Showing posts with label Desecration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Desecration. Show all posts

Friday, May 5, 2017

Transformation to Evil

Here is a post I wrote last February 2016 which I didn't publish.

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Transformation to Evil

"The liberating thing about being dead is you're not bound by social constraints, monetary value and well being. Somewhere in my challenge to keep the dead walking I forgot these few beautiful and freeing rules of being dead and got caught up in survival...human survival."
Thea Munster (Faulds)


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Here is Thea, a smart and intelligent woman. I went to school with her at Ryerson University, in Toronto. I liked her. She was quiet, pensive, and she usually said intelligent things (of the few things she said).



But something strange happened when she was doing her final year thesis, where we are left on our own to produce a graduation-worthy project.

I worked consistently, never leaving the campus, using the various production suites of film, video, photography and printing. My final year, I produced five projects:
- a short film (manual editing with film strips)
- a photography presentation (with real dark-room processing)
- a video piece, which ended up being a large, looped installation
- a silk screen piece, with messy chemical processing
- and a website, which incorporated all my projects both for viewing, and for reviewing in a new manner
My film eventually was viewed in various venues, including in Paris and Prague.

My photographs were displayed in two venues, the university's image gallery and at the Allan Gardens Conservatory in Toronto.

My video was screened at Trinity Square Video in Toronto.

What did Thea do, this intelligent, apparently artistic, student? She made an excuse! She said that she doesn't like people looking at her work, and could she show her pieces privately to the professors!!!

That was when I began to realize her strangeness.

Later on, she would spend three years working on a short film. Even for procrastinating artists that is a long time. She does have some films that she's submitted to various programs, but she hasn't listed her work in any coherent manner, so I would assume she doesn't have much regard for them.

She did make a documentary film with a group about HIV, which won an award at The City of Hamilton Arts Awards (a city about half an hour south of Toronto). The film criticizes the attempts to make HIV people accountable for their sexual behaviour by saying that it "criminalizes" them. I suppose the blood in HIV discourse fits Faulds' vampire/ghoul/zombie lifestyle.

Her "artistic" energy eventually went into various arts management positions, including as the founder of the Toronto Zombie Walk.

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Thea used to look like this when I went to school with her, with a face completely covered in white makeup cream, bright red lipstick outlined in a pout, shaved eyebrows with drawn-in lines, heavy black mascara on her lashes, and what I think was bleached blonde hair, although that could have been her natural color (most goths/vampires/zombies dye their hair pitch black).



The photo above is from around 2010.

Below is a photo of her around 2001, which is closer to what she looked like when I knew her.



Her final project never materialized. I think she got her degree, and kept her job at the campus video center for several years after that where I used to run into her (I was at one time editing video pieces for a presentation at Trinity Square).

A while later, I saw her downtown somewhere, still in her ghoulish make-up and black dress, and I couldn't bring myself to greet her.



Below are photos of Thea which she has posted on her Facebook page. It shows a narcissistic side of her, which I should have recognized earlier. The photos show her morphing into into evil.

The devolution into evil:











A "cemetery field trip" as is the title of this photo in her Facebook:



When you look closer at these photos, you begin to notice strange things.

Like tattoo all over her arms in the top photo, which is clearly visible here.



And the glint in her eyes in the second photo becomes this, when fully exposed.



And the sophistication that she seems to convey in some of her photos is covered with sores and scabs.



And she transforms into a flesh-eating creature



a "zombie"



who slithers out of the netherworld



to join us mortals



in a carnivalesque celebration of "the dead."



And the dead have only one standard to emulate: that of the living, where, for example, weddings are performed and zombies get married. Faulds talks, without the slightest irony, of "my husband."

Here she is with her husband, in their wedding gear.



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The transformation is complete.

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Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

The contradiction (hypocrisy?) of a Socialist Atheist Demanding the Subsidy of a Place of Worship to Maintain its Artistic Merit

I received the following article from a correspondent, who suggested that I might wish to discuss it.

The text is an English translation of a paper by the French writer Marcel Proust, written in 1904, and titled The Death of the Cathedral.

I have analyzed sections of the text below.

I should add that this I am suited to discuss this text, not only because I do write about the loss of culture, in my thesis Reclaiming Beauty, but I have closely studied a cathedral here in Toronto, which I eventually abandoned visiting because what it had become was just too painful to witness.

I went to this cathedral, St. James Cathedral, only a few days ago, with my camera, to see how "far gone" it was, and it still stands, nor does it have a "soon to be demolished" sign by it, nor is there any mosque nearby.

But, its degeneration is more subtle. It is standing, but what is is it being used for?

The most telling sign was this big, turquoise "Welcome" banner, draping the full vertical of the cathedral.

Welcome to whom? I doubt it is a welcome to new parish members, or to those who decided to return, or for those visiting on the occasional Sunday.

I think it is a "welcome" to all those who want to enter this culturally and "spiritually" open establishment, to stand and basque in the great quietness of it all. Our God, I don't think, comes into the picture at all.

There are still Sunday services, a standing choir with a first class repertoire, clergy who give sermons quoting from the Bible? But on what, about what?

I left, having been a regular Sunday goer (I went to the evening services), since the message I heard was so un-Biblical, that even the beauty of the place could no longer keep me there.

Here, in 2011 is where I write of one of the last times I went there, and when I started to seriously consider no longer attending the services and how I decided not to attend any more, in 2011:
Some dioceses from the Anglican Church of Canada have joined the recently formed Anglican Church of North America, protesting the loss of traditionalism in the original church, including its stance on homosexual marriage and the ordination of homosexual priests.

St. James Cathedral is not part of that protest, and continues to maintain those non-Christian beliefs.
So, a beautiful building still stands, but it is so far gone from its original purpose, of worship, that even that memory is too painful to contemplate.

Better, I would say, start all over. Build another Saint James, and with careful, and repeated, requests that God bless it.

Below are the photographs of Saint James, I took yesterday. Below that is my discussion of the text The Death of the Cathedral.

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THE DEATH OF CATHEDRALS - and the Rites for which they were built
By Marcel Proust
Le Figaro
August 16, 1904


Saint James Cathedral, rising high in downtown Toronto


Welcome! in bright blue


Welcome close-up


Tiles at the entrance


Cross in a side chapel, St. George's Chapel
Formerly the east entrance to the Cathedral, this area was converted into
the present chapel by the Cawthra family in 1935
to commemorate the silver Jubilee of King George V.
The south window depicts members of the Royal Family
and representatives of the Empire. The window above the altar
depicts Christ the King reigning from the cross. [Source]


Stained glass of what looks like a falling dove


View from the entrance looking towards the alter


The organ pipes, above the entrance


Stained glass above the alter

[Photos By: KPA, 2015]

Below is discussion of the text Death of the Cathedral, by Marcel Proust. The full text, is here in English is here, here in French.

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1. Text:
Suppose for a moment that Catholicism had been dead for centuries, that the traditions of its worship had been lost. Only the unspeaking and forlorn cathedrals remain; they have become unintelligible yet remain admirable.

KPA: Admirable, as any grand object is admirable. Unintelligible because no-one uses them as they were designed to be used, and therefore we can no longer relate to their message, meaning, and signs.


2. Text: When the government underwrites this resurrection, [of the Cathedrals] it is more in the right than when it underwrites the performances in the theaters of Orange, of the Opéra-Comique, and of the Opéra, for Catholic ceremonies have an historical, social, artistic, and musical interest whose beauty alone surpasses all that any artist has ever dreamed, and which Wagner alone was ever able to come close to, in Parsifal—and that by imitation.

KPA: More to explain this below, but the argument is that French culture has more in relation than with its religious-artistic culture than with its secular artistic one.

3. Text: “Alas! How much more beautiful these feasts must have been when priests celebrated the liturgy not in order to give some idea of these ceremonies to an educated audience, but because they set the same faith in their efficacy as did the artists who sculpted the Last Judgment in the west porch tympanum or who painted the stained-glass lives of the saints in the apse. How much more deeply and truly expressive the entire work must have been when a whole people responded to the priest’s voice and fell to its knees as the bell rang at the elevation, not as cold and stylized extras in historical reconstructions, but because they too, like the priest, like the sculptor, believed. But alas, such things are as far from us as the pious enthusiasm of the Greeks at their theater performances, and our ‘reconstitutions’ cannot give a faithful idea of them.”

KPA: How beautiful these ceremonies must have been when done in true adherence to their purpose, even though they still retain that beauty from these historical origins.

