* τον Δομήνικο  Θεοτοκόπουλο.

Με την ευκαιρία της Ημέρας της Ποίησης μεταφέρουμε εδώ αμετάφραστο ένα από τα τέσσερα σονέτα που αφιέρωσε στον φίλο του Ελ Γκρέκο ο πολυτάλαντος Ισπανός ιερωμένος και ποιητής Hortensio  Félix Paravicino (1580 – 1633).  Tο διάσημο τούτο πορτρέτο του Paravicino  είναι της τελευταίας περιόδου του Θεοτοκόπουλου (1610) και βρίσκεται στο Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Al túmulo deste mismo pintor, que era el Griego de Toledo

SONETO

Del Griego aquí lo que encerrarse pudo

yaze, piedad lo esconde, fe lo sella,

blando le oprime, blando mientras huella

zafir, la parte que se hurtó del nudo.

Su fama el Orbe no reserva mudo,

humano clima. bien que a obsurecerla,

se arma una emvidia, y otra tanta estrella,

nieblas no atiende de Orizonte rudo.

Obró al siglo mayor, mayor Apeles,

no el aplauso venal, y su extrañeza

admirarán, no imitarán edades.

Creta le  dio la vida, y los pinceles

Toledo, mejor patria donde empieza

a lograr con la muerte, eternidades.

Can’t believe I’ve never posted this painting on here before…a favorite, but sadly not on view for the last few months.

Different parts of the brain say different things. There are impulses and drives, and so often the drive is self-destructive: should I do another Spider Solitaire at 1.50am? Probably not, and yet several times later than that I have done. And yet that breakfast: people thought my impulse would be to pig myself on a cooked breakfast, and I needed moral self-restraint (good) to resist that impulse, whereas actually I looked at it and my impulse was to eat muesli. I watched C eat cereal by itself, without milk, and thought that is him asserting Control in the only way he can- no-one could actually like it like that- because he is still living with his parents.

If I label my year of unemployment with just three job applications my Great Sulk, that seems bad, and if I label it my Retreat for Self-Healing, it seems good. Possibly it is a bit of both.

On Facebook I read that procrastination can be a good thing, allowing onesself to mature into doing something rather than forcing onesself. I scrolled through just now and can’t find it, but I did find this from Abraham Hicks: Worthiness, in very simple terms, means I have found a way to let the Energy reach me, the Energy that is natural, reach me. Worthiness, or unworthiness, is something that is pronounced upon you by you. You are the only one that can deem yourself worthy or unworthy. You are the only one who can love yourself into a state of allowing, or hate yourself in a state of disallowing. There is not something wrong with you, nor is there something wrong with one who is not loving you. You are all just, in the moment, practicing the art of not allowing, or the art of resisting. Oops, the Hickses are talking sense again. The loving or hating onesself is generally unconscious, my feelings of unworthiness are very deep: how may I change from one to the other? Can I use my ego/mind/conscious thought and analysis to shift into self-love and respect? If not, how might I so shift?

It seems to me that I learned young that I am Worthless. This promptly went unconscious. I then realised I felt that way very deep down, by ratiocination- (Oh My God the Monkey mind Ego Bad Bad Bad) but also by a guided way into my Unconscious- it is my Hoffman name. (Mystic!! Good!!). If I kneel in my ritual space and say, portentously, “I am worthy of Respect” or try to Think Through reasons why I am worthy of respect- either simply by being human, or by characteristics- can I in that way move from that hate to self-love?

I have faith that the human being heals, and I seem wiser and more self-accepting than before (if my ego is perceiving correctly). I was all knotted up. Can I help myself unknot, by thinking about it, or by practising willing my own good?  What do you think?

Or, going back to Being Human, if I can see bits of myself in the shero Alex even if she is not the most well-drawn human being, is it better to spend time watching that rather than reading Proust and seeing myself in the pitiable Marcel?

Here is a video about the BSTc. Clear enough? There is evidence of the cause of my condition. There is also evidence about the treatment of it: psychotherapy to make someone accept her testicles and a male role produces misery equivalent to that caused by “ex-gay” therapy; support into a female role produces better functioning.

So. Existence of the phenomenon, cause, and treatment are all supported by strong evidence. In law, hearsay is weak evidence, confession corroborated by forensic evidence is strong evidence, and evidence which satisfies an appointed judge of fact is proof. In science, there is assertion and counter-assertion, backed by observation, but eg the fact that the Earth is billions rather than thousands of years old, or evolution, is judged proved by anyone qualified to consider the matter.

I was thinking of posting on what difference it would make if there were indisputable evidence of the cause of my idiosyncrasy in physical brain structures, when I came across this. Probably it would not be enough for Steve. There is observed difference between male and female human brains: I read somewhere that different regions of the brain respond to photographs which are designed to produce an emotional response. I would love to know how my brain responds to such, in a male or female way, but am not aware whether the research has been done. Steve could point to any such difference, and assert that mine was “not a female brain”.

I rather like Steve’s dismissive phrase “lining up a few scientists”. There are lots of matters less certain than evolution. Even with evolution there are “scientists” who insist on calling Genesis a scientific textbook- worse theology than it is science- and falsely attack the evidence. There are scientists who criticise the findings of research into trans issues, and thank God for that. Though there is a difference between healthy scepticism and incorrigible attachment to discredited theory.

My vague understanding is that there is not a great deal of evidence that we are happier and more effective after reassignment. The difficulty is getting a control group: many of us are less effective than cis-sexual people, but I would say that is caused by anti-trans prejudice, and Steve might deny that.

There is no certainty- as strong a word as “proof”- even that transition is going to make life better for us, but it is certain that intolerance makes it worse. We do not do this lightly. Agape- Christian charity- demands the response: “This is really what you want? Oh, OK then.” Intolerance rising from ignorance fear and disgust does no good.

There is no certainty about human action or relations at all. We are far too complex for that. So I trust. Individual human beings, groups and societies, will find better ways of being for themselves, because they are motivated and intelligent. Steve’s conservative resistance to change, based on his own ignorance, will only inhibit this process.

