Legos Gone Avant Garde
Jan. 11th, 2013 12:35 pmInstead of a blog post (although thoughts are sorta tumbling around for one) I bring you a link to some pretty extraordinary art made from Legos. No, really.
Other assorted matters for a Sunday
Dec. 18th, 2011 06:11 pm1. Gifts have been popping up in the mail! This is a positive thing :) First, I got one of ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ravena_kade's lovely watercolor pictures, of a little seal popping up into the sea. The seal is just adorable, and we love it, and now just have to decide where to hang it.
Much thanks for this lovely piece,ravena_kade!!!!
2. Also arriving in the mail: rubber duckies. The sender of this item was not aware that the house had already been quietly invaded by rubber duckies disguised as snowmen, Santa and Rudolph, but fortunately, these are NINJA rubber duckies, READY FOR THE ATTACK. So we are now THOROUGHLY into the holiday spirit!
3. Thus it was time for two holiday traditions: the welcoming of cousins, who came by last night to sample ribs and corn. For those of you who readfbhjr's saga about this, I feel impelled to post a correction. They did not indulge the cat. The cat, overcome with his rather aggressive love for everyone, realized that they needed a cat and therefore chose to indulge them.
4. And the second holiday tradition: the movie, this time the morning viewing of Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows with my brother and CD, about which I can say only, wow, dizzying, and by that, I'm talking about the waltzing scene. Like the first Holmes movie most of this seems bent on showing off dazzling camera work and effects, which is not bad, just resulting in a spinning effect, and the banter between Holmes and Watson, ditto. Also we rather question the use of CPR in that particular period and I would like to register my sadness about a certain event in the film which I won't spoil except, sad, sad.
5. While exiting the movie, a certain horrible person, whose guilt I could conceal, but I won't, calling himself my brother, actually dared to wheel me near that horror of a film called whatever the latest Alvin and the Chipmunks film is calling itself. (I don't care.) For one terrible moment, I risked actual exposure to the Chipmunks. Imagine my terror.
But this also showed me that he, at least, still retains an ongoing fondness for the Chipmunks. I thought deeply. I saw a McDonald's. I wheeled to the McDonald's and picked up a Happy Meal. (Yes, yes, but I'm going somewhere even more evil with this, so hold the criticism for a few more sentences.) I wheeled myself to the table. I handed him the little toy from the meal, which just happened to be one of the Chipmunks.
"Thanks!" he said cheerfully. "I'll just put it in your room."
We went home where I flopped into bed for several hours. This, while necessary, turned out to be tactical mistake, since when I emerged, HORROR GREETED ME.
The Chipmunk was standing -- STANDING -- on the backs of two little Rebel Lego dudes from my Star Wars Advent Calendar. He had been assisted by three little Bad Lego dudes, his little chipmunk fists raised in triumph as the Rebel forces lay scattered.
EVIL, I tell you. EVIL.
I had to comfort myself with a Ninja duck. You understand, I'm sure.
ravena_kade's lovely watercolor pictures, of a little seal popping up into the sea. The seal is just adorable, and we love it, and now just have to decide where to hang it. Much thanks for this lovely piece,
ravena_kade!!!!2. Also arriving in the mail: rubber duckies. The sender of this item was not aware that the house had already been quietly invaded by rubber duckies disguised as snowmen, Santa and Rudolph, but fortunately, these are NINJA rubber duckies, READY FOR THE ATTACK. So we are now THOROUGHLY into the holiday spirit!
3. Thus it was time for two holiday traditions: the welcoming of cousins, who came by last night to sample ribs and corn. For those of you who read
fbhjr's saga about this, I feel impelled to post a correction. They did not indulge the cat. The cat, overcome with his rather aggressive love for everyone, realized that they needed a cat and therefore chose to indulge them.4. And the second holiday tradition: the movie, this time the morning viewing of Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows with my brother and CD, about which I can say only, wow, dizzying, and by that, I'm talking about the waltzing scene. Like the first Holmes movie most of this seems bent on showing off dazzling camera work and effects, which is not bad, just resulting in a spinning effect, and the banter between Holmes and Watson, ditto. Also we rather question the use of CPR in that particular period and I would like to register my sadness about a certain event in the film which I won't spoil except, sad, sad.
5. While exiting the movie, a certain horrible person, whose guilt I could conceal, but I won't, calling himself my brother, actually dared to wheel me near that horror of a film called whatever the latest Alvin and the Chipmunks film is calling itself. (I don't care.) For one terrible moment, I risked actual exposure to the Chipmunks. Imagine my terror.
