The Dissent of Man

We are stardust, we are golden

we are billion year old carbon

and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden

- Jonie Mitchell, "Woodstock"

   Ferrets are more determined than they are bright. Case in point being my own pet ferret, Rosie. Rosie explores nooks and crannies with the unrestrained zeal of a fanatic. Wikipedia tells me that ferrets have been domesticated (they are the domesticated version of the polecat) since perhaps the time of Socrates and Buddha, and all that breeding - for going down holes, for ferreting out pest rodents - has resulted in a lovable freak of nature that behaves nearly suicidally in its compulsion to know, KNOW!, what's down that hole, or in that crevice! Even if that hole leads to a drop off of ten or more feet (that's like a twenty story building to a ferret), and a fatal fall, the only thing that will stop a ferret is the loving hand of its  exasperated owner. We can't understand ferrets in this regard; it's something they "just gotta".

   Or perhaps we can understand them, and all too well at that. My thoughts are now joined with those of so many others as we contemplate the unspeakable tragedy that is unfolding in the Gulf of Mexico. As the oil spews out from a mile below, it is staggering to consider how technology has been so horrifyingly misapplied in this instance. Explorers were able, through sophisticated devices, to discover that there is a vast reservoir of oil out there beyond sight of land. Engineers developed machinery that can dig through solid rock, three more miles below the ocean floor, in order to get at that reservoir. Because we "just gotta" have that oil! Cruelly ironic that we have developed astounding technology in order to drill through bedrock, but have not developed applications to produce or harvest energy that doesn't send the environment, our one and only home planet, down a tailspin of degradation. Humans, like ferrets, are more determined than they are bright.

   Lemmings, on the other hand, don't really commit mass suicide. It turns out that that is a myth. The whole myth developed like a meme in reaction to some wildlife footage shot in the mid 1950s, and televised frequently thereafter, for a Disney-produced wildlife documentary. Multiple generations gathered in living rooms and watched in horror, on their upholstered couches (and I was among them) as a mass desperation forced the pathetic critters to fling themselves out over a cliff, into the cold, cruel sea, where they swam a futile swim to exhaustion and a watery death. This was a culling process of nature, we were taught to believe; that as their population exploded beyond a certain point, instinct forced them into behavior that they would never otherwise consider, as if a switch had been thrown by Mother Nature. The footage itself, and how it was presented, was hokum. First of all, the "documentary" aspect of the scene that fused itself in our brains has been challenged. The animals we saw were herded, it is now alleged. The rush hour subway density of lemmings was staged in order to heighten their panic. Lemmings do behave radically when their population exceeds a certain quotient. They do fan out in all directions in search of new habitat. They do, if they encounter a body of water, jump in, in order to explore the land, and its food potential, on the other side. But lemmings are very good swimmers. More often that not, as in WAY more often than not, the majority of them reach the other side. Therefore, the fact that they were transported to an inhospitable coast by filmmakers is all the more ghastly. Those critters thought they had a good chance of crossing over, because in a natural situation, they would have. Thus, this all too convenient, and frequently used, metaphor for our own existential situation is forced and inaccurate. We do not have allies among our fellow animals (or at least if we do, it is not the misunderstood lemming) in plunging carelessly toward our own demise. We as a mammalian species are alone in engaging in obviously suicidal behavior, with the concomitant collateral side effect of taking billions of other life forms with us.  

  And there can be no mistake, this IS the direction we are heading. One of Einstein's most famous quotes is that problems cannot be solved at the level of consciousness at which they were created, and yet many hasten to assure us that technology, for all the devastation it has wrought since the Industrial Revolution, is nevertheless the solution to the ills we face today. Apparently, according to this way of thinking, it is now incumbent upon our technology to transform itself into Superman, and rescue us from the death trap its Lex Luthor alter ego has placed us in. Uh....right.

   Technology is not the answer. Nor is it the problem, per se, so much as it is a symptom. There is a sickness affecting humanity that threatens our very survival as a species. We have lost touch with our center, our very DNA, and are behaving as if we are not part of this earth any more. We base our way of life on a system that will stop working in less time than the duration between now and Shakespeare. It is utter madness, but we go about our lives as if it will all work out somehow. We are the true "lemmings", and our divorce from our naturalness will not, and cannot possibly be, solved by forcing ourselves even deeper into the ouroboros that is the left hemisphere of our brain, there to extract ever newer technologies to serve as antidotes to the technologies that are being run with such destructive consequences in our modern civilization. 

   Our survival as a species has nothing to do with technological geekery or, as some technophiles have suggested, "heading out to the stars". Imagine the audacity! We trash life on this planet, but hey, it's okay, so long as we learn to cultivate our own moon, or the moons of Jupiter or wherever. The very fact that some would consider this to be a solution is indicative itself that something is really wrong with our current mindset. A species, a contributing member of the biosphere and completely dependent on it, deluding itself that it can pick up and move elsewhere if need be. The Sufis advise us to "be in the world but not of it". Sound advice when its meaning relates to an individual striving for peace of mind. But for the human race as a collective, the admonition should be, "Be in the world and don't forget for a moment that you ARE of it!" Ours has been a history of pulling ourselves out of the real Matrix, the impeccable miracle that is our planet's propensity to, generously, host ecosystems based on the simplest and most brilliant of exchanges - oxygen for carbon dioxide, food for fertilizer, death for life - and placing ourselves in an unreal Matrix that weakens us fundamentally and threatens us existentially. And we must learn how to stop. 

