Noblese Oblige: Privilege and responsibility

Throughout Western history, since the Renaissance, Aristocracy has defined the standards and parameters of good taste. This seems to almost be a natural occurrence in any social structure with an upwardly mobile middle class. Style and fashion are engendered by those with education money and privilege, those with social aspirations follow suit, and the “latest things” then flow out into the provinces to be replicated as best they can be. Of course, the industrial revolution in the 19^th century made mass production possible. This means that, today, those living far from urban centers of style can have most of the same things those living in the cities have, and fads and fashions are produced in a range of quality and price, giving one and all as much style as they can afford to have. 

This was true up until World War 2. Two world wars and a world wide depression combined with the various effects and influences of modern civilization erased the social power of the aristocracy and the respect it once commanded. However, even as pop culture celebrities took over the reigns, guiding the future path of aesthetic innovation, there was still an overall attitude of aspiration in society. People endeavored to put on the best front possible; sincerely maintaining their “respectability” and superficially “keeping up with the Jones.” The only real difference was they looked to Hollywood instead of high society for inspiration. 

Over the past fifty years, however, the aspiration has faded. People have become increasingly satisfied merely watching their idols live out the collective fantasy of a “good life.” Part of this is undoubtedly the far too often ignored fact that the American dream is slipping further and further out of the reach of ordinary people. Another issue is the fact that the media has dominated every day life with images so unrealistic that ordinary lives seem impossibly small by comparison. But there is also the modern philosophy that all things are equal; “Culture” was just a snobbish affectation and the difference between symphony concerts and American Idol is nothing but a matter of taste. 

So, if that’s true, why should one want to aspire to anything beyond easy reach? As I always say, perhaps even too often, because the pleasure it adds to life is worth it. At least, I always find that to be true. However, I have to admit that, as a Southern Gentleman, a belief in Western Civilization runs deep in my blood. I was brought up believing I was the future patriarch of a “fine old southern family.” We trace or roots back to the earliest days of recorded English history. I always believed that depending on the exploits of ones ancestors was a poor excuse for personal pride. In fact, while my grand parents did take significant pride in our history, even they taught me that “fine old families” only stay that way by the continued success of future generations. As much as my past was something to be proud of, it was also something to live up to. 

The positive side of this, and the one relevant here, is that they gave me permission to both expect a lot out of life and to feel that I deserve it. A few weeks ago I mentioned the possibility that people shopping in Thrift store often think the best clothes there are “too nice.” That attitude pervades some people’s whole lives. I suppose it is a natural thing for people who feel permanently consigned to a life of poverty, where all the “good things in life” are permanently out of reach to psychologically defend themselves with reverse snobbism; the “important things” being those things within ones own reach. An Internet acquaintance recently confessed that his house unsuitable for entertaining. There was a mention of piles of plastic bins and the fact that having nice things in the ghetto was just encouragement to get robbed. But then he went on to say he hated dinner parties anyway, or any other reason to have to get dressed up and “act fake all evening,” and his friends had finally learned not to invite him over to their houses, either, unless the were just going to” kick back and hangout.” That attitude may salve ones feelings against envy, but it does so at the cost of the pleasure and experiences that one could have. 

Years ago I worked at a craft shop in the local mall, just outside of the main entrance to Rich’s Dept. Store (the upscale store in the south back then). One afternoon I was having a conversation with another clerk in food court and she expressed surprise that there was a craft store. When I told her where it was she replied “Oh, I don’t go to that end of the mall. I can’t afford Rich’s.” Half the shopping mall was off limits because the store at that end was “expensive.” In fact clothes there were as cheap or cheaper than Sears at the other end, when they were on sale, and generally much nicer. 

I have a small collection of silver serving pieces, several actually sterling and the rest plate, that I inherited. I’ve added to those with a number of silver plate items I picked up at the thrift store. Of course silver isn’t to everyones taste but I think it looks nice on a table. One recent purchase was a vintage 1920’s silver ice bucket complete withtilt top lid and mercury glass liner. I was feeling cheap so I waited for it to go half price, which took a whole month. I thought it would be gone and felt stupid for waiting. It’s certainly worth far more than the $15 they were asking. I’m stubborn, though, and when I feel cheap I’m as rigorously cheap as I can be luxurious at other times. Amazingly, it sat there for a whole month and I got it for $7.50. I can’t help but wonder how many $18 tacky plastic ice buckets WalMart sold during the same time. 

Have I been particularly blessed by that elitist side of my upbringing? Does one have to be “to the manor born” to aspire to the best of everything? This situation is something I wonder about and don’t have an answer for (comments would certainly be welcome).  Perhaps people who grow up without a sense of culture can’t ever take the initiative to reach for it. Judging from what seems popular on TV, they certainly haven’t lost interest in it. The sales of lottery tickets indicate a deep desire to get rich for some purpose. Will money give them permission to live well, or is the need to “get rich” simply a reflexive matter of habit; something they’ve been told to desire? I hope that’s not true.  If we can not find a sense of pride not just in the exsistential fact of being human, but in the very real fact of living human lives, then all hope for art and letters, and whatever dignity and granduer Western Civillization has had, is lost.