Looking a El Greco’s paintings, you may notice something odd; they all seem strangely distorted. The figures he painted, in particular (Saint John the Baptist, The Repentant Magdalen, and his own self-portrait) seem elongated, like they had been stretched.

An expert on El Greco, in the 1900’s, came up with an explanation for this, that seemed to completely account for why this was. Could El Greco have suffered from a severe astigmatism that stretched his vision vertically? This distortion could be the cause for the painters oddly outstretched artwork.

However, the more historians questioned it, the more they realised that this couldn’t have been the case (although this theory was held for almost a century). If El Greco viewed the world as distorted, the canvas he painted on would also be distorted to him. This means that although he viewed the world, and his paintings, as elongated, those without this distortion would view his paintings as perfectly normal. It is clear that there is another reason behind his painting methods. However, the belief that this theory was true for such a long time has born a new idea; the El Greco fallacy. This is defined as a “peculiar kind of illogical thinking, which is highly intuitive but obviously wrong once it’s illuminated” (Wray Herbert, psychologicalscience.org). This has been applied to all kinds of theories and perceptions that are still alive today, and it has now been researched more thoroughly.

Chaz Firestone and Brian Scholl of Yale University tested this using two psychological phenomena; both examples of “top down” influences on perception (e.g. beliefs and desires that can alter the way we view the world). With their doubts this line of experimentation, they used methods intended to expose any El Greco-type fallacious thinking.

Firstly, they asked participants to hold a rod across the front of their bodies as they approached a doorway. These volunteers were asked to show how wide they perceived this doorway to be using a tape measure (the researcher would hold the tape measure and the participant would tell him/her to stop when they reached the correct width). They also used a control group for comparison. It was hypothesized that those holding the rod in their hands would judge the doorway as more narrow than it actually was – this high level cognition affects our judgement of the width of the doorway. Their results were just this, that holding the rod did influence the judgements of how wide the doorway was, often causing it to be viewed as more narrow than it was.

Next, they made a change to this study – beginning with a replication of the first part, but then went on to a second part. Once participants had faced the doorway holding the pole, they turned to face another doorway. This time the doorway was adjustable, and a researcher set it so it was narrower than the original doorway.

This difference was very crucial to the investigation. It was believed that if holding a rod appears to shrink the doorway, the second version of the experiment should fail. They should view both of the doorways as more narrow, in the same way that El Greco would have seen both the world and his paintings as distorted.

And this is what was found – participants failed to see the second, compressed doorway as smaller. The effects should have cancelled each other out, like with El Greco, but they didn’t.

So Firestone and Scholl set out to test the strength of this El Greco strategy using a second study. This time, they focused more on a recent finding that “thinking about unethical behaviour actually dims the light that it is perceived”. In other words, the more “dark thoughts” we have, the darker we will view the world.

In this second study, participants were asked to recall an act from their past, either ethical or unethical. This included the emotions they felt at the time they committed the act. They were then asked to rate the brightness of the room they were in based on seven different grey patches (from light to dark). They were asked to choose the grey patch they felt most accurately matched the room. The purpose of this was to discover whether the deeds they described would effect their perception of room brightness. If it was the case that remembering/thinking about unethical acts made the room darker, then this version of the El Greco fallacy would fail – as, even though the room may look darker, the grey patches should appear darker as well.

The same distortion was found in this experiment, which has caused the researchers to conclude that the effect is not perceptual. “If the walls looked darker, the patches should also have looked darker – but they did not”. So, there must another explanation for this distortion. As of yet, the cause of the distortions are a mystery – just like El Greco’s strange vision.

———————————————-

Written by: Philippa Berry

Content Source.

Published on: 13th March 2013

Wray Herbert’s blogs—“We’re Only Human” and “Full Frontal Psychology”—appear regularly in The Huffington Post.

Photograph Source.

By El Greco ( Domenikos Theotokopoulos 1541 – 1614 )

( Click image to enlarge )

Ekonomik krizin olumsuz etkilerinin iyice belirgin hale geldiği Yunanistan‘da, daha önce eritip maden olarak satmak için kiliselerden vaftiz kazanlarını çalan… – Devamını oku http://www.gundemanset.com/2013/03/komsuda-ekonomik-kriz-hizla-artiyor/

El Greco’s “Christ Driving the Traders from the Temple”

Juan Bautista Martínez del Mazo’s painting “Don Adrián Pulido Pareja“ and El Greco’s painting “Christ driving the Traders from the Temple“ will be the inspiration for these great sessions where the participants join a lecturer and an artist in order to explore one of these paintings. First, listen to a brief talk then respond by making your own work in this short, artist-led drawing session. All materials are provided by The National Gallery but places are limited to 40 people on a first-come, first-served basis therefore arriving early to avoid disappointment is highly recommended. The event start at 1 pm each Friday and it lasts 1 hour:

• 15 March: (attributed to) Juan Bautista Martínez del Mazo’s painting “Don Adrián Pulido Pareja“. (Room 30)
• 22 March: El Greco’s painting “Christ driving the Traders from the Temple“. (Room 9)

For more info, please visit: http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/whats-on/creative-sessions/

Avian symbolism can be as diverse as it is rich. Eagles and other aggressive birds often represent predatory behaviour whereas the owl is a sign of wisdom. Paul Tipper devoted a monograph to the subject, The Dream Machine: Avian Imagery in “Madame Bovary” (Durham: DMLS, 1994), in which he proposes  a “sliding scale of suggestivity” depending on the particular bird in question.  He lists twelve variables that affect our interpretation, including flight, size, plumage, whether the bird is mundane or exotic, and whether or no it is a conventional symbol. One bird that is most certainly conventional and universal in figurative terms is the dove. A dove, almost always a white one, is a ubiquitous symbol of peace, accord, and spirituality.  This is quite astounding in one sense since, as the lithograph by Picasso amply shows, above (1949; MOMA), the dove is very closely related to and distinctly resembles the humble and despised pigeon.

