"Of all the gin joints in all the world..."

Oh my goodness, I'm so excited to post about this topic. I think it's just so fascinating.

Moroccan Art. Why this particular form? you may ask. I'll tell you.

Morocco is a country steeped with culture and a rich history. Yet, their art has typically remained the same throughout the ages. Tile mosaics (or zellij mosaics) have long been the norm in this culture. They adorn walls, floors, fountains, palaces, doors...everything.

The Berbers - one of the oldest settlers of the region - quickly turned this desert into a thriving trade post. However, they are a stubborn culture (I just love that...). After 4000 years, their art is still the same. This is odd, particularly for a hub of trade, where cultures and peoples mix and clash and talk and mingle. You'll see mosaics in the Berber style in Ravenna, Tripoli, and Constantinople (Istanbul). But will you find a Venus or Apollo in Tangier? Ha! No.

The focus on this style of art is draw the viewer into the higher realm. Because Islam does not allow images of people or animals, their art focuses on complex geometrical designs with colorful shapes to bring the observer to the truth.

But here is the most fascinating concept in the art (at least, to me). Islam does not believe that any thing or any person is perfect besides Allah. Therefore, nothing can be perfect. Meaning, an artist may create a stunning piece of artwork, an exquisite, almost flawless masterpiece. They can line up the tiles exactly, make sure the tiny squares are the same shade, and the design is divine... in short, everything has the potential to be perfect. BUT. The artist will purposely tilt a tile out of place. Just... ever so slightly. Probably barely noticeable.

Because only God is perfect. And man should not think to be greater than Him.

It's sort of an interesting lesson in humility, don't you think? I think He wants us to be as perfect as we can be and constantly strive to achieve perfection. But I like that this little corner of the world acknowledges that He is perfect, and the art focuses on drawing us closer to Him, rather than - as western culture has - focus on the glory of mankind. We are puny in comparison, you know?

So, the fun for me in Moroccan art is to try and find the error. Try to find the humanity. Try to find the part of the artwork in each of us that needs God's mercy to make us truly perfect.

Can you find it?

Please excuse the upcoming hiatus. I am going on a long, GRAND adventure. The kind of stuff people dream about their whole lives!

CoLpSeEnD

"...Humanizing people is good, right? But what about people with reprehensible views? Do they deserved to be humanized? By giving Jerry Falwell's moral universe a fair look, am I putting myself in his shoes? Or am I validating his worldview? What's the difference between what I'm doing and what certain Iranian presidents who want to "do more research" into the Holocaust?

Where's the limit to open-mindedness?

...I reach this conclusion: humanizing is not the same as sympathizing. You can peel off the stereotypes of a person and not see a beautiful human being. In fact, humanity can be very ugly."

-Kevin Roose, An Unlikely Disciple

Such a good book.

I love his last line - "humanity can be very ugly". This is something I know in theory. We all have our mean, nasty, insensitive, and careless moments. After all, the natural man is an enemy to God.
In Middle School I was asked to write an essay - with supporting quotes - about whether or not man was good or bad. We had just read excerpts from The Leviathan, so, my impressionable mind wrote what the teacher wanted to hear. That life was "...mean, nasty, brutish, and short", and men would generally make the wrong decisions.
I didn't believe it then. I emphatically don't believe it now.
Hobbes failed to humanize the masses, I think. The tone of his writing is rather condescending, to me... so perhaps I am biased.
As to the nature of man, I don't feel the need to compartmentalize something so complex into such paltry terms as "good" and "bad". In fact, I don't feel the need to compartmentalize it all. I feel the need to give everyone their own chance, and not let individual actions define their race, religion, state, or family. We are all our person. That is the inherent gift of Free Agency. We become what we choose to become, and act as our conscience guides us.
That being said, some people have found a way to silence their conscience. This, I understand. "Humanity can be very ugly."
The operative word is CAN.
But I choose to think that usually it isn't.

Alrighty, I talk about literature a lot. Next time, I promise to do something non-lit.

Why, thank you!

A few years ago one of my friends told me that if I was a song, I would be Waterfall by Jon Schmidt.

Why, thank you, I love that song.

But I'd rather be this one.

