FINAL PAPER
Trevor couldn’t sleep at night. Ever since he had purchased tickets for PAX, two months earlier, he couldn’t find anything that would sufficiently distract him from the excitement of this upcoming convention. He tried reading his Dungeons and Dragons manual, he tried replaying Fable on his X-box, (only this time choosing to be good) and he had tried re-reading JRR Tolkien’s Silmerilian.
He had rifled through his closet every day for weeks, all the time concerned that he had nothing to do this event justice and proclaim his nerd pride to the world. Was it the day to show off his free Halo II tee in the charcoal black, his newly acquired Word of Warcraft: Burning Crusade tee in gunmetal black or the classic, ever popular, black-as-night Legend of Zelda tee with carefully detailed Master Sword in midnight black? After careful consideration Trevor decided that it was of the utmost importance to firstly proclaim his adoration for Penny Arcade in general and thus he decided on the midnight black, oversized, Twix and Weatherby attire, with perfectly coordinated Fred Meyer blue jeans. He chose his knockoff Target Doc. Martens, ‘80s shades and an Office 2007 messenger bag to complete the outfit.
Trevor’s concerned mother had noticed this newfound change in her 28 year-old son, and with a “tisk tisk”, she insured that he ate double broccoli servings at dinner. When she dropped him off the next day at 6:00am in front of the Maidenbour Convention Center she gave him a kiss on the forehead and bade him beware of “Goth girls”, who’s never ceasing attraction to skinny white nerdy boys she had heard about on Oprah. Trevor promised his mother he would be careful and quickly made his way toward the nerd posse waiting for him in the pre-purchased ticket line. At first the nerds were content to discuss whether Pirates or Ninjas would win in a battle of wits but after several hours of waiting, the nerds had become antsy. All had not checked their email, instant messaged their Internet girlfriends, or played WOW in all of four hours. Those waiting in the line to purchase tickets were glaring at the shiny red badges around Trevor and his fellow friends necks.
A large, baseball capped, football player type from the other line bumped into one of Trevor’s friends and didn’t acknowledge this significant faux paux.
“Hey man, watch it,” yelled Trevor.
“Fuck off, you little nerd,” the insolent, ignorant meathead yelled back.
A hush fell over the surrounding crowd. The football player didn’t understand PAX, he had probably come because of the 30 foot screens in which he could more effectively play Madden 07’. He didn’t read Penny Arcade - he’d never understand it. It wasn’t “for him”. The meathead didn’t know what he was getting himself into, he wasn’t in high school anymore and the jocks weren’t on top of the proverbial social ladder. He was in nerd country now, and no one used ‘nerd’ with such an utter lack of respect and in such a degrading fashion at PAX. It was ok for fellow nerds to call each other this term, but it was their word!
This was the once place in which nerds could put aside their feelings of shame and openly declare their unhealthy love of night elves, where they could assemble tabletop villages - complete with hand decorated warriors, and where “all your base” is just generally understood. Thus, Trevor and his fellow nerds could not let an openly offensive comment like ‘nerd’, from a jock, go unchallenged.
“Your mom services more requests than HTTP” Yelled Trevor, to a cheer from the surrounding crowd, complete with clapping and cat calls.
“She keeps all her ports open like Windows ME” Added in Trevor’s friend, holding back rage.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
Thankfully the PAX enforcers chose that exact time to open up the front doors and Trevor and friends were swept up in the scramble to get inside. Immediately Trevor led the way to the tabletop gaming arena, intent on testing his new ‘Magic’ deck. As he descended the floors, he caught sight of a set of fishnet tights and spiky black hair going past to the upper floors. They locked eyes in a purple flash and she was gone. Blinking Trevor stumbled off of the escalator.
Trevor spent several productive hours perfecting his strategy with the new cards, and with his friends egging, decided that a caffeine run was in order. Leaving the stand with arms full of Bawls and pockets packed with Bawls mints, Trevor decided to try his luck at the PC gaming arena.
Signed up for a Counter Strike: Team Fortress tournament, Trevor and friends prepared their headphones and microphones for the match. Teams and characters chosen, Trevor smiled at his friends and turning to the other team yelled,
“Well, prepare yourself for some internal fragmentation.”
After two fierce hours of bullets flying, several games had ended and Trevor’s team was still second in gross kills. Trevor spray-painted the brilliant blue color of team on the side of his base, in defiance. He led the way through the ruined surrounding buildings, sure to strife around corners to avoid early detection. Watching his teammates and looking around for the enemies, he stumbled into a side staircase that led the way up to a view of the final enemy flag and watched several enemies re-spawn before his very eyes. This spot was that was too good to be true. Whispering into his microphone, he alerted his teammates of this perfect sniper location, and told them from which angles to approach.
Suddenly brilliant purple eyes pulled him back into reality. There was the girl, in skin-tight leather with black fishnet tights. The roar of bullets from his right headphone forced his vision back onto the screen. His men were making their move, now, and they needed him to have their backs. Focus back on the task at hand, he took out three enemy men in the area, one after another, the red laser visible for less than a millisecond. His men slowly creeped in, in case of hidden reinforcements, but there were none. The ground desecrated, and the final flag taken by the blue, the game ended in victory for Trevor.
“Owned!” Yelled his teammates, as Trevor took off his headset and went in search of the purple eyes. Found at last, Trevor sat down next to the black haired girl watching the game from afar, and looking deep into her purple abyss asked, “What would you say if I told you I roll 20s?”
“Excuse me?” The girl blinked, and Trevor lost focus of his goal.
“Thhhat I roll 20s, you know twenty sided dice?” Trevor’s voice started to falter, his triumphant confidence slipping. How could this girl not understand? Did this girl not speak ‘nerd’? Would she not be impressed by his “Dungeon master” status? Would she laugh at his name being included in the Pong hall of fame at all three of the local arcades back in the day? Would she understand if he told her that she looked just like Arwin from Lord of the Rings?
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” The girl’s milky white face was crinkled in a look of distain.
“No… ” Trevor’s voice trailed off.
“Then why are you talking to me?”
Trevor gulped. Not responding, he stood up, turned around and slowly made his way back to his home base, his mother ship, his nerd posse. Head inclined down, feet dragging, Charlie Brown style.
“C’mon Trevor,” a friend said in an understanding tone, patting him on the back. “We have some nerd-cord rap to hit up.”
“Oprah was wrong, Tad.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Lets go.”
Futuristic Sex Robotz were still setting up their instruments when Trevor and friends descended upon the concert hall. They were thankful that they had planned for this concert in advance and already had bright orange armbands on their pasty white wrists. The smug look on their faces apparently became too much for a fiercely loyal FSR n00b with greasy hair that had the appearance of being died blue, at one time, long ago.
“Office 2007 sucks!”
“What did you just say?”
“I said, Office 2007 sucks!”
“My father worked on that edition you $@#$.”
“Not surprised.” Trevor had half a mind to challenge a “Virtual Fighter” Duel, knowing that the little twerp likely wouldn’t have heard of such an old school Saturn game.