But this also showed me that he, at least, still retains an ongoing fondness for the Chipmunks. I thought deeply. I saw a McDonald's. I wheeled to the McDonald's and picked up a Happy Meal. (Yes, yes, but I'm going somewhere even more evil with this, so hold the criticism for a few more sentences.) I wheeled myself to the table. I handed him the little toy from the meal, which just happened to be one of the Chipmunks.
"Thanks!" he said cheerfully. "I'll just put it in your room."
We went home where I flopped into bed for several hours. This, while necessary, turned out to be tactical mistake, since when I emerged, HORROR GREETED ME.
The Chipmunk was standing -- STANDING -- on the backs of two little Rebel Lego dudes from my Star Wars Advent Calendar. He had been assisted by three little Bad Lego dudes, his little chipmunk fists raised in triumph as the Rebel forces lay scattered.
EVIL, I tell you. EVIL.
I had to comfort myself with a Ninja duck. You understand, I'm sure.
Faking glass and green dolphins
Feb. 18th, 2011 08:50 amI first saw glassblowers in Venice.
In my memories, it's also the first time I saw magic.
The men put sticks into hot fire, drawing out something that was red and gleaming and – it seemed – liquid fire. And then, from that, they would start to pull at the fire, twisting, pulling. Other colors would emerge and then – this was the magic – a little horse would come out. Or a flower. Or a shoe. Or a vase. Once the glassblowers snipped off little pieces of purple glass, all glittering, and gave one piece to my brother and another piece to me. I still have mine. And I still have the horse I was allowed to get – green, since green was my favorite color that day (it changes, but is never orange). Only one horse, not more, because my parents were afraid that I would break the others, a prophecy that alas proved all too true: that horse is in my room right now, in the shelves across from me, with one foot missing, to remind me of magic. And breaking things.
It's not really a surprise, I guess, that I fell in love with glass blowing and glass art and can spend hours sitting in front of glassworkers and that even hours spent in front of stained glass cathedral windows listening to extraordinarily dull and frequently factually incorrect lectures on tympanums couldn't quite destroy this love (although it made me considerably less fond of Romanesque architecture, but that's another saga.) I want to do that, I found myself thinking.
I remembered, too, the little "stained glass" kits I had when I was a kid – when you had a metal frame, and you dropped little colored balls in it, and put it into the oven, and, yay! Stained glass. Of a sort. That had been fun and worth doing again, even if not precisely a high level of creativity.
So, when our town catalog flopped into our mailbox, coincidentally while I was trying to think of ways to get myself out of the house and doing something new and meeting more people, offering a glass art class, I had to sign up. I didn't quite tingle with excitement, but my mind thought of all of the happy things I could do with glass. The term, I realized, was rather vague. Would we be making stained glass? Glass jewelry? Glass art pieces? Or – realizing how unlikely this was for an introductory glass art glass in a community center in a small city that has not exactly shed a small town feel – would we actually be doing glass blowing?
As always, reality rather rudely intruded into these lovely ideas. Along, of course, with hurricanes. Potential ones, that is.
( Cut for fakery, adhesive, length and green dolphins. Sorry about the dolphin part. )
In my memories, it's also the first time I saw magic.
The men put sticks into hot fire, drawing out something that was red and gleaming and – it seemed – liquid fire. And then, from that, they would start to pull at the fire, twisting, pulling. Other colors would emerge and then – this was the magic – a little horse would come out. Or a flower. Or a shoe. Or a vase. Once the glassblowers snipped off little pieces of purple glass, all glittering, and gave one piece to my brother and another piece to me. I still have mine. And I still have the horse I was allowed to get – green, since green was my favorite color that day (it changes, but is never orange). Only one horse, not more, because my parents were afraid that I would break the others, a prophecy that alas proved all too true: that horse is in my room right now, in the shelves across from me, with one foot missing, to remind me of magic. And breaking things.
It's not really a surprise, I guess, that I fell in love with glass blowing and glass art and can spend hours sitting in front of glassworkers and that even hours spent in front of stained glass cathedral windows listening to extraordinarily dull and frequently factually incorrect lectures on tympanums couldn't quite destroy this love (although it made me considerably less fond of Romanesque architecture, but that's another saga.) I want to do that, I found myself thinking.
