New Horizons at the Denver Art Museum

              Prior to May 5, 2012, every floor below the sixth (European Art) at the Denver Ar t Museum was irrelevant in my mind. Standing in the elevator, I’d give a casual glance at the floor map: Northwest Coast, American Indian, Pre-Colombian/ Spanish Colonial, Asian, Western American/ photography were clearly labeled, but I’d skip over them in stubborn indifference, pressing the button marked “6”. My tunnel vision for art led me to believe that  European Art was the epitome, the finish line. Renaissance to Modern equals the climax- postmodern and onward the resolution- and in by blithe condescension, I didn’t care to see the non-western exposition.

I can recollect the last time I was standing in the wacky, mountain-shaped building. It must have been one year ago a tleast- perhaps the spring of 2011. It was me, of course, who perused the hallways (of floor six only, mind you), but looking back it feels like a very dissimilar Brianna who did so. This was a Brianna pre-AP Art History class, a Brianna before her visits to the Louvre, Musee D’Orsay, Uffizi, and the Vatican. In other words, a completely different creature. I made haphazard attempts to research Bouguereau, Courbet, and others; my knowledge was limited. So I felt safe only with the art I was acquainted  with. I felt safe only on the sixth floor.

Summer 2011 I spent in Europe- a little tabula rasa surrounded by superb museums, exquisite monuments, and a culture that I’d only known  in movies and books. How could I fathom what a shock this would be- the airports, the hotels, and even more, the art? My shallow pool of artistic taste gave way to a bottomless ocean.

However, stubborn prejudices didn’t budge. Realism, learned technique, anatomical accuracy were the domineering lords which ruled over my bias on a piece of art- if it didn’t fit these standards it wasn’t worth my time. I judged myself as art savvy ; in reality I was philistine. My untrained eye was blind to the sensations of color, history, tone, composition, and conceptual worth. The elucidation from this predicament called for education. The following year I enrolled in Art History.

Opening my History of Art textbook for the first time, I sighed and huffed at how far back we were travelling in time. “Cave paintings, really? That isn’t art history, that’s art before relevant history was made”, I declared to Ms. Reiner. Looking back to that day, I’m embarrassed at my close-mindedness. Now it’s May, and we’ve covered more than a sufficient amount art “before history”, for me to get it through my thick skull how indubitably relevant it is.

Only now do I wholly understand the fervent dedication of tribal garb (ahem, second floor), the astounding antiquity of earthenware that dates to 1000 A.D. (that’s Pre-Colombian, third floor), the gossamer ornamentation of oriental pottery (um, fourth floor), and the multihued interpretation of Central America by W. P. Henderson (one floor up to the seventh).  Art that tells a story, art that utilizes color over line (or vice versa), art that challenges art- everything deserves, at the very least, consideration. Equipped with my new attitude, my visit to the incredibly diverse Denver Art Museum was the best I’ve ever had.

Technology versus the Individual

Imagine: rows and rows of mindless zombies- identical in appearance, numb and ignorant to their lack of freedom, fervently accepting and defensive of their subservience. You’d have Huxley’s “brave” new world. Picture a race of mind-washed inferiors, kept under surveillance, deprived of privacy and instilled with every type of fear. Orwell’s horrifying prediction of 1984 would be reality. In 1984 and A Brave New World, every citizen is presumed to be identical in their vulnerability, gullibility and weakness. Huxley depicts people who are drugged (by a substance called soma) and brain-washed in their sleep (a process called hypnopaedic conditioning) by a highly manipulative and scientific government. Orwellian government punishes and monitors their people so severely that dissent is impossible. This theme of Huxleyan and Orwellian civilization is central to Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death. Clearly by Postman’s title, he leans toward the ideas in Brave New World. So, how do these societies relevantly compare to America today? I’m willing to stand by the independence of the individual; in modern times the masses simply aren’t as complacent and gullible as Orwell and Huxley would’ve conjectured in 1942 and 1932. There are undoubtedly more than one type of viewer, thus technologies like television and the internet have the possibility to be positive or negative,  depending on what species of consumer that is seeking out the information feed.