I regret there are no pictures this week. the unfortunate obligations of life has left me without time to arrange them. I hope my words are enough.

Exquisite Serendipity

I had several ideas of what I might write this week tussling with each other in my brain. Part of the struggle is that they sort of overlap and link together. I don’t want to end up repeating myself. I’ll arrogantly assume my loyal readers will read everything and therefore don’t need to see it twice. Then out of “nowhere,” as it were, thought in fact it was an email from a very specific someone, I received a YouTube video that I have kept coming back to all day. It is the most charming thing I’ve seen in ages and if you think you have something more charming, please do send it to me!

This is just wonderful on every possible level! “My Modern Metropolis,” says this was done on the morning of March 23 at the Central Station in Antwerp, Belgium. The only downside is that I have to confess it was staged by the Belgian TV station as publicity for a reality TV show called “op Zoek naar Maria,” which I’ve seen interpreted as “In Search of Maria.” I don’t speak Dutch so forgive me if that’s not accurate. This is a version of a recent BBC show called “How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?” in which Graham Norton join forces with Andrew Lloyd Webber and West End producer David Ian in search of an unknown star to play Maria in a revival of “Sound of Music.”

 

It’s true; I hate reality TV with a passion. However, the difference between a snob and an elitist is that an elitist never argues with success. This video flashed onto the Netisphere in the last few days. I’ve received in two separate emails from different places today. YouTube says it’s been viewed over 314,000 times when I watched it (6 times) and the title pulls up over 125,000 hits on Google (which makes me wonder if the count on YouTube is accurate). People are smiling and “LOL!”ing on blogs around the world.I hope this blog aims a little higher than merely passing on Net spam, though.

Daphodil from the Hawley Green neighborhood planting in Syracuse, NY.

I was in a rather poor mood this morning before this brought a smile to my face. After I saw it I couldn’t stop going back to it. I started thinking about that. We desperately need more joy in the world. We need more silliness in the world. More play. We need random acts of serendipity! A group of people in my neighborhood got a community grant to buy several thousand bulbs. One Saturday afternoon, last fall, they ran around the neighborhood with auger drills planting bulbs around street signs, in random clumps along the edge of the sidewalk, and beside some people’s front steps. Spring is here and now, as if by magic, the whole neighborhood is breaking out in blooms. Not near as show stopping as 200 people dancing in a train station, but they are making people smile, and I’m sure it’s making them wonder “where those flowers came from,” too.

 

 

Someone, on one of the dozen or so blogs I’ve looked at today, searching for the back story to “Do Ra Me” called it “Guerilla Joy.” I think that’s perfect. In a world oppressed by Recession, wars, and terrorism, we desperately need Guerilla Joy. That morning, 200 people made several hundred others smile and tap their feet. It doesn’t stop there, though, they poured out of that train station across the city of Antwerp smiling at other people, being kinder than they might have been which in turn made other people smile. Now, like the proverbial bread cast upon the waters, the video is going around the world touching hundreds of thousands and every comment I saw about said “It made me smile!”

 

I know my readership is still small and unlikely to have much influence. Still, just imagine if this idea were to gain traction in the world. What if all those people wasting time watching reality TV got together with neighbors, Sunday school classes, high school drama clubs, Boy & Girl Scout troops, Masonic Lodges, and started plotting random acts of Guerilla Joy.

 

What better response to terror and hatred than laughter? About five or six years ago, hate monger Fred Phelps decided to picket a Gay bar (unfortunately I can’t remember where and couldn’t find it). The bar owner sent out an SOS to the local Drag Queens who, in a matter of hours had set up a “Pray-a-thon” in front of the bar where Phelps was demonstrating across the street. The queens were raising money for the local AIDS charity in the form of donations and pledges based on how many hours Phelps would pray. With donations on the “tote” board racking up at over $500 an hour, Phelps packed up and hit the road before the day was over.

 

Would it be possible to stage a “9/11″ of guerilla joy? What would it take? What would it look like? It’s something to think about. Imagine an act of random beauty so exquisite that it stopped the whole world in its tracks. So touching grown men weep. People calling each other saying “you’ve got to get to a TV…find this on the Web, now!” CNN running the clip over and over all day. Pundits shaking their heads “Well, Bob, what else can you say it…it…was just amazing.”

President Barack Obama addresses a rally of about 14,000 people at the Taco Bell Arena at Boise State University February 2, 2008 in Boise, Idaho.

