Spellbound

Today after an enchanting class on the act of storytelling, I found myself obsessing on the full range of any exploration of the act of storytelling and of the analysis of art. One of Vladimir Nabokov's major emphases was on the role of a good reader. I hope everyone remembers the quote James mentioned in class today. If not, it goes something like this: "The good, the admirable reader identifies himself not with the boy or the girl in the book, but with the mind that conceived and composed the book. [...]The admirable reader is not concerned with general ideas: he is interested in the particular vision". Here Nabokov seems to be saying that the specifics of character, time, and place are unimportant in themselves. It is the weaving together of these details in order that one may partake of a particular "vision" that makes them of vital importance to the reader. This is the act of storytelling and the role of the enchanter.

While listening to Dr. Sexson tell his story of the meeting with the "Scheherezade of the Skies," at one point I became distanced from myself and I realized.....I was spellbound. I was literally hanging on every word, and every pause was excrutiating. My thoughts were akin to "what comes next?!" "will he go on or leave us in this place of unknowing?" Even as we left the class and as all the elements of the story seemed to be revealed, I had my doubts. To be a good reader, one must never trust what one is told. I'm not exactly sure whether or not the woman did indeed have a "real" tattoo on her arm....just as I am not sure whether or not this encounter "really" took place. I find myself asking, does it even matter? Does the veritability of a given story change its impact? Why this obsessive need for "reality" when we have no proof that this physical reality exists at all? WHAT....IS....."REAL"?

This is the unanswerable question of our time. Yet this is also a question we must ask in order to ascertain whether or not we are "real". For this reason, we turn to stories. In stories we are immortal; we live on in the imaginings of others. Humbert Humbert states "Imagine me: I shall not exist if you do not imagine me". In this way, by examining art we are not solely attempting to become better readers. Rather, we are attempting to become better at reading ("living"?) our own lives. Here we find the reason for the obsessive list-making of seemingly mundane items. It is the taking of time to delve beneath the surface of an item that we are incapable of. "For most of us, there is only the unattended/ Moment, the moment in and out of time,/ The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight". Is it even possible to live in a manner where every object, every moment, every single word, has a tangible meaning in our conscious lives? In Finnegan's Wake, we see this concept is achievable in dreams, but how do we make sense of it all? Where do we make connections, and where do we let the torrent of words, of concepts, of syllables, wash over us like a river of stories, a river of dreams?

The truth is, every object or experience we may encounter does have meaning, but in order that we may stay sane, we must leave a fraction of that veil of illusion in place. Once we tear that final curtain and know ourselves for the first time, once we become the man behind the curtain, there is no going back. "Last of all he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is." As Plato demonstrates in his Allegory of the Cave, we cannot unsee that which we have seen, nor would we wish, at that point, to return to a state of ignorance. This tearing of the veil (see biblical reference in hyperlink) is, I propose, the goal of this class. The difference here, however, is that instead of the uninitiated being granted access to god himself, we, the self-same uninitiated, are granted access to our immortality.

Through our realization that time is a relative concept, we become aware of its amazing paradoxical quality. We are immortal in that art is immortal throughout the course of time, yet that immortality is fragile and subject to the whims of future generations. Time will destroy us in that we die, yet it also secures our immortality. "People change, and smile: but the agony abides./Time the destroyer is time the preserver." We are ignorant as to its true nature, yet we can witness its effect on our persons. We are taught to transcend time by stepping outside of its control through the realms of art or enlightenment. This, we are told, is immortality......a myriad of lifetimes in a single breath......and on and on and on.... Dolce domum.

>Sidebar: I found this quiz online about time and how we think of it. It takes literally seconds to take and I found it pretty interesting.

As a final note, at the end of our semester with Nabokov, Dr. Sexson proclaimed us all to be mad. But we cannot help it. Everywhere we go, we, the now initiated, will be looking for the enchanter's work, the man behind the curtain. In finding him, we will find ourselves, for he is but a mirror to our own nature, our frailty and immortality abiding nonsensically in the paradox of time.

A Few Links

(Scheherezade)

Here is a link to the short story Dr. Sexson mentioned, An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge. It is the story of a man who in the last moments of his life.....he lives another life. One instant in which a lifetime, of sorts, is lived.

Here is the trailer to the movie Idiocracy wherein the intellect of the world has declined to the point of absurdity.

