WHAT KIND OF LIVING ROOM?

What kind of living room do you prefer? Me, I like ones with lots of light, like the one designed by Carl Larsson above. Actually, my source might have mislabeled this picture. It looks more like a sewing room to me, but its nice and cheery, and there are elements that would be nice in a living room. Click to enlarge.

Amazingly, after decades of modernism the classic American living room (above) still holds up as an ideal.  The problem is that this was created for the kind of tasteful New England interiors they were building in 1920, and it looks a little out of place in most modern houses.

 


Some people (above) should have their license to decorate revoked. Really, if you can't do it yourself you should plead with a friend to help you out. 

Maybe more chords would help.

Here's (above) a sculptor's living room. The furniture is islands of marble and there's a forest of tall, awkward sculptures. It's completely impractical, but I like the idea of a house that reflects the vocation of the owner.  One kind of house for the accountant and the blacksmith is tyranny.

Yikes! A modernist nightmare (above)! I'd go nuts if I had to live there.

Funny living rooms (above) are seldom comfortable.

Sometimes people's hobbies (above) dominate the room.

Am I imagining it, or are living rooms dwindling in significance these days? Nowadays living rooms are often showcase rooms and the real action takes place elsewhere, in the rec rooms and kitchens. Some people have even converted their living rooms into offices. 

Some living rooms are absurdly small now.

On the other hand, kitchens have grown enormously. They're cozy, social spaces now.  The kitchens shown above and below belonged to the sculptor, Alexander Calder.

This wall in Calder's kitchen looks like it's hewn out of rock, but I'll bet it's plaster or stucco.

Eames, the designer, favored the austere living room shown above. You can't get much more minimal than that. I think Steve Job's house was like this.

Here's (above) another view of the same room. The sofa is pushed out of the way by a big, wooden slab. I guess Eames liked slabs.

Most hippies had little use for living rooms. Sometimes they didn't even furnish them. For hippies, the important thing was the bedroom, and above all, the sacred water bed.

The exception was rich hippie futurists who were partial to fuzzy living rooms with soft, rounded edges. 

Come to think of it, hippie musicians liked living rooms, too. The rooms were dimly lit and had lots of funny furnishings. 

The last living room I saw and liked was the one in Woody Allen's "Play It Again, Sam." It recently played on the Turner channel. It was funky, but seemed like the kind of place where memorable events would happen.

AMATEUR vs. PROFESSIONAL SMOKERS

It's a sad fact that most smokers don't know how to smoke.  I don't smoke myself  because I don't want to get cancer, but I hate to see a good cigarette wasted by the neglect of amateurs. It's the uncomfortable feeling you get when imagining a thoroughbred horse pulling a milk wagon.

Here (above) the cigarette is held at such a drastic angle that the tobacco is fuel-starved, and fails to produce interesting strings.  Not only that but the smoke in her mouth is pushed out in a vague and artless haze, with no attempt to give it shape.

  


You have to give this smoker (above) points for trying, though she too is an amateur. She senses the potential in the smoke but doesn't know how to shape it. She just lets it roll out and do whatever it wants to do.



Now HERE'S a professional! The cigarette is held level, producing living strings and nebulas. The puff produces robust, philosophical shapes depicting...depicting what? Maybe ghosts at war with each other. 

Nebula's (above) are fun, but they use up the cigarette really fast. Better have lots if you're going to smoke like this.

This is a funny way to smoke because the favorite resting place for a nebula is the head of a near-by non-smoker.



A true genius (above) at work! She launches the tumultuous Four Horseman of the Apocalypse under a canopy of morphing jellyfish strings. What does it all mean? The smoker invites us to ponder.

Cigarettes are so eager to please.  Sometimes they'll go into overdrive, creating mysterious dramas and tragedies for us when we're not even paying attention.



Here the professional experiments with a haze that unexpectedly produces menacing tentacles.

Notice the interesting dramas which are unraveling in the strings. Note too, the intriguing "smoking gun"-type smoke emerging from the back of the cigarette. 

Some smokers don't puff much. They're content to hold the cigarette still and watch the strings unravel slowly and languidly. Others hold the cigarette still but will deliberately avoid looking at it. It's enough for them to know that the strings are there, unwinding and creating characters and stories that will last only a few moments then experience unchronicled death. 

Let us end this with one more glimpse at the professional smoker (above), gloriously creating stories in the sky. Here the nebulous haze ejected from the mouth meets a stone wall created by the updraft carrying the strings. The nebula, having no place to go, collects into itself all the haze behind it, which it attempts to re-form into a great drama. Above it, a second nebula, also trapped in the strings, attempts to carve out a life for itself. "I want to live!" it seems to say, but it's futile life is soon snuffed out.  

Fascinating!

"CAPTAIN MURDERER" BY CHARLES DICKENS

CAPTAIN MURDERER

A Short Story by Charles Dickens

If we all knew our own minds (in a more enlarged sense than the popular acceptation of that phrase), I suspect we should find our nurses responsible for most of the dark corners we are forced to go back to, against our wills.