It makes me feel like wind in the trees. Aspens, preferably.

peanut butter

sometimes i feel like peanut butter.
it's an acquired taste.
spreadable.
goes good with lots of things.
and horrible with many others.

if bread were life, then I am spread reeeeeeaaaaallly thin. i'm going every direction at once, so fast i can't even look before suddenly i'm somewhere new.

dad tells me i talk fast.
i write fast.
i sing fast.
i walk fast.
go go go go go.
i think fast.
bam bam bam.
not always nonsense though.
sometimes it's useful.
sometimes it's crazy.
but there's always a little reason in madness.


this post has been an exercise in stream-of-consciousness writing. brought to you by the letter Q and the number 5!

Stream of consciousness is a style of writing that is fun to write, but sometimes hard to read. Popularized by Joyce, Sinclair, Dostoevsky, Faulkner and Salinger, the style allows you to get into the character's head. Done right, a reader can become the character. It's more emotional. It's rugged, raw, human, and incredibly creative.
Try it sometime.
Let loose.
Let go.
write.

Deus Ex Machina

I think HIS sense of humor lies mostly in irony.

He certainly uses it with frequency in my life.

Why do I always think I know best, and why am I always convinced that I know what's right?

I don't and I'm not.
But He does and is.

Oh the irony. oooooooh. the IRONY. Gosh, i just love it. He can keep it coming for the rest of my life. it always makes me smile.

where's the emoticon for a wry smile? that's what this post needs.

it's like resurfacing...

today is a meandering day.

this post has no rhyme or reason. bear with me.

i had a long overdue chat with my best friend. finally, at last, someone told me all the truths i've been dying to hear. that's what i love about best friends. there's so much love between us, that there is no pretension. i know she's not being malicious, or saying what she says to hurt me. she loves me. she wants me to be better. she loves to help me.... and i love it when she does.

my nearest and dearest have been besties for 9 years now. we are so excited to be besties for the rest of forever. HE could not have put 4 more different girls together, who have come to love each other with such unconditional craziness. we have been through our own rough patches... and we always come out on top.

you know the part in JOB when his friends just sit with him as he mourns? we've done that.

you know the part in pride and prejudice when they stay up all night talking and giggling? yeah, we've done that. you know the part when one of them has an emotional breakdown and the others band together to help her through? yep, done that too. you know the part where your inside jokes have inside joke that have inside jokes? check. you know the part where you don't even have to talk to know what the other one is feelin? done. you know how there are no secrets between people who have shared so much together? it's blissful.

so here's a shout out to the most amazing people in my life. to those girls who are the only ones courageous enough to call me out on my ridiculousness, talk me through my stress, make me laugh when i'm crying, still think i'm beautiful (somehow), always say the most comforting things, effortlessly blend spiritual guidance with street-smart common sense, and love me through it all.

we left childhood together, stumbled through happy teenage years, accomplished dreams, laughed till we cried, cried till we laughed, philosophized, dramaticized, pranked, mourned, worked, and loved together.

here's to 900 million bazillion quadrillion more years of this... this bliss. i love you.

"My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me."
- Henry Ford

How do you know?

Today I was told I would be a good mother.

By a lovely woman I respect and admire very much.

It made me think....

What qualifies as "a good mother"?

discipline. gospel. love their father. letting them make their own mistakes.

These are what my mother taught me.

But I think fun is important too. I want to have nerdy fun with my kids. We'll play with sine waves in jump ropes, make mouse-trap racecars (go energy conservation laws!), rake leaves and then throw them at each other, play with slinkies and yo-yos and do homework creatively, and have pillow fights.

I hope I'm a good mother. I hope that when they drive me crazy and won't behave and keep smacking each other and refuse to sleep... that I'm still a good mother.

Over and over and over again

These are songs I could listen to over and over and over again and not get sick of them.

These are songs that I have listened to over and over and over again, and they still hit me like they did the first time.

In no particular order.

1. The Maker by Dave Matthews

2. Some Mistakes by Brad Paisley

3. Let It Be Me by Rosie Thomas (I'm dancing to this song at my wedding)

4. Feelin Good by Michael Buble`

5. My Life Would Suck Without You by Kelly Clarkson (don't be hatin')

6. I've Just Seen a Face by The Beatles

7. Forever by Chris Brown

8. Say Goodbye by Dave Matthews Band

9. Stay or Leave by Dave Matthews Band

10. Stupid Boy by Keith Urban

11. Breathe by Taylor Swift

If face to face at length we see...