The President calling a press conference to say, “My fellow Americans today marks a new beginning for mankind. We have awoken to a new world and things will never be quite the same. We must band together and carry this spirit forward…”

 

Maybe instead of a Department of “Homeland Security,” we need a Department of General Welfare and the Pursuit of Happiness. A “Corps d’Esprit” to fan out across the land and build the esprit de corps of our nation. A Peace (and Happiness) Corps to spread joy around the world. This week, put on some Boogie Woogie music and dance around your living room with the blinds up and the curtains open. Buy a handful of flowers and pass them out to people in your office (or strangers on the bus!) saying “Happy Spring!” or maybe just “Happy Monday!” Smile at strangers on the side walk. Spend a few minutes at least wondering…is it possible…dancing in a train station…something bigger… a laugh heard around the world.

A Life Lived Conciously (Pts. 1 & 2)

A Life Lived Consciously (pt.1) 

It’s always been true that the majority of people live life with a minimum of deep thought. At least, it is true as long as life is relatively good and no particularly bad luck or misfortune disrupts the pursuit of whatever is popularly believed to be the ideal of the times. If all people thought deeply there would be little need for philosophers to do the thinking and then either cajole, or harangue, their fellowman with their insights. In fact, one of the perennial cornerstones of philosophy is the necessity of considering the facts and boundaries of one’s existence; as Aristotle said, “Know thyself.” That is easy advice to give, but not so easy to take. Looking deep into oneself honestly and clearly can often be a frightening prospect. 

Old Man In Sorrow- Vincent Van Gough

I’ve had to come to terms with two separate, difficult issues in my life that forced me to explore the very bottom of my soul. I’m gay and, for about ten years, from the age of fourteen or fifteen up into my mid twenties, I was depressed and suicidal. I suppose I was unusual in that my depression and contemplation of suicide had nothing at all to do with my homosexuality, despite that coming as a very unwelcome and disturbing surprise. What they do have in common is the fact that I feel the experience of coping with both of these issues made me far stronger and better person than I might otherwise have been. They have shaped me so profoundly I can’t imagine who I would be without those parts of myself. 

I won’t go into detail about how I came to be suicidal at the age of fifteen. Needless to say, it’s a long story. One of my therapists later summed it up by saying “You reached the age of understanding who you were as an individual and you couldn’t see any possibility of being ‘you’ in this world. With your absolute faith in life after death it made sense to put a quick end to this life and start over with whatever comes next.” Obviously, I survived, and I discovered ways to be me in this world. One can turn ones back on suicide but my experience is that one doesn’t recover. It’s like alcoholism. You can decide it isn’t a workable solution, you can avoid it thereafter, you can build a perfectly normal life far away from it, but it’s never gone. I haven’t seriously doubted my commitment to living in over 15 years but having overcome my fear of death, it’s always possible; not desirable, not acceptable, but never impossible. 

The bad side of this is vulnerability. A few years ago, I was in a difficult spot and a friend tried to buck up my courage by saying “When your back is against the wall you just have to fight harder!” I replied “M__, I don’t have a wall behind me; I have a cliff.” However, the good side is that life as a choice gives one power and forces one to take that power in one’s own hands. I can’t merely slump my shoulders in the face of disappointment and say “Well, I guess it’s the Lord’s will,” as many around me did when I was young. I look at people suffering the worst tribulations life can offer and I know I’m not likely to end up there because I can always end it and if it came to that, I would. 

This need to take good care of myself, the fact that having a life truly worth living is neither a luxury nor good fortune, but necessary for my survival is a large part of what drives me to “got to the trouble” to make my life, not just tolerable, but good! I can’t shrug my shoulders and ask “what can you do?” I have to find the answer and I do. As I said, though, this is empowering! I haven’t experienced it as a burden of constant vulnerability; constant fear of my weakness. On the contrary, I am constantly amazed and delighted by the opportunities that abound for those willing to simply reach out for them. Whether it is picking up a few exotic groceries at the Turkish market down the street, or finding second hand treasures at the thrift store, or starting a whole new career at the age of 45, a Good Life is really not hard to find. The other day a friend looked around my townhouse and said “This is beautiful. It’s like something from somewhere else. Somewhere better than this town.” It is the best I can possibly make it; nothing else would do.

My Livingroom- I'm pleased with it, although I don't think it's as outstanding as my friends do.

A Life Lived Consciously (pt.2) 

Realizing that I was homosexual was the beginning of a similar journey; a grasping for an identity that made life seem possible. I grew up Christian and heavily influenced by Southern Baptist theology. “Lust in one’s heart” was a sin, therefore I didn’t think explicitly about sex. I was almost 16 before my hormones burst through my righteous denial and I felt lust for the first time. The wrong kind. It wasn’t my fault. I knew that. I tried the silly things a boy with the vocabulary to read psychology books in the library, without the maturity to understand them, desperately might try in order to cure himself. They didn’t work. I prayed…hard and unceasingly. That didn’t work, either. I turned it over to “the Lord” and stopped worrying about it for several years. In 1980, there were no Gay Straight Alliances in high schools or gay couples going to the prom. I never even heard of any quack psychology conversion programs, so there wasn’t much to “do,” except wait to grow up. 