4. Text: That is what one would say if the Catholic religion no longer existed and if scholars had been able to rediscover its rites...But the point is that it still does exist and has not changed, as it were, since the great century when the cathedrals were built. For us to imagine what a living and sublimely functioning thirteenth-century cathedral was like, we need not do with it as we do with the theater of Orange and turn it into a venue for exact yet frozen reconstitutions and retrospectives. All we need to do is to go into it at any hour of the day when a liturgical office is being celebrated. Here mimicry, psalmody, and chant are not entrusted to artists without “conviction.” It is the ministers of worship themselves who celebrate, not with an aesthetic outlook, but by faith—and thus all the more aesthetically.

KPA: Still, even with the distance of time and purpose, if one goes into a cathedral, and listen to the services conducted, one gets the true beauty of the place. It is the worship that makes the beauty, not the physical environment, the building, even in our alienated, areligious era.

5. Text: One could not hope for livelier and more sincere extras, since it is the faithful that take the trouble of unwittingly playing their role for us. One may say that thanks to the persistence of the same rites in the Catholic Church and also of Catholic belief in French hearts, cathedrals are not only the most beautiful monuments of our art, but also the only ones that still live their life fully and have remained true to the purpose for which they were built.

KPA: And it is the persistence of the few, innocent, faithful, who allow this beauty to continue, despite the threat from great men and institutions.

I think this shows the hope that faith, true faith, can possibly turn the tides.

6. Text: Now because of the French government’s break with Rome debates on Mr. Briand’s bill and its probable passing are imminent. Its provisions indicate that after five years churches may, and often will, be shut down; not only will the government no longer underwrite the celebration of ritual ceremonies in the churches, but will also be enabled to transform them into whatever it wishes: museums; conference centers, or casinos.

KPA: And now mosques. There is a current tide where abandoned churches and cathedrals are being converted into mosques, or rented out to Muslims who could use them for their own worship.

7. Text: Your clever zeal has often been effective; surely you will not let all the churches of France die in one fell swoop. Today there is not one socialist endowed with taste who doesn’t deplore the mutilations the Revolution visited upon our cathedrals: so many shattered statues and stained-glass windows! Well: better to ransack a church than to decommission it. As mutilated as a church may be, so long as the Mass is celebrated there, it retains at least some life. Once a church is decommissioned it dies, and though as an historical monument it may be protected from scandalous uses, it is no more than a museum.

KPA: Here the author is saying that a "decommissioned" church, or a church which is no longer used for its liturgy is worse than a mutilated church. A broken down church which conducts its services is better than a church which just stands as a bare building.

It is in these "decommissioned" churches where museums, theaters, condominiums and mosques become replacements.

8. Text: When the sacrifice of Christ’s flesh and blood, the sacrifice of the Mass, is no longer celebrated in our churches, they will have no life left in them. Catholic liturgy and the architecture and sculpture of our cathedrals form a whole, for they stem from the same symbolism.

9. Text: It is a matter of common knowledge that in the cathedrals there is no sculpture, however secondary it may seem, that does not have its own symbolic value. If the statue of Christ at the Western entrance of the cathedral of Amiens rests on a pedestal of roses, lilies, and vines, it is because Christ said: “I am the rose of Saron”; “I am the lily of the valley”; “I am the true vine”.

If the asp and the basilisk, the lion and the dragon and sculpted beneath His feet it is because of the verse in Ps 90: Inculcabis super aspidem et leonem. To his left, in a small relief, a man is represented dropping his sword at the sight of an animal while a bird continues to sing beside him. This is because “the coward hasn’t the courage of a thrush”: indeed the mission of this bas-relief is to symbolize cowardice, as opposed to courage, because it is set under the statue that is always (at least in earliest times) to the right of the statue of Christ, that is, under the statue of St. Peter, the Apostle of courage.


Historical Archive: Genoels-Elderen ivories.
Rheno-Mosan Insular Bavarian late 8th or early 9th century

[Christ trampling on the adder and the lion]


And so it goes for the thousands of statues that adorn the cathedral.

KPA: Psalm 90: Inculcatis super aspidem et leonem.
Psalm 91:13 Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder

God will give you strength to vanquish your enemies.

10. Text: Here is the interpretation of a daily ceremony: the Mass. You will see that it is no less symbolic.

The deep and sorrowful chant of the Introit opens the ceremony: it proclaims the expectation of the patriarchs and prophets. The clergy are in choir, the choir of the saints of the old Law who yearn for the coming of the Messias and do not see Him. Then the bishop enters and appears as the living image of Jesus Christ. His arrival symbolizes the Advent of the Lord that the nations await. On great feast days, seven torches are born before him to recall that, as the prophet says, the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost rest upon the head of the Son of God. He processes under a triumphant canopy whose four bearers may be likened to the four Evangelists. Two acolytes walk to this right and left and represent Moses and Elias, who appeared at Mount Tabor on either side of Christ. They teach that Jesus held the authority of the Law and of the Prophets.

KPA: The symbolism in music, sculpture, art and architecture to show through beauty to word of God.

11. Text: The very clothing the priest wears to the altar” and the objects used in worship amount to so many symbols, M. Male adds. “The chasuble, worn on top of the other garments, is charity, which is above all the commandments of the Law and is itself the supreme law. The stole, which the priest puts over his neck, is the light yoke of the Lord, and since it is written that every Christian must cherish this yoke, the priest kisses this yoke when he puts it on or takes it off. The bishop’s two-pointed miter symbolizes the knowledge he must have of each of the Testaments; two ribbons are attached to it to recall that Holy Scripture is to be interpreted both literally and spiritually. The bell is the voice of the preachers and the timber from which it hangs is a figure of the Cross. Its rope, woven from three twisted threads, points to the threefold understanding of scripture, which must be interpreted according to the threefold sense, i.e., historically, allegorically, and morally. When one takes the rope in hand to set the bell ringing, one symbolically expresses the fundamental truth that the knowledge of Scripture must lead to acts.”

KPA: The objects in the liturgy, the clothing, the ribbons, the interaction with these objects, all convey the symbolic, ritualistic significance of the church ceremony. And these objects are designed and constructed with aesthetics in mind.

12. Text: And in this way everything down to the least of the priest’s gestures, down the stole he wears, comes together to symbolize Him with the deep sentiment that gives life to the whole cathedral and which is, as M. Male puts it so well, the genius of the Middle Ages itself.

KPA: Not only the objects, but the gestures, and the interactions with these objects, are carefully and aesthetically conducted.

13. Text: Doubtless only those who have studied the religious art of the Middle Ages are able to analyze the beauty of such a spectacle fully. That alone would suffice for the State to have to see to its preservation.

KPA: I think this is the discussion that always centers around "are the experts the only ones to know....?" Experts are essential, but they have to be:
a. Experts, and not ideologues who may (will) direct the public in the wrong direction (e.g., feminists, etc.)
b. That they can properly translate the information so that it doesn't stay in some ivory tower of elites, and cannot influence the world around them.

14. Text: But let us hasten to add that the people who can read medieval symbolism fluently are not the only ones for whom the living cathedral, that is to say the sculpted, painted, singing cathedral is the greatest of spectacles, as one can feel music without knowing harmony.

KPA: Analyzing music without the emotional attachments, coldly and detachedly is good for a theoretical thesis, but even then, if the student of that piece of music has no attachment to it, he will relegate it to some file "for further reference" and remove its essential quality: that it be listened and enjoyed.

15. Text: I am well aware that Ruskin, when he was demonstrating what spiritual reasons explain the arrangement of chapels in cathedral apses, declared: “Never will you be able to delight in architectural forms unless you are in sympathy with the thinking from which they arose.”

KPA: Ruskin has already said more eloquently what I have demonstrated above.

But to add my take, I think this is a very important point, and it adds the importance of the human element in art. It is not only the form that "delights," but the purpose of the form. A beautifully shaped stone cannot delight as would a beautifully carved stone, which cannot delight as would a beautifully carved sculpture, which cannot delight as would a beautifully carved sculpture of Christ, or Mary, or one of the disciples.

It is evident even in mundane pieces. A brooch which is of pure abstract shape might delight for a while, but think of a finely crafted brooch of a leaf or a flower, or a heart.

And even better, a diamond which has all its symbolism of love and eternity, given as an engagement ring.

The context behind the work of art makes the work more valuable and meaningful, at least to the owner. And the "owner" becomes collectively a family, a culture, and then a nation.

16. Text:: Still, we all know the ignorant man, the simple dreamer, who walks into a cathedral without any effort at understanding yet is overwhelmed by his emotions and receives an impression which, though perhaps less precise, is certainly just as strong.