“Yea, that’s right. Don’t be upset that my father could out program yours anyday. He reports to Steve Jobs!”
The Microsoft hit was too much for Trevor, and again he retorted without thinking. “Don’t you throw insults at me when you don’t have any idea what they mean, script kiddie! I was modding out my Atari from before you were born! I have more records beaten in Ms. Pack Man than you could count, and I was playing Vampire the Masquerade in my basement before the video game had even become a distant thought in anyone’s mind! Don’t be upset with me just because you’re frustrated that all ladies are giving you ‘Denial of Service’.
The newbie glared back, not sure to the extent that he had been insulted.
Futuristic Sex Robotz choose that time to take the mic, and it was perfect because the entire lack of any actual physical engagement was becoming awkward.
“… but Sammy J stands up and says “not tonight, I got a job to do, enough is enough, I’ve had it with these motherfucking snakes and stuff. ‘Gonna get this guy to court, safe and sane, I want these motherfucking snakes off this motherfucking plane!”
Trevor was fully enjoying himself and singing along, when he felt a tug on his oversized nerd shirt.
“That was kinda hot.” Trevor turned to face the purple contacts of his dreams. It was the girl. He could only mumble back, not actually string two words together.
“That was sexy, kinda, to see you tear that, what did you call him, “noob”, down. “ She touched his arm, and Trevor looked at it in shock.
“What if your dick was as big as the ocean, it’d be the only snake not encroachin’”….
“Do you want me to freak you?
“I think I’m ok, how bout not.”
“C’mon…” She began to dance with him, and obviously dance, in this context, is defined lightly.
“Talk nerd to me,” she whispered lightly in his ear.
“I can program?”
“No… nerd! Nerd terms, I want to hear you say them to me.”
“I’ll reformat your hard-drive?”
“Yes, that’s it! That’s what I want to hear!” Trevor was happy that the concert was so loud because this girl was yelling.
“My flow is so intense I'll overflow your buffer, corrupt your stack pointer -
making all your data scream with pain and pleasure.”
“Yes! YES!”
“What is your name, anyway?” Trevor asked, bewildered.
“Zelda.” And Trevor had been shot by cupid’s arrow. There was no hope for him now.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Averno Reading Journal
The time period appears fairly modern. The tone is fairly solemn and kind of depressing. The narrator is a female who is looking back at her relationships with other, she values expressing herself and remembering memories. The Persephone narrator’s relationship with the earth is a little different than what we are normally used to seeing. There is a fair amount of strain in that Persephone is in hell and resentment by the earth. Persephone appears naïve. The final verse refers to her eating the pomegranate seeds and dually the blood caused by her rape. She second guesses her self when she says ““Did I say ‘suffered’? That was my parents’ way of explaining tastes that seemed to them” The author chose to say the passage to show the way in which she went about coming to the conclusion about her word choice. In part one, Persephone is more of a younger naïve girl as opposed to part two in which she is more mature, less naïve and wishes she still was that young child with her innocence. I don’t understand the myth differently at all, but I did enjoy looking at it from her different perspective, and I think I may look at the myth differently now because I have multiple perspectives, but there is no change of understanding.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Catastrophic Event StoryInto The Abyss
Into The Abyss
“Authorial Intention”
I was listening to a Song
Inspired, I began to
Type the story formed in front of me
An egomaniac, workaholic
With money
To spare
He doesn’t know what he’s
Doing only got where he is by knowing the right people
What goes around comes around
He gets what he deserves I felt
Like the character in my story
I wanted more time
At the end
For him to regret, for him
To develop
But his time was short
He
Wasn’t a nice guy, but he had regrets
He didn’t
“Deserve to die”
I was trying to go over the latest version of the software, but I kept thinking about the hot piece of ass I had seen on the street last night. Her hair was the white blond only natural for girls under the age of seven and her “little black dress” was just long enough not to give me a heart attack. I couldn’t stop thinking about the asshole she had decided to intertwine her carefully French tipped hand with. He was wearing a face of utmost arrogance and was obviously narcissistic: the size of his pecks told me that he had very little time to do anything but bench press small cars. Clearly she would have benefited from an individual with, well, a Black AmEx.
Suddenly I was jarred out of my musings about whether or not her tits were fake. The “you’ve got mail” icon was flashing in my System Tray. I had received my daily update from our software testers: apparently the Playcenter wouldn’t rip a CD. In my job I did little else but insure that my programmers were on the right track and were doing their jobs effectively and efficiently. I had gone to Harvard to network, and network I had. I was a general Business Administration major, not a goddamn Computer Science major. It was not in my job description to correct the problem, nor was it necessary that I needed to know how. It was my job to know whom to blame, and this time it was the Software Engineers.
Who’s fault could this be? Who was the head Software Engineer that I had assigned to insure that the Creative Playcenter 3 software would run smoothly with Windows ME?
I pressed the little blinking red button on the intercom and shouted “Lebrouski! Get your fat ass in here pronto!”
A small, young, yet balding man entered my office, “Uhhh, yes boss?”
“What is this shit? How the hell did you manage to fuck everything up already? How?” Lebrouski was a very nervous man, and I knew it was not productive to get him upset, but he had set us back a whole fucking week!
“I I I thought I uhhhh did everything fine, Boss. I d d debugged it several t t times before I sent it off to...” He forced out.
“So you checked for Syntax errors! What about Logic errors? Did you even run the program at all? This is full of bugs! You would have been equally as useful if you had just told the programmers to write it in binary!” I had never been able to understand or memorize all those goddamn 0’s and 1’s. How the hell is somebody supposed to remember what the hell 0110 0010 means anyway?
“Sssorry Bossss, I must ha ha have missed a a bug. I will make sure it gets f f fixed.”
“Without overtime!”
“Without o o overtime…” he sadly replied. He left the office slowly, without turning his back to me. What a lazy slob, god how he annoyed me. If he wasn’t the best programmer I had ever seen, I would have fired him long ago.
I sighed and went back to my computer. I decided the only way in which to get my mind off this stressful situation was to play Command and Conquer, Tiberan Sun. I logged online and quickly found three other people to play against. I allied myself with NOD, and chose dark blue as my color. As I had been to first to join I chose the scenario: ‘Tundra’, most money possible and a redeployable MCV . I changed my name to ‘Bulldog’ and I was just about to press ‘ready’ when a fellow player, ‘Jetblack’ IMd me: “Bulldog: can I request ‘Tundra’?
To spite him, I changed the scenario to ‘Tiberium City’ and pressed start.
Forty-five minutes later it was just ‘Jetblack’ and I. I guess I had really pissed him off because he was playing like a god. I decided that the only way to win would be in an all out attack. I set up a basic military strategy; first I’d take the destroyers out around his base, near the back. When he was distracted with the chaos they would bring, I would send in several engineers, which would promptly take over his barracks, missile defense system, then, finally, his MCV. That would be the end of him. I would bring in several Stealth Tanks to back up the engineers, and a Tanya. I was in the process of constructing my fourth Stealth
Tank when I heard something outside, some kind of rumbling. I looked out the window frantically to see what it could be, but I couldn’t see a goddamn thing. As I turned back to my screen, I saw about twenty brilliantly orange Mammoth Mk2 tanks coming in from all sides. I desperately tried to get my men out, but it was too late. I subsequently tried to salvage my MCV. I redeployed it and as it gradually made it’s way to the core of my base, I gathered my infantry and vehicles in a tight circle around the exterior. I was desperately trying to fight a passageway through the foe to pull my MCV out of what was left of my base and escape to the mountains. The Mammoths would not be able to follow.