The first diabolical character who intruded himself on my peaceful youth was a certain Captain Murderer. This wretch must have been an offshoot of the Blue Beard family, but I had no suspicion of the consanguinity in those times. His warning name would seem to have awakened no general prejudice against him, for he was admitted into the best society and possessed immense wealth. Captain Murderer's mission was matrimony, and the gratification of a cannibal appetite with tender brides. On his marriage morning, he always caused both sides of the way to church to be planted with curious flowers; and when his bride said, "Dear Captain Murderer, I never saw flowers like these before: what are they called?" he answered, "They are called Garnish for house-lamb," and laughed at his ferocious practical joke in a horrid manner, disquieting the minds of the noble bridal company, with a very sharp show of teeth, then displayed for the first time. He made love in a coach and six, and married in a coach and twelve, and all his horses were milk-white horses with one red spot on the back which he caused to be hidden by the harness. For, the spot would come there, though every horse was milk-white when Captain Murderer bought him. And the spot was young bride's blood. (To this terrific point I am indebted for my personal experience of a shudder and cold beads on the forehead.)

When Captain Murderer had made an end of feasting and revelry, and had dismissed the noble guests, and was alone with his wife on the day month after their marriage, it was his whimsical custom to produce a golden rolling-pin and a silver pie-board. Now, there was this special feature in the Captain's courtships, that he always asked if the young lady could make pie-crust; and if she couldn't by nature or education, she was taught. Well. When the bride saw Captain Murderer produce the golden rolling-pin and silver pie-board, she remembered this, and turned up her laced-silk sleeves to make a pie. The Captain brought out a silver pie-dish of immense capacity, and the Captain brought out flour and butter and eggs and all things needful, except the inside of the pie; of materials for the staple of the pie itself, the Captain brought out none. Then said the lovely bride, "Dear Captain Murderer, what pie is this to be?" He replied, "A meat pie." Then said the lovely bride, "Dear Captain Murderer, I see no meat." The Captain humorously retorted, "Look in the glass." She looked in the glass, but still she saw no meat, and then the Captain roared with laughter, and suddenly frowning and drawing his sword, bade her roll out the crust. So she rolled out the crust, dropping large tears upon it all the time because he was so cross, and when she had lined the dish with crust and had cut the crust all ready to fit the top, the Captain called out, "I see the meat in the glass!" And the bride looked up at the glass, just in time to see the Captain cutting her head off; and he chopped her in pieces, and peppered her, and salted her, and put her in the pie, and sent it to the baker's, and ate it all, and picked the bones.

Captain Murderer went on in this way, prospering exceedingly, until he came to choose a bride from two twin sisters, and at first didn't know which to choose. For, though one was fair and the other dark, they were both equally beautiful. But the fair twin loved him, and the dark twin hated him, so he chose the fair one. The dark twin would have prevented the marriage if she could, but she couldn't; however, on the night before it, much suspecting Captain Murderer, she stole out and climbed his garden wall, and looked in at his window through a chink in the shutter, and saw him having his teeth filed sharp. Next day she listened all day, and heard him make his joke about the house-lamb. And that day month, he had the paste rolled out, and cut the fair twin's head off, and chopped her in pieces, and peppered her, and salted her, and put her in the pie, and sent it to the baker's, and ate it all, and picked the bones.

Now, the dark twin had had her suspicions much increased by the filing of the Captain's teeth, and again by the house-lamb joke. Putting all things together when he gave out that her sister was dead, she divined the truth, and determined to be revenged. So, she went up to Captain Murderer's house, and knocked at the knocker and pulled at the bell, and when the Captain came to the door, said: "Dear Captain Murderer, marry me next for I always loved you and was jealous of my sister." The Captain took it as a compliment, and made a polite answer, and the marriage was quickly arranged. On the night before it, the bride again climbed to his window, and again saw him having his teeth filed sharp. At this sight she laughed such a terrible laugh at the chink in the shutter, that the Captain's blood curdled, and he said: "I hope nothing has disagreed with me!" At that, she laughed again, a still more terrible laugh, and the shutter was opened and search made, but she was nimbly gone, and there was no one. Next day they went to church in a coach and twelve, and were married. And that day month, she rolled the pie-crust out, and Captain Murderer cut her head off, and chopped her in pieces, and peppered her, and salted her, and put her in the pie, and sent it to the baker's, and ate it all, and picked the bones.

But before she began to roll out the paste she had taken a deadly poison of a most awful character, distilled from toads' eyes and spiders' knees; and Captain Murderer had hardly picked her last bone, when he began to swell, and to turn blue, and to be all over spots, and to scream. And he went on swelling and turning bluer, and being more all over spots and screaming, until he reached from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall; and then, at one o'clock in the morning, he blew up with a loud explosion. At the sound of it, all the milk-white horses in the stables broke their halters and went mad, and then they galloped over everybody in Captain Murderer's house (beginning with the family blacksmith who had filed his teeth) until the whole were dead, and then they galloped away.