   Surely Tokyo, where I live, is one of the most wasteful cities on the entire planet. The foods that are thrown away each day, the electricity used in the neon signs and giant televisions advertising bubblegum pop music in front of the major train stations; the air conditioners blasting out from four million domiciles in the summer, raising the temperature two degrees (Celsius) higher than outside the city; the appliances and computers and cellphones that are pitched and replaced rather than repaired, etc.; taken together this would easily provide enough food and energy and sundries to supply a city of a million or more people each day. And yet, a mere hundred and fifty odd years ago, Tokyo, or as it was then called, Edo, was a very different place altogether. It was, as has been suggested in a book by novelist/historian Eisuke Ishikawa titled "The Edo Period had a Recycling Society", the most environmentally efficient city on the face of the earth. The Japanese of Old Edo were not self consciously preserving their environment so much as they were subconsciously aware of themselves as part of the environment. Perhaps nothing illustrates this better than the commercial use of "night soil", a lovely euphemism for human excrement, as a fertilizer. If you were to go back to Edo and stop by a roadside teahouse, you might meet a man who would proudly tell you, "I sell shit". And why not be proud? While Europeans were risking plague at every turn, throwing their raw sewage out onto the street, the Japanese were living healthily and sanitarily, giving their produce back to the earth, so that it could continue to yield its produce for their use. This is the way of things, it is what Nature teaches us, and yet it is something that we have forgotten. Instead, we eat chemically fertilized foods, laced with pesticides and denuded of nutrients, and dump (literally) that into our water supply, of all places! We have night soil for brains, it seems!

   We have to, metaphorically if not literally, return to the wilds and become creatures of the forest again. In a forest, absolutely nothing is wasted. Not air, not sunlight, not a drop of rain or sweat, not a carcass or a pellet of shit. A forest can run, continually rejuvenating itself, for millennia, once a system is set in place. In a place called Gaviotas, in Colombia, a group of scientists and environmental engineers figured out a way to put a rainforest back where the desert had encroached, and not by simply planting trees. They built it up from the ground floor, beginning with the small plants that would have originally grown there, and moving forward incrementally. Almost miraculously, the birds began to appear as if from nowhere. And the lizards, and the rodents. Over time, the forest was back, and all its creatures were working in harmony. Gaia knew what to do, and just needed a nudge.

    I am not idealizing forest life as if it is some sort of trans-species hippiefest waiting to welcome us back. I am well aware that it is not. In any given clump of dirt in a forest that you may happen to pick up with your bare hand, an atrocity is occuring. The little things of this planet dispense with each other in ways so gruesome and cruel that they would blush the face of the most depraved Medieval torturer. It can easily be surmised that such very terrors of the natural world have impacted our psychology and seeded our destructiveness. We needed to learn to use our brains for protection, for offense and defense. We would not have survived had we not learned to attack, fight for our very lives, take without asking. It's part of who we are, and it was bequeathed to us by Gaia. We are her legacy. Nevertheless, that is not an excuse to stay on our present course as it leads down a road toward extinction. We can use our minds to imagine, and create, a new Eden. Our children can be the butterflies and birds that spread the seeds, through their vigor and curiosity. Our senior citizens can be the massive sycamores that hold the very life of the forest in their hearts and minds. Every one of us must discover our place in this new "human forest" before we can reintegrate ourselves with the broader ecosystem both on our terms and its. As wasteful as our modern society is, what we are wasting more than anything is our minds. As destructive as we are to the planet, what we are destroying perhaps even more rapidly is our humanness. We have to remember what that means first, to be human. If we want to be sane again.

Change He Can't Believe In

Well, Joe Biden was certainly right when he said that President Obama would be "tested" soon after taking office. The question is not so much "how did he do" on the test as it is, "when will the tests ever stop?" It is perhaps more accurate to look at these entire four years of the Obama administration (first or only) as an ongoing test, and one that grows increasingly difficult and challenging as it progresses, like the LSAT. Furthermore, much more is being tested than this still young presidency. The entire nation is being asked difficult questions about itself. Encapsulated into one question, what we are being asked is - As a nation, what are we?

- Are we a nation so divided by vapid ideologies that we can do nothing but shout at each other and hold those with whom we disagree in the utmost disdain, a disdain fueled by obnoxious purveyors of half truths and grotesque characterizations on our airwaves and our computer networks?

- Are we a nation that, forty years after Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech must nevertheless experience a form of shock that we finally, finally, have managed to elect a person of color to the highest office in the land?

- Are we a nation that truly can envision no other course for itself than to keep fighting wars and wreaking destruction, even as the jury is no longer out about how effective these military escapades are in actually solving the problems our country faces in its dealings with adversaries?

- Are we a nation so beholden to the economic powers that essentially run things in this country that we powerlessly bear witness to the destruction of two of our most valuable national assets, the American Middle Class and the Gulf of Mexico, conceding all responsibility to big, self serving corporate entities that have shown time and again that their interests are, charitably, clearly not prioritizing the health and well being of our floundering country?

In the middle of the fray stands President Barack Obama. Born in the last year of the postwar Baby Boom, campaigning with the invigorating, motivational catch phrases, "Yes, WE Can!", "Change We Can Believe In" and "The Audacity of Hope", his victory in November 2008 inspired and uplifted a large portion of the American public, many of whom had nearly given up hope that the trajectory of self serving government, and the decline of America's status globally, could ever possibly be reversed, particularly after eight years of a presidency that felt downright alien and Orwellian to them.