I felt the rumbling again, it was quiet at first but it was getting louder. When the windows began to shake, I glanced out at them. I saw a massive commercial plane make an extremely close pass by my building – it was really fucking close. As I turned my head back to my computer screen I saw a little popup window that read ‘atom bomb approaching’.
“Goddamn it!” I yelled as the atom bomb hit my MCV and what was left of my base and the opposition’s men turned into a big flaming ball of fire. It was a suicide mission. The Mammoths were used to distract me from the obvious evidence of the atom bomb, and to keep all my men in one place; had I realized I simply would have moved my MCV out of its path.
The constant rumbling was now loud enough to blow out my eardrums, and as I finally turned around to see what the hell had happened to the plane, I saw the same enormous plane with it’s head aimed straight toward my corner office. In my peripheral vision, I had enough time to see Lebrouski stand up in his cubicle and yell “In your face you fucking asshole! Kiss my ass Bulldog!” and suddenly I was floating. It’s strange what goes through your head in this situation. I had spent my life working at a job I detested so that I could chase down shit that I didn’t need and wasn’t important. I was not my Armani suit, I was not my 2007 beamer parked in the VIP spot, and I was not my double tall, fat free no whip latte. And then my second was over and my eyes and ears exploded out of my head and I could think no more.
Writing Journal
The implications are that people can relate to your story easier because they already have the background information. The story is already naturally more powerful, though dually more cliché. You don’t have to spend so much time focusing on the exterior details and can instead focus on developing a good piece. I read fantasy and thus the point really isn’t to attach the plot to real world events. As a reader you can determine how reliable the depictions in literature is based on how close the actual writer is/was to the actual event. Of course you’d believe everything one said if one had actually experienced the event. I’d say that I would believe a first person account over any other: I generally don’t trust 3rd person accounts nearly as much because of the fact that I have been led astray by many texts. Unfortunately I missed the writings on the walls of the Museo. I chose to write about this particular event because I was actually alive during it and I’d say that I understood it and the context surrounding it the best.
“Authorial Intention”
I was listening to a Song
Inspired, I began to
Type the story formed in front of me
An egomaniac, workaholic
With money
To spare
He doesn’t know what he’s
Doing only got where he is by knowing the right people
What goes around comes around
He gets what he deserves I felt
Like the character in my story
I wanted more time
At the end
For him to regret, for him
To develop
But his time was short
He
Wasn’t a nice guy, but he had regrets
He didn’t
“Deserve to die”
I was trying to go over the latest version of the software, but I kept thinking about the hot piece of ass I had seen on the street last night. Her hair was the white blond only natural for girls under the age of seven and her “little black dress” was just long enough not to give me a heart attack. I couldn’t stop thinking about the asshole she had decided to intertwine her carefully French tipped hand with. He was wearing a face of utmost arrogance and was obviously narcissistic: the size of his pecks told me that he had very little time to do anything but bench press small cars. Clearly she would have benefited from an individual with, well, a Black AmEx.
Suddenly I was jarred out of my musings about whether or not her tits were fake. The “you’ve got mail” icon was flashing in my System Tray. I had received my daily update from our software testers: apparently the Playcenter wouldn’t rip a CD. In my job I did little else but insure that my programmers were on the right track and were doing their jobs effectively and efficiently. I had gone to Harvard to network, and network I had. I was a general Business Administration major, not a goddamn Computer Science major. It was not in my job description to correct the problem, nor was it necessary that I needed to know how. It was my job to know whom to blame, and this time it was the Software Engineers.
Who’s fault could this be? Who was the head Software Engineer that I had assigned to insure that the Creative Playcenter 3 software would run smoothly with Windows ME?
I pressed the little blinking red button on the intercom and shouted “Lebrouski! Get your fat ass in here pronto!”
A small, young, yet balding man entered my office, “Uhhh, yes boss?”
“What is this shit? How the hell did you manage to fuck everything up already? How?” Lebrouski was a very nervous man, and I knew it was not productive to get him upset, but he had set us back a whole fucking week!
“I I I thought I uhhhh did everything fine, Boss. I d d debugged it several t t times before I sent it off to...” He forced out.
“So you checked for Syntax errors! What about Logic errors? Did you even run the program at all? This is full of bugs! You would have been equally as useful if you had just told the programmers to write it in binary!” I had never been able to understand or memorize all those goddamn 0’s and 1’s. How the hell is somebody supposed to remember what the hell 0110 0010 means anyway?
“Sssorry Bossss, I must ha ha have missed a a bug. I will make sure it gets f f fixed.”
“Without overtime!”
“Without o o overtime…” he sadly replied. He left the office slowly, without turning his back to me. What a lazy slob, god how he annoyed me. If he wasn’t the best programmer I had ever seen, I would have fired him long ago.
I sighed and went back to my computer. I decided the only way in which to get my mind off this stressful situation was to play Command and Conquer, Tiberan Sun. I logged online and quickly found three other people to play against. I allied myself with NOD, and chose dark blue as my color. As I had been to first to join I chose the scenario: ‘Tundra’, most money possible and a redeployable MCV . I changed my name to ‘Bulldog’ and I was just about to press ‘ready’ when a fellow player, ‘Jetblack’ IMd me: “Bulldog: can I request ‘Tundra’?
To spite him, I changed the scenario to ‘Tiberium City’ and pressed start.
Forty-five minutes later it was just ‘Jetblack’ and I. I guess I had really pissed him off because he was playing like a god. I decided that the only way to win would be in an all out attack. I set up a basic military strategy; first I’d take the destroyers out around his base, near the back. When he was distracted with the chaos they would bring, I would send in several engineers, which would promptly take over his barracks, missile defense system, then, finally, his MCV. That would be the end of him. I would bring in several Stealth Tanks to back up the engineers, and a Tanya. I was in the process of constructing my fourth Stealth
Tank when I heard something outside, some kind of rumbling. I looked out the window frantically to see what it could be, but I couldn’t see a goddamn thing. As I turned back to my screen, I saw about twenty brilliantly orange Mammoth Mk2 tanks coming in from all sides. I desperately tried to get my men out, but it was too late. I subsequently tried to salvage my MCV. I redeployed it and as it gradually made it’s way to the core of my base, I gathered my infantry and vehicles in a tight circle around the exterior. I was desperately trying to fight a passageway through the foe to pull my MCV out of what was left of my base and escape to the mountains. The Mammoths would not be able to follow.
