music

Expressing the inexpressable

The Twirl and Swirl of Letters

Music. It calls to me. There’s something visceral about it. It grabs me and twists my gut, weaving its way into my subconscious. Songs stick in my mind, they refuse to leave, perfect ear worms. The above song, “Speedway” by Morrissey is one of these songs (I can’t help it. I move to the UK and I develop a love of the Smiths and Morrissey’s solo stuff). I listen to his stuff while working; I find it to be just the sort of thing I need to get focused.

But enough on Morrissey (for this post).

Music in itself. I find myself drawn to it, perhaps more than any other art form (strange, for a writer/painter/graphic designer). I’m stopped by its sheer incredibility. The range of emotions, the sense of calm, fear, love evoked by notes expresses the human condition more than words or paintings ever could.

To quote Aldous Huxley, “After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”

The past few months have been difficult ones for me. The coursework has been particularly strenuous in a different way from last term. My health hasn’t been the best (nothing serious, just atrocious colds and uncomfortable back injuries). Things haven’t been going as I had hoped–not poorly, but not as well as my internal narrative wanted.

The other day, I went into St Giles Cathedral to look around. A string quartet practiced for the evening performance. As the violin sang out, the cello setting a steady pace, my heart soared, leaped, fell, felt, repeated. The starting and stopping as the musicians ran through their piece struck me. It was, in its imperfection, exactly as I felt. There was joy, frustration, repetition.

Words failed me. Visual arts failed me. Yet music fit where no other expression would. It was fleeting, yet permanent, the memory to be one of the strongest I have.

My strongest memories are tied around music. The two best concerts I’ve been to have had moments of transcendence–from the Who, when Roger Daltrey sang portions of Tommy, a medley that meant so much to me, given that I had listened to that album ad nauseum the summer before. The second was the Swell Season, when Glen Hansard got the audience to join in on the chorus of ‘Back Broke.’ The effect was haunting, uniting, beautiful. For moments at both of these gigs, the music transcended. That’s all that mattered.

We are what we consume.

Edinburgh Expeditions

One thing that I try to do every week (or at the very least, every month) is attend events at Inspace, the University of Edinburgh Informatics Forum’s art space. The events I try to attend “blind.” I get the event emails from New Media Scotland, and sign up for the various events. I’ve attended lectures on memory and music (which resulted in my showing my inability to use a turntable in front of 75 people), a Pecha Kucha night (in which I stood up in front of a separate group of 75 and told stories of falling off of Arthur’s Seat), and a presentation by the Information Delivery Service (which resulted in no ridiculous stories from me).

IDS is a student cooperative fascinated with information, its readiness, their desire to have it all. The lecture, which I found interesting, was filled with information overload (and rather disjointed, lacking any coherent narrative flow, from which it would have benefited greatly). It did, however, leave me to contemplate how what we consume and create develops our identities.

I’ve recently started using Pinterest, that incredibly popular photo/lifestyle/dream-sharing website that’s been critiqued for everything from creating desires for unattainable lifestyles to dubious copyright infringement. What’s struck me as fascinating is, apart from its addictive qualities, Pinterest is able to give a ‘look’ to how we identify and how we wish to identify. It’s a means, like the Facebook info page, to divulge bits and pieces about ourselves to the world.

We are what we consume. We’re made up of the books that we read, the music that we listen to, the clothing that we wear. We identify through media, with ourselves and with each other. When getting to know one another, we ask about what sort of books we read, movies we watch, music we listen to. We find common ground and relate to it, often through what we enjoy.

If one were to look at my bookshelf, one would find a few books of critical theory (Guattari, Ranciere, Postman and McLuhan), philosophy (Hume and Marcus Aurelius), novels (John LeCarre and Margaret Atwood coexist, Raymond Chandler recently moved to the bedside table), my DVD collection of The Prisoner, a small CD collection (The Smiths and The Jam), and a few art books (exhibition guide to The Queen Art & Image, the exhibit I saw on my first day in Edinburgh). One can start to suss things out about me, just from what I choose to share about my intellectual consumption. I’m interested in media and environments, spies, and music made before I was born.

I see the world filtered through what I consume. Far too much of what I experience or think about is influenced by The Prisoner, even my potential dissertation topic for this degree. The thought of being without my DVDs in a foreign country was too much to bear. I even started reading books like Le Carre’s for research before realising how much I love them (okay, I’ve always enjoyed these stories, far more than I have the books that I’m “supposed to like”).

And I hate for the pretension that comes with saying, “I am an artist” but it’s true. I am an amateur painter, perhaps someday a professional digital artist (my dissertation, with hope, will kickstart that). But I read books on art, I examine it, I enjoy it, I consume it.

The presentation made me think only of this.

New Year, New Paintings…Morrissey

Sheer Art Attack

Before today, I hadn’t picked up a paint brush since July 24th. How do I know? That’s when I did my painting of TE Lawrence.