Yet, a few short months before crucial midterm elections, those catch phrases ring hollow. The Obama presidency, viewed as a whole has not delivered in a way that justifies their bold and cheerful optimism. Indeed, many, I'm guessing millions, of Americans feel deceived about those words, and sold out by this presidency. It is as if Obama never really, truly, understood the nature of the  "change" that the majority of the American people wanted so desperately to believe in. 

I find myself asking, "Why did Barack Obama want so desperately to be president?" I am frankly stumped by this question. The question is much easier to answer when applied to his recent predecessors. Richard Nixon (a Shakespearean character if ever there was one) wanted the job because nothing short of that would satiate his monumental ego and lust for power. Jimmy Carter had an evangelistic and fervent belief that the country itself was far more decent and honorable than its leadership, and that its true heart and soul were crying out to be affirmed. Ronald Reagan was so driven by his Ayn Rand-influenced philosophy about government, capitalism and communism that he stormed into office as a True Believer, ordained, or so he believed, with the power to remake the country into a sort of real-life version of "Atlas Shrugged" (it is interesting to wonder if he, and not Gary Cooper, had landed the lead role in the Hollywood version of "The Fountainhead", that he may have gotten his  ya yas out that way, and spared the rest of us the consequences of his Objectivist wet dream). Bush the Elder and Bill Clinton were both convinced that they were the smartest guys in the room, and that nobody else was as capable as they were of running the enormous machinery that makes the world's most powerful country tick. And Bush the Lesser was just a frat boy who, his entire life, basically proved the Peter Principle, simply coasting along on the zephyrs of forces and connections far more powerful than him to increasing Levels of Incompetency.

I am quite certain that Obama did not become president, to, paraphrasing Churchill, preside over the demise of the American Republic as a great nation, and yet why does it appear that this is what he is doing? Is the job bigger and harder than he imagined it to be? Are many of his detractors right in proclaiming that he is in over his head, a "community organizer sent to do a president's job"? Are the problems our country is facing too large and complex and metastatic for any leader to make headway against them? Is our president, like Hamlet, caught up in such a swirl of dark doings that he can only retreat into a cool, calculated inertia? At a time when the economy, the war in Afghanistan, the environmental catastrophe in the Gulf, etc.  - nothing is going right, does anyone really believe that this hesitancy to seize the zeitgeist and place his stamp upon it is a matter of him "playing chess" and "thinking three steps ahead of his adversaries"? If so, how does that Kool Aid taste?

Returning to the American public and the landslide victory it gave him, what was the change that we pinned our hopes on Candidate Obama to achieve? These were not small things. In a word, what we were hoping to see was a reversal of Reaganism.  Just as Hamlet was haunted by the ghost of a king, so it is that the Obama presidency, and the nation as a whole, are even now haunted by the "ghost" of a former president whose disdain for government shows up like fingerprints on all the troubles we are facing today. Remember James Watt? Reagan appointed him to head the Environmental "Protection" Agency as a slap in the face to environmentalists. This country has more than enough trees, rivers, large bodies of water, etc. -  King Ronald decreed. While I'm president, no tree huggers are going to tie the hands of industry and keep this country from reaching its full economic potential! Now, because the environmental crisis in the Gulf of Mexico is foremost on everyones mind, that example seems particularly glaring, but run through all our current problems, the ones President Obama is charged with dealing with, from banking to the military, to healthcare, to corporate outsourcing, etc. and they can be connected as if by Day Glo dots back to King Ronnie's obsession with small social government and a huge military, and his Holy Mantra, "deregulation". That was what we believed in as we threw our support behind Obama, that that could change. We're not so sure anymore, are we? It appears abundantly clear that that was not the change that our president was referring to or envisioning. 

I truly believe that he is at heart, a good, decent man who wants his presidency to be a great one, one that goes far toward uplifting this country, morally, economically, ecologically.  I believe that, much as MBA George W. Bush believed that this country should be run and operated as if it were a company, former community organizer Barack Obama believes that this country can grow and flourish through outreach, networking, coming together and working together. Cooperation and sacrifice are his lifeblood, and what he has the power to extol us toward. But we need that voice! We need to believe that it applies to everyone, most obviously the arrogant, "Too Big To Fail" (Too Big to Make Sacrifices?) entities that have caused so much trouble with neither governance nor guidance from elected officials. "Guidance"; that is what they need. Even big companies are made up of little people, just like us. If the U.S. government, with Barack Obama as its leader, could take responsibility for telling the suits, "We are going to do things differently now. You are going to play a different role. Your interests and the interests of this country as a whole are going to conjoin. You are going to  play a large role in making this a great, safe, prosperous, and happy nation and you will have the gratitude of its people as you do so", things would change. The nations of Europe, Japan, etc. have achieved this with far greater success than any of our leaders since the Reagan Revolution have managed. It's doable, clearly. But if the country sees that its president and elected officials appear to be abdicating that role - the very role for which they were elected - then "hope" and "change" seem to be as hollow as the reassurances of BP officials, and as void of life as large swaths of the Gulf of Mexico have become.

A Dour Visage

This is from another "Old Masters" drawing workshop I conducted over the weekend. My demo piece. Great students, and all made wonderful progress!

Evolve or Perish

click on image to enlarge

How do you take your tea?