I felt the rumbling again, it was quiet at first but it was getting louder. When the windows began to shake, I glanced out at them. I saw a massive commercial plane make an extremely close pass by my building – it was really fucking close. As I turned my head back to my computer screen I saw a little popup window that read ‘atom bomb approaching’.
“Goddamn it!” I yelled as the atom bomb hit my MCV and what was left of my base and the opposition’s men turned into a big flaming ball of fire. It was a suicide mission. The Mammoths were used to distract me from the obvious evidence of the atom bomb, and to keep all my men in one place; had I realized I simply would have moved my MCV out of its path.
The constant rumbling was now loud enough to blow out my eardrums, and as I finally turned around to see what the hell had happened to the plane, I saw the same enormous plane with it’s head aimed straight toward my corner office. In my peripheral vision, I had enough time to see Lebrouski stand up in his cubicle and yell “In your face you fucking asshole! Kiss my ass Bulldog!” and suddenly I was floating. It’s strange what goes through your head in this situation. I had spent my life working at a job I detested so that I could chase down shit that I didn’t need and wasn’t important. I was not my Armani suit, I was not my 2007 beamer parked in the VIP spot, and I was not my double tall, fat free no whip latte. And then my second was over and my eyes and ears exploded out of my head and I could think no more.
Writing Journal
The implications are that people can relate to your story easier because they already have the background information. The story is already naturally more powerful, though dually more cliché. You don’t have to spend so much time focusing on the exterior details and can instead focus on developing a good piece. I read fantasy and thus the point really isn’t to attach the plot to real world events. As a reader you can determine how reliable the depictions in literature is based on how close the actual writer is/was to the actual event. Of course you’d believe everything one said if one had actually experienced the event. I’d say that I would believe a first person account over any other: I generally don’t trust 3rd person accounts nearly as much because of the fact that I have been led astray by many texts. Unfortunately I missed the writings on the walls of the Museo. I chose to write about this particular event because I was actually alive during it and I’d say that I understood it and the context surrounding it the best.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Primo Levi Reading Journal
Levi’s poem was one of the first times I’ve read a poem before the actual work. I like the way in which it sets up the story, sort of puts you in a mood before you read on. I’d say the poem is trying to say “Remember the Holocaust and make sure you pass it on to insure it never happens again” The way in which I’d describe the narrator would be that he is rather naïve and that is also reflective. I think being naïve certainly adds to my sympathizing with him. The moments in the text that stand would be points that seem personal and extremely emotional, specifically the part in the beginning where Emilia died.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Week 7 post
Judith sorted through her closet with an unusual crease in her perfectly arched eyebrows.
“My lady, what has you so concerned?” Judith did not answer immediately. She threw her soft pink silk dress down heavily and turned back to the window, breathing hard.
“This will not do, none of it will do!”
“What would you have me fetch for you? Do you dislike pink today?”
“I need something sultry, something that will make his head spin. He needs to want me so badly he’d be willing to die for me.” Margaret’s cheeks flushed, she looked back to the closet hoping to discern something new in its depths.
“My lady I believe I have just the thing,” Judith took in the fine material of her mother’s ancient gown with a sigh, remembering the delicate stitching and subtle blue brocade...
“I never did like blue; I’ve always found it rather dull.” Artemisia jumped and a long blue streak appeared over the broidery. Her face carefully set in a look of concern she turned to face his accusatory stare.
Artemisia chose her words carefully, “The virgin Mary is very often portrayed in such a regal color.”
“Yes, but the Virgin Mary is not a temptress, I don’t feel that this scene will be effective without showing how sinful women are, and how the only power they wield is of the flesh. It will not be believable that she conquered such a general as the chaste Virgin Mary, she needs to be portrayed in a more believable and powerful color.”
“I will do whatever you wish of me…”
Margaret’s delicate white hand was all that was first discernable while she held open the tent flap for Judith to enter.
“My god...” Holofernes’ eyes roamed over her body, like a dog looking at a rare piece of steak. “I see that you’re happy with your decision to entertain the idea of ‘us’, you’ve dressed up to impress me. Don’t think I don’t notice your feminine tricks.” Holofernes chucked deep in his throat, the laughter that could be heard when between the sheets when a man and a woman are alone together. It made the hairs on the back of Judith’s neck stand up.
“I thank you sir,” she felt his eyes upon her as she made her way towards the dinner table, the folds of her golden dress trailing behind her.
…
“This wine is deuuullissshhhh…. Delllllisshhhiiioous… deeeeliiissseesssccchhh…”
“I’m glad you like it Sir, I had it delivered from the North, especially for you. I really do like this idea of ‘us’ that you keep bringing up...”
“Yes… yeeeeeessss. USSSSSSS,” He made the last word into a snake’s hiss, eyes drooping and spit flying onto the table. He was obviously attempting to focus on her, and wavering back and forth, his elbow slipped out from under him and he almost fell from his large wooden chair.
“….and so this is exactly why I took up your invitation tonight, I really wanted to experience you, I have heard tell of your magnificence in battle, and I knew I had finally found a man that was suitable for my needs.”
“Yesssssssssss, suutiiiiiaable.” He had begun to list off his chair again.
“My lord, you are clearly not well, I will fetch your servants to help you to bed.”
“Noooooo, I feel fiiiine. FINE!”
“Yes my lord we will help you, don’t worry I’ll take care of you. I’ll insure that you get to bed.” She gestured to his servants. They picked him up and dragged him towards his bedchamber, Holofernes attempting to fight them off all the way.
“She doesn’t look attractive enough, how such a woman have seduced this man of such a powerful position?”
“Other artists have been criticized for the gentile and innocent look of Judith, that she wouldn’t have the strength necessary to accomplish the slaying.” Artemisia explained with pleading eyes. This painting was essential to her reputation, she needed everyone to take notice of her, and she needed their support, their understanding.
“Sigh…. Well at least make her cleavage more pronounced!”
Judith thanked the lord for Holofernes’ vociferous snoring, which was enough to cover the metallic sound of his sword unsheathing. She pulled up the sleeves of her dress past her elbows, and steeled herself for what she had to do for her family and her people. Her face finally set, she took in a deep breath. Bringing the sword above her head she spoke firmly, and her voice gave her power as it didn’t waver.
“Give me strength this day, O Lord God of Israel!”
The sound had awoken Holofernes, but it was already too late, and she felt the warm rush of the red liquid spray over her.
Artemisia stood up from the painting, the justice now dolled out, though only for a moment.
Journal questions
I chose to do what I thought would make the most believable and best piece. I hope that the way in which I chose two different options will suffice as a writing piece, because I did more than one! Writing believable dialog is challenging, and also trying to write in a way that isn’t modern, but obviously couldn’t be ancient. I hope the way in which I accomplished this isn’t comical. Obviously showing not telling is always difficult too, and is no different when writing dialog. I very much enjoy writing dialog, because it tells a lot about the character that cannot be told simply by utilizing other methods. I enjoyed the fact that it can be more abstract, and requires more thinking on the readers part to discern exactly what is true of what the character is saying and what is not. It was difficult but enjoyable. Visual works very much distract from my ability to be imaginative, because you cannot say anything that conflicts with the people shown, and the way in which the event is depicted. The maid had to be an integral part of the story, obviously, because she is depicted clearly in the painting.
