Click on the image to enlarge it.
Click on the image to enlarge it.
Short Cut to a New You
Click on the image to enlarge it.
Click on the image to enlarge it.Tuesday, May 27, 2008
From the MFA show in San Francisco
I spent the Memorial day weekend in the city and came across the graduate MFA show for the San Francisco Art Institute at Fort Mason. Here are four of the images that caught my eye:
Click on the image to enlarge it.
You Are Your Label.
Click on the image to enlarge it.
Matisse in Tiny Clay Figures
Click on the image to enlarge it.
Abstract San Francisco
Click on the image to enlarge it.
Click on the image to enlarge it.Click on the image to enlarge it.Saturday, May 3, 2008
Goodbye, textbooks; hello, open-source learning from the TED Conference in Monterey, CA
Richard Baraniuk from Rice University
For a link to the talk itself click on TED.
For direct access to Rice University's Open-Resources click on Connexions and share the common-wealth of higher education instruction.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Women Artists Strike Back
[click on image to enlarge]This is a poster from a recent protest held in Shanghai , China.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Zagar on Zagar I
photo- J. Freed[click on image to enlarge]
Isaiah Zagar at work in Oakland
Our congratulations to Jeremiah Zagar whose documentary of his father, Isaiah, has just received the Emerging Visions Audience Award from the SXSW Film Festival. "Over the past four decades, artist Isaiah Zagar has covered more than 50,000 square feet of Philadelphia with stunning mosaic murals. "In A Dream" is a documentary feature film that chronicles his work and his tumultuous relationship with his wife, Julia. It follows the Zagars as their marriage implodes and a harrowing new chapter in their life unfolds."
For more information about the film click In a Dream.
Julia and Isaiah are our friends.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Hindu Monkey Gods -- My Mood Today
[click on image to enlarge]New York Arts of Pacific Asia Show
Gramercy Park Armory
Thursday, March 20, 2008
DVD – Double Feature Film Pick of the Week
A Julie Delpy Diptych
For the American and French views on relationships compare Richard Linklater's "Before Sunset" with Julie Delpy's own directorial debut "2 Days in Paris." They're both smart and entertaining.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Stanley Fish and the Neo Know-Nothings
I was so angry at his thoughtlessness that I wrote a whole new preamble for my section in the Chapman University College Catalog about why studying the humanities is so vital to perpetuating the very things that make us most human.
Here is what I wrote for Stanley and the semi-literate children who are currently mismanaging our potentially great nation.
Nearly all contemporary human problems are more failures of imagination, observation, analysis, interpretation, communication, common sense, integrity, courage to act, faith, compassion or introspection than insufficiencies of material means to solve them. These are the areas of competency addressed and developed in the study of the humanities. Literary critic Harold Bloom recently asked, "Where can wisdom be found?"
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Hayden White from Stanford on Why the Humanities
Dr. Robert Harrison's "Entitled Opinions on Life and Literature" is broadcast weekly onStanford Radio and available for Mp3 downloads.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
A Lyric Poem from Kyoto
A Post-Card from Kyoto at Rush Hour
A perverse calm even at rush hour
even from battalions of uniformed teens
fearful of awakening warlord emperors
At the Pink Bunny Cafe, a pastel blue
elephant stylized into a ball
wraps around a raspberry bear
Old women squashed
into the shape of a Z
cross the streets glazed with rain
One thousand and one gold lacquered
radiantly female images of Kannon
have manifested erect for 733 years
Another wooden temple so vast
only rope braided from women's hair
could have dragged its enormous beams
A glass geometrical monolith
vaster than Blade Runner's
imagined future contains
The panther train
eager to carry me back to Osaka
leaving maybe a moved pebble at Rengeo-in garden.
poem - J. Freed
Friday, March 7, 2008
Theatrical Film Pick of the Week
SavagesTo make you feel relieved that you do not live in Buffalo, NY,
or anywhere along I-90 for that matter, watch "Savages."
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Three Poems by Carilda Oliver Labra
One of my students introduced me to this fabulous Cuban-born, lyric poet -- Carilda Oliver Labra.
Eve's Discourse
Today, I brutally greet you
with a grunt
or a kick.
Where are you hiding,
where have you fled with your wild box
full of hearts,
and your stream of gunpowder?
Where are you now;
in the ditch where all dreams are finally tossed,
or in the jungle's spidery web
where fatherless children dangle?