Come to me in dreams and then,

one saith, I shall be well again,

For then the night will more than pay

the hopeless longing of the day.

Nay, come not thou in dreams, my sweet,

with shadowy robes and silent feet,

and with the voice, and with the eyes

that greet me in a soft surprise.

Last night, last night, in dreams we met,

and how, today, shall I forget?

Or how, remembering, restrain

mine incommunicable pain?

Nay, where thy land and people are,

dwell thou remote, apart, afar.

Nor mingle with the shapes that sweep

the melancholy ways of sleep.

But if, perchance, the shadows break,

if dreams depart, and men awake,

if face to face at length we see,

be thine the voice to welcome me.

-Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

I don't know how you feel about poetry. I belong to the school of belief that it should be read aloud - like Shakespeare.

Come to me.

I found this poem when I was 16. It didn't start to mean something deep and lasting until a year later. I memorized it. It's the only poem I've ever memorized. It's the only thing I actually tried to memorize that wasn't an equation or derivation or definition. It means something to me.

I shall be well again.

Do you remember your dreams? I don't. Except for five. I can never remember what I dream about, even in the instant after I wake up. I do, however, clearly recall five dreams. That's all. From my entire life. 5. I don't have dreams about flying, or success, or driving or any of that random stuff everyone else seems to have. Well, if I do, I just don't remember them.

How, today, shall I forget?

Except for these five.

Dwell thou remote, apart, afar.

It's always me and one other person.

Be thine the voice to welcome me.

And it always breaks my heart.

I have a theory about people who remember their dreams and people who don't. But that's for later. Suffice it now to say, I love this poem.

It's interesting...

Thank you Ellen. I was surprised and flattered when I read your comment. I think seminary teachers, as a whole, are the cream of the crop. Mine had a profound impact on my life.


Let's talk about cubism.

Cubism is under appreciated and profound, in my eyes. Perhaps a lot of people dislike it because it's hard to understand what the artist is communicating. This is an interesting concept - if everyone stopped learning about something because they don't understand at first, then we would still be hunters and gatherers.
What the artist communicates is different to each and every person. That's part of the artistic appeal. When cubism first made it's debut on the art world, Rudyard Kipling said, "It's interesting, but is it art?" Perhaps this is where we ventured into a world where art is in the eye of the beholder.

It's almost cliché that I would use Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase. But I like Duchamp, and this painting does more for me than the Mona Lisa. I actually don't like the Mona Lisa, and can really only admire it for its virtuosity in the renaissance style. Picasso's Guernica would probably have been even more cliché, but it's a sad painting, and I like to be happy, so we're sticking with the light-hearted.

Have you ever wondered how art followed the progression of science? Or was it science that followed the progression of art? We had neo-classical in the Enlightenment - when they were establishing the very fundamentals of most sciences as we know them today. Impressionism with the great confusion and hoopla over electricity and magnetism. I can see E&M in impressionism - crossing current lines, blurring lines between one object or particle and another. And finally, the most exciting - cubism with the great and dreadful QUANTUM THEORY. I love quantum. Best physics class I ever took.

When scientists started understanding (well, "understanding") quantum mechanics, it was chaos. The concepts are so bizarre, so different, so COOL, that many physicists could not and would not accept it. Sound familiar? Picasso once stated that in some of his paintings, he was trying to represent how the fourth dimension looked.

Hold the phone. Does that strike anyone else like it does me?

Take for instance, The Three Musicians. Here is Picasso, painting a 3D scene, on a 2D canvas. Now, look closer a the picture. For the most part, he's using 1D - straight lines. And he's trying to represent the 4th Dimension? Really?

Awesome, Picasso. Awesome.

Cubism is like standing at a certain point on a mountain and looking around. If you go higher, things will look different; if you go lower, again they will look different. It is a point of view. - Jacques Lipchitz

I'm sure I don't know...

"Dear Journal,

I don't know what I should be writing. I just feel like writing is what I need to do right now."

From my journal entry last night.

It turned out to be a very therapeutic experience.

I'm going to back track here for a second, so that I can explain something. Hang on with me...