I think the overall feeling of the city is very different; Naples is less touristy in my opinion, which makes it feel more real somehow. It is even more different than America and what I’m used to than Rome and feels more intense somehow. I don’t believe that Naples really changed how I wrote this story, because I have to be sitting on a computer to write at all, anyhow.
“My lady, what has you so concerned?” Judith did not answer immediately. She threw her soft pink silk dress down heavily and turned back to the window, breathing hard.
“This will not do, none of it will do!”
“What would you have me fetch for you? Do you dislike pink today?”
“I need something sultry, something that will make his head spin. He needs to want me so badly he’d be willing to die for me.” Margaret’s cheeks flushed, she looked back to the closet hoping to discern something new in its depths.
“My lady I believe I have just the thing,” Judith took in the fine material of her mother’s ancient gown with a sigh, remembering the delicate stitching and subtle blue brocade...
“I never did like blue; I’ve always found it rather dull.” Artemisia jumped and a long blue streak appeared over the broidery. Her face carefully set in a look of concern she turned to face his accusatory stare.
Artemisia chose her words carefully, “The virgin Mary is very often portrayed in such a regal color.”
“Yes, but the Virgin Mary is not a temptress, I don’t feel that this scene will be effective without showing how sinful women are, and how the only power they wield is of the flesh. It will not be believable that she conquered such a general as the chaste Virgin Mary, she needs to be portrayed in a more believable and powerful color.”
“I will do whatever you wish of me…”
Margaret’s delicate white hand was all that was first discernable while she held open the tent flap for Judith to enter.
“My god...” Holofernes’ eyes roamed over her body, like a dog looking at a rare piece of steak. “I see that you’re happy with your decision to entertain the idea of ‘us’, you’ve dressed up to impress me. Don’t think I don’t notice your feminine tricks.” Holofernes chucked deep in his throat, the laughter that could be heard when between the sheets when a man and a woman are alone together. It made the hairs on the back of Judith’s neck stand up.
“I thank you sir,” she felt his eyes upon her as she made her way towards the dinner table, the folds of her golden dress trailing behind her.
…
“This wine is deuuullissshhhh…. Delllllisshhhiiioous… deeeeliiissseesssccchhh…”
“I’m glad you like it Sir, I had it delivered from the North, especially for you. I really do like this idea of ‘us’ that you keep bringing up...”
“Yes… yeeeeeessss. USSSSSSS,” He made the last word into a snake’s hiss, eyes drooping and spit flying onto the table. He was obviously attempting to focus on her, and wavering back and forth, his elbow slipped out from under him and he almost fell from his large wooden chair.
“….and so this is exactly why I took up your invitation tonight, I really wanted to experience you, I have heard tell of your magnificence in battle, and I knew I had finally found a man that was suitable for my needs.”
“Yesssssssssss, suutiiiiiaable.” He had begun to list off his chair again.
“My lord, you are clearly not well, I will fetch your servants to help you to bed.”
“Noooooo, I feel fiiiine. FINE!”
“Yes my lord we will help you, don’t worry I’ll take care of you. I’ll insure that you get to bed.” She gestured to his servants. They picked him up and dragged him towards his bedchamber, Holofernes attempting to fight them off all the way.
“She doesn’t look attractive enough, how such a woman have seduced this man of such a powerful position?”
“Other artists have been criticized for the gentile and innocent look of Judith, that she wouldn’t have the strength necessary to accomplish the slaying.” Artemisia explained with pleading eyes. This painting was essential to her reputation, she needed everyone to take notice of her, and she needed their support, their understanding.
“Sigh…. Well at least make her cleavage more pronounced!”
Judith thanked the lord for Holofernes’ vociferous snoring, which was enough to cover the metallic sound of his sword unsheathing. She pulled up the sleeves of her dress past her elbows, and steeled herself for what she had to do for her family and her people. Her face finally set, she took in a deep breath. Bringing the sword above her head she spoke firmly, and her voice gave her power as it didn’t waver.
“Give me strength this day, O Lord God of Israel!”
The sound had awoken Holofernes, but it was already too late, and she felt the warm rush of the red liquid spray over her.
Artemisia stood up from the painting, the justice now dolled out, though only for a moment.
Journal questions
I chose to do what I thought would make the most believable and best piece. I hope that the way in which I chose two different options will suffice as a writing piece, because I did more than one! Writing believable dialog is challenging, and also trying to write in a way that isn’t modern, but obviously couldn’t be ancient. I hope the way in which I accomplished this isn’t comical. Obviously showing not telling is always difficult too, and is no different when writing dialog. I very much enjoy writing dialog, because it tells a lot about the character that cannot be told simply by utilizing other methods. I enjoyed the fact that it can be more abstract, and requires more thinking on the readers part to discern exactly what is true of what the character is saying and what is not. It was difficult but enjoyable. Visual works very much distract from my ability to be imaginative, because you cannot say anything that conflicts with the people shown, and the way in which the event is depicted. The maid had to be an integral part of the story, obviously, because she is depicted clearly in the painting.
I think the overall feeling of the city is very different; Naples is less touristy in my opinion, which makes it feel more real somehow. It is even more different than America and what I’m used to than Rome and feels more intense somehow. I don’t believe that Naples really changed how I wrote this story, because I have to be sitting on a computer to write at all, anyhow.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Week 7 Reading Journal Entry
What is “noble” according to Juvenal’s narrator? Cite a passage from each of the four satires by Juvenal which amused you and say why. What literary mechanisms or rhetorical devices did Juvenal use for each of these?
Juvenal describes wealth as essentially something immoral or bad, whereas Twain generally talks about how wealth affects relationships between people. Somehow, Twain appears less angry at the whole situation and Juvenal more open about his anger at the rich. The Hypocrisy can be seen in the fact that in Juvenal the rich are completely hypocritical about how they believe they are and how they actually act: they believe themselves to be so high above everyone else, yet they allow their artists to starve and they act essentially act foolish and uncivilized. In Twain, he satirizes the same things about the church: allowing their people to starve while they spend waistful amounts of money on useless things and the monks inside enjoy it. The themes of sedition and free speech in Juvenal appears to be the fact that no one has anything worthwhile to say when they do speak out, vs in Twain when people are generally crucified (generally in the non literal sense of the word) when speaking out. Both writers satirize the way in which artists and poets have lost their honor and kind of “sold out” to the patrons, and will do anything for money. According to Juvenal’s narrator, “noble” means more than your class, it is seen in every aspect of how you conduct your business and act in relation to your family and you also have to honor and celebrate god. Honestly, I have no passages that I can find that amused me, I found the entire piece rather dry and not amusing.