(sung to the melody, with variation, of "L-O-V-E" by Nat King Cole)

B is for the things he wants to Ban;

L is for the Libs who love this man;

A, well that’s for ACORN; neeeeed I even say more, n’

C’s for the Constitution, we have got to save it soon, n’

K is for the Koran he’s reading;

B-L-A-C-K is really not my thing!

(one more time!)

B is for the Birth Certificate he can’t produce, can he?

L is for the Law to whack my Granny;

A’s for ACORN again, so you don’t forget, friend, and

C’s for Communism, NOT the Founding Fathers’ vision!

K is for the way he thinks he’s King;

B-L-A-C-K is really not my thing!

(one more time!)

B’ for Borders that he won’t patrol;

L is for the Lenders on the dole;

A, shout out to ACORN, dabbling in kiddie porn,

and C’s for Competition,THAT’S the thing his program’s missin’

K is for the Kool Aid I’m drinking,

B-L-A-C-K is really not my thing!

It’s not my thing!

It just ain’t my thing!

Shoo be doo wah!

Won't you smile a while for me, Sara?

(click on image to enlarge)

Meet Sara, who just recently celebrated her eighth birthday! As a gift to the lady (and the lady who adores her), my good friend Roger bestowed upon me the honor of immortalizing her. Though far more dazzling in the fur, as no mere painting could possibly capture the intelligence and beauty of this snout turner, whatsoever there are by way of imperfections can hardly be attributed to a lack of dedication on the part of this beguiled portraitist.

A Menagerie Mystery Tour

Aw, two of my favorite subjects brought together, The Beatles, and animals (not The Animals, sorry Eric Burdon)! I remember reading a review of The White Album in The Rolling Stone magazine's 10th anniversary issue opining that not since Aesop's Fables, or Toba Sojo's rabbit and frog scrolls of the 11th century, had animals commingled their lives with humans so revealingly. Although that might be a bit of a stretch, it is certainly part of the legendary Liverpudlians' charm and appeal that they spiced up their repertoire with such whimsical oddities as "Octopus' Garden" and "Hey, Bulldog!" More so than other bands of the time, and perhaps before or since, they were fabulists at heart, and that is a key part of what makes them so endearing and enduring.

Dylan was cleverer. Hendrix rocked harder. Pink Floyd was weirder. And the Stones were just plain badder! But The Beatles captured the energy of their time better than any of their manifestly talented rivals. With titles such as "Magical Mystery Tour" and "Come Together", they seem to have clearly, almost mystically, understood and embraced their roles as cultural guides through a period of mystery and excitement and wonder. The times were fraught with peril, but The Beatles, accompanied by their animal familiars, were charging out in front, wanting to hold our hands as they guided us on a journey that included herbs, gurus and revolutions.

So, here then, is my tribute to the Fab Four and their four legged (or eight tentacled, etc.) companions. Fans will have fun picking out the songs the critters are culled from, and will also be aware of what is about to befall poor Edgar Allan Poe!

Animals & Books

Anyone who has followed this blog will have noticed that I love putting animals into my illustrations! Another thing that has occasionally popped up is literature. So, I am very happy to be working on a project for a bookstore in Tokyo that has me merging the theme of animals and books. Here are a couple of the sketches I have produced so far for the project. Although technically they are just "roughs", I feel that the breezy, simple rendering nicely enhances the whimsical theme. 

I Think, Therefore I'm Nuts!

And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them,That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.

- Genesis 6

I'm an ape man, I'm an ape ape man, oh I'm an ape man

- The Kinks

Recently, I wrote a post (Sade and the Body)proffering the idea that the roots of sadism, and peoples' fascination with it in films and literature, can be found in the nature of our consciousness, specifically that we humans are acutely aware of just how much our bodies are capable of suffering, under certain unwelcome conditions. In that essay, I referred to the mind's "hatred" of the body, a kind of psychosis arising from the mind's  awareness of this worrisome aspect of its nature. In the interests of fairness, I would like, with this essay, to consider the human body's predicament, the raw deal it gets from being attached to a mind that operates like no other in the animal kingdom.

As bodies go, yours and mine are nothing more than variations on a theme. They are closest in form to the chimpanzees and other higher apes, of course, but in fact they are not so different from hundreds of species having vertebrae, internal organs held within a rib cage, extenders such as arms, legs,  fingers, toes, etc. Our pinkish pigmentation can be found under the fur of numerous animals, from pigs to guinea pigs to dogs to prairie dogs. In terms of design, I think it fair to say that we have more in common with squirrels, physiologically and stylistically, than a Model T has to a Ferrari, and than either does to a bulldozer or a city bus. Our bodies are just another example of The Mammalian Success Story that has been going on since ancient cataclysms laid the dinosaurs low.

If a chimpanzee were to wake up one morning, and find it's body transformed, a la Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis, into that of a homo sapiens, leaving aside the muscular strength it would be sacrificing, we can imagine that it would be able to find its way around its new contraption fairly easily. If it felt an itch, or an urge, it would pretty much know what to do about it. And the alternative would be true for us as well. All that chimp hair may take some getting used to, as would being able to effortlessly rip doors off their hinges, but on the whole we'd probably be able to master our new equipment, eventually. Learning to function in our chimp body would probably be considerably less difficult than learning to fly an airplane or navigate a submarine.