I remembered, too, the little "stained glass" kits I had when I was a kid – when you had a metal frame, and you dropped little colored balls in it, and put it into the oven, and, yay! Stained glass. Of a sort. That had been fun and worth doing again, even if not precisely a high level of creativity.
So, when our town catalog flopped into our mailbox, coincidentally while I was trying to think of ways to get myself out of the house and doing something new and meeting more people, offering a glass art class, I had to sign up. I didn't quite tingle with excitement, but my mind thought of all of the happy things I could do with glass. The term, I realized, was rather vague. Would we be making stained glass? Glass jewelry? Glass art pieces? Or – realizing how unlikely this was for an introductory glass art glass in a community center in a small city that has not exactly shed a small town feel – would we actually be doing glass blowing?
As always, reality rather rudely intruded into these lovely ideas. Along, of course, with hurricanes. Potential ones, that is.
( Cut for fakery, adhesive, length and green dolphins. Sorry about the dolphin part. )
Auugh: Art is not free of politics
Nov. 18th, 2010 09:08 amOver at Black Gate a commentator whined, among other things, that "… fantasy fiction is in desperate need of is good adventure stories free of contemporary politics. There is no shortage of politically driven fiction of varying quality."
Ordinarily, given some of the other things this commentator said, I'd ignore this, but I keep seeing people bring this up, and it makes me want to scream. Or, you know, blog.
Look, almost all art, or attempted art, is, on some level, political in nature – even if unconsciously so.
Let's start, for example, with a very quick look at Hollywood films set in the medieval era. (I know. Calling many of these "art" is a stretch, but I'm using "art" in the sense of something created by a human for decorative or pleasurable, as opposed to purely functional, purposes, i.e, music, paintings, film, fiction, poetry, and so on. It's not the best of definitions, but go with me for a bit here, at least for this post.) Nearly every single one of these films has something in common: it features at least one, and usually several, aristocrats who have become utterly corrupted by power, often to the point where they have become physically corrupted (Braveheart, with its two elderly male rulers literally rotting to death, is the best example of this, but the trope appears everywhere.) Frequently at least one or two younger, good looking characters stomp around talking about how we all have to think for ourselves, making nasty comments about aristocrats, and delivering stirring speeches about the importance of independence. Aristocracy, state these films firmly, is inherently evil, so evil that it will make nearly everyone associated with it evil as well.
Here's the problem: this does not, in any way, shape or form, represent widely-held political thought in the medieval era.
Medievals certainly revolted – usually over taxes, or food issues, or religious concerns – and certainly hated various specific kings/monarchs/authority figures. But the general idea of the aristocracy being inherently corrupt, a system that inevitably leads to evil, was not universally held. Rather, many (not all) medieval argued that the aristocratic system was divinely inspired, ordained by God, and part of the natural order: coming from God, the aristocratic system was inherently good, and only the flaws and failures of men turned it to evil. Many believed that the very act of revolting against an authority figure was in itself evil, since this meant going against something ordained by God. True, many people making this argument were themselves authority figures, but this argument was still made. Then as now, not everybody believed the same thing, and I certainly doubt that everyone in the Middle Ages believed in the divine right of kings, but, in general, medievals were not, as a group, running around shouting for political freedom and independence.
And yet this trope shows up in all major, studio-backed, American films depicting the medieval era – serious, silly, with dragons, without dragons. (I'm being specific here, because this trope appears in some but not all European/Japanese films depicting the medieval era.) The trope is so strong that even The Lord of the Rings films, based on a British book that did not contain this idea (Tolkien certainly believed that the world was flawed, yes, but not that the aristocracy was any more flawed by virtue of being aristocrats than the typical hobbit; both the aristocratic Boromir and the middle-class Frodo fail.)
And I honestly cannot imagine a Hollywood film attempting to argue for the divine right of kings,
Now, is anyone who sits down to write a silly script featuring a dragon really considering the political implications of the script? Certainly not (although some screenwriters and directors are equally certainly more overtly politically conscious – again, Braveheart -- than others). But, simply because that screenwriter lives in a place where democracy is considered the least evil of the various political systems out there, and because, post the 20th century in general, we have become all too aware of the evils that can follow in the wake of political leaders, that screenwriter is not going to be presenting a positive image of a monarchy/theocracy, even in a script that presents us with a heroic prince/princess.