KPA: Here, the symbiotic and osmotic influence of a culture informs even the most illiterate of laymen, who understand intuitively the importance and significance of certain cultural symbols, and even more so symbols that represent their religious beliefs. The rich, the poor, the erudite and the less intellectually versed, everyone, can in common agreement say "This is mine." The religion and its symbols become keepsakes to protect, cherish, and use.

17. Text: As a literary witness to this state of mind, admittedly quite different to that of the learned person of whom we were speaking a moment ago and who walks in a cathedral “as in a forest of symbols who gaze on him with familiar glances,” yet which allows for a vague but powerful emotion in a cathedral during the liturgy, I shall quote Renan’s beautiful text The Double Prayer:
“One of the most beautiful religious spectacles one can still contemplate today (and which one may soon no longer be able to contemplate, if the House of Representatives passes the Briand bill) is that which the ancient cathedral of Quimper presents at dusk. Once darkness has filled the vast building’s side aisles, the faithful of both sexes gather in the nave and sing evensong in the Breton language with a simple and moving rhythm. The cathedral is lit only by two or three lamps. In the nave, the men are on one side, standing; on the other side, the kneeling women form a motionless sea of white headdresses. The two halves sing in alternation, and the phrase that one of the choirs begins is finished by the other. What they sing is quite beautiful. As I heard it, I felt that with a few changes it might be fitted to every state of humanity. Above all it made me dream of a prayer which, with a few variations, might suit men and women equally.”
KPA: Once again, it is the human emotion which is the conveyer of the meaning. Without feeling, there is no spirituality.

18. Text: There are many gradations between between this reverie, which is not without its charm, and the religious art “connoisseur’s” more conscious joys. Let us bear and keep in mind the case of Gustave Flaubert, who studied—albeit with a view to interpreting it within a modern outlook—one of the most beautiful parts of the Catholic liturgy:
“The priest dipped his thumb in the holy oil and began to anoint his eyes first . . . then his nostrils, so fond of warm breezes and of the scents of love, his hands that had found their delight in sweet caresses . . . lastly his feet, which had been so swift in running to satisfy his desires, and which now would walk no more.”
KPA: Proust then quotes another writer, Gustave Flaubert, describing the simple, symbolic and profoundly significant part of a ritual:

19. Text: There is therefore more than one way of dreaming before this artistic realization - the most complete ever, since all of the arts collaborated in it—of the greatest dream to which humanity ever rose; this mansion is grand enough for us all to find our place in.

KPA: Proust continues with his theme that the church is "grand enough," big enough, for everyone.

20. Text: The cathedral, which shelters so many saints, patriarchs, prophets, apostles, kings, confessors, and martyrs that whole generations huddle in supplication and anxiety all the way to the porch entrances and, trembling, raise the edifice as a long groan under heaven while the angels smilingly lean over from the top of the galleries which, in the evening’s blue and rose incense and the morning’s blinding gold do seem to be “heaven’s balconies” - the cathedral, in its vastness, can grant asylum both to the man of letters and to the man of faith, to the vague dreamer as well as to the archeologist.

KPA: The cathedral is a repository for the grand representatives of God, who can give respite to the most humble of his children. But the humble are seen also in their behavior, and not just in their materials.

21. Text: All that matters is that it remain alive...

KPA: And this is the condition, that it be a vibrant place.

22. Text: ...and that France should not find herself transformed overnight into a dried-up shore on which giant chiseled shells seem marooned, emptied of the life that once lived in them and no longer able even to give to an ear leaning in on them a distant rumor from long ago, mere museum pieces and icy museums themselves.

KPA: I can only repeat Proust's poetic words, the modern-day landscape where "giant chiseled shells seem marooned, emptied of the life that once lived in them...

23. Text: They wanted the church of Vézelay to be decommissioned. Such is the silliness that anticlericalism inspires. Decommissioning that basilica amounts to taking away what little soul it has left. Once the little lamp that shines deep in the sanctuary has been snuffed out, Vézelay will become no more than an archeological curiosity.

KPA: Vezelay has in fact now become a UNESCO World Heritage Centre. What Proust predicted has happened. Cathedrals are now simply museums, places of curiousity, where people go to gape at what once was.

24. Text: Things keep their beauty and their life only by continuously carrying out the task for which they were intended, even should they slowly die at it. Does anyone believe that, in museums of comparative sculpture, the plaster casts of the famous sculpted wooden choir stalls of the Cathedral of Amiens can give an idea of the stalls themselves in their august yet still functional antiquity?

KPA: A church, and a cathedral, still has more life than a museum, since at least its original function was not to store sacred objects, but to include them in the liturgy and ritual.

25. Text: Whereas a museum guard keeps us from getting too close to their plaster casts, the pricelessly precious stalls, which are so old, so illustrious, and so beautiful, continue to carry out their humble task in the cathedral of Amiens which they have been doing for centuries to the great satisfaction of the citizens of Amiens, just as those artists who, while having become famous, yet still keep up a small job or give lessons. This task consists in bearing bodies even before they instruct souls.

KPA And Proust compares cathedrals with those artists who still keep contact with the common man, despite having become famous. These cathedrals still have a place for the humble worshiper.

And the "task" of these stalls in these cathedrals is first to hold the bodies of the kneeling worshipers, so that they may receive instructions on their souls. All worshipers are equal, when kneeling before God.

26. Text: and that is what, folded down and showing their upper side, they humbly do during the offices. More than this: these stalls’ perpetually worn wood has slowly acquired, or rather let seep through, that dark purple that is so to speak its heart and which the eye that has once fallen prey to its charm prefers to everything else, to the point of being unable even to look at the colors of the paintings which, after this, seem rough and plain. Then one experiences something like ebriety as one savors, in the wood’s ever more blazing ardor, what is so to speak the tree’s sap overflowing in time. The naïf figures sculpted in it receive something like a twofold nature from the material in which they live. And generations have variously polished all of these Amiens-born fruits, flowers, leaves, and vegetation that the Amiens sculptor sculpted in Amiens wood, thus bringing out those wonderful contrasting tones in which the differently colored leaf stands out from the twig; this brings to mind the noble accents that Mr. Gallé has been able to draw out of the oak’s harmonious heart.

KPA: The beauty of these stalls, their carvings, their worn wood, is more precious to the worshiper, who kneels on them in prayer, than even the paintings on the catherdral's walls, since they hold him while he prays.

Mr. Gallé, I assume, is the sculptor.

27. Text: The cathedral, if Mr. Briand’s bill were passed, would not find itself closed and unable to provide the Mass and prayers just for the canons who perform the services in those stalls whose armrests, misericords, and banister tell of the Old and New Testaments, nor only for the people filling up the immense nave. We were just saying that nearly every image in a cathedral is a symbol. Yet some are not. Such are the painted or sculpted pictures of those who, having contributed their pennies to the decoration of the cathedral, wished to keep a place in it forever, so that they might silently follow the services and noiselessly participate in prayer from a niche’s balustrade or the recess of a stained glass window, in saecula saeculorum. we know that since the oxen of Laon had christianly drawn the construction materials for the cathedral up the hill from which it rises, the architect rewarded them by setting up their statues at the feet of the towers. You can see them to this day as, in the din of the bells and the pooling sunlight, they raise their horned heads above the colossal holy arch towards the horizon of the French plains—their “inner dream.” That was the best that could be done for beasts: for men, better was granted.

KPA: The cathedral is not just for the living, but for those who have contributed to have a space in the cathedral at their death, so that "they might silently follow the services and noiselessly participate in prayer."

Mr. Briand was a socialist politician, who briefly became Prime Minister of France, who worked towards the separation of Church and State. The Bill Proust is talking about is probably that which became law in 1905: Loi du 9 décembre 1905 concernant la séparation des Églises et de l'État.

28. Text: They went into the church. There they took their place, which would be theirs after death and from which, just as during their lifetime, they could go on following the divine sacrifice. In some cases, leaning out of their marble tomb, they turn their heads slightly to the Gospel or to the Epistle side and are able to glimpse and feel around them, as they can in Brou, the tight and tireless interlacing of crest flowers and initials; sometimes, as in Dijon, they keep even in their tombs the bright colors of life. In other cases, from the recess of a stained glass window, in their crimson, ultramarine, or azure cloaks that catch the sun and blaze up with it, they fill its transparent rays with color and suddenly let them loose, multicolored and aimlessly wandering in the nave, which they tinge with their wild and lazy splendor, with their palpable unreality. Thus they remain donors, who, for this very reason, have deserved perpetual prayers. And all of them want the Holy Ghost, when He will come down from the Church, really to recognize his own.

KPA: Such donors took their place in their lifetime, so that they may follow the cathedral during their death.