As a culture which is blessed to have TV’s in virtually each and every home since the 1950’s, Americans have become accustomed to them. There are certain assumptions we make when regarding television’s versatility,  audience and nature of viewing. Neil Postman makes references to the many subjects incorporated into modern television: “politics, religion, news athletic, education and commerce have been transformed into congenial adjuncts of show business, without protest or even much popular notice.” I concur that television deals with every aspect of life: E! fills the fashion, style and fad needs, TLC tells us what a family should look like, Animal Planet deals with creatures outside of the human realm, History deals with, well, history- I could go on and on and on. James Poniewozik, in his “Campaign ‘08: The Media’s 24-Minute News Cycle”, reminds us of just how much politics is integrated into television for entertainment value, saying “While Katie Couric grilled Palin on CBS, it was Tina Fey’s impression [on Saturday Night Live] that seared the moment into national consciousness.” (Source B) We can all agree that we have every bit of news- on the newest summer trends, on how to know if you’re getting enough Vitamin F395, even Mit Romney’s dog “abuse”- at our ever ravenous fingertips. Postman’s incredulous tone makes the variety seem superfluous; Poniewozik’s irony makes the reader feel almost guilty as they realize that, they too remember Tina Fey’s famous impression. But, while they convey this attitude that the surplus of information is negative to an audience of buffoons- Corbett Trubey brings up an interesting point: the “interpretive viewer” that forms an opinion on what they see, on, say, Saturday Night Live and CBS.

In 2012, users are incredibly familiar with the internet found on our computers, phones, and ipods, too. Critics reduce this familiarity to a dependent addiction, though. Dalton Conley, in “Wired for Distraction? Like it or not, social media are reprogramming our children’s brains. What’s a good parent to do?”, claims “Scientific evidence suggests that, amid all the texting, poking and surfing, our children’s digital lives are turning them into much different creatures from us- and not necessarily for the better.” He’s suggesting that internet activity among minors is simply casual. As an adolescent, of course I do my share of texting, poking and surfing, but I also keep tabs on news and practice my french, and look up things I’d like to know more about. Believe me, I have the resources. The UK research company Netcraft released their estimate last February that there are 612 million websites in existence to date. That's intriguing! There’s a website for everything. It is understandable that this access to what is, frankly, a different world of information and entertainment would be popular amongst all ages.  Of course, there are those who abuse the internet and watch Youtube four hours a day, but it isn’t fair to make the assumption that all internet use is negative. The benefits of information found on the internet is subjective to who is seeking it.

On the subject of epistemology, Postman fears that the way the television communicates with us will inevitably affect how we communicate with the world and our exchange of information. Could our news networks and TV programs weave the very fabric of our culture? Is technology suffieciently omnipotent to surpass people in determining our modes of communication? Technology has little to do with the grand idea of epistemology, and more to do with the transport of information. Randy Glasbergen mocks the prevalence of technology in our culture in his cartoon that snarkily comments, “You should turn off your cell phone on a date.. especially if it’s smarter and cooler than you are.” Glasbergen implies that our technology is a statement about social interaction and how the world views our ability to do so. Our cell phones, TV’s and computers are as much as an extension of ourselves as typewriters and feather pens were to previous generations. No one remembers Einstein for the type of textbooks he used, they just remember his brilliance.In the end, it depends on the person that uses them. For technology to define one’s definition of knowledge, one must be extremely passive and reliant on the technology itself. Absolutely, these lugubrious individuals exist. An active utilizer of technology creates their own ideas and uses internet, cell phones and TV to their advantage- not the other way around. And these fine specimens exist, too!  These objects- our technologies- are just mediums for the operators. Our epistemology does not change just because of technology’s advances, because technology is just a vehicle.

Albert Camus wisely observes, "More and more, when faced with the world of men, the only reaction is one of individualism." Existential in nature, yes, but relevant to modern society. The immense, awe-evoking monster that is technology isn't a creature of dominance seeking to smother culture and warp global epistemology. Beside Camus, I aspire for the individual in each television watcher, twitter-er, blogg-er, text-er, email-er, videogam-er to rise to the occasion of the infinite information available. Human nature requires variety to survive, ask Darwin. No viewer is the same, and that is exactly why media is subjective- and not all bad.

Everything Can Happen

I do not own this image.

I do not know anything about the economy. Never have I felt need. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what this person is feeling inside. So how can I really understand how I feel inside?

There is no happy without sad.
There is no ecstasy without pain.
There is no light without dark.

There is no wealth without poverty. This lethargy, this constant complaining of mine, has no perspective to it. My complaints are born by my utter incompetence of what a person should really complain about.

I have food, water, entertainment and love. Those days when I spend the night at a friends house, and end up sleeping on the floor are the only times that I don't have a warm bed to sleep in. I can't imagine spending every night on concrete.

I'm grateful, I'm very grateful.