Now, on the other hand, stick that chimpanzee's body with a human mind and tell me it wouldn't freak out! "What are all these...things?" They're called abstract thoughts. "WTF am I supposed to do with them?" Uh..., this is going to take some time. Our minds, with their abstract, logical, inventive, metaphoric, etc. ways of operating represent such an anomalous feature of evolution that if even our closest relatives were to suddenly come into the possession of one they would likely go flat out insane in a matter of seconds! We, fortunately, have had all of seven million years (since we broke off from the chimps, a mere blink of an eye in the history of evolution) to get used to our minds. We're comfortable with them, or are we?

It's not so much the minds themselves, which, unique as they are in the Wild Kingdom, nevertheless have clearly aided our survival and expansion over the various terrains of the earth. You don't find chimps living in harsh, dry deserts or frozen hinterlands, after all. But what we have done with our minds, how we have shaped our environment with them, has surely put tremendous strain on our poor animal bodies. Consider our eyes, hardly different than a chimp's, which evolved while looking at relatively few color schemes, primarily the greens of the jungle, the blues and grays of ocean and sky, the browns of the earth and mountains, etc. Seeking out the sudden stimulation that comes from finding attractive fruit, or the sudden rapid movement that alerts us that prey or predators are about. This is what our close relatives see, what they use their eyes for, up to this very day. Whereas we, on the other hand, are constantly blitzed with a mad barrage of colors, flashing images, tiny backlit characters on a computer screen that we put together to make words, etc. Other senses are similarly blitzed; our ears, certainly, to say nothing of our taste buds! We are a hyper-stimulated species, made so by the downright freakish environments we've built and placed ourselves in.

We spend so much time in boxes; buildings, rooms, cars, and, perhaps, that most unnatural environment of all, fifty thousand feet above the earth, in airplane cabins. Our air is conditioned, our light is electric, our drinking water comes to us through pipes. Our contact with other species is extremely limited. Our natural patterns of sleep and movement are severely compromised by the demands of the unnatural world we've engineered for ourselves. Oh, the poor human body! So near, by its very structure, to the natural world, and yet so distant!

It's bad enough that we modify our own bodies. We have gone further, employing our minds to mould oddities of biology that Natural Selection would have, er, naturally selected for extinction tout suite. Consider the poor pug, which sounds asthmatic as it manages to breathe through a flat apparatus that was meticulously squashed from a wolf's long snout by generations of breeding. Consider as well ears of corn with husks wrapped so tightly around the seeds they can't possibly be dispersed. Or bananas with seeds so useless the plants must be grown by cuttings. Cows with udders so huge, and geared toward milk production, they would possibly explode without human assistance. I wonder, if the beauty, vulnerability and exquisiteness of our own human bodies was fully appreciated and honored, would such manipulations of other creatures even be thinkable?

in 1968, Erich von Daniken published a book titled Chariots of the Gods. In it, he referred to certain passages from ancient literature, such as the one I begin this essay with, as indicating that human beings are in fact manifestations of an experiment of sorts, a hybridization of terrestrial ape bodies with highly intelligent aliens (the "gods" who came by "chariots" to the earth). Whether or not there is any truth whatsoever to the claims the book makes, the metaphor of "sons of Gods" (minds) mating with "daughters of men" (animal bodies) quite poetically describes our predicament, I feel. We are, by all accounts, an oddity of nature. Ours is an uncomfortable marriage of raw, animal senses and sensitivities, to abstract, intellectual sentience. For now, our minds have succeeded in constraining our bodies within an environment and lifestyle that no stretch of the imagination could argue they were evolved, over the course of millions of years, for. One can only hope that as the human mind continues to evolve it will work out a happier medium for the animal it lives its life contained within.

Regal Lady

Today I taught another "Old Masters" course in Tokyo. A small group, but a really dedicated bunch. One guy was an assistant to a top Japanese manga artist, so I was a little leery (feeling like I should just hand teaching duties over to him!) but all went well, and everyone was very satisfied with the progress they made. This is the one I did as the demonstration, after a painting by Velasquez. I'm quite pleased with it.

Dream Journal

A friend of mine has given me a wonderful project. She has been keeping a journal of her dreams for a number of years. She has really powerful, deep and meaningful dreams full of otherworldly imagery. She has brought me into her dream-life, as I am creating a series of watercolors based on the dreams. I've gotten permission to share them here on this blog, so I'll show two now and add more over time.

Sade and The Body

I am troubled by movies, such as "Saw" and "Hostel", that, to me, serve no purpose other than to depict the extremes of human pain and cruelty. I confess to having never watched a film from either of those series, nor have I watched a Hannibal Lector movie, or a Chucky, Freddy Krueger or Jason movie (which, I imagine, at this point seem almost quaint in their depictions of cruelty), so it is not only what is depicted on the screen, which I haven't even seen, that disturbs me. It is the very fact that such movies exist, and that they pull in audiences. To me, they are a depraved sub-genre of moviemaking that elevates torture to their prime, even sole, raison d'etre (indeed, they have been dubbed "torture porn" and "gorno" by critics), and that bothers me. Are people really entertained by all that blood and gore? And if that is not the right word, what IS the experience that they crave, as they settle their butts into aisle seats? As to the people who make such films, why on earth do they spend precious hours of their lives depicting demoralizing, black spectacles of the last things that any of us would wish to experience, or even wish upon our worst enemies? Oh, believe me, I know the answer to my question (they DO make money after all, and frankly, how hard can they be to make? We all know what we don't wish to experience; all one has to do is pick up a camera and film that!), but is even money worth the de-humanizing that I feel must go on in the process of creating such films?