29. Text: It is not just the queen and the princes who wear their insignia, their crown, or their collar of the Golden fleece: money changers are portrayed proving the title of coins; furriers sell their furs (see [Emile] Male for reproductions of those windows); butchers slaughter cows; knights wear their coat of arms; sculptors cut capitals. Oh! all of you in your stained glass windows in Chartres, in Tours, in Bourges, in Sens, in Auxerre, in Troyes, in Clermont-Ferrand, in Toulouse, ye coopers, furriers, grocers, pilgrims, laborers, armorers, weavers, stonemasons, butchers, basket makers, cobblers, money changers, o ye, great silent democracy, ye faithful obstinately wanting to hear the office, who are not dematerialized but more beautiful than in your living days now in the glory of heaven and blood that is your precious glass: no longer will you hear the Mass you had guaranteed for yourselves by donating the best part of your pennies to building this church. As the profound saying goes, the dead no longer govern the living. And the forgetful living stop fulfilling the wishes of the dead.

KPA: Money-lenders, laborers, butchers and cobblers are equally present with queens and princes.

30. Text: But let the ruby coopers and the rose and silver basket makers inscribe the backdrop of their stained glass with the “silent protest” that Mr. Jaurès could so eloquently give us and which we beg him to bring to the ears of the representatives.

KPA: Mr. Jaurès was a socialist leader who spoke at one of the Dreyfus rallies, which Proust attended. The plea is to have Jaures speak as eloquently on behalf of the cathedrals as he did for the falsely accused Jewish Dreyfus.

31. Text: Leaving aside that innumerable and silent people, the ancestors of the electors for whom the House has such little concern, let us at last summarize:

KPA: And here are the recommendations Proust makes:

1. Text: First: safeguarding the most beautiful works of French architecture and sculpture, which will die on the day that they no longer serve the worship for which they were born, which is their function just as they are its organs, which explains them because it is their soul, makes it the government’s duty to demand that worship be offered in the cathedrals in perpetuity, while the Briand bill authorizes it to turn the cathedrals into whatever museums or conference halls (in the best of cases) it pleases after a few years, and even if the government does not undertake to do so, it authorizes the clergy (and, since it will no longer be subsidized, compels it) no longer to celebrate the offices in them if it finds the rent too high.

KPA: Proust's message is that if these places of worship are not used for worship, they "will die on the day that they no longer serve the worship for which they were born."

2. Text: Second: the preservation of the greatest historic yet living artistic production imaginable, for the reconstruction of which, if it did not already exist, no one would shrink from spending millions, namely the cathedral Mass, makes it the government’s duty to subsidize the Catholic Church for the upkeep of a worship that is far more relevant to the conservation of the noblest French art (to continue our strictly worldly perspective) than the conservatories, theaters, concert-halls, ancient tragedy reconstitutions at the theater of Orange, etc. etc., all of which enterprises have doubtful artistic aims and which keep up many weak works (how do Le Jour, L’Aventurière, or Le Gendre de M. Poirier stand up to the choir of Beauvais or the statues of Rheims?), whereas the masterpiece that is the medieval cathedral, with its thousands of painted or sculpted figures, its chants, its services, is the noblest of all the works to which the genius of France has ever risen.

KPA: But, like a true socialist atheist, Proust demands that the government subsidize these cathedrals as "the greatest historic yet living artistic production imaginable," relegating religion, and Christianity, to a work of art, but still superior to:

3. Text: ...the conservatories, theaters, concert-halls, ancient tragedy reconstitutions at the theater of Orange, etc. etc., all of which enterprises have doubtful artistic aims and which keep up many weak works (how do Le Jour, L’Aventurière, or Le Gendre de M. Poirier stand up to the choir of Beauvais or the statues of Rheims?), whereas the masterpiece that is the medieval cathedral, with its thousands of painted or sculpted figures, its chants, its services, is the noblest of all the works to which the genius of France has ever risen.

KPA: It is not enough that even if such a committed socialist declare the importance of cathedrals. His point is that their loss is a loss for artistic legacy, rather than religious presence. As Proust eloquently writes, without worship, the cathedral will be diminished, and eventually disappear. In fact, we are seeing this slowly and surely. Our cathedrals, and their more humble variations, our churches, are not simply transforming into "giant chiseled shells [which] seem marooned, emptied of the life that once lived in them..." but are becoming repositories for the biggest take-over of our century: their conversion into mosques.


St. James Cathedral, Toronto
View from the entrance looking towards the alter


Proust may have been prescient in his clarion call about the church, but he was deficient in his fight.

He was insufficiently religious. He was insufficiently Christian.

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[Photo By: KPA, 2015]

Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Creepy Eyes Win At The Golden Globes


Director Tim Burton next to one of the "Big Eyes" illustrations

Big Eyes is a true story about an "artist" who makes creepy, cartoonish illustrations of little girls with giant eyes.

Who are these drawings for? Young children would be creeped out, and older people, well, why would they want such juvenile art adorning their walls?

This is what Burton says about these paintings, which he saw all over the place as a young child:
“At my doctor’s office, there was a big-eyed girl with a poodle. At my dentist’s office, there was a series of kids with cats. When I went to the market, there were greeting cards with Keane ballerinas, Keane waifs, Keane cowboys, and so on. I was fascinated by their huge, sad, Big Brother–ish eyes. I loved that these strange children always seemed to be watching me. It was like being in a bizarre, captivating dream.”
And now, Burton is directing a film based on these images.

But who would want to star in it? Well, one actress, at least: Amy Adams.

Burton continues:
“I happened to be standing next to her at the luncheon for the Academy Award nominees. I was there for Frankenweenie, and Amy was there for The Master. We chatted, and she called me the next day and said she had read Big Eyes. She wanted to play Margaret.”
Actresses all want to look glamorous, a la Old Hollywood.

But, none of these contemporary actresses are making films worthy of those classic times. Instead, they are quite happily playing ghouls, vampires, and now creators of ghoulish art.

Adams was all set on making a movie on Margaret Keane, as Tim Burton recounts:
“I happened to be standing next to her at the luncheon for the Academy Award nominees. I was there for Frankenweenie, and Amy was there for The Master. We chatted, and she called me the next day and said she had read Big Eyes. She wanted to play Margaret.”


Creepy-eyed girl in Margaret Keane's 1963 In the Garden (there are many variations to the tile and date of this image, but here seems to be an authentic one).

Here is Adams as Margaret Keane, next to one of the creepy eyed "Big Eyes":



And here is Adams, in her Versace and Tiffany's:


Amy Adams in her lilac Versace gown
at the Golden Globes on Sunday




Adams was fully decked in Tiffany's at the Golden Globes, according to this site, with:
...drop earrings, a platinum and diamond five-row bracelet and a platinum and 2.12-carat square cushion modified brilliant diamond ring.
None of the major film critics are talking about the creepiness of Margaret Keane's illustrations (I cannot call them paintings). But a few dare to voice the obvious (albeit in single lines, or as their article heading).

Here's a review at the Nashiville Scene:
If you’re like me, perhaps you saw the trailer and groaned, “Why why why Margaret Keane?! Yack.”...What [Burton] can do is tell a stranger-than-fiction story about a creepy man who pretended to paint his wife’s creepy kid art.

Detail of Our Children, painted by Margaret Keane around 1960

In 1961, The Prescolite Manufacturing Corporation bought Our Children and presented it to the United Nations Children's Fund. It is in the United Nations permanent collection of art.

Here is the website of the artist, Margaret Keane.

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Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat

Friday, January 9, 2015

Je Ne Suis Pas Charlie!



Look at this pathetic collection of westerners, Parisians, FRENCH, who have Général De Gaulle in recent memory, standing there with their little signs!

This is what is going to "set them free?"

Geert Wilders posted this statement on the jihad in France and the murder of the French journalists, at his website, and also the video below:
The West is at war, and should de-Islamize

The assassinations of ten journalists and two policemen today in Paris serve as a warning to all the countries in the free world. We are at war. Charlie Hebdo was under police protection following numerous threats because of its outspoken criticism of Islam. Despite the protection by the police, terrorists were able to murder their opponents.

Western governments have to realize that we are at war. We should no longer show any respect for an ideology that rejects our fundamental values. The only way to defend our democratic values and fundamental freedoms is to start the de-Islamization of our societies.

We have to close our borders, reinstate border controls, get rid of political correctness, introduce administrative detention, and stop immigration from Islamic countries. We must defend ourselves. Enough is enough.