The white dove has a particular biblical role. In the Old Testament, one is sent to Noah with an olive branch in its beak as a sign that the Flood has ended and divine wrath has been appeased. In the New Testament, it has a close affinity with the Holy Spirit, the Third Person of the Trinity and who comes to dwell in our bodies making them temples. In some concrete way, the dove represents the presence of God in our very beings or acts as a messenger of the divine, a very curious symbolism given that the bird is not the largest, most beautiful, or even most fascinating of birds. The captivating flight of the hummingbird or the dulcet tones of the nightingale could have, for example, been a more immediate sign of the other world. El Greco’s peculiar style captures something of the strangeness of the dove as a religious signifier in his representation of Pentecost, below, painted at the tail end of the sixteenth century, one of the most turbulent and conflicted periods in human history.

The scene is one of confusion. Fifty days after Easter, the Apostles and Mary, in some disarray, convened and suddenly the Holy Spirit came down on them, causing them to speak in tongues and have flames of fire. They who were seeking elucidation find themselves linguistically divided and unable to communicate.  In some deep sense, El Greco captures the strangeness of life beyond this natural life, the supernatural encroaching on the normal rhythm of things, best seen in the contorted postures of some of the figures in the painting. However, the most remarkable element in the painting is the very marked division between shadow and light. The Holy Spirit is depicted as appearing out of nowhere and catching the spectators unaware. Some part of us seeks this kind of assistance, aid sweeping in and sweeping us off our feet, part of the appeal of Superman. On the other hand, the bird also looks like a massive burst of electricity, a mini supernova illuminating the gathering like a lamp. This, I think, is the real potency of this painting. In a real way, El Greco manages to picture the bizarreness not of belief but rather of our own human nature. A light is put to the dark cracks of our psyches, our struggle to be better, to do good, and to put our own desires to one side and think of others and other considerations. Somewhat paradoxically given its theme, the painting ultimately focuses on humanity.

As if to underscore the unusual and unworldly aspect of Pentecost, its liturgical colour is not white, as would be expected, but rather red, otherwise used to celebrate martyrs’ feastdays in the Mass. This is perhaps not as curious as might seem, since the invisible force of the Spirit taking hold of our being is not only representative of divine love but also human love. For what is more intangible, inexplicable, and unexpected than love? It is the force over which we have no control, that is irrational, and so necessary, but only so when it is absent. A person who has never known any kind of love is someone to be pitied and avoided. The Church has always taught that human love can ennoble us and make us receptive to the love of God. Just as with our attraction towards a beautiful person can draw us in and we fall in love with their personality, so, too, does the magnificent beauty of the Church’s rites, the vestments, and Latin plainsong, also tempt us to discover the deeper meaning to which they stand as a portal. Once this is crossed, we will see the world with new eyes, as through a glass darkly, a delicious image of St Paul suggesting that the world itself is the illusion and the supernatural life is the authentic version of ourselves. And the same applies to human love. Hugh Grant’s character William observes in the charming Notting Hill (1999), that falling for someone is like taking love heroin, in that takes a hold of you and drives you to want more.  On this note, it must be added that doves do not always denote pure love. Various legends about Semiramis, a Babylonian queen who was the wife of Nimrod, depict her unbridled and insatiable lust yet most accounts relate that she had been brought up by doves.

Today’s cufflinks are made out of sterling silver and bear the maker’s mark of Creed. This is the name of a company that specializes in Catholic religious goods, particularly jewellery, in 1946 and still going. They don’t make cufflinks any more, but this pair are very striking in the modernist lines of an ancient symbol, which dates them to the mid to late 1950s. They were almost certainly priest’s cufflinks. I particularly like the detail, such as the eyes, adding new life to a trope that bridges the taboo association between sexuality and spirituality, yet nonetheless a very old and biblical one; in the gently erotic lines of Solomon in the Song of Songs (6:9), his beloved is compared to an unblemished dove. This allusion also references the sacrifice and pain of love, since a spotless dove was a sacrificial offering in Jewish Temple worship.

So, my dear little bunch of friendly readers, if you are not afraid of having no escape and being with this blogger in a labyrinth for a while, follow me through the mysterious streets, long corridors, amazing cloisters, Visigothic churches, Templar Knights’ realm, El Greco’s house and some other legendary corners of this 2000 years old imperial city of Toledo, Spain …

This old maze of dark, tangled and convoluted streets was made for walking. Forget using your horse-drawn cart or even your folding-bicycle (medieval architects didn’t foresee the existence of such exotic things as folding-bicycles and they put surprising obstacles everywhere)

OK. Let’s face it. I’m lost. Don’t panic. I just have to ask someone to help me get unlost. The main problem is to find someone in these lonely streets. Oh! Look! Someone!

- Excuse me, Mr. Knight Templar, could you tell me the way to the exit gate?

- Thank you!

I have walked for some twenty-five meters, and now … Did he say turn to the right or turn to the left? Mmm … To the left, I guess, and then to the right, and then …

I’m lost again.

This must be the Jewish quarter.

Hey! Wait a minute! I know this house! Here lived “El Greco” (Candia 1541-Toledo 1614), born Doménikos Theotokópoulos (he came from Greece; his nickname “El Greco” means “The Greek”). As you may well know, he was a painter of the Spanish Renaissance. In Toledo he produced his best paintings.

If you, like me, love his unconventional, almost-expressionistic, almost-cubistic and always-awesome style, you can see lots of his works not only in his museum  … In Toledo you can stay in awe for a long while in front of El Greco’s masterpiece “The Burial of the Count of Orgaz” in the Santo Tomé church.

You’ll not regret visiting the Cathedral’s museum. There, in its “Sacristía“, you’ll find “El Expolio” (“The disrobing of Christ”), among other great treasures.

Last, but not least: in the Santa Cruz museum of Toledo (old hospital of Santa Cruz, Spanish Renaissance building; pic below) you’ll find 29 works by El Greco.