Contemporary culture seeps into anything a writer/artist/musician creates, whether the creator is reacting to/against this culture, or going against it. This is as true for the dregs of "popular" fiction/movies as for the more "literary" stuff out there (I'm putting this in quote marks because I find these definitions questionable.) Another example from the decidedly low end of the artistic scale: back in the 1970s/early 80s Harlequin/Boons & Mill published several romance novels featuring the woman moaning, "No, no, no," while the romantic hero overpowered her cries of protest and took her to bed – in a reflection of the then-held belief that when women said, "no," they really meant "yes." Harlequin has largely backed off from publishing this sort of thing, largely because now, we have more of a recognition that when women say "no," they really mean "no." (Still not universally held even in the U.S., but we're moving more in that direction.)
Whether art is reinforcing our beliefs, or challenging them (and I like both types, just to be clear – well, not the above referenced Harlequins, but that's another story), it is still created in the context of those beliefs. Expressly political or not, silly or serious, "literary" or "popular," that culture is still there.
And, well, ok, this might be just me, but as a writer, I know that sometimes a discussion about politics or culture does spark a little worm in my brain and ends up as a story – often something that doesn't necessarily seem that related to the original conversation at all. (The most extreme example of this, in my case, is Bonfire and pearls, which partly came from my wanting to write a selkie story and partly from a seemingly completely unrelated conversation about iTunes, ebooks and electronic downloads, which got me thinking about how we pay for art and things, which….led into a seemingly unrelated selkie story. Selkies never came up in the original conversation, but that doesn't mean that parts of the original conversation didn't slide into the selkie story, which, I'll note, doesn't mention iTunes, ebooks and electronic downloads.)
Feel free to ask for silly art, for adventure art, for things that don't seem to have a political agenda. But asking for purely non-political stuff, that doesn't react to or agree with contemporary culture? Not going to happen. Art isn't created in a vacuum.
Ordinarily, given some of the other things this commentator said, I'd ignore this, but I keep seeing people bring this up, and it makes me want to scream. Or, you know, blog.
Look, almost all art, or attempted art, is, on some level, political in nature – even if unconsciously so.
Let's start, for example, with a very quick look at Hollywood films set in the medieval era. (I know. Calling many of these "art" is a stretch, but I'm using "art" in the sense of something created by a human for decorative or pleasurable, as opposed to purely functional, purposes, i.e, music, paintings, film, fiction, poetry, and so on. It's not the best of definitions, but go with me for a bit here, at least for this post.) Nearly every single one of these films has something in common: it features at least one, and usually several, aristocrats who have become utterly corrupted by power, often to the point where they have become physically corrupted (Braveheart, with its two elderly male rulers literally rotting to death, is the best example of this, but the trope appears everywhere.) Frequently at least one or two younger, good looking characters stomp around talking about how we all have to think for ourselves, making nasty comments about aristocrats, and delivering stirring speeches about the importance of independence. Aristocracy, state these films firmly, is inherently evil, so evil that it will make nearly everyone associated with it evil as well.
Here's the problem: this does not, in any way, shape or form, represent widely-held political thought in the medieval era.
Medievals certainly revolted – usually over taxes, or food issues, or religious concerns – and certainly hated various specific kings/monarchs/authority figures. But the general idea of the aristocracy being inherently corrupt, a system that inevitably leads to evil, was not universally held. Rather, many (not all) medieval argued that the aristocratic system was divinely inspired, ordained by God, and part of the natural order: coming from God, the aristocratic system was inherently good, and only the flaws and failures of men turned it to evil. Many believed that the very act of revolting against an authority figure was in itself evil, since this meant going against something ordained by God. True, many people making this argument were themselves authority figures, but this argument was still made. Then as now, not everybody believed the same thing, and I certainly doubt that everyone in the Middle Ages believed in the divine right of kings, but, in general, medievals were not, as a group, running around shouting for political freedom and independence.
And yet this trope shows up in all major, studio-backed, American films depicting the medieval era – serious, silly, with dragons, without dragons. (I'm being specific here, because this trope appears in some but not all European/Japanese films depicting the medieval era.) The trope is so strong that even The Lord of the Rings films, based on a British book that did not contain this idea (Tolkien certainly believed that the world was flawed, yes, but not that the aristocracy was any more flawed by virtue of being aristocrats than the typical hobbit; both the aristocratic Boromir and the middle-class Frodo fail.)