I am not arguing against the presence of violence in films. Indeed, some of my personal favorites, such as "The Godfather" and "Goodfellas", contain numerous scenes that are not for the squeamish. If push came to shove, I could probably even be called upon to defend Wes Craven's notorious, ultra-violent 70's sleeper, "Last House on the Left" ( which took its plot from Bergman's "The Virgin Spring" and borrowed heavily from Kubrick's "A Clockwork Orange"). One might well ask, what's the difference? Well, in the case of LHOTL, this was an amateurish film by a freshman director, depicting amateurish villains who epitomize the dumb, self absorbed, amoral, societal outcasts we can easily imagine committing the atrocious crimes we see onscreen (and read about in the papers). They are not the incarnations of sadism one finds in slick gorno movies, creatures right out of our nightmares who are intelligent and irredeemably evil, sparing no expense to devise the most ingenious and horrific methods by which to dispense with their victims, for no other purpose than the pleasure that they get from doing so. To arrive at an understanding of the villains of the gorno movies, to place them in any sort of context, we need to go back to a French nobleman from the Age of Enlightenment whose writing was so over the top that he provides the very name for the "ism" that is out and out cruelty toward another living being.

Sade's "libertines" (one should not refer to them as  "villains", when to him they were heroes) were precisely the kind of monsters we see in todays horror movies. Smarter and more powerful than their victims, they operated without restraint, and with no other purpose than to inflict pain. In Sade's stories, the only way to escape victimhood was to allow yourself to become corrupted by your torturers, to become just as merciless and sadistic as them. These were the only triumphs he would allow in his nightmarish fables, that some would "liberate" themselves from any moral or empathetic impulses, which he insisted came from society, the real "villain" he himself was at war with. One can read Sade's stories and accept them as he intended, as all-out assaults on society and civilization, on anything that limited individuals from behaving exactly as they themselves chose to. But that would naturally lead one to ask, if people could do anything they wanted to, why would they do that? Looking deeper, I believe that one can find a more pathological motivation, one which is readily on display in today's torture porn movies as well; a deep seated hatred of the human body.

Oh, Sade loathed bodies!  He wanted them sliced, diced, beaten, pulled apart, you name it. The one thing he didn't want was for them to keep their original, native form, to be allowed to go on about their ways in peace. To him, an intact body was a challenge, perhaps even an affront, to his aesthetic. He treated them with nothing but the utmost disdain. And yet, it is telling that for all the descriptions of cruelty he filled page after feverish page with, he was particularly vicious toward the parts of the body that give birth to and nurture other bodies. Although there is no question that his writings and ideas have spiced up the sex lives of numerous couples throughout the years (and hey, whatever gets you through the night...), in the work itself sex was anything but a life affirming, life celebrating activity. Genitalia, breasts, pregnant women, and fetuses are mercilessly tortured and destroyed by Sade's libertines. The family itself is attacked viciously. In his stories, fathers rape their daughters, and corrupted daughters do unspeakable things to their mothers. The very reality of biological life seems to infuriate him.

What's going on here? In the face of such depravity, one naturally searches for answers. Even if the knowledge goes nowhere toward ending man's inhumanity to man, we strive to somehow make sense of things so dark and twisted they seem to defy explanation, for the sake of our own sanity if nothing else. My belief is that we see in Sade's writing a psychological phenomenon that has its roots in the very nature of our sentience. It is the mind's hatred of the body, because it can suffer, and take the mind along with it as it does so. 

It is hard to imagine anything more painful than being eaten alive from the hind legs forward, and yet this is a fate that befalls thousands of our fellow creatures, in forests and savannas, every day. The vast majority of human beings will come to far more benign ends, but the important distinction is that we are well aware of what could happen us, if we are not careful, or just plain unlucky. The fact is that, unlike animals, we can think about things happening to us that are every bit as frightening and unwelcome as the things that are shown in the torture movies. It is with our minds that we think about them, but it is our bodies that we imagine experiencing the suffering. We are the only species that has a distinct separation, a schism even, between mind and body. We can actually live lives, of a kind, outside our bodies. No other creature can. We can daydream, create stories, make songs, paint pictures, have sexual fantasies, relive memories vividly, conceptualize, invent, etc. We can easily imagine a life involving no body at all! Indeed, we have created science fiction stories where our minds are placed inside computers, thereby living eternal, pain-free lives. People who are stricken with cancer or other long term, debilitating and painful illnesses frequently describe themselves as "prisoners" in their bodies. What I am positing is that there is an element of human consciousness that chronically feels this way. Sade was expressing this, first and foremost, I believe, though he himself was perhaps unaware of it and presumedly would have denied it. It is ironic that he, due to his atrocious behavior as well as his writing (which outraged the Emperor Napolean), spent much of his life as a prisoner, in jails and mental asylums, creating through his mind an outward experience of the very thoughts that drove his writing. 