El Greco is buried in Toledo, in the Santo Domingo el Antiguo convent, just at the turn of that corner …

If you are still hungry of El Greco’s art, take your car (1 hour drive) or the high-speed train (just half an hour) and go to one of the very best museums of the world, the Prado Museum, in Madrid, where you’ll find quite a few outstanding El Grecos. Wow!

Well, I’d take my car now too if I were able to find the exit of this labyrinth … Let’s go on.

I am very hungry, and this grocery store seems to have good ham and cheese, but it is closed now. And I feel like eating some veggies today;  asparaguses, for example … I’d rather wait until I reach the “Parador de Toledo”.

A big asset of Toledo is that sooner or later you always find a Knight Templar at hand to ask for some help …

- Thank you!

Wandering through these historical streets I can’t help thinking of one of my favorite writers: Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer (Sevilla, 1836-Madrid, 1870).

He lived for some time here, in Toledo, with his brother Valeriano (an accomplished painter). Both of them loved this city and it appears very often in their respective works.

I’m aware that my readers (if any) love reading stuff written in English (like this horrendous blog), most probably because they are English-speaking people. But if any of you have some knowledge of Spanish (I know that two or three of you speak a pretty good Spanish), I strongly recommend to you reading Gustavo Adolfo Becquer’s works. If you like mystery and historical fiction, his legends and narrations are light-years better than any modern “best-seller” written in English, Spanish or Swahili.

This is Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer (cover of an edition of “Legends and Narrations”; his brother Valeriano painted the Gustavo Adolfo’s portrait you can see here below):

“As long as science fails to discover the sources of life, as long as, on sea or in the sky, there is an abyss that is resistant to mathematical reckoning, as long as mankind in its steady progress is ignorant of where it’s heading, as long as a mystery exists for man, there will be poetry!” (Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer)

So, my little bunch of friendly readers, if any of you are willing to read outstanding Spanish literature, read Mr. Bécquer. For instance, if you have just a few minutes now, you can read his Toledoan legend called “El beso” (“The kiss”) by clicking here.

By the way, talking about legends, here above you can see a drawing by Gustavo Adolfo’s brother Valeriano (I took this picture from the book “Obras Completas de Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer”, Editorial Cátedra).

And here below you’ll find the very same street of Toledo drawn by Valeriano Bécquer 150 years ago, photographed just a few days ago by the legendary Covetotop …

Now let’s go on. Perhaps that strange passage can take me out of the city …

No way. I’m lost.

I feel I am in the correct path.

Let’s ask that army of young Knights Templar …

Go on, go on …

Isn’t that Don Miguel de Cervantes? Yes he is!

I’m flattered! Cervantes himself reads my blog! Oh! Wow!

By the way, dear reader, did you read my post “Don Miguel and Don Quixote”? It is very nice!

Go on, go on, go on Covetotop … Don Miguel told me that I can find very easily the exit by crossing that strange door behind him …

Edvard Munch

Edvard Munch

interestingly, the poems written by Munch about these paintings (from a book by Bente Torjusen – The Words and Images of Edvard Munch which is copyright, or I’d include the poems on this blog). The poems are exquisite – unnecessary you could say, for what is art, but a visual not verbal experience… but beautiful as well, because the lines of the poems are expressed in different colours (the mind of an artist). It reminded me of my first encounter with Edvard Munch, in Oslo, January 1973. I was on my way to taking up a job as a waitress in the Haukeli Mountains and staying in Oslo at a youth hostel. I found Munch and Vigeland. They’re pretty hard to miss in a small city the size of Oslo. It was snowing too, that much I remember. I was in love then with all things Norwegian and still hold huge affection in my heart for that time in my life. It was here I first learned to ski and to haltingly speak snippets of another language.

Gustav Vigeland sculpture

This delightful accident, the Picasso Museum, remains an unforgettable art experience both the intimacy of the setting, the sharing of it with my son and the lack of expectation enabling a true heart to art experience. I purchased this poster advertising an exhibition which now hangs in our bathroom and the other is a print which hangs in our bedroom.

Years ago, when my children were preschoolers, and we didn’t have a lot of money to decorate our humble Edwardian villa in Brooklyn (not New York, but Wellington), I used to drive my olive-green Mini down to the Wellington library and fill the boot with art for hire. It was a lot of fun and a cheap way to dress our house and the great advantage being you never got bored as you just took the picture back and got another one. These were reproductions such as Vermeer’s ‘Girl with a Pearl Earring’ and Van Gogh’s ‘Bedroom in Arles’ but oh the joy racing through the Louvre to see the Vermeer original. I know, I know, they’re practically clichés, but they looked lovely on our wall.

At primary school in the fifties, one of my most humbling experience was being part of a team in class where you had to run to the front of the room and draw something – my task was to draw a hand – all I had to do was place my hand on the blackboard and draw around it to get a fairly reasonable image – but I didn’t have the confidence or imagination for that, and instead I froze at the board mortified, unable to even decide how many fingers a single hand held. It’s one of those frozen moments of life that you never forget. My own version of ‘The Scream’. Nowadays, I teach English as a second language and I find being unable to draw a big advantage – I have no shame and I attempt to draw and the students laugh and through their laughter they name the object that I have so poorly tried to represent – you see my lack of shame unlocks their language.

My friend has reminded me of my introduction to Edward Munch, my astonishment and attraction to ‘The Scream’ before I knew it was a famous painting, and too, of the joy of Frognor Park, my very first up close encounter with stone brought to life. Coming from New Zealand in the early 70’s I was too, a teeny bit startled by so much public nude abandonment (even in stone)… I loved the girl with the flying hair and now I am a grandmother, and I see my granddaughter, her plaits flying as she dances for me in our garden.