And I honestly cannot imagine a Hollywood film attempting to argue for the divine right of kings,
Now, is anyone who sits down to write a silly script featuring a dragon really considering the political implications of the script? Certainly not (although some screenwriters and directors are equally certainly more overtly politically conscious – again, Braveheart -- than others). But, simply because that screenwriter lives in a place where democracy is considered the least evil of the various political systems out there, and because, post the 20th century in general, we have become all too aware of the evils that can follow in the wake of political leaders, that screenwriter is not going to be presenting a positive image of a monarchy/theocracy, even in a script that presents us with a heroic prince/princess.
Contemporary culture seeps into anything a writer/artist/musician creates, whether the creator is reacting to/against this culture, or going against it. This is as true for the dregs of "popular" fiction/movies as for the more "literary" stuff out there (I'm putting this in quote marks because I find these definitions questionable.) Another example from the decidedly low end of the artistic scale: back in the 1970s/early 80s Harlequin/Boons & Mill published several romance novels featuring the woman moaning, "No, no, no," while the romantic hero overpowered her cries of protest and took her to bed – in a reflection of the then-held belief that when women said, "no," they really meant "yes." Harlequin has largely backed off from publishing this sort of thing, largely because now, we have more of a recognition that when women say "no," they really mean "no." (Still not universally held even in the U.S., but we're moving more in that direction.)
Whether art is reinforcing our beliefs, or challenging them (and I like both types, just to be clear – well, not the above referenced Harlequins, but that's another story), it is still created in the context of those beliefs. Expressly political or not, silly or serious, "literary" or "popular," that culture is still there.
And, well, ok, this might be just me, but as a writer, I know that sometimes a discussion about politics or culture does spark a little worm in my brain and ends up as a story – often something that doesn't necessarily seem that related to the original conversation at all. (The most extreme example of this, in my case, is Bonfire and pearls, which partly came from my wanting to write a selkie story and partly from a seemingly completely unrelated conversation about iTunes, ebooks and electronic downloads, which got me thinking about how we pay for art and things, which….led into a seemingly unrelated selkie story. Selkies never came up in the original conversation, but that doesn't mean that parts of the original conversation didn't slide into the selkie story, which, I'll note, doesn't mention iTunes, ebooks and electronic downloads.)
Feel free to ask for silly art, for adventure art, for things that don't seem to have a political agenda. But asking for purely non-political stuff, that doesn't react to or agree with contemporary culture? Not going to happen. Art isn't created in a vacuum.
Meanwhile:
Mar. 27th, 2010 09:02 am…I am absolutely delighted when another medievalist takes the time to make my argument for me.
Some years back I happened to be in St. Augustine and decided to go on the St. Augustine historical reenactment tour. It was awful, but this post is not about that. Rather, it's about the woman who was doing the candlemaking demonstration, who told me that before the 19th century, no women could read.
"At least three of Henry VIII's wives were very literate," I noted. "His first wife, Catherine of Aragon, could speak several languages, was trained in classical humanism, and worked as her father's ambassador for a time writing diplomatic letters. Anne Boleyn read widely and could write. Catherine Parr was a popular, published writer of religious works. And this was all before St. Augustine was founded."
"I never knew that."
So I told her a little more about women writers in the 16th, 17th and 18th century, the French salon fairy tale writers (primarily if not entirely women), the educated Spanish mystics and so on.
"I didn't even think women wrote until this century," she said. "Well, except for Louisa May Alcott. And Jane Austen."
************
( In which I blather on at some length about the Louvre, medieval history, Assyrian art, Roswitha, cultural assumptions and even mention Batman. For those staring in stark horror, no, I don't know what's brought on this onslaught of uncharacteristically lengthy and academic posts but I suspect that fluff and snark shall be returning soon. )
"At least three of Henry VIII's wives were very literate," I noted. "His first wife, Catherine of Aragon, could speak several languages, was trained in classical humanism, and worked as her father's ambassador for a time writing diplomatic letters. Anne Boleyn read widely and could write. Catherine Parr was a popular, published writer of religious works. And this was all before St. Augustine was founded."
"I never knew that."
So I told her a little more about women writers in the 16th, 17th and 18th century, the French salon fairy tale writers (primarily if not entirely women), the educated Spanish mystics and so on.
"I didn't even think women wrote until this century," she said. "Well, except for Louisa May Alcott. And Jane Austen."
************
( In which I blather on at some length about the Louvre, medieval history, Assyrian art, Roswitha, cultural assumptions and even mention Batman. For those staring in stark horror, no, I don't know what's brought on this onslaught of uncharacteristically lengthy and academic posts but I suspect that fluff and snark shall be returning soon. )