The mind is frightened by the amount of pain, seemingly limitless, that the body it is merged with can experience. Although our central nervous system has evolved the sensation of pain to keep us from burning or bleeding or freezing to death, this impeccable biological system renders us horrendously vulnerable. So averse to its demise is our body that it keeps pain sensations active even as we lie helpless, and crushed, under the rubble of an earthquake, or trapped inside a burning room, on the off chance that we will somehow manage to get ourselves out of our predicament. Isn't it plausible that our minds, aware of the stubbornness of the body, and its survival-at-any-cost imperative, would develop resentment against it? Why can't we shut the pain mechanism down when we want to (apparently some yogis have developed this very ability, but it takes years of rigorous training)? When there is no hope of escape? Every king, dictator, Grand Inquisitor and mafioso throughout history has exploited this "flaw" in the body's design. In fact, it is impossible to imagine the worst forms of government even existing without it, as such regimes are propped up by the fear they induce in the common folk. All of that suffering, down through the ages; no wonder the mind is pissed!

And so, the mind acts this out, through the mediums that it has developed, the "art" that is Sade's writing and today's gorno movies. Each time the mind, represented by Sade's libertines or Hannibal Lector, or any of the demonic, merciless,ingenious psychopaths who fill our screens as well as our nightmares, gleefully tortures to death somebody else's body, it has its revenge, momentarily. That's the experience viewers are after, I feel. Though I am disturbed by such movies, and by the large following they have, I ultimately see them as merely symptomatic, and don't expect them to go away. They, or some similar manifestation, will be with us so long as we have the ability to contemplate, and fear, our fate.

Corporations Are People Too!

Artwork by me; poetry by AdLib

On a winter’s day in two thousand ten

A decision was made by five crazy men

Their words were all heard by the little boy, Trent

Who then asked his mother what all of this meant.

“Corporations are people? That seems very odd.

I haven’t met one in my class or schoolyard.”

“Do they have arms and legs? Do they like to kick balls?

Do they lick ice cream cones? Do they yell in the halls?”

His mother replied with a shake of her head,

“No they don’t but they’re people, the Justices said.”

“Do they like to climb trees? Do they walk? Do they run?

Do they like to breathe air? Do they sing just for fun?”

His mother replied with a face that was red,

“No they don’t but they’re people, the Justices said.”

“Do they vote in elections? Or drive a fast car?

Do they give birth to babies? Or wish on a star?”

His mother looked weary and ready for bed,

“No they don’t but they’re people, the Justices said.”

“Do they live? Do they die? Or even have souls?

Do they pour lots of milk in their cereal bowls?”

His mother’s heart fell as if  weighted by lead,

“No they don’t but they’re people, the Justices said.”

The little boy Trent had had quite enough,

He started to frown, he started to huff,

“What kind of people don’t breathe or have souls?

Don’t live and don’t die or have cereal bowls?”

“Those five men are dumber than all in my class,

My decision for them? They can all  kiss my ass!”

*****This article, with illustration, can also be viewed at Planet POV, a terrific progressive website which I am privileged to be a contributor to.

http://planetpov.com/2010/01/24/corporations-are-people-too-by-dr-suits/

The King Vs. The Curse

This year just may be the one when the most notorious "curse" in all of American professional sports is lifted. The city of Cleveland has experienced a drought unlike any other city hosting multiple professional sports teams. The last championship they can boast of was when the Cleveland Browns won the NFL title in 1964, before a little thing called the Super Bowl was invented! Before that, you have to go back to 1948, when the Indians won the World Series. Although not necessarily clear favorites for the title this year, the Lebron James-led Cleveland Cavaliers are, at the time of this writing, one of the best teams in the NBA. They were the first team to chalk up 25, and then 30 wins, and with the season now more than half over, there is little doubt that this team will go deep into the playoffs, if not all the way.

Without question, the biggest sport of all in Ohio is Ohio State University football. Though not a professional sport, it is most definitely an industry, and I'd be willing to bet there is at least one OSU alum on every single NFL team. The Buckeyes have won their share of national championships (as recently as 2002, in fact), and when that happens, Cleveland fans cheer as loudly as anyone in the state outside of Columbus, (where the stadium is located). Still, having a local champion to shine rays of light on the beleagured citizenry (the skies above Cleveland are generally unremittingly gray) is a matter of intense longing for Clevelanders, who have so often been denied. Cleveland has names for its heartbreaks, and the star villains of these episodes are some of the biggest names in pro sports. "The Catch", by Willie Mays (in the 1954 World Series), "The Drive" engineered by John Elway to win the 1987 AFC Championship game, and "The Shot" by Michael Jordan (a buzzer beater that ended the playoff run of the Cavs in 1989) are a few among many stories of unlikely episodes that dashed the championship hopes of Cleveland's pro teams. It's bad enough that the city has lost over half its population from its peak of nearly a million in 1950. Bad enough that it is referred to as "The  Mistake on the Lake" and has the Kent State Massacre and the burning of the Cuyahoga River to live down. Clevelanders can put up with that. There is pride in the city that, although it might seem unmerited to most Americans, is deeply felt by its residents. But, to go so long without a championship, to have come so close and fallen short so often, is a thorn in the city's side it would dearly love to extract.

Enter Lebron James. There are two things about him that mark him as a city saviour right out of central casting: he's great, and he's local. Born and raised in nearby Akron, for the last ten years, beginning with his stellar high school career, he has been an icon of Northern Ohio sports. By a happy set of circumstances that seem almost ordained, the formerly woeful Cavaliers were able to sign James right out of St. Vincent -St. Mary HS, and the man-boy even had the temerity to promise the city a championship when he signed. Even in a superb year for rookies (that included Carmelo Anthony, considered by some to be the greatest college baller of all time), Lebron stood out. He was the cream of his class in scoring, and, at the tender age of eighteen, put up all around offensive numbers that most seasoned veterans can only dream about. Rookie of the Year seemed deserved enough (though "Melo" Anthony's fans may argue), as this bright new addition to the Cavs helped the team's record improve from a dismal 17-65 the previous season in to a much better 35-47 in 2003/4.. Cleveland was ecstatic! If "The Chosen One" (he actually has this tattooed across his impossibly broad shoulders- all the better to hoist a city with?) continued to progress along the trajectory his career had charted thus far, could a championship be far behind?