On Day Two we headed straight to the Prado.  There’s not much I can add to the story told in one of the world’s great galleries.  We made a beeline straight to the far corner of the ground floor where the extraordinary Black paintings by Goya are located.  Walking in I was instantly riveted by The Drowning Dog.  If you leave aside the facture in this smallish picture the image is startingly contemporary – the stark minimal ground in two colours with that small, almost dashed off, number of very few brushstrokes of the dog’s head.  And the rest of those haunting paintings fill the room with amazing images that are nothing short of pure genius.  From that room you pass through another space before entering the room with the 2nd and 3rd July pictures – both larger than I had expected but just as spectacular.  The Velasquez’s are just as staggering, Las Meninas of course is the stand out but there are so many others.  Then the Garden Of Earthly Delights by Bosch – surely still one of the craziest pictures ever made…some of that imagery I swear could only be the result of an encounter with an alien race!  And there are so many other great paintings to swallow up, a clutch of top notch El Greco’s, a marvellous Titian (one of several) and a stunning Fra Angelico.  We did four hours…by which time I was getting ‘picture blind’ and so the rest of the afternoon was resting up our critical faculties in the lovely Parque del Retiro…a great location to relax in and unwind from the ‘masterpiece’ overdose.

In one part of which is this pavilion..a ‘loose’ copy of the Crystal Palace in the UK, the one that burnt down, that was hosting yet another contemporary art installation by a Czech artist called Jiri Kovanda.  Entitled ‘Two Golden Rings’ it comprised a twine that circled the inner space of the pavilion wrapping itself around the central pillars.  From only a few yards away the ‘piece’ was pretty much invisible…once inside it ‘revealed’ itself.

The picture above gives you the ‘jist’ of it.  For a few minutes as I wandered around the outer side of it I got to thinking that it was but one ‘golden ring’ but then…just off to the central ‘dog leg’ of the building there were a gaggle of folk and an attendant…

gathered around a rounded off ‘cube’ of matting.  Ah ha! the second ‘golden ring.  And the blurb says that he “proposes a poetic reflection on questions such as existential precariousness, the sense of loss, the tendency towards entropy or the notion of impurity.”  Oh dear…

And I shall refrain from any comment on the show by Heimo Zobernig in the superb spaces of the Palacio de Velázquez.  Suffice to say that the back half of the afternoon was a far cry from the joys of the morning.

Dinner at the wonderful Casanis – pretty much a sensation…a Bouillabaisse of exquisiteness, followed by a Turbot dish worthy of a two star Michelin joint.  Washed down with a decent white from Bordeaux.

So, El Greco is probably one of my favorite painters ever just because of his style. It’s real, and kind of creepy, and colorful, and deep, you know? There’s such a range here, and no one else has his style. He is El Greco. It’s just a beaut of a painting!

El Greco, born Doménikos Theotokópoulos, (1541 – 7 April 1614) was a painter, sculptor and architect of the Spanish Renaissance.

National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

Ohio

I am not usually fond of history, especially in school where it is usually memorization of names and dates and names and dates and places. However, everything that I have learned about the history of the Iberian Peninsula (Spain and Portugal) has been fascinating. Every city has its own story; reflected in the culture, the architecture, the people, and the flood of emotions that hit you as you gaze upon centuries of life.

I only had the opportunity to visit Toledo for one day, but with all there is to see, one could easily spend weeks uncovering the treasures hidden across the city. I was only able to explore a few of the most famous sites and some of the local restaurants, but I was lucky to have gone on a Panoramic bus tour of the city and was able to see one of the most breathtaking views in all of Spain.

The most amazing aspect of Toledo is that over the thousands of years of history Muslims, Jews, and Catholic have all controlled the city. It was and is one of the only places where all three religions and peoples have been able to live simultaneously and peacefully for many years. This mix of cultures gives Toledo a unique environment to match its complex and diverse history.

Another interesting part of Toledo is its connection with the famous artist, El Greco, who was commissioned to do many works for priests and for the city. His painting The Burial of the Count of Orgaz is still preserved in its original location in the Church of Santo Tomé.

The painting by El Greco

Throughout the entire city there are countless synagogs, churches, and mosques. We toured the Monasterio de San Juan de los Reyes. A beautiful church with an open garden courtyard and a mix of traditional Gothic styles with Mudéjar accentes, in the gardens, tiles, and geometric details.

Chains of Christians freed from the Moors in Andalusia

Interior of the sanctuary

Courtyard

Moorish geometric detailing

After seeing a Catholic church with Islamic influence, we visited the oldest synagoge in Europe constructed in 1180, Santa María la Blanca. The cooperation of the three religions is strongly expressed here. It was commissioned by a Christian king and built by Islamic architects for Jewish worship.

Arabesque horseshoe arches

Mix of the Moorish with Judaism

After the short tour of the city, we had free time to explore the winding streets, restaurants, and shops. During this time, my friends and I were able to see another side of Toledo’s culture. We went to a small café to watch the Madrid v. Barcelona fútbol game. It was packed with locals all eating tapas and watching a tiny TV in the corner of the bar.  And even though we couldn’t understand the announcers or even see much of the game, we still had a great time trying to fit in with all the Spaniards.

Scene: My sister and I walking in Montego Bay toward downtown debating whether to explore the “sketchy” part of town.

(Enter Steve): “I recognize you. I work at El Greco. My name is Steve. What are your names? It is market day so come with me and I’ll show you! No one will bother you when you are with me.  You can take all the photographs you want!” He then proceeds to give a a tour of old downtown, Montego Bay.I knew this ploy from a previous visit since they see the bright yellow wristband we need to get our complimentary breakfast and know where we are staying. (We figured out later to have it put on loosely so that we can slip it on and off.) I was O.K. with this situation since I REALLY wanted to take pictures downtown but was hesitant to attempt it with just the two of us.  Maybe not wise to trust a complete stranger but we were sucked in….
S-o-o-o-o here we go!

Sam Sharpe Square in the heart of Montego Bay makes a good place to start a walking tour of the town. Sam Sharpe is a national hero of Jamaica (1801, Jamaica – 23 May 1832, Jamaica) and was the slave leader behind the Jamaican Baptist War slave rebellion. Sam Sharpe was later captured and held at the jail cell in the square now known as the cage; He was tried at the court house now known as the civic center and hanged in the square along with other participants.