I miss you,
you know I do--
as myself
or the miracles that never happen--
you know I do?
I'd like to entice you with a joy I've never known,
an imprudent affair.
When will you come to me?
I'm anxious to play no games,
to confide to you: "my life"--
to let thunder humble us
to let oranges pale in your hand.
I want to search your depths
and find veils
and smoke,
that will vanish at last in flame.
I love you truly
but innocently
as the transparent enchantress of my thoughts,
but, truly, I don't love you,
though innocently
as the confused angel that I am.
I love you,
but I don't love you.
I gamble with these words
and the winner shall be the liar.
Love!. . .
(What am I saying? I'm mistaken,
because here, I wanted to write, I hate you.)
Why won't you come to me?
How is it possible
you let me pass by without requiting our fire?
How is it possible you're so distant, so paranoid
that you deny me?
You're reading the newspapers
passing through
death
and life.
You're with your problems
of groans and groin,
listless,
humiliated,
entertaining yourself with an aspiration to mourning.
Even though I'm melting you,
even though I insult you,
bring you a wilted hyacinth
approve your melancholy;
call forth the salt of heaven,
stitch you into being:
What?
When are you going to murder me with your spit,
hero?
When are you going to overwhelm me again beneath the rain?
When?
When are you going to call me your little bird,
your whore?
When are you going to profane me?
When?
Beware time that passes,
time,
time!
Not even your ghosts appear to me now,
and I no longer understand umbrellas?
Every day, I become more honest with myself,
magnificently noble. . .
If you delay,
if you hesitate and don't search for me,
you'll be blinded;
if you don't return now,
infidel, idiot, dummy, fool,
I'll count myself nothing.
Yesterday, I dreamt that while we were kissing,
a shooting star exploded
and neither of us gave up hope.
This love of ours
belongs to no one;
We found it lost,
stranded
in the street.
Between us we saved it, sheltered it.
Because of that, when we swallow each other
in the night,
I feel like a frightened mother left
alone.
It doesn't matter,
kiss me again and over again
to come to me.
Press yourself against my waist,
come to me again;
be my warm animal again,
move me, again.
I'll purify my leftover life,
the lives of condemned children.
We'll sleep like murderers
who've saved themselves
by bonding together in incomparable blossoming.
And in the morning when the rooster crows,
we will be nature, herself.
I'll appear like your child asleep in her cradle.
Come back to me, come back,
penetrate me with lightening,
Bend me to your will.
We'll turn the record player on forever.
Bring me that unfaithful nape of your neck,
the blow of your stone.
Show me I haven't died,
my love, and I promise you the apple.
My Mother You Are in a Letter from Miami
My mother, you're only in a letter
and in an old scolding that I couldn't find;
stay here forever in the center
of a blooming rose that never dies.
My Mother, so far away, tired
of snow and mist. Wait, I'm coming
to bring you home to live with the sun inside you,
My Mother, who lives in a letter.
You can give a date to mystery,
that would blend with bewitching shadows;
you can be the stone rolled away,
you can evaporate the circles under your eyes;
but remember, your small daughter, Mother.
Don't dare to do all you can do; don't die.
The Boy Who Sells Greens
You have no parents; it’s clear...I know
because of your indecisive look.
I can tell because of your shirt.
You are small but grown up behind the basket.
You respect the sparrows. A penny is enough for you.
The people pass dressed inside with steel.
They don't listen to you...You have shouted
two or three times: "Greens!"
They pass indifferently carrying packages and umbrellas;
in new pants and new yellow blouses;
They walk in a hurry toward the bank and the tedium
or toward the sunset through Main Street. . .
And you're not selling: you do the game of selling;
and although you never played, it comes to you without trying...
But don't get close to me; no, child, don't talk with me.
I don't want to see the site of your probable wings.
I found you this morning around the courthouse,
and what a blow your unhappy innocence has given me!
My heart which was an urn of illusion
is now like wilted greens, like no heart.
Eve's Discourse
Today, I brutally greet you
with a grunt
or a kick.
Where are you hiding,
where have you fled with your wild box
full of hearts,
and your stream of gunpowder?
Where are you now;
in the ditch where all dreams are finally tossed,
or in the jungle's spidery web
where fatherless children dangle?
I miss you,
you know I do--
as myself
or the miracles that never happen--
you know I do?