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Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat
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Wednesday, November 5, 2014



Here is my Barnes and Noble review of My Battle Against Hitler: Faith, Truth, and Defiance in the Shadow of the Third Reich, by Dietrich von Hildebrand.

I will be writing a more extensive review here at Reclaiming Beauty (I'm about 3/4 of the way through the book). Hildebrand has written a generous book (if I can use that adjective in this case), giving us, even in the depths of evil, something, some hope, to hang on to, namely, his steadfastness against that evil.

Keep checking!!

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Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat
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Sunday, September 14, 2014

Sham Realism and the Usual Nihilism


Another New York icon for blowing up: The Brooklyn Bridge stylized with a pistol

I've posted below the full article by Armond White Working Class Goes to Hell: Drop and The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby. Once again, movies make a mess of class realism.

The article is posted on National Review Online.

I post it here because I read it just after I posted my recent article on the 9/11 memorial, where I wrote: "A defeatist, nihilistic symbol will produce a defeated people."

White, in the article below, expands on the nihilism of contemporary films. He writes in the article:
Lehane’s popularity among filmmakers, from Clint Eastwood to Scorsese, points to an ongoing class war between out-of-touch professionals who have enjoyed class ascension and self-hating audiences who eagerly accept the worse view of themselves as if confronting hard facts of life. This sham realism [in the film] contains the usual indie-movie nihilism.
He continues:
Cynics love this junk for its simultaneous wallowing in decadence..., sanctimony..., and self-pity...
It is far easier to wallow in decadence, sanctimony and self-pity than to take a stand against these camouflaged evils, expose them, and provide (and live) an alternative life of goodness, choosing God instead of the devil. Our modern world, as I wrote in the article linked above, has left us with
a depressing, generic memorial, which has become the norm in our godless, non-spiritual world.
This norm is not only in our public memorials, but in our personal presentations, where dark, nihilistic clothes now make up standard attire.
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Working Class Goes to Hell: Drop and The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby
Once again, movies make a mess of class realism.

By Armond White
September 11, 2014

Another Dennis Lehane carnival of urban clichés, The Drop uses the story of a quiet, lonely Brooklyn barkeep, Bob Malinowski (Tom Hardy), who outwits the criminals, the cops, and the people around him, for a fable that is sinister, sentimental, ironic, and worthless.

Based on Lehane’s short story “Animal Rescue” (which became the intro to his novelization The Drop), the film belongs to the same trash heap as Hollywood’s other Lehane adaptations such as Gone Baby Gone and Mystic River. It transfers those Boston-based tales to New York, the epicenter of current miscreant mythology. It’s a confabulation of news media, publishing, TV, and Hollywood industries, where hardboiled fiction and urban crime are combined into cheap and trite storytelling (what the book industry calls thrillers) and has become a new dark brand of Americana.

From its opening voiceover narration, The Drop is both fake and familiar. Its characters are all woebegone: bar owner Marv (James Gandolfini), the scared and scarred abused girl Nadia (Noomi Rapace), and Bob himself, so emotionally recessive he thinks and speaks dull-wittedly and stumbles instead of walks — a plot device of slow-boiling rage. (Bob closely relates to the pitbull puppy he rescues.) The underworld subplot involving drop-offs for Chechan mobsters is a dismal, lazy way to deal with the contemporary social challenges and the seemingly inescapable beat-down of working-class life.

Alert, socially conscious viewers might trace Lehane’s genre to The Sopranos and its exurban offshoots, like New Jersey‘s Boardwalk Empire and Maryland’s The Wire (to which Lehane contributed), that twisted the gangster genre into a perverse, overly self-conscious version of social realism. These urban-crime tales excite viewers from the middle class to the underclass by pretending to show how rough today’s pitbull-versus-pitbull world can be. A bizarre form of gallows escapism, they simplify the gradual decline of our cities. It is the pretense of an author like Lehane to pinpoint corruption while also profiting from it.
This distraction from political reality indicts that entire entertainment complex that takes a sentimentalized (and half-understood) history of ethnic struggle that frequently includes criminality, such as Marv’s pathetic get-rich scheming, as the pattern of ethnic desperation. Lehane’s insipid moralizing offers psychological rationales: Americans like Bob, Marv, and Nadia harbor such horrors from their pasts that they have no recourse other than reprobate behavior — which Martin Scorsese’s hysterical film version of Lehane’s Shutter Island illustrated, as does the equally ludicrous The Drop.

Lehane’s popularity among filmmakers, from Clint Eastwood to Scorsese, points to an ongoing class war between out-of-touch professionals who have enjoyed class ascension and self-hating audiences who eagerly accept the worse view of themselves as if confronting hard facts of life. (Note Bob’s strange locution “That‘s unlike me” to explain or disguise an eccentric act.) This sham realism contains the usual indie-movie nihilism. One cop exclaims, “Well, I’ll be damned.” And his female partner responds, “Like you weren’t already.” It’s the same laughably literary conceit as in Cormac McCarthy’s “original” screenplay for Ridley Scott’s The Counselor. Cynics love this junk for its simultaneous wallowing in decadence (Bob’s local parish church is about to close), sanctimony (Bob’s chivalrous defense of Nadia), and self-pity (“You have to be alone forever,” Bob philosophizes).

The class condescension in The Drop has become such a cliché that even Belgian director Michael R. Roskam can imitate the Brooklyn miasma with the same fake fussiness as native son James Gray. This gloomy, hardboiled pathos exposes the filmmakers’ distance from their subject. When Italian director Elio Petri made The Working Class Goes to Heaven (also known as Mimi the Metalworker) in the early ’70s, the defense of lower-class struggle was part of Petri’s combined Communist critique and satire. Lehane sends the working class to hell out of Hollywood/literary pity. It’s nothing less than cultural decadence that should be obvious to anyone who doesn’t have an academic or industry stake in denying the problem. Imagine if the makers of The Drop had kept Lehane’s original title and honestly asked moviegoers to approve the symbolic treatment of their lives as animals?

***

Why would first-time feature director Ned Benson The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby allude to the title of a famous 1966 Beatles song and then deny an exploration into its meaning? That bad idea is a warning. So is the story’s confounding presentation. Benson’s tale of a broken marriage between once-blissful young parents Conor (James McAvoy) and Eleanor (Jessica Chastain) started in two separate films, one subtitled “Him,” the other “Her.” This reviewer endured the remix, a third version subtitled “Them.”

McAvoy’s ornery petulance as the bratty son of a restaurateur and Chastain’s actressy traumatized daughter of a professor make an annoying, mismatched pair. This is the opposite of The Drop, as both these affluent characters are meant to be envied, even in their exasperating, enervated struggle to find the companionship they lost. They suffer in luxe settings and among highly theatrical peers (William Hurt, Viola Davis, Isabelle Huppert) who seem signed on for narcissism (acting out one “heartfelt” confession after another) not truth. Here’s a different kind of class displacement — filmmakers who are so out of touch with the prosperity to which they have ascended that they falsify the terms of their apparent spiritual emptiness. Fatuous Benson, who treats Conor and Eleanor as teenagers, relates it all to a song — and it’s a song he doesn’t seem to understand.

When The Smiths updated “Eleanor Rigby” as “Vicar in a Tutu” (1986), the new song satirized a pre-millennial sense of spiritual isolation. Skepticism, tradition, impudence, and desperation were examined and then redeemed for a powerful and refreshed sense of identity. Challenging pop and religious heritage, and hearing its echo, the Smiths were also marvelously rooted to it. In The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby, Benson and cast seem unaware they are rootless.
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White briefly mentions Martin Scorcese's Shutter Island in his article, where he writes:
Americans like Bob, Marv, and Nadia harbor such horrors from their pasts that they have no recourse other than reprobate behavior - which Martin Scorsese’s hysterical film version of Lehane’s Shutter Island illustrated, as does the equally ludicrous The Drop.
I discuss this phenomenon in a post from 2011, where I write:
A recent program on Television Ontario's news/current affairs program The Agenda had a panel discussion it titled as "Zombie Zeitgeist" and had zombie experts from various universities as guest on its panel...It is astonishing how seriously they all take the topic, including the usually sharp and adroit host of the program Steve Paiken.

I noticed this foray into the "unreal" with two films that Leonardo DiCaprio made, in quick succession just last year: Shutter Island and Inception. DiCaprio's characters enter some abyss (in Shutter Island we find out that he's actually mad) where the laws of reality (including gravity) don't exist, or at least they don't fully and consistently exist.
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Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat
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Friday, May 9, 2014

Destroying the Image












Still from film "The Young Prince" by Bruce Elder

Here is an email interaction I had with a Reclaiming Beauty reader who was getting spam email after commenting on my site. He also informed me that he was a student of Bruce Elder.