Everyone has heard the adage “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Being gay is that thing. It’s impossible to fully describe the experience of realizing in one afternoon that you are a social pariah.

Lonely Country Road- Perhaps in the Pacific North West

Imagine being teleported suddenly to the opposite end of the country. You are outside of everything you know, outside of yourself even, your life has self destructed, but you can’t tell anybody. Who would you go to and say “Excuse me, but I don’t live here. I live a thousand miles away but I went to the movies this afternoon and when I came back out I’m here instead of there and I need to get back but I don’t know how.” 

The average person lives in a cocoon of respectability. This is especially true if that person is growing up in a sheltered middle class suburban community, in the embrace of an “Old Southern Family.” Even people who might consider themselves estranged and excluded from the American Dream generally still have the assurances of family, an inherited cultural identity. They can consider themselves “normal” even if ostracized and discriminated against. Being homosexual wiped the slate clean, particularly twenty five or thirty years ago. I had every advantage a young straight white middleclass American male could ask for, until I realized I was a faggot. Fifteen years old, a thousand miles away- in the space of Saturday afternoon matinee- and the only choice is to walk down that long road alone trying to get back home. That which doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. 

I think heterosexual people would benefit from “coming out” as much as gay people do. What do they have to come out about, you ask? That, indeed, is the question. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if it’s possible to go through that process voluntarily, although it’s really nothing, more than a question of courage. It isn’t that heterosexuals have some dark secret to confess. Rather, it is what they might gain by defining themselves rather than being defined by others; being defined by that vague idol of Respectability they pay homage to. Question any straight man’s masculinity, on even the flimsiest of grounds and chances are good he will either erupt in anger or be sputtering in self conscious defense. 

Anonymous man at the Toronto Gay Pride Festival

People ask “what is there about being gay to be proud about?” Gay people aren’t exactly proud of being gay as much as they are proud of surviving and having the courage to say they are proud to be Gay and no longer ashamed to be queers, faggots, homos, sodomites. That long road home is a journey toward finding the strength and courage to say “I Define Myself and ONLY I Define Myself!” In one of my performance art pieces I say “If you want to put a straight man down, call HIM a faggot! He cares.” I suspect that fear of (or envy of) that freedom from conformity is the real cornerstone of homophobia. That strength is the gift of being gay. 

Living life deeply, authentically, consciously, and truly independently requires courage and effort. Being gay has given me that courage and not fearing death has forced me to make the effort. I have a certain amount of sympathy for those who simply can’t rouse themselves out of the status quo. I can only say the rewards far more than justify “going to the trouble,” if you can.

Dressing for the Theater (and other places)

 

Dressing for the theater seems to almost be a thing of the past. I suppose it’s yet another casualty in the culture war against going to any trouble. Dressing down is an epidemic of universal proportions in all aspects of our society. I’ve dubbed it “Casuality,” and consider it a bane of modern life. It is just another facet of the egalitarianism that, I guess, is supposed to provide us all comfortable shelter but only really serves to drain meaning and a sense of occasion from life.

 

 

 

Myself and a friend at a networking cocktail party- Calvin Klien Velvet Blazer, Adam Zio cotton shirt, vintage silk cravat (tied half Windsor) w/vintage bar pin, wool vest, wool slacks, Georgio Brutini snake shoes

At the Syracuse Opera the other night, I was pleased to see that most of the men in the Orchestra section wore jackets and a few women even wore long dresses. It’s too bad more of the men didn’t wear ties.  I won’t count shorts, slacks, socks and shoes, since I could have hardly gone without them, but it only took me approximately two minutes to button my vest, five minutes to tie my tie and secure it with a vintage pearl studded bar pin and thirty seconds to slip on a Harris Tweed jacket. This was not particularly a Herculean effort and being one of the best dressed men in the audience was…priceless.        (I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

 

 

 

 

Really, though, why dress up? Aren’t chinos and an open collared shirt good enough, possibly with a kaki sports coat since it was cool outside anyway? In a word: no. The audience is almost as responsible for creating the experience as the performers are on stage. What if the cast decided not to bother putting on costumes? Really! Those fancy Renaissance duds are expensive to rent. They are heavy and uncomfortable to wear; hot under the stage lights. The voices would sound the same without the clothes. And the sets, too, could be much simpler, if not neglected all together. A live orchestra is really excessive today considering the fidelity one can get from a CD and a good sound system. On second thought, why go at all? Just stay at home and rent the DVD.

 

The defining essence of many experiences is the extras, not merely the bare necessities. Often times, the extras include taking the trouble to dress well. It’s a matter of respect for the event, as well as the other people attending, but it’s also a chance to look good and feel special. It’s not just a problem at the theater, although I think I’m more conscious of it there than most places.