I'd like to entice you with a joy I've never known,
an imprudent affair.
When will you come to me?
I'm anxious to play no games,
to confide to you: "my life"--
to let thunder humble us
to let oranges pale in your hand.
I want to search your depths
and find veils
and smoke,
that will vanish at last in flame.
I love you truly
but innocently
as the transparent enchantress of my thoughts,
but, truly, I don't love you,
though innocently
as the confused angel that I am.
I love you,
but I don't love you.
I gamble with these words
and the winner shall be the liar.
Love!. . .
(What am I saying? I'm mistaken,
because here, I wanted to write, I hate you.)
Why won't you come to me?
How is it possible
you let me pass by without requiting our fire?
How is it possible you're so distant, so paranoid
that you deny me?
You're reading the newspapers
passing through
death
and life.
You're with your problems
of groans and groin,
listless,
humiliated,
entertaining yourself with an aspiration to mourning.
Even though I'm melting you,
even though I insult you,
bring you a wilted hyacinth
approve your melancholy;
call forth the salt of heaven,
stitch you into being:
What?
When are you going to murder me with your spit,
hero?
When are you going to overwhelm me again beneath the rain?
When?
When are you going to call me your little bird,
your whore?
When are you going to profane me?
When?
Beware time that passes,
time,
time!
Not even your ghosts appear to me now,
and I no longer understand umbrellas?
Every day, I become more honest with myself,
magnificently noble. . .
If you delay,
if you hesitate and don't search for me,
you'll be blinded;
if you don't return now,
infidel, idiot, dummy, fool,
I'll count myself nothing.
Yesterday, I dreamt that while we were kissing,
a shooting star exploded
and neither of us gave up hope.
This love of ours
belongs to no one;
We found it lost,
stranded
in the street.
Between us we saved it, sheltered it.
Because of that, when we swallow each other
in the night,
I feel like a frightened mother left
alone.
It doesn't matter,
kiss me again and over again
to come to me.
Press yourself against my waist,
come to me again;
be my warm animal again,
move me, again.
I'll purify my leftover life,
the lives of condemned children.
We'll sleep like murderers
who've saved themselves
by bonding together in incomparable blossoming.
And in the morning when the rooster crows,
we will be nature, herself.
I'll appear like your child asleep in her cradle.
Come back to me, come back,
penetrate me with lightening,
Bend me to your will.
We'll turn the record player on forever.
Bring me that unfaithful nape of your neck,
the blow of your stone.
Show me I haven't died,
my love, and I promise you the apple.
My Mother You Are in a Letter from Miami
My mother, you're only in a letter
and in an old scolding that I couldn't find;
stay here forever in the center
of a blooming rose that never dies.
My Mother, so far away, tired
of snow and mist. Wait, I'm coming
to bring you home to live with the sun inside you,
My Mother, who lives in a letter.
You can give a date to mystery,
that would blend with bewitching shadows;
you can be the stone rolled away,
you can evaporate the circles under your eyes;
but remember, your small daughter, Mother.
Don't dare to do all you can do; don't die.
The Boy Who Sells Greens
You have no parents; it’s clear...I know
because of your indecisive look.
I can tell because of your shirt.
You are small but grown up behind the basket.
You respect the sparrows. A penny is enough for you.
The people pass dressed inside with steel.
They don't listen to you...You have shouted
two or three times: "Greens!"
They pass indifferently carrying packages and umbrellas;
in new pants and new yellow blouses;
They walk in a hurry toward the bank and the tedium
or toward the sunset through Main Street. . .
And you're not selling: you do the game of selling;
and although you never played, it comes to you without trying...
But don't get close to me; no, child, don't talk with me.
I don't want to see the site of your probable wings.
I found you this morning around the courthouse,
and what a blow your unhappy innocence has given me!
My heart which was an urn of illusion
is now like wilted greens, like no heart.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Some Great Downloadable Short Fiction
Download some great Mp3 short fiction from The New Yorker.
[right click on DOWNLOAD for the story you want
and choose "Save target as. . ." to your Desktop]
And Now for Something Completely Different
For some really intelligent conversations to download to your Ipod or MP3 Player:
Professor Robert Harrison’s Podcasts from Stanford University:
Professor Robert Harrison’s Podcasts from Stanford University:
[click on the show you want from the far left column
then right click on "Download the Show"
and choose "Save Link as. . ." to your Desktop]
Monday, March 3, 2008
Other Sculptures in La Jolla MCASD
Niki de St. Phalle
photos - J. Freed[click on image to enlarge]
You are what you wear.