And yet, and yet. The Lebron James Era is now seven years old, and the Cavs have yet to achieve that which Cleveland covets above all else, that elusive championship. No one can deny that with James leading them, the team has ascended to the highest echelon of the NBA, alongside the L.A. Lakers and the Boston Celtics. They overachieved their  way to a Finals match-up with the San Antonio Spurs three years ago, and were summarily swept off the court in four games. The current version is much improved over that team. Still, up to this point Lebron can't even add to his stellar resume a Finals victory, much less a championship.

But wait. It gets worse. For this is the year when Lebron's current contract runs out, and he can opt, if he decides that his chances of winning a championship (or multiple championships, which he needs to be considered among the all time greats) to take his superhuman ability elsewhere, leaving Cleveland without the championship he promised it, and scant prospects for one any time soon. So, Cavs owner Dan Ferry and his back office minions have done everything they could to create a Cavs team with a genuine chance of going all the way this year. How could King James walk away from the best team on the planet, after all? The biggest (and I do mean BIGGEST) change to the team is the addition of Shaquille O'Neal, who has been on four championship teams in his career, as many as anyone still on the court today. Shaq is a giant, a guaranteed Hall of Famer, and probably the strongest man to ever play professional basketball (he actually brought down the entire framework, down to the floor bolts, of a basket during a slam dunk once, and walked away after bringing the shot clock down on his back as a result). But the Shaq of 2009/2010 is clearly past his prime. His formidable presence is not what it once was, by a long shot. Had these two physical specimens, Shaq and Lebron, shared the floor when they were both in their prime, they would probably have been an unstoppable force such as the NBA has rarely seen. But Shaq is still a monster. Furthermore, recognizing his diminished powers, he has magnanimously stated that his goal is to win "a ring for the King (James)". He'd definitely  like one more of his own, too. Particularly since this is probably his last season, and that ring, were it to happen, would almost surely be plucked off the finger of Kobe Bryant of the Lakers, his former teammate who also has four championships to his credit, as a Cavs championship is likely to go through the Lakers (best team in the West) this season. Kobe still has some good years, perhaps many good years, in him. So Shaq would at least like to be the first among them to get a ring for each finger. Lebron wants to get his first, badly. And Cleveland? This City of Broken Dreams wants something of even greater value, the lifting of a curse, and, even if its for just one lousy year, something to brag about.

Why The Revolution Won't Be Televised

Keep you doped with religion, and sex and TV;

and you think you're so clever and classless and free;

but you're still f**king peasants, as far as I can see

- John Lennon, "Working Class Hero"

Who Wants to Be a Revolutionary? Oh, there's anger out there! America has got to be one of the most royally pissed off countries in the world. It doesn't matter if you're a leftie or a rightie, if you're an American, there is a good chance that something has got your blood boiling now. It might be stolen elections, Kenyan birth certificates, Katrina, terrorists, bank bailouts, wars for oil, telecom spying, CEO's salaries, religious fundamentalism, misleading food labeling, the slow death of the American automobile industry, the quicker demise of the American middle class or any sordid combination of the above. If you haven't thought at some point in the last ten years or so that things are seriously FUBAR, that the system doesn't work, and that it definitely doesn't have YOUR best interests in mind, then I wonder about you. Where have you been?

Yes, the mood is ugly. It's Tea Party ugly. It's Ron Paul angry. It's the stuff of which revolutions are made, the fire next time that burns like a thousand California wildfires that somebody, no doubt, blames Obama for (and somebody else probably blamed Bush for). Yes, there is revolution in the air!

Except, there isn't. The American people are NOT going to revolt, folks. The country isn't going to split apart either. The country probably isn't even going to sweep a true maverick like Paul into power anytime soon. Why? People are too comfortable! A second American Revolution is no more likely to occur than a rebellion of the brainwashed, mutated denizens of Huxley's "Brave New World", and for the same exact reason. The Powers that Be have got us, folks, right where they want us. Docile, overfed, overstimulated, undernourished and undereducated, and most of all, hyper-entertained. Which has led me to wonder, what WOULD need to happen for Americans to rise up like the Founding Fathers, taking to the streets with eyes blazing and teeth gnashing? Something the Powers that Be would never be so stupid as to do; take away our televisions!

You'd see a revolution then! Without Monday Night Football and American Idol and Jeopardy and Lost and Jay and The Simpsons, without Wii and PlayStation, without commercials telling us what to buy and what meds we need to be taking, people would flat out lose it! You want anger? You ain't seen nothing yet!

And see it you won't. Nobody is going to take anybody's television away. Television has done what no tyrant nor terrorist has ever come close to accomplishing. It has reduced a once proud and powerful nation to a land of dazed zombies, wearing a groove in the rug between the couch and the fridge while their warden, the glowing rectangular object in the Living Room, goads them to ask the question no revolutionary has ever asked; "What's on after this?"