I feel as though we live in a wonderful world. Sitting in my Richmond apartment, I can access world-class lit, art and music, all in one evening.
Art:
The other day my neighbor lent me a coffee table. I suddenly, and for the first time in my life, had the opportunity to have coffee table books. I love coffee table books. I didn't really want to buy expensive books that would just sit around and then have to be lugged to a new location next year.
I went to Earlham's library and browsed the fine art books. I took down two that caught my eye:
O'Keefe and Texas
This has simple, brightly colored paintings by O'Keefe during an evidently prolific and influential period that she spent in Texas. I've been leaving it open to a different page each day, which has been nice. I know nothing about O'Keefe's life or work and haven't read the essays yet.
Women Impressionists is the other book.
The first artist featured, Berthe Morisot, is one I've never heard of. Each page provides another work, housed in a different museum or gallery, which it would take years to visit, and yet here I am seeing them all in a few short minutes.
Her work is beautiful, but it renders me sad and physically uncomfortable because of its portrayals of women in the 19th century, which looks like a very uncomfortable century. The clothes they are wearing are not to be borne. Not only that, but the women look so intensely bored with lives of confinement and leisure.
They remind me of what Elinor Dashwood says to Mr. Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility:
"You talk of feeling idle and useless. Imagine how that is compounded when one has no hope and no choice of any occupation whatsoever."
Thus seems to be the fate of the women in many of Berthe's paintings. What a relief it was to turn the page eventually and see a peasant woman in reasonable clothes, bearing a bowl of milk, ostensibly in the middle of some task.
Art:
The other day my neighbor lent me a coffee table. I suddenly, and for the first time in my life, had the opportunity to have coffee table books. I love coffee table books. I didn't really want to buy expensive books that would just sit around and then have to be lugged to a new location next year.
I went to Earlham's library and browsed the fine art books. I took down two that caught my eye:
O'Keefe and TexasThis has simple, brightly colored paintings by O'Keefe during an evidently prolific and influential period that she spent in Texas. I've been leaving it open to a different page each day, which has been nice. I know nothing about O'Keefe's life or work and haven't read the essays yet.
Women Impressionists is the other book.
The first artist featured, Berthe Morisot, is one I've never heard of. Each page provides another work, housed in a different museum or gallery, which it would take years to visit, and yet here I am seeing them all in a few short minutes.
 |
| "The young woman at a window in Summer" might want to venture beyond the window pane today. |
Her work is beautiful, but it renders me sad and physically uncomfortable because of its portrayals of women in the 19th century, which looks like a very uncomfortable century. The clothes they are wearing are not to be borne. Not only that, but the women look so intensely bored with lives of confinement and leisure.
They remind me of what Elinor Dashwood says to Mr. Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility:
"You talk of feeling idle and useless. Imagine how that is compounded when one has no hope and no choice of any occupation whatsoever."
Thus seems to be the fate of the women in many of Berthe's paintings. What a relief it was to turn the page eventually and see a peasant woman in reasonable clothes, bearing a bowl of milk, ostensibly in the middle of some task.
 |
| "The Milk Bowl" is a relief |
Lit:
Today we read Fahrenheit 451's opening passages. I'll just add here the passage we asked our final question about:
They walked the rest of the way in silence, hers thoughtful, his a kind of clenching and
uncomfortable silence in which he shot her accusing glances.
This is after Clarisse and Montag have had their opening conversation. I asked the students why the silence might be described like this. Sixth period rocked it. They said she was making him uncomfortable because he knew that everything she was saying was true, but he didn't want it to be true. He felt, they added, that she knew him too well, and could see through his facade too quickly.
I worried this summer that there wouldn't be enough depth to mine with this book. That may be a concern with period six, because they are so clever (rather like 12e last year in Ramallah). But the other classes took much longer to come to much less profound conclusions about Clarisse's effect on Montag. This book may provide just the right amount of challenge for them.
Music:
Performance Today is a gift everyday, but today I particularly liked this hour for its feature by Max Bruch: Eight Pieces for Clarinet, Viola and Piano, Op. 83; No. 1 in a minor: Andante
Here's the link to the episode.
This is after Clarisse and Montag have had their opening conversation. I asked the students why the silence might be described like this. Sixth period rocked it. They said she was making him uncomfortable because he knew that everything she was saying was true, but he didn't want it to be true. He felt, they added, that she knew him too well, and could see through his facade too quickly.
I worried this summer that there wouldn't be enough depth to mine with this book. That may be a concern with period six, because they are so clever (rather like 12e last year in Ramallah). But the other classes took much longer to come to much less profound conclusions about Clarisse's effect on Montag. This book may provide just the right amount of challenge for them.
Music:
Performance Today is a gift everyday, but today I particularly liked this hour for its feature by Max Bruch: Eight Pieces for Clarinet, Viola and Piano, Op. 83; No. 1 in a minor: Andante
Here's the link to the episode.
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