Sick of not painting, I decided to reconcile the situation. My folks gave me a moleskine watercolour sketchbook for Christmas, and I am determined to fill it before I return to the States.

I paint portraits primarily, and portraits of those who fascinate me. Given that I’ve listened to the Smiths pretty much non-stop since getting here, it was only logical that I paint their front man, Morrissey.

Morrissey

Morrissey, (C) Beth 2012

Needless to say, I’m thrilled with how this portrait turned out. There are a few issues, but considering I haven’t painted in months…pretty damn good.

I hope to share more paintings with you as I complete them!

Book Challenge: Scotland, Scotland, Freddie Mercury

What's On the Bookshelf?

At the end of it all! I like this. Much quicker.

Twenty-eight: Last book you read

The Importance of Being Seven by Alexander McCall Smith. I reread the entire 44 Scotland Street series this summer, in between the massive tomes about and by T. E. Lawrence.

I’m quite fond of the series, as you’ve probably gathered. I like McCall Smith’s books because they are fun to read, but also intelligent and hold up on rereads. I’m not much of a book buyer, as I’m constrained with space and love to visit libraries for the treasures hidden in the shelves, which is how I found this series.

These books focus on relationships, on friendships, and on the good of humanity. Very refreshing, particularly after reading the newspaper any given day of the week. The book was easy to read, yet not dumbed down, as is often the case. The thinking person’s popcorn read.
Twenty-nine: Book you’re currently reading

How the Scots Invented the Modern World by Arthur Herman. I’m moving to Scotland in less than a week. I saw this book at the library, and figured I should read it. At the very least, it would give me an overview of the Scottish philosophers and the development of Scottish culture. Which is what its doing. I am learning quite a bit, and am thoroughly looking forward to the chapter on scientific contributions.

I have about three chapters left. A good read, now I’m deciding which philosopher I’m going to tackle while in Scotland. When I travel for long periods, I try to read at least one great thinker of the country I’m in. In Italy, I read Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince. The debate is either to read David Hume or Adam Smith. I’m leaning towards Smith.
Thirty: Favorite coffee table book

This is an easy one. It’s Classic Queen by Mick Rock. Filled with his photographs of Queen in the 1970s, including the very very famous one, the cover of Queen II. I love flipping through this book and looking at the photos. Well designed, lovely to look at, and a book that, when I have a coffee table, will be proudly displayed.

Thesis Update: Midpoint Revelations on The Prisoner

Thesis Updates

One week ago tomorrow, I turned in the half completed portion of my thesis (which will probably end up meaning its but a third completed, as I have a lot I still wish to discuss).

A huge relief in passing the thing in. I’ll have roughly a month before jumping back in, but during that month I’ll be rewatching The Prisoner, either for fun or actually picking out arguments for the thesis, along with writing up an appendix with brief descriptions of each episode. Why? Well, its a cult show. I think probably about 7 people on my entire campus have seen it start to finish, and that’s a liberal guess. Unfortunately, if I say I’m writing about The Prisoner, if someone’s heard of it, they assume its the remake. No no no.

I’ve learned three things while writing this first half (all of which can be named with the letter “P”):

Planning

I’m not generally a fly by the seat of my pants person when it comes to writing papers. I need to gather data, make outlines (of a sort) and need an idea before I can really start working.

Persistence

Ah, the essay known as “The Essay of a Thousand Directions.” Each time I met with my supervisor, I had a different topic in mind. “I’ll do a character study of Number 6 using Cambell’s The Hero With a Thousand Faces! Oh, I’ll look at the stifling of individuality in The Village! The presentation of The Village as a prison! Ooh! Ooh! New shiny topic! So many topics my supervisor suggested I just write my doctoral dissertation on this…(not going for my doctorate at this time…)

Well, while reading sources and brainstorming, I persisted in my quest to come up with an original topic. Though not my entire paper, I’m looking into the perversion of childhood signs in the show.

For next semester, I’m keeping on target, working hard and finishing this paper up.

Passion

Roughly seven months into this project, and I still enjoy working on it. I still love The Prisoner. I’m happily devoted to this project. It interests me and continues to hold my interest. That, and I care deeply about writing it well.

My friends see this project as bordering on obsessive. So what if it is? It’s fun.

 

Here’s to the upcoming semester. May it be fruitful! And may Christmas break be restful. 🙂

Trekking to the City that Never Sleeps

American Adventures

One thing that I miss about Italy is being able to jump on a train and go somewhere. Sure, I can still do that here (kind of), wandering about Boston, but I miss those days of looking to my friends and saying, “Let’s go to Cortona this weekend.”

After much planning, I’m headed to New York City for the third time in my life (criminal). Sadly, I’ll only be in the City for one day, but it will be for an amazing reason.

My favorite entirely living band, The Frames, is on tour for their 20th anniversary. As they don’t have a Boston stop, I convinced a couple of friends to head into New York with me. It really didn’t take too much arm twisting.

So, to New York City we are headed.