Juvenal describes wealth as essentially something immoral or bad, whereas Twain generally talks about how wealth affects relationships between people. Somehow, Twain appears less angry at the whole situation and Juvenal more open about his anger at the rich. The Hypocrisy can be seen in the fact that in Juvenal the rich are completely hypocritical about how they believe they are and how they actually act: they believe themselves to be so high above everyone else, yet they allow their artists to starve and they act essentially act foolish and uncivilized. In Twain, he satirizes the same things about the church: allowing their people to starve while they spend waistful amounts of money on useless things and the monks inside enjoy it. The themes of sedition and free speech in Juvenal appears to be the fact that no one has anything worthwhile to say when they do speak out, vs in Twain when people are generally crucified (generally in the non literal sense of the word) when speaking out. Both writers satirize the way in which artists and poets have lost their honor and kind of “sold out” to the patrons, and will do anything for money. According to Juvenal’s narrator, “noble” means more than your class, it is seen in every aspect of how you conduct your business and act in relation to your family and you also have to honor and celebrate god. Honestly, I have no passages that I can find that amused me, I found the entire piece rather dry and not amusing.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Week 6 Writing Assignment
Week 6 Satire
Kristina Dahlberg
Trevor couldn’t sleep at night. Ever since he had purchased tickets for PAX, two months earlier, he couldn’t find anything that would sufficiently distract him from the excitement of this upcoming convention. He had rifled through his closet every day for weeks, all the time concerned that he had nothing to do this event justice and proclaim his nerd pride to the world. Was it the day to show off his free Halo II tee in the charcoal black, his newly acquired Word of Warcraft: Burning Crusade tee in gunmetal black or the classic, ever popular, black-as-night Legend of Zelda tee with carefully detailed Master Sword in midnight black? After careful consideration Trevor decided that it was of the utmost importance to firstly proclaim his adoration for Penny Arcade in general and thus he decided on the black-as-night oversized Twix and Weatherby attire, with perfectly coordinated Fred Meyer blue jeans.
Trevor’s concerned mother had noticed this newfound change in her 28 year old son, and with a “tisk tisk”, she insured that he ate double broccoli servings at dinner the night before PAX. When she dropped him off the next day at 6:00am in front of the Maidenbour Convention Center she gave him a kiss on the forehead and bade him beware of “Goth girls”, who’s never ceasing attraction to skinny white nerdy boys she had heard about on Operah. Trevor promised his mother he would be careful and quickly made his way toward his nerd posse waiting for him in the pre-purchased ticket line. After several hours of waiting, the nerds had become antsy. All had not checked their emails, Instant Messaged their Internet girlfriends, or played WOW in all of four hours. Those waiting in the line to purchase tickets were glaring at the shiny red badges around Trevor and his fellow friends necks.
A large football player type with a baseball cap from the other line bumped into one of Trevor’s friends and didn’t acknowledge this significant faux paux.
“Hey man, watch it,” yelled Trevor.
“Fuck off, you little nerd,” the insolent, ignorant meathead yelled back.
A hush fell over the surrounding crowd. The football player didn’t understand PAX, he had probably come because of the 30 foot screens in which he could more effectively play Madden 07’. He didn’t read Penny Arcade - he’d never understand the jokes. The meathead didn’t know what he was getting himself into, he wasn’t in high school anymore and the jocks weren’t on top of the proverbial social ladder. He was in nerd country now, and no one used ‘nerd’ with such an utter lack of respect and in such a degrading fashion at PAX. This was the once place in which nerds could put aside their feelings of shame and openly declare their unhealthy love of night elves, where they could assemble tabletop villages - complete with hand decorated warriors, and where “all your base” is just generally understood. Thus, Trevor and his fellow nerds could not let an openly offensive comment like ‘nerd’ from a jock go unchallenged.
“Your mom services more requests than HTTP” Yelled Trevor, holding back rage.
“She keeps all her ports open like Windows ME” Added in Trevor’s friend, to a cheer from the surrounding crowd, complete with clapping and cat calls.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
Thankfully the PAX enforcers chose that exact time to open up the front doors and Trevor and friends were swept up in the scramble to get inside. Immediately Trevor led the way to the tabletop gaming arena, intent on testing his new ‘Magic’ deck. As he descended the floors, he caught sight of a set of fishnet tights and spiky black hair going past to the upper floors. They locked eyes in a purple flash and she was gone. Blinking Trevor stumbled off of the escalator.
Trevor spent several productive hours perfecting his strategy with the new cards, and with his friends egging, decided that a caffeine run was in order. Leaving the stand with arms full of a case of Bawls and pockets packed with Bawls mints, Trevor decided to try his luck at the PC gaming arena.
Signed up for a Battlefield 1942 Tournament Trevor and friends prepared their headphones and microphones for the match. Teams and characters chosen, Trevor smiled at his friends and turning to the other team yelled,
“Well, prepare yourself for some internal fragmentation.”
After two fierce hours of bullets flying, several games had ended and Trevor’s team was still second in gross kills. Trevor spray-painted the brilliant blue color of team on the side of his base, in defiance. He led the way through the ruined surrounding buildings, sure to strife around corners to avoid early detection. Watching his teammates and looking around for the enemies, he stumbled into a side staircase that led the way up to a view of the final enemy flag that was too good to be true. As he watched several enemies re-spawned before his very eyes. Whispering into his microphone, he alerted his teammates of this perfect sniper location, and told them from which angles to approach. Suddenly brilliant purple eyes pulled him back into reality. There was the girl, in skin-tight leather with black fishnet tights. The roar of bullets from his right headphone forced his vision back onto the screen. His men were making their move, now, and they needed him to have their backs. Focus back on the task at hand, he took out three enemy men in the area, one after another, the red laser visible for less than a millisecond. His men slowly creeped in, in case of hidden reinforcements, but there were none. The ground desecrated, and the final flag taken by the blue, the game ended in victory for Trevor.
“Owned!” Yelled his teammates, as Trevor took off his headset and went in search of the purple eyes. Found at last, Trevor sat down next to the black haired girl watching the game from afar, and looking deep into the purple abyss asked, “What would you say if I told you I roll 20s?”
Journal Entries
I chose my character based on what I believed would be easiest to parody that I also knew something about. My character and the focus of my story changed a great deal as I wrote, especially as I thought about what I found to be the most important in the story. My character was essentially mainly flat, as he really didn’t change during the story, or in my idea of who he was and what he would do. He was always rather cocky for a nerd – he yelled out things to a much larger jock early on in the story, but he may be seen as round by the reader, as I suppose I released more about his character as the story progressed, so he may appear to change. I found the satire itself to be challenging. I’m not sure if my end product is a short story with a few satirical elements rather than an actual satire, but it certainly was making fun of nerds from my perspective. I found it extremely challenging to write so out of character for me, though I’ve had experiences around such huge nerds. I couldn’t remember the logistics of video games, so that was hard to describe. I didn’t refer back to Twain at all because that wasn’t the kind of satire I wanted to write.