I am posting the interaction since it is really a continuation of my posts which I titled Art Thieves.
Dear _____,

Sorry to get back to you late. I cannot "unsubscribe" you at the moment, but I'm looking up how to and hope to do so soon.

[...]

Yes, I had Bruce Elder. He was an odd fellow, and to be honest, not very artistic. I think that was partly his forceful presence in "experimental" film. He started out as a poet, but failed at that, then turned to film.

I was one of his protege's, but I left the group. I criticized him on several occasions, twice during speeches he was making at public lectures. He could never answer my basic question of "why was he trying to destroy the image." He would thoroughly disapprove of my "realist" approach to photography.

I also similarly criticized the big and formidable Stan [Brakhage] during one of his visits to Toronto, in Bruce's home, where I was a member of his "round table" group of students, faculty and artists (we met about once a week for drinks and discussions). My question to Stan [Brakhage] was similar in stance to the one I asked Bruce [Elder], of why he was destroying the image. Stan [Brakhage], for a few brief moments, didn't know what to say. I think he deflected the question and talked about something else.

Your photographs are wonderful. You have a beautiful family.

All the best,

Kidist
Here is the response from my correspondent:
No rush. Thanks.

p.s. I must contact a friend who now lives in Montreal and tell him your thoughts on Bruce Elder. He'll smile. I had Bruce speak at an NPPA seminar once. I gave him a simple task, to talk about two television news reports, one American and one Canadian and both reporting on the same story. The news stories took two different views. The news was clearly biased in one or both countries. Bruce veered off into a very weird talk that literally emptied the auditorium. Hundreds fled his talk. I laugh now but I was the seminar chair and it was an awful moment.

Cheers!
I reply:
Dear ____,

I have removed commenting functions from Reclaiming Beauty. It looks like people send spam email to those who comment, as one reader informed me.

Thanks for your patience.

Here is one really interesting piece of information proclaimed by The Great Bruce himself:
"Years ago, I used to tell people, only half facetiously, that I was a film maker because I wasn't a creative artist."
More at In Conversation with R. Bruce Elder on the "techniques" he developed to make his films (one of which, I should add, which he hasn't, is to stand clothless infront of the camera being "creative" with himself).

He got one other film student, a woman called Izabella Pruska, to take off her clothes and make her "films." Here she in all her non-glory posing for the Toronto Star.

Here is her [film] Garden of Earthly Delights, which is a clever erotica, a la Elder, where we see flashes of her "delights."

They have made porn, basically. The greatest of nudes in classical painting were never so explicit (or subversively explicit).

And here is Pruska's latest: This Town of Toronto, with the Elder imprint of layered images that are difficult to decipher, repetitive, and which I call "destruction of the image." And Brakhage's imprint of flowers as erotica. Also, using old (or found) footage is another lazy way out of making films and photographs, as I write here in my recent post Art Thieves.

The film was shown at a Ryerson University Symposium in 2013: Electric Visions: How DADA and Surrealism Anticipated the Later Avant-Garde.

Pruska also had funding from Canada Council to make this 3-minute piece. They never think to fund their own films. Pruska is married to a well-positioned pharmaceutical researcher, at INC Research, who I have no doubt has enough money to pay for his wife's "experiments" - (the Elder crowd calls itself "experimental film makers").

Pruska, and MacDonell (subject of Art Thieves) both teach at Ryerson now. The "legacy" lives on.

Macdonell never took off her clothes, but her Masters thesis, which went into the "festival" circuit, was based on the "found" images of a "burlesque dancer" as she calls it, which is another way of saying "a stripper."

Better label for these film makers might be "Subversive porn film makers."

Those that Elder couldn't get to declothe, he got them to shoot him in his exposed glory. One woman who filmed him in his many naked works, never worked in film after that. She is now a manager (or producer, or a freelancer) at some video production company.

Elder tried to get me to film him as well, but that was one of the last straws which convinced me to quit his program. I left without finishing my degree at Ryerson (with only one more year to go!).

But, I got my films exhibited around Toronto [and in Europe], as well as my photographs.

I do not miss those days. As Elder said, there was nothing creative about it. I actually call it 'evil." His aim is to get at your "subconscious," and more precisely, your sexual/Freudian subconscious.

[Stan] Brakhage [an American filmmaker] also worked at this "subliminal" level, and essentially destroyed or distorted the image to make his films. But he was [more] clever than Elder. He made "imageless" films by coloring on the film itself. He is really akin to the abstract expressionists, who "splashed" paint all over the canvass, a la Jackson Pollock.

Here is a link to his "method" and aim.

Elder has a new book out (he is a prolific writer, or re-writer I should say), on Dada and surrealism. Both these movements are dead and gone (probably how their founders would have wanted it), but Elder keeps on churning out the Dada and the Surreal.

Here is the link to Dada, Surrealism and the Cinematic Effect, which came out in 2013. Same old, same old. Elder gets grants from the Canada Council and other government agencies to make his films and write his books. He has convinced them such that he can do whatever he feels like, and they give him the money for it.

Here is a google books link if you want to read large excerpts from the book.

This Dada book was funded by:

- The Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences
- Canada Council for the Arts
- Ontario Arts Council
etc.

The links below are from my old website, Camera Lucida, so images are missing, but here are a couple of posts I did on Elder when his film The Young Prince came out.

New Books on Art: Beauty, Dissent and Wreckage (April 14, 2009)

The Destruction of Art by Artists: Comments on Bruce Elder's Film "The Young Prince" (April 25, 2009)

I hope I haven't bored you!

Best,

Kidist
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Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat
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Thursday, May 1, 2014

The Cult of Ugliness


Cathedral of Brasilia
(Image posted above the article)


The Cult of Ugliness in America

By: Fr. Anthony J. Brankin
[This talk on "The Cult of Ugliness in America" was given by Father Anthony J. Brankin on March 14, 2001 in the Washington Bureau of The American Society for the Defense of Tradition, Family and Property (TFP) in McLean, Virginia.]
The topic on which I have been asked to speak today is “The Cult of Ugliness in America.” I do not intend to speak of every possible example of ugliness in our society. That would be exhausting if not thoroughly discouraging. We already live cheek-by-jowl in an incredibly ugly culture; we cannot escape it. So if there is any purpose to this talk, it is to keep you aware of the very real danger that you might miss the ugliness entirely and never catch on to the real destruction that this ugliness is working in your very souls.

Now, what could I possibly mean by the word “ugly”? Is it too glib to say that if beauty can be defined as that which when seen pleases, then the ugly is that which when seen displeases? Why does it displease? Is there some definable element that tells us that an ugly piece is ugly? Is there an obvious line or shape or combination of lines and shapes that screams, “ugly!”

What can we make of the modern phenomenon whereby what is considered ugly nonetheless pleases — or what would be considered beautiful in another era or society is deemed by ours to be ugly?

For example, when I say that you live cheek-by-jowl with this ugliness, I mean to say that in coming to and going from this hall you are surrounded by miles and miles of unyielding ugliness: McDonalds and Burger Kings sandwiched between Amocos and tenements. You do not mistake that for beauty, but it is so ubiquitous that you may no longer recognize it as specifically ugly.

You may never even make a mental note of the ugliness of all the malls with their false fronts and even falser interiors, or of the condominiums that are just as empty and sterile on the inside as they are on the outside. That’s just how everything looks now.

And, of course, that’s just for starters, for there is likewise in our world a spiritual ugliness no less all-pervasive than and somehow related to the visual ugliness all about us.

You will turn on your car radio only to hear of some new school shooting, and you won’t even be sure if this is the eighth or ninth such massacre in as many months. You will, however, be able to form a mental image of the alleged perpetrators, for you have seen the look and the fashions on your own block and maybe even within your own families: the chopped, colored hair, the mutilations, the tattoos, the rings in the nostrils and eyebrows, the baggy clothes, the backward baseball caps, the surly looks and the sullen grunts. You’ve even heard their music — God have mercy on us; we’ve all heard their music.

Then, of course, when you finally reach home, you will turn on the television news to hear of our scientific culture’s progress in the harvesting and sale of babies’ body parts. You will see news bytes of the political candidates trying to outdo each other in their dedication to killing babies.

Perhaps then, after supper, you will turn the channel to a show where you are treated to hour after hour of actors and actresses spewing vile lines in ever more tawdry productions. Could television programming be any less accurately described than by saying it consists of ugly, mean people doing ugly, mean things to each other? Indeed, the ugliness is so universal, so part and parcel of our lives, that it hardly registers in our minds anymore. And having drunk fully of this awful cup, you go to bed.

