Wednesday, October 24, 2007
At least, when I mentioned it to my mom, "You need a job," is what she said.
Those two minutes are up, anyway. See ya.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Once upon a time, there was a farmer in a little town. He had a little car that was all rusted over and he only drove it once a week, to buy his groceries. One day, some people from out of town came in and talked to the city, and they decided to build a big new freeway through the town.
So they built the freeway. However, with the freeway came some new people into town. There was something a little suspicious about them. They had very fancy, fast cars. Pretty soon, before they opened up the new road, all these new people gathered at the road to race their cars on it before it was open. They went in the middle of the night so they wouldn't get caught.
Before they started racing, the farmer put-putted up the road and came up to the people. He got out of his little car and said, "What's going on?"
"We're going to have a big race," they said. "You should go on home so you don't get run over."
The man said, "Oh, okay. That's a good idea," and he started to drive away. The people got into their fancy cars and revved their engines, and as soon as the flag dropped, the farmer's car spun around and went up on the road. He started passing the fancy cars!
"What is happening?" they thought. "We're losing to this farmer with his little putting car!"
All of a sudden, the rust dropped and the car became a shiny little racing car. Rockets burst out of the back and the farmer won the race!
As soon as everyone finished, the farmer surprised them. He turned out to be a high and fancy policeman, and he gave them all tickets and threw them in jail.
--"He threw them in jail?"
And then he went back to being a farmer with his little rusty car. And that's the end for today.
And there was much laughter.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Consider a world of options. As a preview, my favorites include:
VI. Emmatati kima diparum. Bishi tuppi libbiya.
You are hot like a torch. Be my Valentine.
X. Suhartum bantum suharu kalu, qadum yati irreshu.
Beautiful young woman all young men want you, including me.
XIV. Suhartum magal bantum atti. Yati kali u kati annashaq.
You are a very fine young woman. Restrain me or I will kiss you.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
The book explores art, in the context of painting and drawing and the visual arts. I appreciate the continued use of the term “art,” as it opens the door to comparison of my own art, and that of every reader this book could have.
My art form is writing. Sometimes writing music. Sometimes writing with words. Sometimes both. Asher Lev's is painting. His father's is traveling. His mother's is selfless suffering for the preservation of her family. In all of them it is their Judaism – even in Asher Lev, although he isn’t devout in all the same ways as his community.
To write honestly, must one write everything? Naturally, no. One must not write that which does not add to the work. Still, one must include everything that is pertinent and essential. Which works are important? That which runs deepest? In the final pages, Asher expresses – maybe in wonder, in “quiet desperation” of what is – the power in his painting hand. The power in that hand to amuse, to cause pain, to channel what is regardless of what may fight to keep it inside. So that power lies in the fingers of one who writes.
To communicate. To take your gift and use it for the edification of those who experience it. I have learned that that which edifies is not always enjoyable. God does not always teach through happy lessons and painless moments. Edification is the enlargement of a soul to greater understanding of truth. Truth is not always happy, but its alternative is useless, and that which is useless does not lead one to the eventual fulfillment (and joy) that comes from the work one can do with truth.
So a gift, as Asher discovers through the conviction of his teacher Jacob Kahn and then through his own experience, must be used as a vehicle for truth – the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Which stories must be told? Those which edify. Those which are a truth that needs telling, and not one iota more or less. More creates embellishment; less creates a half-truth which in so becoming has no integrity, either.
--“These are my memories, Papa. No, I'm not saying that these paintings represent the truth; they represent how I feel about things I remembered when I was in Paris. They're not the truth, Papa; but they're not lies, either.”(p. 359-360)
“Art is a lie which makes us realize the truth.” -- Picasso