Today five main monuments are a testament to that faithful day. These include the fountain (not running that day), the court house where he was tried, his statue placed at the spot where he was hanged and two holding areas known as the cage. The square, formerly called Charles Square, contains a collection of bronze statues sculpted by island born Kay Sullivan that show the Bible-thumping Sam Sharpe talking to four of his followers.

The stone Cage is the other main feature of the square. The Cage was built in 1806 and originally used to hold captured runaway slaves and sailors, and those out after curfew. Since then it has been a town lock-up, latrine, a clinic and a tourist office. It now houses a small museum. ~ Don Philpott

The St. James Parish Church was built between 1775 and 1782. It underwent substantial repair work in 1957 following damage from an earthquake.There are many points of interest in the church, including two monuments by noted 18th century sculptor, John Bacon. One of these is a monument to Rosa Palmer, the former owner of Rose Hall Great House. Was she the “White Witch?”

The welcome wagon was ready to sell us string bracelets.

Of course, we made a deal so he was a happy camper.

An elaborate stained glass window was installed in 1911. Adorning the walls are plaques and memorials to important figures in the history of Montego Bay. ~ Jamaica Travel and Culture.com

Cemetery near the main square where 21 Jamaican soldiers from WW II are buried.

Tour continues to two elementary schools; an infant school for very young students and an upper elementary school. It was fun to see kids just being kids.

Friday is Market Day so we found the street busy with vendors

Along the way we picked up a wing man, Dave, who claimed he “had our backs” and tagged along behind us. He also would pipe in with the history, information and would answer any questions. Oh, well, another one on the payroll.

Time to wind down our 1 1/2 hour tour of downtown Montego Bay and get a photo of our guides/bodyguards. Our attempts at fist bumping.

We pay our guides and part ways assuring them that we could walk back to the hotel unescorted. We had other offers for tours and taxi rides along the way with the opening line “I recogize you. I work at El Greco.” Been there, done that… The REAL test was continuing to wear the RIU Resort red wristband from Negril after returning to Montego Bay. All of a sudden we had so called ”employees” of RIU offering tours and taxi rides. Hmmm… Do we have gullible written all over us? Don’t answer that!!!

After a few days of orientation in Granada, my entire program took off for a weekend trip to Toledo and Madrid. Toledo is just four hours north of Granada, and for anyone who is familiar with “Don Quixote,” Toledo is located in the “La Mancha” region. On the drive up I noticed several windmills and had a little laugh thinking about the story. As we approached the city, it was like entering a fairy tale kingdom– the town sits upon a hill encompassed by a river and the beautiful buildings seem like castles. We arrived midday on Friday and were greeted by a tour guide who walked us through the city and explained the history behind many of the buildings. Toledo has a fascinating religious background because it has been conquered many different times. The most memorable part of the tour was seeing an incredible painting by El Greco called The Burial of the Count of Orgaz. This enormous painting is housed in the church of Santo Tomé directly above the tomb of the Count of Orgaz who died in 1312. The painting, which was completed in 1586 has never left the church.

View of Toledo

Following the tour of the city, we met up with students who are studying through Arcadia University in Toledo. Our program directors took us out for a nine course meal that lasted nearly four hours. By the time we were served the last course it was 11:30 at night and everyone was stuffed and exhausted.

View from my room in Toledo

We left early Saturday morning for Madrid which is just an hour and a half bus ride from Toledo. Immediately after checking into our hotel, which was wonderfully located just off the Puerta del Sol– one of the busiest places in Madrid, we met up with our tour guide who had traveled from Toledo to meet us. He directed us to the Museo del Prado, one of the most renowned art museums in the world. It is here that the Diego Valázquez painting, Las Meninas, is held. The piece is massive and absolutely astounding. We were lucky to be with such a knowledgeable tour guide who explained to us the different aspects of the painting, as well as where to stand in order to see it for all it’s worth.

We were also taken on a tour through the Palacio Real de Madrid. Unfortunately, on both of these tours I was not allowed to take photos and seeing as I am not exactly a writer, I’m finding it difficult to express the grandeur of the palace. I can assure everyone though, that your imagination is probably not letting you down here. If you hear the word palace and think of gold around every turn, magnificent chandeliers hanging from each ceiling, massive rugs across every floor, and every single piece of furniture covered with some intricate design you’ve hit the nail on shiny, brass head.

Maddie and I in the courtyard of the Palacio Real

That night we grabbed dinner at a market with small vendors selling various Spanish dishes and drinks. We then went back to the hotel to change and bar-hopped until we made it to a seven-story night club called Kapital, where a group of us danced until the early hours of the morning (“When in Rome…”).

Mercado de San Miguel

On Sunday morning we woke up and had until four in the afternoon to explore the city. We came across an open air market in a plaza as we were walking around. The picture below captures one of my favorite moments of the trip; it is of a man entertaining a crowd with a makeshift drum set. (Look for the video in my flickr set.) I loved watching the little kids play and dance around in the streets– very telling of the overall feel of the city.

Playing in the Streets– look at those smiles..

After eating lunch near the Plaza Mayor, we took the subway to the Museo Reina Sofía. This museum holds more modern pieces than the Museo Prado. Here I saw several Picasso paintings, including the Guernica. Now here is my sales pitch: I have never really considered myself to be someone who is overly moved by art. Music, maybe. But paintings have typically never been more than pretty pictures to me. The Guernica is incredible. The moment I stepped into the room and saw the colossal painting I almost lost my breath. The piece spans more than 25 feet and is over 10 feet tall, and the pain and chaos that it evokes is like nothing I have ever experienced after seeing a piece of art. To those who have not already seen it, if you ever get the chance, do not pass it up. You will not regret it.

Museo Reina Sofía

Madrid was a beautiful, lively city, and I am considering going back at some point during the semester to spend a little more time checking out the plazas and parks. I feel there is so much I did not have time to explore and discover. Still, visiting made me appreciate the fact that I am living in Granada even more than I already did. Madrid is much more crowded than Granada, and here I get the feel of a large city without the large masses of people everywhere.