I’m not sure I understand what fashion means at this turn of this century. Things do change and life would be an intolerable bore if they always stayed the same but the contemporary attitude to fashion strikes me as one of those instances of emotional hypocrisy in society that I find so infuriating and discouraging.

 

It’s not like we no longer spend money for clothes. We do! It’s not that styles have completely moved on. Nice clothes and evening dress still exists in ready supply. If you watch all the media commentary around the Academy Awards every year, you might get the mistaken impression that the fashion show on the red carpet was more important than the movies and cinema artists being honored with Oscars. Several thousand people gather outside the auditorium before the event, not because they care who is going to win, but rather to be there live watching celebrities emerging from sleek black limos; the ladies in couture gowns and borrowed jewels and the men in de rigure Armani “tuxes.”

Yes, we do care what our celebrities wear; especially the women. The right dress can put a star on a pedestal next to the saints and a moment of misjudgment by her stylist results in weeks of commentary and vicious repartee. A celebrity can’t even wear sweat pants to the grocery store if the paparazzi catches them, but virtually the only time “ordinary” people dress up is their senior prom and family weddings.

Me and a friend site seeing at the Toronto Film Festival- Knit polo shirt, linen slacks, Georgio Brutini loafers, H&M scarf and bag

 

 

 

Years ago, I was a costume designer for several local theater companies. They had small budgets so most of the clothes were bought at Thrift Stores, if possible, rather than hand made. I spent a lot of time searching for a wide range of clothing to put on stage. I was amazed at the nice clothes one could get, particularly in the women’s department. American men rarely wear interesting clothes at all and tend to wear the clothes they have until they are worn out, if they don’t out grow them. Women’s fashion changes more often and there was no shortage of barely worn secondhand garments to choose from. Unfortunately, I saw silk blouses with designer labels languishing on the rack while the generally lower income women who shopped in those places nearly came to blows over tacky rhinestone studded track suits and “hand painted” sweat shirts.

 

The reason only requires a little conjecture. They felt comfortable with the distinctly down market glamour of those clothes, how ever questionable their taste. I feel sure they looked at the much nicer castoffs thinking “That’s pretty but I don’t have anywhere to wear that!” Never mind wearing it out dinner, to see a movie, or out shopping on Saturday afternoon. Only “rich” people get dressed up to go out. Ordinary people fear their friends would think them putting on airs or trying to seem better than their neighbors.

 

Unfortunately, that’s not an unfounded concern today. I get the impression most people would feel far more uncomfortable being the best dressed person in a room than being under dressed. I usually dress well because I like it. It’s fun! It makes me feel good, as well as confident. I will admit I’ve perennially been assumed to have more money than I do, and even often mistaken for a celebrity. I suppose that’s because people assume that an ordinary person would bother or presume to get dressed up.

 

 

Me, outside Licoln Center after a tour- I bought this cape at Bananna Republic twenty years ago. It's warm, practical, so distinctive and stylish that strangers stop me on the street to comment, and being excelent quality it's still as good as new. Unique, high quality garments that express your personal style are literaly timeless. (H&M scarf, Scala wool driving cap, Rockport walking shoes)

When I say I “dress up,” I don’t mean I wear a jacket and tie every day. I just mean I rarely wear jeans and never blue denims, T –shirts, or athletic shoes (I do have a pair of Rockports for walks in the park). I make sure my corduroys in the winter and linen slacks in the summer are matched with shirts, sweaters, jackets and accessories that go well together. Last month, a friend commented that I was the only man in town who looked stylish in an overcoat. It’s a matter of attitude and presentation, but one I think anybody could manage if they cared to.

 

 

 

 

If the styles of clothes held up for admiration had really changed, if people simply no longer cared about fashion at all, I think it would a tragedy, but at least an understandable one. The worse tragedy is that the media attention given movie star “frocks,” and the seasonal runways of fashion week, prove that we have not lost an appreciation for fine clothes and dressing up. The hundreds of millions of dollars that people spend every year on designer jeans, T-shirts and athletic shoes prove people have money in their budgets to spend on clothes. It’s just a pity that the egalitarianism that is supposed to make us all equal has not liberated the masses to claim style, glamour and beauty for themselves.  If you don’t think anyone else is “better than” you, prove it being the best you can be; by acting, and dressing, like the people you admire, and perhaps, wish you were.

Me at the New York State fair- Why wear a baseball cap when you can keep the sun out of your eyes with a real hat?(That's a Deep-fried Oreo Cookie and I didn't care for it)

 

Beautiful Things

The word “beauty” holds particular significance for me. I think Beauty, Grace, and Function are the foundation for every aspect of living. While every object and experience should function well, according to its purpose, simple utility is never enough.

Function should be graceful and achieved without excessive effort. Perhaps this is the one aspect of not going to any trouble that I can agree with.