Now, you might think that at least on Sunday you could be rescued from all of this visual and spiritual ugliness by going to church; but ugliness is there, too, for chances are that your church has already been despoiled by modern Catholic barbarians who haven’t even the artistic sense of the Unitarians who sit on your towns’ historic preservation boards.

The modernists will already have removed the tabernacle to a closet and the crucifix to the rectory basement. They will have torn up the sanctuary and torn down the shrines; and they will have done their expensive best to ruin whatever vision of spiritual loveliness the first parishioners and the first architect possessed. But, again, you are so used to it by now that what they have done to your church in the name of reform barely registers anymore in your minds — at least not until you have to confront what they have also done to the Mass — ever-perky, ever-childish, ever-changing, ever-boring, ever-therapeutic, until you are no longer sure who should be more embarrassed, you for still being there or the liturgists who invented it all.

No, the cult of ugliness is so pervasive, so all around us, in every nook and cranny of our lives, that we stand the risk at every moment of missing it, of no longer being able to see it or even be repelled by it.

What is Beauty?

Our talk will be divided into three parts: We shall first try to understand what has always been traditionally understood by the use of the word “beautiful” by most people in most eras, and in fact, how traditional Catholic philosophy was able to sort out that traditional understanding of beauty into an actual set of principles, the violation of which would yield ugliness.

Secondly, we shall try to situate these understandings of beauty and ugliness in the context of culture — or cult or faith — to see how beauty and ugliness flow naturally into the world from the content or emptiness of the soul.

Thirdly, we will make some personal resolutions, which we hope would take us a long way towards the destruction of this Cult of the Ugly.

Nature, the Matrix for Beauty

Ask any child who is drawing something what he is trying to do and he will tell you that he is trying to recreate something that he saw in nature, be it an apple, or the sun, or a tree, or a house. And, invariably, the measure of the success of the drawing for that child is how closely the drawing resembles nature.

Accuracy according to nature was always the standard of reference for artists and societies, for all high civilizations from the Egyptians and Greeks to the Romans and Europeans. Each culture’s succeeding generations of artists tried to improve upon, or at least remember, the techniques, lessons, and discoveries of the previous generations, always seeking a greater beauty of lines, more solid figures, and truer perspectives.

It was generally accepted that there was infinitely more to a face than just that face — something else between the proportions of nose, eyes, cheekbones, jawbones, lips, and mouth — and this, of course, would be “beauty.”

If, therefore, we are to understand anything about the “Cult of Ugliness,” we must first understand what beauty is. Its definition is basic enough. According to the great saint-philosopher of the Middle Ages, Thomas Aquinas, beauty is that which when seen pleases.* No more, no less. If colors and forms and shapes and compositions would please beggars and kings all at the same time, then that would be considered “beautiful.”

But why does it please? What would make the heart delight in that which the eye saw? Well, Saint Thomas said that if something gives us pleasure then there is always somehow present in the thing which gives pleasure something that is “good,” and the good always attracts us, always pleases us.

Now the good, which a person sees and senses in some beautiful thing, is its “form.” That is, it’s wholeness, its proportions. If such a thing is complete, right, and balanced, it is “good,” and what happens is that we are attracted to that “form” because we sense that there is in the object the same kind of form within us. We see and sense in the form of the beautiful object a “good.” And the good in it echoes the good in us — or at least the good that should be in us. We are fascinated and attracted by that sameness. It delights us and we want to remain in its presence.

Did you ever watch babies and see how they are totally taken in by other babies, how they react to those other little creatures that are so like them? How they stare at other babies, recognize the similarities, and even reach out to touch their faces?

The form of a beautiful object is considered beautiful because it is whole and proportionate, as we would sense ourselves to be whole and proportionate. We delight in the beauty of our own being. There is a resemblance between that which is in us and that which is in the beautiful object. And we are pleased.

But that is not all there is to the story. There is one more element present without which we cannot achieve all this pleasant recognition. Just as the eyes of the body need actual light to see anything, so too the eyes of the soul need a similar light which Saint Thomas calls claritas — clarity — a spark of light, so to speak, that glances off the beautiful object and actually comes from the beautiful object. It is the very same spark of being which comes from the Being of God. The very Being of God is present in the being of the object, and God’s beautiful Being is therefore revealed in the form and proportions and clarity of the object. Precisely because a beautiful thing is a reflection of the Beauty of God, we are naturally drawn and attracted to it as we would be drawn and attracted to God in our desire for union with Him.

The beauty of God is somehow mysteriously reflected in the beauty of being — first in nature, then in trees, sunsets, in faces and forms and figures; and then it is reflected in art — in drawings and paintings and sculptures and even in architecture (and, somehow, even more mysteriously, in music.)

The closer those artistic forms conform to nature, the closer they conform to the supernatural, and the more accurately do they reflect the truth, the beauty, and the goodness of God.

Beauty is Objective

We have been made to believe for generations now that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, that it is all a matter of taste and culture, opinion and upbringing, that there is no true objective beauty out there that can be used as a universal standard. It all comes from one’s mind and what one likes. So, if you think a horribly skewed, out-of-shape series of smears and stains is beautiful, then, for you, it is beautiful.

Well, I stand here today to say, along with thirty thousand years of human instinct and two thousand years of Catholic tradition, that beauty is not in the eye of the beholder. Beauty resides in the beautiful thing itself. It will either have proportion, wholeness, integrity, and clarity in itself and be from God, or it will not have those qualities and will be displeasing to the discerning soul and will therefore be ugly.

You see, just as theological modernism denies the objective reality of the supernatural, saying that all dogma, all revelation, is just your experience and, therefore, the truth is what you think is the truth, so too, artistic modernism tries to convince us that whatever anyone thinks is beautiful is beautiful for that person.

Indeed, today no one is allowed to say that anything is ugly, for to call something ugly hints at the possibility of an actual real standard of reference by which some things can be beautiful and some things not beautiful. This hints at the possibility of a claim to objective truth, which is certainly not allowed in today’s society because that would hint at a God.

We are cowed into a moral and cultural silence before the modern proclamation that a squat, misshapen, mis-proportioned figure is somehow beautiful — and even perhaps more artistic than the figure that God first created. How could it be said that that which seemed so ugly to us was still somehow beautiful to them? Well, they say it still, but now we know that this attitude is simply a modern intellectual conceit, by which their higher appreciation of art makes them superior to those not in on the game.

For the same reason, no one today is allowed to say that anything is wrong, to say that something is evil, or to say that something is immoral. If there is nothing that is in and of itself “true,” then neither is there something that is in and of itself good or bad — neither beautiful nor ugly.

Indeed, when you walk into some modern monstrosity of a church and your instinctive reaction is, “My God, this is ugly,” you are right. It probably is ugly. And you have no less an authority than Thomas Aquinas to back you up.

You incur no moral or aesthetic fault if weird angles and blank concrete walls in a church make you feel uneasy and uncomfortable. There is no sin in seeing some hideous deformation of Christ on the cross or some monstrous representation of Mary and saying that it is hideous, that it is monstrous. Nor is there virtue in trying to think that, somehow, it is all really beautiful and that there must be something wrong with you. You need no longer feel forced into a corner bleating, “Well I guess I don’t know much about art.” It may simply mean that your good human and Catholic instincts are still intact and that they have, somehow, survived this ugly, ugly society.

Now you might be thinking: “My goodness, the world is falling apart and he’s talking about drawings. More than a million babies a year are being sucked out of the wombs of their mothers and he wants to discuss pretty pictures. Seventy per-cent of Catholics don’t even go to church anymore and he’s giving us lessons on the philosophy of art. If we wanted Sister Wendy we could have turned on PBS.”

This goes much deeper than aesthetic philosophy. It refers to the way we think about and deal with life itself — all of life, all of nature, all of being. All human activity is meant by means of beauty to provide us with an access to God, Who is All-Beautiful.

To Produce Beauty One Must Possess Beauty

It takes virtue to do virtuous things. Indeed, it takes virtue to even recognize virtue or to recognize its opposite. And if you possess this virtue, this grace — this natural penchant for the supernatural, this healthy sense of beauty, you will see, know, feel, and do things of which the rest are simply incapable.

The same goes for the sense of beauty. Unless beauty first resides within, it will never be exemplified without in any part of our society. Nor will it even be recognized.

That remnant sense of beauty — in our minds and hearts — by which we can still recognize the ugliness out there, either in ugly buildings or ugly philosophy or ugly lives, must be cherished and guarded as our last weapon in the struggle with No-God.