Oh, and as for the poster behind him: that is unfortunate. Obviously "everything can happen" in America, because we have people complaining about their broken black berries just a few blocks away from someone who could catch pneumonia if the night gets too cold.

The sad thing about the bag is the reality that we will buy into a culture that has fucked us completely. In that situation- somehow left without a home and living on the streets- I can imagine that I'd still go to the 7-11 to get coffee, or buy toothpaste from Wall-greens. Supplying the small change I'd get to the economy that screwed me over. Humiliating- it's like saying 'thank you' after someone slaps you across the face.

And its not like I'm trying to convey that America is the only place with poverty. GOD, no. Poverty and those who are less fortunate are a part of existence.. survival of the fittest I guess. It is just particularly disgusting in America- because people who sell drugs to supply their own habit, people who prostitute themselves to survive, people who beg for change to save up for a sleeping bag- are selling drugs to upper middle class teenagers who will smoke it and eat takeout until they puke while playing X-Box, are selling their bodies to business men who want to get a little action while their wife is at their Pilates class or sleeping soundly in their a-zillion-count thread Egyptian sheets, and begging for change from some hipster who just bought a double-espresso-shot-caramel-mocha-machiato  at starbux and got $0.42 back from a $10 bill.

Ah.. America- everything can happen.

Salvador Dali walking his ANTEATER around Paris. Well, what else is really left to say with that one? I don't know where to go with this, mainly because I don't know whether I'm impressed or in fact depressed from this image. I mean come on, he's walking a marsupial(?) out of the metro, while stylishly  sporting a cane- simultaneously taking time to glance around with a look of, "What? What are you all staring at?" 

And, see, that's the kicker. It sure is bad ass and all, but why do I think it is a bit too cute, too show-offy to be respectably avant-garde and peculiar. 

Yes, of course I acknowledge the fact that the man lives in a world that he single handedly built. Sure, he practically colonized the subconscious (along with Freud, Rousseau, ect.) and rented a townhouse in purgatory. But I always felt that he is above spending zillions of dollars to have anteaters imported from Zimbabwe (probably not really where there from), knotting together a makeshift harness-leash, and forcing it to claw across the concrete and cobblestones of Paris for forty-five minutes. 

Eh, I guess I'll be eating my words if I make it big off of my art- get rich- and end up bungee jumping off of the Eiffel Tower just for the hell of it. Dream on you crazy dreamer, Dali. 

Le Mepris (Compromise)

Taking it very slow with this one. Viewing is getting sloppy with mes films francais because I think I am beginning to understand every spoken word- but that is no excuse to skim. Films from the Vague (pronounced Vog) age are especially tricky, and much of the meaning is so far beneath the script, that it is crucial to obsess over each and every minute if one wants to truly comprehend what the hell is going on. So, knowing le francais won't cut it.

First twenty minutes: introduced to the two main characters, seemingly casual context, demure progression punctuated by the same melancholy song (Georges Delerue). Acquainted with a plain, but charming couple- Camille and Paul Javal (Brigitte Bardot (!!!) and Michel Piccoli). The opening lines, in fact, are a back-and-forth affectionate interplay:

Camille Javal: You like all of me? My mouth? My eyes? My nose? And my ears?
Paul Javal: Yes, all of you.
Camille Javal: Then you love me... totally?
Paul Javal: Yes. Totally... tenderly... tragically.

if my french isn't very off (and if I could just show off for a second, sorry) it would really have gone like this:

Et, tu m'aimes tout? Ma bouche? Mes yeux? Mon nez? Et mes oreilles?

Oui, tout.

Et puis, tu m'aime totalement?

Oui. Totalement... tendrement... tragiquement.

Of course, Brigitte Bardot is nude, and lying on her stomach- gently playing with her bleached hair. The scene, in my understanding, was nothing more than a typical romantic beginning to what I thought just might end up being a cheesy movie. The pessimist in me, however, loves that this is their highest moment. From there it is a downhill slope to awkward, frigid conversations between the two.

Very much enjoyed that deconstruction that mirrors the exact reality of how relationships wax and wane in their excitement and affection.

Really don't feel like I have any right to look too deeply into the meaning at my current state, because I've only finished the first (though crucial) twenty minutes. So far I am able to recognize Godard's cold, black sarcasm towards love from other movies of his I've seen- and I can make an inference to the origin of the title "Contempt" through the mood of their intimacy- but I feel like Godard is deeper than a simple statement on the tumultuous nature of affinity.