Bookcase with sliding glass doors and antique/vintage china. I prefer hardback books whenever possible.

I moved in with my last roommate and he had a manual can opener that hurt my hand to use. I even asked him about it, thinking maybe it just didn’t fit my hand, but he agreed that it was uncomfortable but “it does the job.” I bought a new one the next day. There are enough significant pains in life that are not easily fixed. I have no patience with discomfort that I don’t have to put up with.

Closely allied with Grace, is Beauty. Sadly, even as beauty is an obsession that almost goes beyond sanity in certain limited ways in our society, in too many others, it is completely ignored, or even rejected. Many people today proudly claim to not be materialistic and yet they still live in houses surrounded by all the necessary tools and accessories of civilized modern life. Perhaps they don’t have the quantity of things that others do, but they still have them. Not being materialistic becomes little more than an excuse to live an unattractive life in an unattractive environment while taking dubious pleasure in the perceived self righteous superiority of self-denial. Others seem positively obsessed with glamour, at least the glamour they see on their TV screen, but fail to claim any of it for themselves in their real lives.

Things from my bath-(clockwise from left) Pepper Spice soap on china dish, decanters for mouthwash and bubble bath, wood and natural bristle bath brush, cinnamon clove toothpaste, monogramed bath towel.*

If things, however necessary and useful they are, must impose themselves into my space, I insist they be aesthetically pleasing. In the mid twentieth century the Modernist Architects proposed that Form should follow Function and ornamentation was superfluous, to the point of being “a crime.” Manufacturers seized on that because, whether or not Les Corbusier was correct in saying “Less is more,” it is almost always true that less is cheaper to produce. Consumers were fooled by fashion into thinking that purchases striped down to their bare essentials were the latest thing, and “new” is always superior in the marketplace of Western Civilization.

While it’s true that in the Victorian era, even the most mundane objects were given almost improbable decoration, at least there was a universal assumption that everything in life should be aesthetically pleasing. Today we accept the idea that beauty is a luxury at best, and too much of it is pretentious, foolish, and decadent.

(clockwise from left) Paper clips, engraved pens, depression glass bowl of jelly beans, card case w/ custom business cards, letter opener (antique silver fruit knife), pushpins, monogramed note cards.*

I shop with a different attitude. Everything I bring into my life is judged against a standard of how much pleasure it brings me. Even paper clips can be delightful if they are cleverly made. How much more should something far larger and more important offer? In my opinion, it should offer a lot. This has led to my coining the phrase “Beautiful Things.” Over time I realized that I’m occasionally surprised by something wonderful. More often than not, it’s not something I “need.” For better or worse, I’ve spent much of my life as a starving artist. I have to admit I can’t remember ever missing a meal, except by choice, but money has never been plentiful and often very limited. I have learned through experience, though, that when Beautiful Things call out to me, I must do everything possible that I can to acquire them, otherwise I’ll spend days, weeks, even years, regretting the lost opportunity.

(clockwise from left) Stick pins, pocket watches, change in depression glass dish, vintage tie pins, gold and bakelite cufflink setd, gold ring w/ rubies, nickle silver ring, my favorite burgundy vintage silk cravat.*

Years of looking back in regret over the loss of a new sweater, knickknack, or gadget may seem extreme, but Beautiful Things are things I can see myself being happy with for a lifetime, or at least until the particular item has worn out. Settling for anything less is accepting an inferior standard of living; missing out on the dozens, or even hundreds of moments of pleasure that a Beautiful Thing might have offered. These things do not come along every day and they may not be waiting on a shelf at the store when I do decide I need them. Beautiful Things are not always perfect things and a Beautiful Life surely isn’t perfect. Nothing really is perfect. A Beautiful Life is always a work in progress but it would be boring and stifling if it were complete. The challenge and the journey are part of the pleasure. This is the standard I set for myself, to arrange my life in a way that gives me absolute satisfaction, which includes the satisfaction of going to whatever trouble is necessary to make it so.

My bar- (L to R) Cocktail shaker, Vintage silver plat ice bucket and tongs, Cocktail pitcher, Vintage and contemporary cut crystal decanters, Port bottles, assorted glassware.*

* These pictures do not necessarily represent what I would consider to be the most beautiful things I own. None of them are the most beautiful things, of their type, available. They are however, things that bring me moments of joy and, I hope, represent the many minor details that help create a life of exquisite pleasure.

Romeo & Juliet at the Syracuse Opera

Romeo & Juliet at the Syracuse Opera

 

I went to the Syracuse Opera on Friday (March 6). I love the opera for many reasons. While the ritual of attending the opera has unavoidably been diluted by “Casuality,” the same as most public gatherings today, the show onstage has not. Opera is an art form that, even with a necessary foundation of natural talent, takes years of hard work to master. Opera, as a style of music, is relatively unforgiving. It pushes voices to the limits of their ability and offers little room for error. The singer stands onstage, exposed in the spotlight, pouring the expanse of human emotion into song. When they succeed, the results are breath taking.

