[lit-ideas] Re: Ravi Shankar 1920-2012
- From: David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Wed, 12 Dec 2012 22:36:10 -0800
On Dec 12, 2012, at 9:40 PM, John McCreery wrote:
> Ah, memories. I recall being in a room on the second floor of a building in
> College Town, a part of Ithaca, NY, next to Cornell. The windows were wide
> open, Ravi Shankar was on the record player, we were smoking pot, and the
> light from a police patrol car's flashers swept across the ceiling. I thought
> I was doomed. Nothing happened.
I pull my tie-dyed turquoise hankie from my pocket--a gift from one or another
daughter--blow my nose and reflect. I have no similar story to tell, but like
anyone of a certain age I was educated in expansive musical possibilities by
Ravi Shankar. And, by extension, expansive possibilities in other fields; I
draw a connection between my novice understanding of the music he played and my
openness to say "Shoah" and "Hotel Terminus."
In tribute, I offer a history of today.
The chickens now have a roost. Houston, I repeat, the chickens have a roost.
"How hard could that be?" you wonder. "Surely it's a matter of a dowel or
branch, attached at the right height within the coop?" Rather than tell you
the whole long story, which first involved trying to get liquid nails into
inaccessible holes--leak prevention... a used galvanized roof--and then
involved awkward angles of attack with Craftsman screwdrivers (work of the
"elbow grease" sort because no electric drill would reach), I'll settle for the
announcement that progress has been made to the point that with more tomorrow,
the beasts will indeed be out of the bathtub in time for our guest's arrival.
Knock on wood. Of which there are plenty of pieces now scattered all over.
All the coop's luxurious accouterments-- chandeliers, jacuzzis-- will have to
wait. Out those chickens go.
Had a good class this morning. It was the culmination of "History in the
Streets, the Art Museum, Your Work." The students may have noticed, but they
had not complained that our discussions and their research had not given equal
attention to item three of the title. Today I made up that deficit, explaining
that some imaginary anonymous donor had kindly offered us a few million dollars
for a contemporary work of art which says something interesting about history.
What should we make? We all approached the whiteboard and began a large
doodle, the equivalent of free writing but a mix of words and images. When
that stage of our project ground to a halt I had the students step back and
look. Now we had an editing problem which, in a co-operative endeavor is a
challenge. Could we see any patterns or tendencies that might take us to the
next stage of the proposal? The answer in a nutshell was, "Nope." Well then,
what to do? Just let the money and opportunity pass us by?
I told them that when I was in France, Grenoble's cultural center (a
building...Maison de la Culture) had closed the gap between conservative and
avant garde art by reproducing on a giant scale, on blank walls, la Andy
Warhol, a repeated reproduction of Gericault's "Raft of the Medusa." Maybe
the class should go back to nineteenth century history painting and riff on
that? They voted to tackle "Napoleon Crossing the Alps" and were very taken
with the effect that you get when you ask Google to show you reproductions of
that painting all across the screen. Maybe six interpretations of the painting
would get us somewhere? Having photographed version one of our response, we
wiped a central space on the white board, leaving a kind of doodled frame, and
set about reproducing Napoleon on the verge. In all the students'
interpretations there was a horse and a figure; in mine Nelson's column had
become a kind of speedometer. I explained that in my view the painting was
about aspirations towards excellence, and that a monumental needle pointing to
about seventy mph indicated our current democratic standard of daring.
So then we began to talk about whether there was any possibility of a heroic
sculpture which escaped the static interference from party propaganda
broadcasts and sporting events' patriotism. We noted how many empty chair
projects there had been since the Oklahoma bombing and how walls or holes in
the ground that are black and granite seem to have built on the success of the
Vietnam Memorial. To those students who were nodding off, I proposed we make a
sculpture of a bed, arguing that a good night's sleep was many people's humble
aspiration. Perhaps there was something heroic in normal aspirations or
living? We talked about Tracy Emin's bed and whether there was any possibility
of making a bed sculpture that didn't annoy one or another manufacturer of
furniture. Put one kind of bed on a plinth and you have Ikea at your throat;
put another up and you get grief from Ethan Allen.
And so we came to Blake, by way of Trafalgar Square. The London landmark
recently began a project that reserved a plinth for temporary projects. This
one, a tribute to a nude pregnant woman who overcame birth defects herself;
that one, a child on a rocking horse charging towards Nelson. (You'll find both
through Google) They're interesting pieces, challenging, by report
surprisingly popular. So our final proposal was to have a Portland version of
the empty plinth, but what goes on top? The brightest student suggested a sand
castle. I told them about Blqke. The thought as time ran out (ironic, eh?)
was that a grain of sand might do the trick.
One grain of sand on top of a plinth. No one's going to see it, or "get" it,
but what an interesting place to finish the conversation.
Or raga. Carry on, now that he's gone.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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