This is the re-release trailer for L'Année Derniere a Marienbad. The movie is in French , but the preview has subtitles. Here, the concept of deja-vu is explored....does time exist? What is real and what is imagined? These are a few themes presented by the trailer.

Finally, the full story about Solomon and his ring that Sexson told us in class can be found here. What's more, there is a setup to the story, the reason Asmodeus works against Solomon to begin with. That story can be found here. I also found a wikipedia article about the ring itself here . I've included a simplified picture of the seal of solomon which is said to be on the ring. As the wikipedia article states, the star is made up of two triangles representing two of the four elements. When juxtaposed, they create the other two elements. Legends of solomon say that with his protective ring, he was able to control the elements.

List oh List!

I think one of the most important things about making a list is the act of selecting each item with care....the taking of time to consider each object for what it is and also that object's relation to the whole. Our minds are already programmed to list, to categorize, so the process comes naturally. We, for the most part, like to put each anomoly, each deviation from the acceptable norm, within the safety of its own category, where we no longer have to consider its apparent difference from the rest. While at times this act could simply be a way of oversimplifying the things we find unsettling, the act of making lists itself, this careful consideration, may be our only semblance of control over a chaotic world. In the end, one question begs my asking: is our listmaking merely another self-imposed illusion (delusion?), or rather, through lists, can we achieve greater insight and understanding.

I chose to list some small landmarks that I consider day after day on my way to class in the early morning.

Starting from the parking lot where my days begin, there is:

>one small creek, meandering its way through the city. I wonder where it starts....and where it ends.

>one small-ish tree standing alone that changes its appearance as the light changes
>the screams and laughter of children playing in a nearby playground

>one large reddish tree that is lit up practically supernaturally by the sunset at night

>one small beaten path through the snow that leads to the greenhouses that are lit up at night like the glass pyramid in front of the louvre

>one crooked crack at the end of the sidewalk just before

>one choice: dirt path or asphalt drive

>one beaten and graffitied trashcan that never moves

>one silver keypad on the door to the art building. Inevitably, my brain recites the after-hours code even without me needing to enter it (* * *)

>one relic of a heater just inside the door that dates back decades, yet still stoicly warms the hall

>one wine-stain, barely noticable, from a recent art show

>several assorted posters for upcoming shows, the colors and lines change often, a flurry of activity

>one tiny key in the company of many that opens my locker where I keep my art materials.

>one tall pillar just outside the front door casting dark shadows over any passerby

>one mysterious chain...is it art?....draped between buildings.

>one long expanse of sidewalk stretching out in front of me and flanked by scattered trees like lazy sentries

>one or two ducks fly overhead

>one busy intersection before

>one arch

>countless grains of grit and salt so that walkers fail to trip

>one stranger passes on the left (going to the art building perhaps?)

>another on the right (music major?)

>countless more, a river of students, follow, some of whom meet my eyes, others who find the mysteries of life rooted in the sidewalk....line....line....line....look up dont trip....careful....line....rock...line....destination

>two moving doors at Reed and the cluster of smokers congregating outside

>one wrapping around bench where judges sit for the....catwalk...head up!

>one sprawling mudpuddle in which the sky is captured. Springing over the mirror...

>one precarious landing

>one path to my left unchanging despite seasons cuts across lawn just to save a few steps. I'm tempted.

>one chain link fence around a beautiful building

>one makeshift stairway and

>one army man walking up, inside

>three massive guardians of trees casting long shadows over

>one sheet of ice over which I glide

>one twisting tree whose branches frame the sky.....

>ten gloved fingers simply...itching...to capture it

>one walkway suspended in air over which banners are draped. "Vote *insert name* for Homecoming Queen"

>(in spring)one dog, eyes sad, leash tied to

>one tree

>one doorway on my left. Do I want to walk inside?

>one doorway further forward. Is there any room to wait?

>one collection of trees and sleeping flowers (on my right) I am secretly, exceedingly, glad that exist

>one black metal bench to my right now covered in snow where I like to sit in Summer

>one more further on, out of sight...remembered pictures

>(always) one recollection of the warm golden light that fills and touches all things here in summer

>four couches on my left on which I could sit

>one set of stairs going upward to a maze of office space above me

>one clock on the wall....still have time

>four numbers

>four numbers

>four numbers

>four numbers

>four more

>one doorframe my fingers touch as I come around the corner

>one seat among many.....third row....center

>one podium

>one table

>three (or four) minutes until class will begin.