Kristina Dahlberg
Trevor couldn’t sleep at night. Ever since he had purchased tickets for PAX, two months earlier, he couldn’t find anything that would sufficiently distract him from the excitement of this upcoming convention. He had rifled through his closet every day for weeks, all the time concerned that he had nothing to do this event justice and proclaim his nerd pride to the world. Was it the day to show off his free Halo II tee in the charcoal black, his newly acquired Word of Warcraft: Burning Crusade tee in gunmetal black or the classic, ever popular, black-as-night Legend of Zelda tee with carefully detailed Master Sword in midnight black? After careful consideration Trevor decided that it was of the utmost importance to firstly proclaim his adoration for Penny Arcade in general and thus he decided on the black-as-night oversized Twix and Weatherby attire, with perfectly coordinated Fred Meyer blue jeans.
Trevor’s concerned mother had noticed this newfound change in her 28 year old son, and with a “tisk tisk”, she insured that he ate double broccoli servings at dinner the night before PAX. When she dropped him off the next day at 6:00am in front of the Maidenbour Convention Center she gave him a kiss on the forehead and bade him beware of “Goth girls”, who’s never ceasing attraction to skinny white nerdy boys she had heard about on Operah. Trevor promised his mother he would be careful and quickly made his way toward his nerd posse waiting for him in the pre-purchased ticket line. After several hours of waiting, the nerds had become antsy. All had not checked their emails, Instant Messaged their Internet girlfriends, or played WOW in all of four hours. Those waiting in the line to purchase tickets were glaring at the shiny red badges around Trevor and his fellow friends necks.
A large football player type with a baseball cap from the other line bumped into one of Trevor’s friends and didn’t acknowledge this significant faux paux.
“Hey man, watch it,” yelled Trevor.
“Fuck off, you little nerd,” the insolent, ignorant meathead yelled back.
A hush fell over the surrounding crowd. The football player didn’t understand PAX, he had probably come because of the 30 foot screens in which he could more effectively play Madden 07’. He didn’t read Penny Arcade - he’d never understand the jokes. The meathead didn’t know what he was getting himself into, he wasn’t in high school anymore and the jocks weren’t on top of the proverbial social ladder. He was in nerd country now, and no one used ‘nerd’ with such an utter lack of respect and in such a degrading fashion at PAX. This was the once place in which nerds could put aside their feelings of shame and openly declare their unhealthy love of night elves, where they could assemble tabletop villages - complete with hand decorated warriors, and where “all your base” is just generally understood. Thus, Trevor and his fellow nerds could not let an openly offensive comment like ‘nerd’ from a jock go unchallenged.
“Your mom services more requests than HTTP” Yelled Trevor, holding back rage.
“She keeps all her ports open like Windows ME” Added in Trevor’s friend, to a cheer from the surrounding crowd, complete with clapping and cat calls.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
Thankfully the PAX enforcers chose that exact time to open up the front doors and Trevor and friends were swept up in the scramble to get inside. Immediately Trevor led the way to the tabletop gaming arena, intent on testing his new ‘Magic’ deck. As he descended the floors, he caught sight of a set of fishnet tights and spiky black hair going past to the upper floors. They locked eyes in a purple flash and she was gone. Blinking Trevor stumbled off of the escalator.
Trevor spent several productive hours perfecting his strategy with the new cards, and with his friends egging, decided that a caffeine run was in order. Leaving the stand with arms full of a case of Bawls and pockets packed with Bawls mints, Trevor decided to try his luck at the PC gaming arena.
Signed up for a Battlefield 1942 Tournament Trevor and friends prepared their headphones and microphones for the match. Teams and characters chosen, Trevor smiled at his friends and turning to the other team yelled,
“Well, prepare yourself for some internal fragmentation.”
After two fierce hours of bullets flying, several games had ended and Trevor’s team was still second in gross kills. Trevor spray-painted the brilliant blue color of team on the side of his base, in defiance. He led the way through the ruined surrounding buildings, sure to strife around corners to avoid early detection. Watching his teammates and looking around for the enemies, he stumbled into a side staircase that led the way up to a view of the final enemy flag that was too good to be true. As he watched several enemies re-spawned before his very eyes. Whispering into his microphone, he alerted his teammates of this perfect sniper location, and told them from which angles to approach. Suddenly brilliant purple eyes pulled him back into reality. There was the girl, in skin-tight leather with black fishnet tights. The roar of bullets from his right headphone forced his vision back onto the screen. His men were making their move, now, and they needed him to have their backs. Focus back on the task at hand, he took out three enemy men in the area, one after another, the red laser visible for less than a millisecond. His men slowly creeped in, in case of hidden reinforcements, but there were none. The ground desecrated, and the final flag taken by the blue, the game ended in victory for Trevor.
“Owned!” Yelled his teammates, as Trevor took off his headset and went in search of the purple eyes. Found at last, Trevor sat down next to the black haired girl watching the game from afar, and looking deep into the purple abyss asked, “What would you say if I told you I roll 20s?”
Journal Entries
I chose my character based on what I believed would be easiest to parody that I also knew something about. My character and the focus of my story changed a great deal as I wrote, especially as I thought about what I found to be the most important in the story. My character was essentially mainly flat, as he really didn’t change during the story, or in my idea of who he was and what he would do. He was always rather cocky for a nerd – he yelled out things to a much larger jock early on in the story, but he may be seen as round by the reader, as I suppose I released more about his character as the story progressed, so he may appear to change. I found the satire itself to be challenging. I’m not sure if my end product is a short story with a few satirical elements rather than an actual satire, but it certainly was making fun of nerds from my perspective. I found it extremely challenging to write so out of character for me, though I’ve had experiences around such huge nerds. I couldn’t remember the logistics of video games, so that was hard to describe. I didn’t refer back to Twain at all because that wasn’t the kind of satire I wanted to write.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Bernini’s Elephant Obelisk - “Pulcino della Minerva”
Kristina Dahlberg’s Small Presentation
February 9, 2007
The curiously small Obelisk in front of the Santa Minerva Dominican Church is known as the “Pulcino della Minerva”, or Minerva’s little Chick. The name ‘Minerva’ arises from the fact that the church was built on the ruins of a temple dedicated to Minerva. The obelisk was discovered in 1655 in a garden belonging to the Dominican monastery. The obelisk was discovered to be one of two obelisks that was transported from Sais and was built during 589-570 BC in Egypt, the other being on display in Urbino.
Shortly after the obelisk was discovered, Pope Alexander VII began to entertain ideas for a new display utilizing the obelisk. One idea presented was done so by Father Domenico Paglia who was also an architect. His designs had the Obelisk resting over 6 small hills, as well as a dog in each corner – the dog being a symbol of the Dominican priests. The hills recalled the 6 hills also depicted on the Chigi family crest. As Alexander VII was of the Chigi family, clearly Paglia was attempting to appeal to his inner narcissist; however, Alexander actually rejected the design, stating that he wanted the Obelisk to be a “symbol of holy knowledge”.
Thus, Bernini was approached and asked to design a solution, and he presented the Pope with several designs.
One such design contained four figures, each seated at one corner of the pedestal, and each offering one hand to hold the Obelisk up. Another design showed the Obelisk resting on an ‘irregular’ rock as Hercules gives it a ‘wrestler’s’ hold to keep it vertical. One of his final early sketches depicted Hercules with his knees semi-bent as he hoists the obelisk upward and recalls Atlantis holding up the world in his position.