 

Ideally, opera should be seen live. Opera is a collective ritual of culture; the singers, the orchestra, and the audience gathered to witness. Only live performance offers the thrill of singularity. The opera may be staged a thousand times, but this performance will never happen again. Only in live performance is there no safety net, just this one chance for a voice, racing up and down the arpeggios of the score like a bobsled going down the side of a mountain, to achieve perfection. It makes the heart race, the eyes brim with tears, and “bravos’ leap into the back of the throat.

 

 This one was very pleasant and had moments of the artistic grandeur that one goes to the opera to see. The performance was Gounod’s “Romeo & Juliet.”

Sir Frank Dicksee, 1884

Of course, the story is a tragedy but one that we know so well that it doesn’t weigh me down with pathos, like Madam Butterfly or Camille. The love story seems to be the important part. Romeo and Juliet were both sung competently (Scott Ramsey, Amanda Payban) although Payban only really came into her own in the third act. She has a strong voice and throws her full power into it. This wasn’t the ideal sound for Juliet the love struck teenager, however later in the story, the emotional tenor rises to meet the strength of her voice and her poison aria was particularly well done.

 

Eric Jordan, as Friar Lawrence, was the outstanding member of the cast. His mellifluous bass was truly gorgeous, and I’m not usually moved by bass voices. Tybalt (Nathaniel Peak) was quite good, too. He sang well, and stood out for the appropriately blustering aristocratic swagger in his character and a well played death scene. Dying on stage, and particularly in opera, can verge on being comic if the actor isn’t careful to not over play it. The actor can’t just plop down in limp immobility, either, though. Peak found the appropriate, and emotionally convincing, middle ground. This opera ends with Romeo & Juliet dying in the tomb together, singing a final duet which they carried off with passion and great tragic aplomb. The rest of the cast and chorus were good as well, with Katherine Callcamuggio standing out as Stephano, the page boy.

 

The sets, costumes, and lighting were all quite good, too. They blended nicely into a very distinct visual texture that at times reminded me of the hand painted china figurines in a nativity set. I don’t think the sets in an opera can ever be “too much,” although I suppose they might conceivably over shadow the performance itself. Sets are extraordinarily expensive to build, though, so going overboard is a risk the budget usually prevents. Not doing enough, as in the production of Magic Flute last fall, is a significant danger for a small company. In this case, the set design was restrained, bordering on minimalist but with just enough detail and well chosen set pieces to maintain the visual interest. Over all, it was a very satisfactory evening. The final production in this year’s season is Little Women, on May 1 & 3. I’ll try to go see it and I’ve heard it is very popular, although I’m always a bit skeptical of contemporary opera. I’m looking forward to going back next year, as well, when they will be performing La Boheme, The Flying Dutchman, and Hansel & Gretel.

19th century bookplate engraving

Not Bad is Not Good Enough

Today, far too many people are content to sail along on the surface of life aiming simply for the mediocre safety of a life that’s “not bad.” My own thought is that life offers so much more potential than that! We are not simply animals. We have the capacity for deep and complex thoughts and, above all feelings. However, more often than not, aiming for an experience that is more than not bad requires going to some trouble. That seems to be the cardinal sin of our age- one should never “go to any trouble.” Everything should be quick, easy and not take over five minutes.

If avoiding trouble is the touchstone of life, then why not take a handful of pills, or put a gun to your head and avoid living all together? Living means “doing” something. Sadly, I think what many people “do” is watch TV and “trouble” is anything that takes them away from that. We have become a nation that much too often lives through the voyeuristic experience of our ubiquitous glass boxes. There are sports teams to perform the physical feats that make men feel like men, and movie stars to wear the designer dresses and jewels that make women feel glamorous. In the same way that pornography provides some with the thrill of fantasy sex, Cable Television provides most with a fantasy life.

These are the two great faults in Pop Culture. One is that it doesn’t even make a pretence of aspiring to excellence; not bad is always good enough. The other is that it largely consists of vicarious experiences. Modern people spend as much time living through the lives of others as we do actually having experiences ourselves. Maybe part of the problem is that the media has made our own lives seem so small in comparison to what is happening on the screen.

I have read that, before the national highway system was built in the early 1950’s and virtually every family bought a car, most average Americans rarely left the county they were born in. Those people living in the small towns that made up most of America might only meet a few thousand people in their whole lives. Foreign countries and even the lives of those in big cities might as well be on another planet. Life was a homogenous day to day existence lived largely among those who lived like you. Television, movies, and the Internet have brought the whole world right to our door step. It’s odd, though, that rather than raising our expectations, it seems to have lowered them.