Have you heard of the 5 love languages? It's an epidemic. I heard it, read it, took the test, blah blah blah. Something in me chafes at being so compartmentalized. Don't we all wish love was that easy?

gosh, why am i so hung up on love and emotions and feelings?? it is my fool, i suppose. i try to hard too be the scientist. i should try too hard to be a human.

My mother's love language is Words of Affirmation. To the uninitiated, it means that generally, she likes to be told that she is loved. She likes the expressions of love. (This is opposed to those who like acts of service, physical touch, gifts, or quality time.) She likes to talk about her feelings. and talk and talk and talk. I've told her that a journal is a fantastic thing and that she should get one. She doesn't think so. I can't stand talking about my feelings, but certainly feel very comfortable writing them out and telling them to no one and everybody.

Until I started blogging, I wrote in my journal often. I still write often, because there I can totally let go, mention names, and be a total fool. Here, not so much. I still can't tell cyberspace who I am going to marry (and how I know I will), how much I want to go on a mission, who I wish I could marry instead, who I betrayed, where I'm going with my future, and how incredibly irrational I can really be. But my journal is the keeper of all my secrets. And it has been for years.

There are many tribes that believe in "nouni" - speaking things into existence. I believe in writing things into existence. Once it's out I can't take it back. I confessed. I stated. I wrote the words, put muscle, faith, and me into them. It's real. Sometimes I wish it wasn't. But it is.

God has other plans for my life.

"My life is but a weaving, between my God and me,

I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes he weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent, and the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas, and explain the reasons why
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful weaver's hand
As threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him."

-Anonymous

ok. this post is too long. end.

the not-so-basics

let's talk about the not-so-basics. beyond literature, paint, and sculpture. While those certainly have their value - and i have had my breath taken away by a fabulous gothic cathedral, make no mistake! - there is more to art than what we usually think. of course you already know this. you're not an idiot.

dance.

the sound of the wind.

film.

gardening.

miming.

comedy.

acting.

emotion.

cooking.

photography.

sewing.

reason.

skipping rocks.

laughter.

athletics.

love.

now, that last one interests me most. love. is it art? sure, it can be. anything CAN BE art. i'm sure jackson pollack broke that barrier for us.

but love has this knack for turning us into lunatics, poets, samaritans, or fools. among other things. i usually fall into the confused lunatic category. you?

love certainly creates art. the best kind of art. passion for any subject, person, canvas, or dream takes us beyond ourselves. suddenly, we don't see things as they are, but what we dream they can be. it's not so much that love is blind, however. rather, love makes us see more, and because we see more we learn to let go of more or accept more, because we love. we see the faults and fears and follies of the loved one. we also see the strength, the courage, the hope. and we are there to buoy them up, because we love.

because we love.

We are more...

"If we were logical, the future would be bleak indeed. But we are more than logical. We are human beings, and we have faith and we have hope, and we can work" -Jacques Cousteau

Words. Singularly seemingly insignificant, yet combine to make a powerful force.

Literature is art. "Hamlet" is the cream, to me.

When I open an old book, I return to an old friend.

Goosebumps.

Happy.

Joy.

we'll be gone, gone...

"you know that you and me
we can do anything..."

This video is astounding. check it out.

"Good music is good music, and everything else can go to hell." - Dave Matthews

time two.

there are moments when time stops. and then it starts again and races forward, as if to make up for the lost "time" spent when your heart stopped.

i had one of those today.

i have been waiting for 4 years for the commencement of a certain event in my life. someone came back. and time is racing forward - making me see things i have missed these last 4 years.

please do not get me wrong - i am a firm believer in NOT WAITING AROUND. "get busy livin', or get busy dyin'." those are words to live by. word.

but my heart is beating faster with the revival of a once dead hope. i am split in two. he may do nothing; he may do everything; he may ignore; he may rise to the occasion. i may rebuke; i may "grapple [him to me] with hoops of steal"; i may cry; i may get angry; i may not be able to stop smiling for days; i may sob till i'm sick.

who am i kidding? He and i should be together everyday of forever beginning 700 years ago. We both know this. i KNOW he knows this. he knows i know it.

what happened to this lock-and-key girl? i hate the whirlwind of emotions. logic, reason, and rationale...save me! save me from the emotions that threaten to overwhelm. heaven knows i don't know what to do with them. i know i'm too ridiculous to deal with them.

