he told the jury
that he ‘did not think much’ of Gooding’s alibi and the jury duly found her
guilty. Since this was supposedly the second time that Gooding had persecuted
Swan, she was sentenced to 12 months in prison with hard labour.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gooding was
only saved at last by the Court of Criminal Appeals, because some new evidence
had showed up in Littlehampton while she was locked up in Portsmouth. The week
before her appeal hearing, two notebooks were discovered on Selbourne Road, not
far from Western Road, containing a series of expletive-ridden rants in the
same handwriting as the libels. The notebooks were splattered with the name
Dorothy Gooding – Dorothy was Rose’s 11-year-old daughter. Both books contained
the sentence ‘Inspector Thomas wants pole-axing for taking my angel mother to
prison.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In June
1921 Inspector George Nicholls spent a week in Littlehampton investigating the
libels and taking detailed statements from 29 people. To start with, he was
suspicious of Ruth Russell, Rose’s sister. ‘That Miss Russell is immoral goes
without saying,’ he wrote. But then he found several clues that settled the
matter. On searching the Swans’ house, he found some pieces of blotting paper
with clear signs of the same big handwriting that the libels had been written
in. The blotting paper also contained fragments of names and addresses that
exactly corresponded to some of the libels. When he asked the Swans to explain
the presence of this blotting paper in their house, they insisted that the
Goodings often borrowed blotting paper, pens, ink and pencils and, moreover,
that Rose Gooding had tossed some blotting paper into their house. Nicholls did
not ‘give much weight’ to this statement, instead concluding that he could not
trust anything Edith Swan said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
end, Rose Gooding’s faulty spelling helped to save her. Inspector Nicholls
painstakingly went through 27 letters that Rose sent to Bill from Portsmouth
jail and found that she always misspelled the word ‘prison’ as ‘prision’. This
was a mistake that the author of the libels never made (one of Edith Swan’s
school teachers said she was ‘very clever at Essay writing, and a good
penman’). Unlike Rose Gooding’s public exclamations of ‘bloody old cow’ and so
on, which were easily copied by Edith Swan in the letters, ‘prision’ was a
little quirk of Rose’s language that no one knew about except for Bill. On 25
July 1921, the Court of Criminal Appeals heard Rose’s case and overturned both
of her convictions. Sir Ernley Blackwell, the top lawyer at the Home Office,
concluded that Rose Gooding had twice been wrongly imprisoned and had in ‘no
way’ contributed to her own misfortune:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Mrs Gooding
is a woman of good character and for a long time she has borne the stigma of
having committed offences of a particularly disgraceful kind, many of the
letters she was supposed to have sent being of a filthy and abominable nature."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The British
government paid Rose Gooding £250 as an ‘act of grace’ but without any
admission of liability.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">With Rose
Gooding exonerated, it might be expected that Edith Swan would be forced to
stop her libels. Swan started presenting herself as a detective, claiming in a
letter to a newspaper that she was ‘following up certain clues’ to ‘get to the
bottom of all this’. At the same time, she started up a new batch of filthy
letters. In the autumn of 1921, the main recipients of her letters were George
and Violet May, a twentysomething policeman and his wife who had moved into No.
49 Western Road after Alfred Russell moved out. Soon after Violet May moved in,
Edith Swan helpfully came round and offered her the use of her clothes-line,
which Violet gratefully accepted. It wasn’t long before the Mays were receiving
abusive missives, which were still written as if from Rose Gooding. In several
instances, it was Edith who helpfully ‘found’ the letters in the garden or the
drying ground and brought them to the Mays’ attention. This is from 5 September
1921:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"To the old
bastards May. You can talk about us as much as you like you dirty cows. You
bloody fucking sods, you think you are big but we are as good as you. You are
bloody dirty or you would clean the yard sometimes you bloody rotten buggers."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And
another, from 7 October:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> "We are not
going because you want us to you poxy ass piss country whores. We shall stay
all the longer now."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As well as
being obscene, the libels were also ‘decidedly strange’, as Hilliard remarks.