But how is it that the rest of our world has become so relentlessly ugly at every level? We seem to wallow in it. Well, perhaps it is clear by now that our society, no longer possessing virtue — theological or practical — no longer possessing grace or faith or even the dimmest notions of God, has embraced emptiness. Having forsaken the true God, having blinded ourselves to His “claritas,” His spark, His light, we dwell in ugliness, darkness, and confusion.

We do not see or accomplish virtuous or beautiful things without, because there is no longer virtue or beauty within. A society that does not believe in God or super nature or even truth — let alone beauty — will do only ugly things.

Tragically enough, our world does not even know that it is ugly. We have already said that beauty is that which when seen pleases, and therefore we would know that the ugly would be that which when seen displeases. But look at our society, where it has become the macabre, the strange, the twisted, and the deformed that please. Where the most popular piece of cinema in years — number one for weeks — is a movie about a cannibal. It is the evil and ugly that now delights.

Well, welcome to the “Brave New World,” where that which in another era would have been called bad is now called good, and that which was once considered ugly is now considered beautiful.

The Cult of Ugliness Targets God Himself and Our Perception of Him

This discussion is hardly about pretty pictures. It is about the ever-ancient assault on His beauty — the original affront to His very existence and to the nature and the life that He created. The cult of ugliness in our land is no less than Satan’s rage against God. It is no less than the gleaming spear-point of the culture of death.

Moreover, the cult of ugliness is so utterly pervasive and thorough in its celebration of the fruitless, the sterile, the weird, and the ugly that it pushes to the margins all other faiths — above all the True Faith.

The subliminal message in every confused and misshapen piece of modern architecture, art, music, or drama is that there is no God. The subliminal message in every deliberate mutilation of natural forms, in every tribute to physical and personal perversion, is that there is no God. The subliminal message in every celebration of the weird and deathly is that there is no God. This subliminal message is as surely the “Illuminated Gospel of Death” as any culture could have ever proclaimed, and by virtue of its omni-presence in every aspect of modern life, we are constantly encouraged to accept this gospel.

Sadly, even much of the clerical caste, whose task would certainly be understood to include fostering the cult of the beautiful as part of its proclamation of the Gospel of Life — and whom we certainly imagine would defend us from the ugly allurements of the No-God, is often too dense to see what is going on, and itself has surrendered in so many ways to the Cult of Ugliness.

This is demonstrated every time we walk into a church to see some splayfooted, goggle-eyed Christ on a cross or some rude, crude cement Madonna. The poor priest thought he was simply purchasing a nice piece of contemporary art for his flock. In all innocence and ignorance he assumed he was simply obtaining some fresh interpretation of traditional religious themes and was never conscious that what he was looking at and what he was filling the eyes of his flock with was actually the human form exploded, exploited, and degraded — reduced to its individual and impotent parts and slapped together again in a unsettling imbalance — all for the purpose of revealing and teaching the modern loathing of living forms, the modern loathing of a Creator.

No, the poor priest never thought he was doing that. I don’t think he thought it through at all. I don’t think he ever questioned the spiritual source of such strange shapes, or ever wondered from what terrible fonts such new forms sprang.

Perhaps he never suspected the existence of a Cult of the Ugly. Perhaps he just assumed that it was all a matter of taste, and that his taste, like that of his flock, was simply old-fashioned and ready for a little jarring now and then. Well, we have all been jarred.

Look at some of our newest churches and cathedrals. Many of them are stunning and awesome — no, not for their homage to tradition and the Catholic sense of beauty. They are stunning and awesome in their utter inhumanity, their complete lack of scale, their thorough and total sterility, and their horrifying proportions. There is not an angle that could please nor an arch that could comfort. Not a piece of molding that could hold us in its shadow. Not even a little statue before which we could light a slender taper. Like the gaping mouth of the pagan, child-sacrificing furnaces of Moloch, some of our new churches will consume their people in holocausts of visual horror. I venture to say that one or two of these ecclesial “worship spaces” are some of the most terrifying pieces of architecture to have ever been accomplished by and for modern Catholics. I shudder at what harm this ugliness may accomplish in the souls of those who try to pray there. They are the clearest possible examples of the nihilism, the emptiness and nothingness, of which modernity constantly speaks — the relentless message that there is nothing out there — neither nature, nor beauty, nor God. And will we surprise ourselves to discover one day, by means of such architecture, that there is nothing left in our souls either?

Oh, what a series of ironic tragedies. We Catholics, thinking that we were opening the windows to dialogue with modernity, never had a clue that we were being used. Having spoken for so long in the language and in the forms of the modern world, we thought that we could put a Christian interpretation to the philosophy of the atheistic Enlightenment. We thought that now they would love us and come to our side. But we have found ourselves saying and meaning things we did not want to say or mean. And we do not even know how to unsay those things anymore. There it is for all the world to see — our newly acquired evangelical impotence and spiritual paralysis so clearly shown in the confusion of our renovated churches, the foolishness of our experimental liturgies, and the emptiness of our new cathedrals. Why indeed would anyone be attracted to the beauty of God, if this is what it looks like? And we will find one day that we ourselves are growing distant from God because His fascinating beauty is no longer to be found even within our own buildings.

What to Do?

So what do we do? What is the answer? Should we spend our remaining energies and spin our wheels trying to convince, to change, to convert our culture? And we really do sometimes think that, don’t we? We think that if everyone would see that one beautiful statue, or that one beautiful church, or would hear that one perfect argument or one beautiful Mass chant, then they would all be converted.

But how many converts came streaming into the Church after hearing the Gregorian chant recording from Spain? Sure it sold millions, but most, I’m sure, regarded it as little more than mood music to accompany them on the treadmill. The moderns had no idea about what these monks were singing — and Latin was not the problem.

How many of us thought, twenty-five years ago, that if we could just show everyone photos of the developing fetus, the pro-life cause would triumph conclusively? No one cared; and now we find ourselves fighting the battle against infanticide.

Well, is it all over? Do we throw our hands up in total discouragement? Do we resign ourselves to the physical ugliness and spiritual vacuum of our age? Do we surrender to the No-God of our era, place ourselves on the dung-heap of modernity and, like Job, wait for a merciful death?

No, I don’t think we have to. First among all our tasks is that we remain converted and committed to the God of our Fathers, the God of all beauty and all being. And then, naturally and unself-consciously, we will share among ourselves the beauty that we have interiorly experienced.

True Catholic culture has been left to us to create anew and afresh — with precious little reference either to our modern society or even to the clerics panting so faithfully after modernity. We ignore it and them and, taking a tip from the purveyors of the cult of ugliness, we proceed to fill our minds, our hearts, our families, our children, and our world with as much beauty as possible that by dint of the quantity and quality of our efforts there will be no room for that which is inhuman, ungodly, or ugly.

If this sounds like a clarion call back to the catacombs — that we withdraw from our modern culture — then so be it. Yes, that too is heresy in our contemporary Church culture where we are constantly encouraged to engage and embrace the modern world. But in doing so — as we have seen over these last tragic decades, we stand to gain nothing and lose all in such a poisonous encounter.

But where are those catacombs? Where are those refuges from the human and spiritual horrors of our “Brave New World”? They are in your very homes, your front rooms and bedrooms, your home schools and private academies. That is where the true culture of the New Millennium will take shape, for, undistracted by the pomps and pleasures, the flashy arrogances and fleshy superficialities of the ugly world around us, mothers and fathers can form and mold and guide their children with unadulterated faith and inculcate into their souls every form and example of beauty.

And in isolating and insulating your children from the moral squalor about them, you are only strengthening them in their eventual confrontation with it. Fill the walls of your homes with beautiful art, fill the ears of your family with beautiful music, fill the souls of your children with beautiful stories, and there will be no room left for the insipid, the warped, the ugly, and the faithless. If you can make of your family a little Church, you will not have to be engaging constantly in rear-guard action to counteract the toxins of the media and schools or that of your children’s strange new friends down the block. They will not be forced to unlearn at home the lessons they have just learned outside.

Your families will come to know and appreciate that there is only one thing about which to be busy, around which to revolve, only one thing to cultivate, and that is their souls, the beautiful gift from God. This realization will then help them do beautiful things, create beautiful things, and appreciate all the beautiful things that issue forth from beautiful grace-filled souls.

And if we do this, then, little by little, as modernity continues to die — as surely it must, for is not death its very theme? — it will be replaced by life, in fact a new Culture of Life whose healthy hallmark will be the celebration of the beauty of God in the beauty of the life around us.

Oh, indeed there is a Cult of Ugliness in our society, but it is not our cult and we will have nothing to do with it.

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Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat
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