The End

FELLINI'S PSYCHO-ANALYSIS

A lot of people don't know that Fellini used to be a cartoonist, and that he kept an extensive visual  journal of his dreams during the period when he made his best films.

Fellini was being analyzed at the time, and a lot of his cartoons have psycho-analytic themes.


The analysis seemed to have served him well, if you can judge by his drawings. I love the way the woman above casually touches the Moon...or is the face above her head just someone she knows?  Either way, it's a different approach than you see in most sketchbooks. 

His analyst told him to keep a record of his dreams and you can buy it for the princely sum of $125.  Man, books are expensive!

 


Fellini's analyst was a Jungian. Jungians believe that the unconscious is where our true psyche resides. According to Wikipedia, the unconscious expresses itself to us through dreams, which are an attempt of the mind to resolve contradictions between the narrow, literal conscious and the expansive, intuitive, creative unconscious. If troubled, we can only find peace by finding out what the unconscious mind has to teach us about the situation, and for that Jungians use dream analysis. 

I'm not a Jungian myself, I just can't see much evidence to back it up, but I can imagine how persistent analysis of dreams could benefit an artist.  In spite of my skepticism, if I ever entered analysis I'd probably do the same thing Fellini did , and try the Jungian method.


Look what it did for Fellini! Wouldn't you say that his brilliant "8 1/2" was one long stream of dream images held together by a flimsy plot? Don't get me wrong, I love plot and I love tight stories, but I also like the way plot and intuition come together in films like the ones Clampett made. There's room for both, don't you think?


I just thumbed through the Fellini book at the bookstore, and was amazed at how many of his dreams had to do with sex. That shouldn't have surprised me; I mean, he's a man after all.  He seemed to be trying to come to terms with the strange, larger-than-life women around him. for Fellini they were big, gaudy, flamboyant creatures who were obsessed and manic about issues that men find puzzling and don't even understand. They were alternately mothering and sentimental, and scheming and flighty. We lust after them and they return the lust...or not. It depends on the mood they're in.

I wonder if analysis helped Fellini to come up with the unforgettable primal images in his films. I've seen lots of lovers-in-the-fountain scenes in movies, but none so memorable as the ones in "La Dolce Vita" (above and below).

Why is this beautiful girl with big breasts so attractive here, or have I just asked a stupid question? I think it has something to do with the large area between the breasts and face, and the contrast of the solid black gown. I wouldn't be surprised if Fellini drew these scenes before filming them.  I saw several images in the book that could have been this woman, and a couple were surrounded by yellow marker auras that indicated that she radiated something intense.

The actress brings a lot to it.  She's so mysterious, so languid, so living in the moment and aloof from anything but the water...and there's um...well, those big breasts! 

I wonder if Fellini drew Mastriani's outfit in 8 1/2 and had the costume custom-made for the film. There's something iconic about it. 

Olivier said he needed costume to get into a character. He hated rehearsals which weren't dress rehearsals. Is it costume that makes Mastriani so special in this film?

Was that hat (above) made from a drawing just for the film? That and the glasses make Mastriani one of the most remembered characters in the history of film. Did dream analysis somehow contribute to this?

Note: Thanks to Michael Sporn's July 2007 blog entry for some of the images used here.

HOW DO YOU WIN A DEBATE?

That's easy. Pick the "con" side; con wins two out of three times.  That's because the very structure of debate favors the audacious attacker, no matter what the subject.

Pity the poor person who's job it is to defend what he thought was an unassailable eternal truth. Let's say he's defending the idea that we should love our mothers. As the attacker you casually ask why. The rattled defender, rattled because he's not used to hearing the idea questioned, awkwardly replies that mothers earn the love by doing so many favors for their children. "Oh, I see", says the attacker, "So in your opinion, favors buy love. Love is something that you can buy and sell, like apples." The defender winces and starts to wish that he were somewhere else.

The attacker takes out a dollar bill and asks; "Would you love me if I gave you a dollar?" The audience howls with derisive laughter.  The debate's only just started and the defender's already lost. 

But we all know that loving your mother is a good thing, whether we can prove it in debate or not. So why is debate such a horrible way to discuss some issues?

It seems to me that debate fails because it gives too much weight to the attacker.  It's just too easy to make the other guy look like a monkey, especially if he's not as funny as you, and not as inclined to exaggerate common ideas til they sound crazy. 

Add to that the fact that the defender's burdened with defending every real-world decision his people ever made, going back to the days before he was born.  The attacker, on the other hand, can argue from a Utopian idea that's never been tried, and therefore has never been found wanting. In debate both views have equal weight.

Of course sometimes attackers are right, which is one reason that we still need debates.