There are a number of things that frustrated me in an article I read today, which I summarize here:
a) The writing life is not a departure point for a discussion on anything, least of all literature. Literature has virtually nothing to do with it. Those of us who are interested and passionate about literature do not care for the fripperies of the writing life thus journalists would do well to cease asking writers mind-numbing questions about it. Writers in turn could show some spine and initiative and refuse to answer them.
b) Vancouver literature is often remarked on as though it began in the 1990’s. It didn’t. Writers intending to remark on it would do well to go and actually read some of it pre 1990’s-2000.
weather blends
Brewing up spells of sunshine, the threat extends to many areas, one of two further, die out or dry out, scattered showers, range between, spot Easterly breeze.
I noticed it was v quiet outside yesterday and declared the hockey match must be over and that they’d won. However, it hadn’t yet started.
When, hours later, there was something of an external wailing outdoors (something between a falling off a horse and incanting at a wedding) I was reading a particularly compelling letter from Walter Benjamin to someone, Adorno, maybe or Brecht, and was reaching the crescendo in his big question (not to be confused with his little or middling questions) :
“How much of a dialectical synthesis of misery and exuberance lies in this research, which has been continually interrupted and repeatedly revived over the course of a decade, and which has been driven on into the remotest of regions?”
‘Nuff said.
It’s a toss up which do I care less about the hockey or the royal wedding?
Right now I don’t care remotely for either.
This is odd since I still recall the mugs they gave out during the previous wedding. They were very unremarkable mugs.
It is also odd because I recall getting considerably worked up when Calgary was in the Play Offs though I cannot remember when that was. Even odder since I’ve never been to Calgary and cannot remember how or why I managed to sustain any interest in it.
Puzzled.
Syria, however, that worries me, that worries me a great deal.
Watering Benjamin
The Arcades Project was written with insomniacs in mind. I benefitted around 3am within the Sales Clerks section.
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There are rain drops on the underside of the tree branches that are not going anywhere. Just hanging there, stagnant bubbles. Acrobatic water. We are still on the dimmer weather-wise.
Avant-Garde Nukus
Documentary birthday outing yesterday with Kevin and Bobbi was a good one. We saw The Desert of Forbidden Art. The avant garde lives in Nukus. The documentary told the story of Igor Savitsky’s passion, resolve and single mindedness in rescuing thousands of art works and concurrently doing in his lungs.
Extraordinary vision he had. An instigator in a sparse space. He moved quick and quiet. A contrast to our current cultural capitalists who move slow and in a very straight, risk averse line.
The women artists mentioned in the film fascinated me and I intend to learn more about them. They were, in someways, a step ahead of Savitsky and knew exactly what he was up to and put their work behind it.
It is a grotty 8 degree of a day, tho’ hard to believe 8 it could be, since the chill of the wind almost lifted my fingernails off, when I said good morning to the lettuce seedlings.
The lettuce seedlings have a look of impatience about them and an inquiring “what’s the story? and why are we still cramped four to a tiny pot?”.
Questions I can’t answer.
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