From the Sculpture Garden in La Jolla's MCASD.
Goldsworthy Egg in La Jolla
photo - J. Freed[click on image to enlarge]
An Andy Goldsworthy Stone Egg in La Jolla
Art from my Vacation in San Diego
photo - J. Freed[click on image to enlarge]
Growing Goldsworthy in San Diego
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Lost Caravaggio Found
[click on image to enlarge]
The Taking of Christ (1603) - Michelangelo Caravaggio
(artist's self-portrait holding lamp extreme right corner)
Here is the story of how this lost Caravaggio was found: The Taking of Christ.
Here is the story of how this lost Caravaggio was found: The Taking of Christ.
A Post Card from San Diego's Black Beach
Cactus grows leeward.
Naked bodies lie
random and sexless as birds
while the ocean's yeasty arms rush my shoes.
Five pelicans ascend with
the cliff's quick lift
into the child's idea of a squadron.
A pair of Navy jets erupt like steam from a cappuccino machine
heading out low over the Pacific;
wing tips nearly touch like sprinting lovers.
Cactus grows leeward.
Naked bodies lie
random and sexless as birds
while the ocean's yeasty arms rush my shoes.
Five pelicans ascend with
the cliff's quick lift
into the child's idea of a squadron.
A pair of Navy jets erupt like steam from a cappuccino machine
heading out low over the Pacific;
wing tips nearly touch like sprinting lovers.
poem - J. Freed
Fafnir, the Dragon Metaphor
Wagner's Siegfried Kills the Dragon, Fafnir by Arthur Rackham
Siegfried kills Fafnir, the man transmogrified by his selfish greed into the hideous guarding dragon, and liberates the wealth of the gods so that it gets re-distributed freely to his tribe. The poet of Beowulf narrates a similar story.
In our modern rendition, for “Siegfried/Beowulf” read “you, me and Google."
For greedy "dragons" read "textbook publishers and movie production companies."
For "wealth” read “open access intellectual and artistic works” from such sites as Art Museum Networks of the World, Internet Archive and the myriad of others that I will post in future blogs.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
photo - J. Freed
Michelangelo's Modern Man
HAMLET: O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
taken from the very "best" open-access resource for this and all of Shakespeare's plays -- http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/play_view.php?WorkID=hamlet&Scope=entire&pleasewait=1&msg=pl.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
College Teaching in the Universe of Web 2.0
1. Listen to the speech, “Goodbye, Textbooks. Hello, Open-Source Learning,” given by Richard Baraniuk, a Rice University Professor, at the 2006 TED Conference in Monterey, CA:
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/view/id/25.
2. Exemplar Extraordinaire: Conducting Historical Research: The Case of "Oriental Cairo":
Start »
Summary: This course guides you through how to conduct historical research by conducting a case study on Douglas Sladen's "Oriental Cairo: City of the 'Arabian Nights'" (1911), a work included in the Travelers in the Middle East Archive (TIMEA). It introduces some standard research techniques used by historians, such as establishing a subject's biography and placing a work in context, and it also explores how to use library resources such as online catalogs and databases.
Rice University instructors and course web page: David Getman and Paula Sanders: Course Web page.
1. Listen to the speech, “Goodbye, Textbooks. Hello, Open-Source Learning,” given by Richard Baraniuk, a Rice University Professor, at the 2006 TED Conference in Monterey, CA:
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/view/id/25.
2. Exemplar Extraordinaire: Conducting Historical Research: The Case of "Oriental Cairo":
Start »
Summary: This course guides you through how to conduct historical research by conducting a case study on Douglas Sladen's "Oriental Cairo: City of the 'Arabian Nights'" (1911), a work included in the Travelers in the Middle East Archive (TIMEA). It introduces some standard research techniques used by historians, such as establishing a subject's biography and placing a work in context, and it also explores how to use library resources such as online catalogs and databases.
Rice University instructors and course web page: David Getman and Paula Sanders: Course Web page.
James' Faith
video - Stacy Alexander
My Friend James
I have my students carefully listen to and transcribe what James has to say in this video and answer the question whether he or they have a greater "faith in the Lord."
Jesus - homeless and
content - on the street
Oakland, California.
poem - J. Freed
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