I feel like a little girl sitting agains a wall with her knees pulled tight to her chest. My eyes are closed as hard as possible. I hold myself together with one arm around my knees and sheer force of will. The other hand is outstreched, begging this him to take it and do something. But my eyes are closed. I can't see him reject me. I can't see him.

well. at least one good thing came from this racing heart syndrome. i get to skip today's workout. pretty sure my heart has been in the target heart range for the past 10 hours. score on the healthy heart. bam.

measured only unto man

Time.

It's an interesting concept. As a scientist (let's be specific - I'm a proud physicist!), I feel like I have a bit of authority here.

But let's get real. Who is an authority on TIME?

I have favorite times. They are 10:23 and 12:34. The first is because it's Avogradro's number, the second is because it's just an awesome numerical sequence. When I see those times my heart thumps a little faster.

Yes, I'm strange. It's science, get used to it. We're all weird. Some of us

just hide it better than others.

Is time art? Dali made it so.

I'm not going to relate every single post to art. Don't think I will. Sometimes my thoughts are beyond that. I'm a woman going through my own struggles with a need to express myself anonymously. If I'm not going to actually tell anyone, I might as well tell everyone. Right?

the basics

Let's talk art. styles and mediums.


paint.
lyrics.
sculpture.
haikus.
architecture.
acting.
mosaics.
performance.
tiles.
impressionism.
oils.
cubism.
poetry.
rococo.
music.
composition.
neo-classical.
song.
sonnets.
baroque.


These are the standards. They are that main, big stick figure. They are what gets most of the attention, and much of the accolades. And because of their focus, I never thought I was artistic. I still have issues seeing myself as artistic. If someone put a gun to my head and said, "draw me a beautiful picture", I would have to respond, "fire away, buddy. All you'll get is a sloppy stick-man."
But, there are other forms of artistic license. Those are the ones that are really, truly, amazing. They make me come alive.

Have you ever worked very hard on a long and complex problem? For me, it was my entire partial differential equations class. I have issues with math, and for a scientist, this is like the kiss of death. But there was something remarkable in the perfect flow of a well-solved problem. One step leads to another in beautiful logical flow. No skipped steps, no short cuts...just one long problem - the harmonic oscillator - in stunning clarity. It was art to me.

Also, the time-dependent/time-independent Schroedinger equation derivation. F.L.A.W.L.E.S.S. It is my Mona Lisa.


Now, what makes you come alive?

Amen.

"We are the ones who have been in meaningful long-term relationships (romantic or otherwise) and know what it means to care, to love, to sacrifice. No, we're not perfect at it, but we know how to and are willing to put forth the effort to make a relationship work. We are the ones who have lives and interests of our own and are ready to share them with someone else. We're healthy enough to not be needy, but still realize that there are times when it's good to need. We are the ones who realize that looks aren't everything, but definitely work to maximize what we've been given. We are the ones who are already right for someone. While there may always be room for the improvement of certain traits, we do not need to change who we are in essentials. We have a lot to give. And when we meet the right person, we'll be ready to give it." - another in the blogging community.

Regarding relationships and the crappy advice that people give to a single person. I am strong, independent, complete - without another. But, I'm ready to "give it".

This is perhaps the most beautifully worded statement regarding the "still-being-happy-while-single" thing. Doesn't it do something for you too?

Surely You're Joking

In his book "Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!", Richard Feynman discuss the differences between art as an artists sees it, and art as a scientist sees it.

He uses the example of a rose. Is it beautiful to the artist because of it smooth color? unique design? aesthetically pleasing array? What does an artist see?

For the scientist, is it beautiful because it has evolved to protect itself with thorns? because it is red, and bees pollinate more red flowers, and the rose wants to propagate it's race? is it beautiful because of it's golden ratio?

I am no art critic. I am a scientist. Those two statements are not necessarily the same. A scientist can be an art critic, and an artist can understand science. Most don't, but let's face it... the brilliant ones have, do and will. Why can't scientists return the favor?

I'm sure I don't know.

Here, I will try to bridge the gap. I hated art in high school and shied away from any artistic endeavor. I clung relentlessly to the safety of concrete laws, logical systems and the flow of a well-solved problem. College opened doors for me. I hope that here you will find doors to walk through.