Puerta del Sol

For the sake of not sounding too long-winded, I will end this post here. More on my first week of classes and trip to Málaga will come soon.

(**More pictures in my Toledo & Madrid flickr set. No pictures from inside the Santo Tomé, the Palace or the Museo del Prado. Some from the Museo Reina Sofía, although none were allowed to be take in the room where Guernica is displayed.)

Ueno Kōen is a large park in Tokyo where several major museums are located, including the Tokyo National Museum. The latter was my reason for coming to Ueno Park. On Tumblr I wrote that, “A national museum is the record of a civilization seen through the lens of a nation-state.” In the case of an island nation-state like Japan, its geographical boundaries were well-defined long before Japan emerged as a nation-state in the contemporary sense, so there is a significant continuity between pre-national Japan and Japan as a nation-state. Indeed, Japan could be termed a “civilization-state” — an idea that was introduced by Martin Jacques in order to try to define the relationship between the People’s Republic of China and Chinese civilization (cf. A Point Of View: Is China more legitimate than the West?).

This politicized conception of civilization makes national museums particularly interesting to me, and so I make a practice of seeking them out whenever possible. However, when I arrived at Ueno Kōen I discovered that the park is also the home of the Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum, which is currently hosting a temporary exhibition of fifty-one El Greco paintings, El Greco’s Visual Poetics. Yesterday at the Edo-Tokyo Open-Air Architectural Museum I noticed a posters advertising a major exhibition of El Greco paintings currently on show, and I made a mental note to look this up and see if I could find it; it found me when I arrived at Ueno. The pull of El Greco proved the stronger, so I went to the Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum first.

Detail of a painting from the Tokyo National Museum.

The ticket to enter the El Greco exposition was 1,600 Yen, so it was rather expensive as museums go. Despite the price, once I entered the exposition space I was surprised to see how crowded it was. One almost had to shoulder one’s way through the crowd in order to get up close to any of the pictures. I was even more surprised how quiet everyone was. In an interconnected series of rooms housing 51 paintings and hundreds of viewers milling about trying to get close to the paintings, the atmosphere was so quiet that one felt self-conscious coughing or clearing one’s throat. El Greco has long been a favorite of mine; I felt his presence at a show of icons that I viewed in Iraklion in 1993, and saw some of his most significant work in Toledo in 1998. Since then I have encountered individual paintings in many museums (for example, I wrote about an El Greco painting in Norway at the National Museum) but never before had a see an entire exhibition dedicated to El Greco’s ouvre.

A painting in the Tokyo National Museum.

The El Greco exhibition made a point of showcasing El Greco’s artistic development by showing paintings from early and late in his career side by side, sometimes the two contrasting paintings being of the same subject, as with the two portraits of Diego de Covarrubias. Of the two portraits, the earlier is more conventional and more superficially lifelike, but lacking the inner life — we might even say, lacking the inner disquiet and turmoil — of the later picture, which is pale almost to the point of a deathly pallor, i.e., exactly what one expects from a mature El Greco painting. The two paintings of The Adoration of the Shepherds, again, early and late, are as different as night and day — indeed, the earlier seems to depict the scene during the light of day, and the later to depict the same in the dark of night, illuminated from within by the life and spirit of the figures. I was especially interested in the painting “The Glory of Philip II” (which came from El Escorial, though I don’t recall seeing it there when I visited in 1994), which was remarkable in its medieval conventionality, and not at all what one expects from El Greco. Artists (and all creative individuals, for that matter) achieve greatness through the elimination of the conventional and schematic. Yet it may be necessary to begin with the conventional and the schematic in order to overcome it.

Another detail from another painting in the Tokyo National Museum.

After spending a couple of hours entranced by El Greco I left and walked a few minutes away to go to the Tokyo National Museum, my original object in coming to Ueno Park. After the experience of some of the most intense Western art, I saw what the Tokyo National Museum itself calls “Highlights of Japanese Art” — in other words, some of the most intense art of the Japanese tradition. This is another way to work toward the elimination of the conventional and the schematic — to see the world through the eyes of a distinct and alien tradition. One recognizes the objects depicted, but not the style in which they are portrayed. Everything is both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It is difficult to say whether or not this is a process of defamiliarization, as it is difficult to say whether or not the experience corresponds to the idea that to see is to forget the name of the thing one sees. Is to forget the name to forget the identity, or is to hold fast to the identity while forgetting only the formal linguistic apparatus by which we grasp the identity? Both interpretations are valid in their own sphere, and each represents a distinct idea — a distinct idea of the potential radicalism of perception.

Also from the Tokyo National Museum.

Make of the experience what you will, interpret as you please, see it through the lens of whatever idea best illuminates it, but this is precisely why I seek out the great museum collections. As I wrote above, a national museum is already a record of civilization seen through the lens of a nation-state. In viewing the collection we see it through our own lenses, which may correct, may magnify, or may distort the intended image. Only know that it is an image, and do not mistake the image for anything other than what it is. No one looking upon El Greco can forget that they look upon an image. There is no pretense of naturalism. This is the ideal perspective to bring with one when one goes to visit a national museum.

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Outside the Tokyo National Museum.

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Tucked away on a shabby stretch of the Upper West Side, New York City is the Hispanic Society of America, the largest collection of Spanish art outside of Spain.

It’s a gem of a place, way up in Washington Heights on West 155th street and Broadway, an area that is largely Dominican these days. Part of a grand 19th-century complex now shared with a local college, the first clue to its existence is the statue of El Cid in the courtyard (not by a Spaniard, but by American artist Anna Hyatt Huntington).

El Cid on the Upper West Side, at the Hispanic Society of America.

Its name is somewhat misleading to modern ears: the Hispanic Society is dedicated to Iberian art, although it does have some pieces from Latin America in its collection.

The Hispanic Society of America, in New York.

The Society was founded in 1904 by Hispanophile collector Archer Milton Huntington and boasts some 800 paintings, 6,000 watercolours and drawings, 15,000 prints and 176,000 photographs – plus a collection of, um, door knockers. Its reference library is available to the public and contains 600,000 books, manuscripts and letters from the 10th century to the present day – a Spanish scholar’s dream.