This was swearing as a foreign language by someone who had the vocab but was
not sure of how to fit the words together. The phrases ‘poxy ass’ and ‘foxy
ass’ often pop up in the libels. The ‘foxy’ in question did not mean ‘sassy’,
Hilliard points out, but decaying like a foxed book. The phrase ‘piss country
whore’, a favourite in Edith’s letters, is not one that Hilliard can trace to
any known usage. He wonders whether she perhaps misheard the phrase
‘piss-factory’, meaning a pub. Often, she piles up an excess of adjectives for
effect: ‘bloody flaming fucking piss country’, where ‘bloody country’ on its
own would do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The great
mystery of the Littlehampton libels is what motivated Edith Swan to produce and
send this curious array of obscenity, other than hatred of the Goodings. If the
libels hurt the reputation of Rose Gooding, they were also a form of
self-sabotage against Swan herself. One of the letters from 1920 had been
written to Swan’s fiancé Bert Boxall telling him that Edith had an affair with
the policeman Alfred Russell and was carrying his child. Boxall broke off the
engagement. Many of the letters insulting Edith Swan were sent to people who
were of economic value to her family. Among the people who received letters
saying that Edith Swan was a dirty drunken whore were Caffyns the butchers, Mr
Boniface the fishmonger and several of Edith’s laundry clients. As Hilliard
writes, Edith Swan was ‘tearing at the fabric of her own daily life’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps
this kind of self-harming behaviour ran in the Swan family. In 1921, when he
was desperately trying to get his wife freed from prison, Bill Gooding wrote to
the home secretary to say he had heard that ‘the youngest Swan boy used to
write letters to himself and tear his clothes up and knock his self about and
say other people was doing it’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After Edith
Swan was finally sent down for her libels in 1923 – despite Justice Avory
directing them to see her as the victim of a ‘mistake’, the jury took just ten
minutes to find her guilty – some of the national press speculated on the state
of her mental health. The Daily Express saw her as a ‘wretched being’ whose
crimes were ‘the product of a mental aberration’ and who should be in an
‘asylum, not a prison’. The Manchester Guardian, likewise, saw her as ‘a
subject for a mental rather than a legal specialist’. The News of the World,
more bluntly, argued that this ‘unattractive’ woman with ‘weak, peering eyes’
and ‘no semblance of a figure’ must be suffering from ‘sex mania’. Hilliard
himself wonders whether Edith Swan was suffering from borderline personality
disorder, a form of identity disturbance in which individuals lack a stable
sense of self. A typical case of a ‘discouraged’ borderline would be someone
who overcomplies with the rules of society, only to feel periodic fury and
resentment at this constricted way of living, and acts out some kind of
rebellion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The madness
of Edith Swan was an extreme and personal reaction to the linguistic
constraints under which most women in Britain lived in 1920. The person who
wrote these weird, malicious libels seems to have had two equally strong urges.
One was to maintain the moral high ground and prove to the world that she was
the ‘clean-mouthed’ feminine creature that Mr Justice Avory and others took her
to be: a neighbourly lender of clothes-lines and blotting paper, a wearer of
blue serge dresses, a dutiful daughter, a protector of innocent babies, a
target of someone else’s unmannerly aggression. Yet Edith Swan’s letters show
that she had an equally strong impulse to utter the foul words that someone
like her was not allowed to use. The Great War forced many women out of their
traditional roles as they took on the jobs of men who were away fighting and
gave them a glimpse of other, freer lives. Edith Swan spent most of the war
working in conventional female jobs as a domestic servant but for six months in
1915 she worked for a local construction firm doing distempering and
whitewashing on houses. Was it on the construction site that she learned about
‘piss’ and ‘foxy ass’ and ‘whore’ and all those other words that she could not
say at home in front of her parents and her eight siblings? When Rose Gooding
moved in next door and started swearing without inhibition, did Edith feel a
twinge of jealousy? Ruth Russell said that she sometimes overheard Stephen and
Ernest Swan ‘make use of the words “fucking and bugger”’ but she never once heard
Edith or her parents swear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Edith
was finally found guilty of the libels in 1923, Justice Avory sentenced her to
12 months’ imprisonment with hard labour, yet even then, he clung to a sense of
incredulity that such a woman could have written such ‘filth’. ‘I can only act
upon the verdict of the jury. It is not my verdict’ were his final words to
her.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Merely
a Warning that a Noun is Coming. By Bee Wilson. <a href="https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v40/n03/bee-wilson/merely-a-warning-that-a-noun-is-coming">London Review of Books</a>, February
8, 2018.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p>favereyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06235075318950320204noreply@blogger.com0