On average Americans don’t eat as well, dress as well, or act as civil as they used to. It may be arguable whether the decoration of the average house has declined, but it certainly hasn’t risen by much. One could convincingly argue that music is not lower in quality, merely “different,” although I would say that being a successful pop musician today requires far less actual talent than it once did and fewer people play their own instruments at home. We do have more technical toys than we once did (i.e. cell phones, computers, Ipods, home theaters, etc.). Certainly, we have grown dependant on these and sorely miss them when we are deprived but I’m not convinced they have added that much to the quality of life. When I’m stuck on a bus sitting next to a lady endlessly chattering away on her cell phone, I become quite certain they are a detriment to our quality of life.

The one thing that has unquestionably improved is the volume and quality of our television and, not accidentally, the amount of time we spend watching it. Even if the overall quality has improved, it remains a decidedly mixed bag and the lowest common denominator consistently wins the rating wars. I wonder if Andy Warhol really knew how accurate he was in saying “In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes?” Fame used to be the result of accomplishment worthy on notice. Today, fame is an accomplishment- some might say the only accomplishment- worthy of notice.
Last summer, , Britiney Spears was at the nadir of her personal crisis and being trashed by the readers on an Internet forum. One of her fans nobly stepped in to defend her and yet the best he could offer was “She’s more famous than any of you people will ever be.” Fame is both it’s own reward and it’s own justification. This, I think is the driving force behind the dismal trend toward Reality TV. Some observers have noted the economic advantages to the producers since these shows are considerably cheaper to put on air, but they wouldn’t succeed if audiences didn’t embrace them. The real force behind reality TV is that merges life and art. Life is no longer real until it has been viewed through a TV screen.

Not bad is good enough, at least until a person wins the lottery and/or gets famous. Of course fame, infamy, and notoriety have all collapsed into a singular quality of recognition. It matters little how, or why, one gains celebrity, as long as one has it. On a perhaps subconscious level, other mere mortals accept their own lives as irrelevant. Until their names are “drawn,” they are just the studio audience, bearing witness to the show. Like a former next door neighbor who’s dream was, some day, to be “dripping in Diamonds,” this despite the fact that her house was a mess, her fashion sense was near zero, her children were hellions, and she rarely went anywhere beside the grocery store and the mall.

Somewhere in the latter half of the 20th century we’ve lost ourselves. We’ve forgotten that we have lives to live. We watch TV, follow every breath our favorite celebrity takes, and buy lottery tickets on payday. One day maybe we’ll “strike it rich” or “get famous” but, until we do, not bad is good enough, because those 15 minutes are the only one’s that really matter. What do we care as long as American Idol is on tonight and our favorite singer is leading in the polls?

Introduction

 

Welcome to “Exquisite Pleasure,” my blog about life, art, culture and philosophy. I want a life filled with exquisite pleasure. I suppose if the question were posed to most people they would agree to having that desire as well, but the question is whether one is willing to put in the effort to make it so. Also, one must ask oneself the crucial question “Do you believe you deserve it?”…really believe you deserve it. I do deserve it and I’m willing to work for it.

 

I even consider this a moral responsibility. Many years ago I asked myself what my creator wanted from me. It seems to me that religion is a very odd concept. Why would an omnipotent being create human life? Why would “he” care about it after he did? What can we actually “do” for God? The conclusion I reached is that the one unique ability that humans have, and that is unquestionably good, is our ability to feel Joy. No one questions the rightness and desirability of joy. A baby spends several years learning to talk but it is born knowing how to smile and giggle.

 

I believe joy is our natural state of being, anything less is, quite literally, a fall from Grace. You cannot commit acts of evil while feeling joyful. I don’t even believe that sociopaths actually feel joy in their savagery; pleasure perhaps but not joy. Joy is an innocent feeling, a playful feeling, a sheer irrepressible delight bubbling up inside of oneself. Joy is not cruel, or greedy and it abides neither jealousy or envy. Joy is not pretentious, jaded, nor false. True joy is genuine and spontaneous, beyond any criticism or censure.

 

This is the life that I seek for myself and the viewpoint that I share with you. When I seek exquisite pleasures, I simply mean that I want every moment of my life and every experience in it to bring me joy, and a deep, profound sense of contentment and satisfaction. In that state every waking moment becomes a prayer of thanksgiving for the sheer wonder of being alive. Of course that’s never completely possible. Life is never perfect. It is possible, however, to constantly improve the state of our lives and I believe our most fulfilling task is doing so. If life is not lived with passion and intent, then it is hardly being lived at all.

 

I hope those who read this collection of essays, reminiscences, and ramblings will either love them, or hate them. I hope both groups will continue to read these because both the things that we love, and hate, touch us and inspire us to think for ourselves, either exploring new vistas of possibility that inspiration has opened or composing our heartfelt objections to the ideas that offend us. Either way, we are provoked to feel passion and that is the thing that I think is most lacking in our modern world.