Some highlights from the collection:

• Goya’s Portrait of the Duchess of Alba (1797)
• A trio of Velazquez paintings (including the menina-style Portrait of a Little Girl)
• Works from all the usual suspects: Zurburan, Murillo, El Greco, de Ribera
• Roman mosaics excavated in Spain
• A remarkably modern-looking sculpture of the young Saint Acisclus from the 17th-century
• Tons of ceramics from Manises, Spain (a place for which I have a soft spot, as I used to teach there)
• An entire room dedicated to Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida’s 14 giant canvases, the Provinces of Spain (1911-1919)

These last are a real highlight – a truly stunning display of scenes from early 20th-century Spanish life in a soft, impressionist style. Sorolla’s ‘visions of Spain’ depict cultural scenes from the country’s provinces: ‘bread day’ in Castille, newlyweds with oranges in Valencia, penitents and bullfighters in Seville.

Sorolla’s Provinces of Spain

The scenes are pastoral, rustic, joyful, impossibly exotic and probably quite idealised – but they deliver a knock-out blow all the same. The paintings were commissioned by Archer Milton Huntington for the Hispanic Society itself and the room containing them recently had a makeover courtesy of Bancaja (who says bankers are good for nothing?).

Bread day at a Castille market, Provinces of Spain by Sorolla

If you’re a fan of Spanish art and eccentric museums, the Hispanic Society is for you – worth the trek to the upper reaches of Manhattan. It’s also free, publishes books and stages regular events. Give generously.

Plaque with scenes from Don Quixote – ca. 1727-1749, at the Hispanic Society of America.

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At Sunday Mass, we find ourselves in the middle of a three week tour of St. Paul’s treatise on love and unity. Next Sunday, Mass will be like a wedding. The second reading will be I Corinthians, chapter thirteen.

This Sunday, we hear the second part of the twelfth chapter, which contains one of the most entertaining passages in the entire Bible: Body parts begin talking to each other, like members of a self-pity support group.

The goofy-looking foot miserably laments, “I am not a hand, so I really don’t feel included!” The hand just sits there quietly, looking graceful and debonair.

Then the ugly, lumpy ear jumps in: “Look at me! I am not luminous and iridescent like the eye over here. So I just get shut off to the side and used as a kind of doorstop for people’s glasses!”

Let’s focus on this: In writing this section of his letter, St. Paul focused his imagination on the human body with the meticulous eye of a portrait painter.

The portrait painter wants to capture the details of all the various parts of a person’s human form, in order thereby to present the unique and distinctive whole: the personality of this particular human being.

If you don’t mind, let’s take an example. My favorite portrait painter is El Greco (as you can tell, because he is in the Hall of Fame to the right). He painted a portrait of a friend of his, a priest and Trinitarian friar, whom the king of Spain had appointed preacher to the royal court.

You can tell by looking at El Greco’s portrait that the young priest is very learned. He is mesmerizing, pious, and overly intense. He is an extremely attractive man, but a little too sure of himself. It is clear that He is willing to spend himself altogether in the Lord’s service, but his eyes are not 100% honest.

El Greco has communicated all this personal information by depicting with paint the various parts of the young man’s body. And most of his body is hidden by his clothes. But as soon as you lay eyes on the painting, the person himself comes into view, the whole which all the parts make up.

Our bodies are a congregation of many strange-looking organs, but, held together in unity, they shine forth as one single, genuine thing: a person.

Most of our organs are either covered over by other organs—like the prostate and the intestines, the lungs and the grey matter are all covered by bones and skin—or they are covered-over by clothes.

So, really, pretty much we don’t see each other’s bodily organs at all, and that’s as it should be. Yet, when you put the whole package together and dress it up right, you’ve got one single, beautiful object—the most beautiful single object on the face of the earth, a human being.

Now, Christ our infallible teacher, our High Priest, and our omnipotent King: Jesus has brought about the genuine unification of all things into one consummately beautiful Body. God and creation, all the choirs of angels praising, and all the members of the human race, all of us who believe in the triune glory of God: We form a body. Like the spleen, the meniscus, the medulla oblongata, the pyloric sphincter, the upper and lower molars, the tonsils, the diaphragm, the entire thorax, the gluteus maximus, the elbow, the sternum, the aorta, and all the other various organs form a single body that is beautiful. This same ineffable unity that all these anatomical objects have together, we have it together, too, with God, with Christ, with the cosmos.

So…Feet, listen. Ears, listen. Listen, aorta and spleen—and eyebrows, ribcage, sinuses, epiglottis, toenails: We have need of you.

If the whole body were an eye, where would the water reabsorption be? We need kidneys and intestines, as well as pretty eyes. But lumpy ears, don’t get too proud! If the whole body were hearing, where would the mucus membrane be? We need a nose; we need a nasal septum. We need it all!

Maybe sometimes I look at my portrait-painter mental image of my parish, and I think to myself, “In this picture, you can’t even see me, because I am hidden from view by a trouser leg.” Or maybe I think of my picture of the great Church universal, governed by the Vicar of Christ in Rome, and I say to myself, “Well, gosh. Yes, I am in this picture, sure enough. But I’m behind the cuff on the shirt sleeve. I’m just like a little hair follicle on the wrist. You can’t see me at all.”

But: The point is not for me to be the beautiful object seen. I’m a part, not the whole. Think of the five lumbar vertebrae in Sophia Loren’s lower back. These little bones have never thought of themselves, each individually, as potential supermodels. No.

The beautiful whole has many invisible parts that make it beautiful. Every single member of the Body of Christ—everyone praying, striving to live right, loving the neighbor, and tirelessly seeking the truth—every single member, every one, together, united, forms one, single, unified Body. God Himself looks upon this Body—of which each of us is a part—He gazes upon this Body with all the loving ardor of the most besotted admirer.

More on that next week…

“Victory over Death” Billboard, Beach Rd Auckland

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