The solution eventually chosen was, of course, a depiction of an elephant holding up the Obelisk on its back. This solution was inspired by a popular and well known novel at the time, and was one of the first books actually printed in Italy. The book was titled “Hypnerotomachia Poliphili” or “Poliphilo’s The Strife of Love in a Dream” and was written by Francesco Colonna. The book was written in 1499 and included the main character meeting an elephant made of stone carrying an obelisk. A wood cut was included in the novel, that depicted a Elephant that looked very similar to the elephant obelisk.
In Bernini’s original drawings, the obelisk’s weight would actually have fully rested on the legs of the animal. However, father Paglia was envious of Bernini receiving the commission a
nd convinced the Pope that “according to traditional cannons, no weight should rest vertically above an empty space, as it would not be steady nor long lasting”. (“Minerva’s Chick”) Bernini was very opposed to this modification, especially as he had already proven that he could accomplish such a task in his “Four Rivers Fountain” in Piazza Navona.The Pope decided to add the cube to Bernini’s elephant all the same, and though Bernini attempted to disguise the heavy look of the cube by adding in a saddle to the elephant’s back, it was not entirely successful and the elephant was thus nicknamed “Procino della Minerva”, or Minerva’s Piggy because of its thick and heavy look. This name eventually changed into the obelisk’s present name of “Pulcino della Minerva” likely due to the similarities between the two words in Roman dialect.
Bernini was able to take his revenge upon the Pope and Paglia by depicting the elephant’s rear end as pointing toward the Dominican Monastery, “the tail slightly shifted to the left, in the attitude of saluting Father Paglia and the other Dominican Friars in a rather obscene way!” (“Minerva’s Chick”) The Bernini’s design was carried out by a student, specifically Ercole Ferrala in 1667 and, as per the Pope’s request, the inscription on the base reads, “… a strong mind is needed to support a strong knowledge.” (“Minerva’s Chick”)
Bibliography
Heckscher, William. "Bernini's Elephant and Obelisk." The Art Bulletin 29 (1947): 155-182. 5 Feb. 2007
“Hypnerotomachia. The Strife of Love in a Dream” Robert Dallington, trans. London, 1592. Reprint. Lucy Gent, ed. Delmar, NY, 1973.
"Minerva's Chick." Virtual Roma. 5 Feb. 2007
"Obelisks in Rome." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. 9 Jan 2007, 09:25 UTC. Wikimedia Foundation, Inc. 9 Feb 2007
"Santa Maria sopra Minerva." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. 4 Feb 2007, 16:57 UTC. Wikimedia Foundation, Inc. 9 Feb 2007
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Thursday Week 6 Post
Week 6 Reading Journal
List all the institutions and figures satirized in Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad excerpt on travels in Rome. How is each depicted by Twain? (ie. Italian clergymen: hypocritical, having penchant for violence, miserly, exploitative of public goods and Italian people).
The number of institutions and figures satirized by Twain is incredible: essentially everyone mentioned is in satire and no one is left alone.
Italy in general is shown as unconcerned with its people, and the people are portrayed as ignorant.
The Italian clergy is satirized in that they are shown as concerned with no one but themselves, and the catholic church is shown as decadent.
The Medici are shown as Tyrannical.
Many artists of the Renaissance (Titian, Raphael) are portrayed as dishonorable. Michaelangelo’s followers are shown as blind followers who idealize him and his work.
American women are portrayed as silly and their fashions are unnecessary and ridiculous.
Americans in general are shown as ignorant and lazy.
Relics are shown as irrational and unbelievable.
Cite six moments in the text where Twain’s word choice creates humor; identify which word(s) in each of these citations provokes amusement or “surprise” in the reader. What are the devices Twain is employing to achieve this effect?
“They do not call it confiscating the Church property. That would sound too harshly yet.”
Word: confiscating
Devices: This is making fun of the way that they’re using specific wording to cover up what’s really going on and to make it sound better than it is, though all know the truth.
“They thought I wanted to take the town, likely. Little did they know me. I wouldn’t have it”
Word: I wouldn’t have it
Devices: This sentence surprises the reader because they are expecting Twain to state that he wouldn’t take the town in general, because that would be wrong or bad or immoral, but instead he wouldn’t take it because he didn’t want it.
“And so I explained and explained and explained, and they took notes of all I said, but the more I explained, the more they could not understand it, and when they desisted at last, I could not even understand it myself…”
This is making fun of the ignorance of the Italian people and how they are too thick to get a joke, and it surprises the reader by showing that they over analyzed the joke so much that it finally confused Twain.
“Under the circumstances, the woman’s conduct was pardonable, perhaps, but we suggest that such exhibitions interfere with the decorum which should be preserved during the performances, and are highly improper in the presence of the emperor.”
Word: pardonable, perhaps and highly improper
This is making fun of how gory the Coliseum was and how perhaps a woman freaking out at her sons death could be understandable, perhaps, but that is wasn’t prudent in the present company of the emperor and that interfered with the “decorum”.
“Marcus Marcellus Valerian (stage name – his real name is Smith)”
This is making fun of the true Roman names, and kind of playing with the audience. It would be ridiculous is a Roman was named Smith.
“I used to worship the mighty genius of Michelangelo – that man who was great in poetry, paining, sculpture, architecture – great in everything he undertook. But I do not want Michelangelo for breakfast-for luncheon-for dinner-for tea-for supper-for in between meals. I like a change occasionally…. I never felt so fervently thankful, so soothed, so tranquil, so filled with a blessed peace as I did yesterday when I learned that Michelangelo was dead.”
This portion of the story is making fun of the obsession with Michelangelo and how the public is so entirely focused on him and everything he does. The surprise comes when he sets up Michelangelo as a “mighty genius” then knocks him down by saying that he’s had too much of him, and later that he’s happy that Michelangelo is dead!!!
List all the institutions and figures satirized in Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad excerpt on travels in Rome. How is each depicted by Twain? (ie. Italian clergymen: hypocritical, having penchant for violence, miserly, exploitative of public goods and Italian people).
The number of institutions and figures satirized by Twain is incredible: essentially everyone mentioned is in satire and no one is left alone.
Italy in general is shown as unconcerned with its people, and the people are portrayed as ignorant.
The Italian clergy is satirized in that they are shown as concerned with no one but themselves, and the catholic church is shown as decadent.
The Medici are shown as Tyrannical.
Many artists of the Renaissance (Titian, Raphael) are portrayed as dishonorable. Michaelangelo’s followers are shown as blind followers who idealize him and his work.
American women are portrayed as silly and their fashions are unnecessary and ridiculous.
Americans in general are shown as ignorant and lazy.
Relics are shown as irrational and unbelievable.
Cite six moments in the text where Twain’s word choice creates humor; identify which word(s) in each of these citations provokes amusement or “surprise” in the reader. What are the devices Twain is employing to achieve this effect?
“They do not call it confiscating the Church property. That would sound too harshly yet.”
Word: confiscating
Devices: This is making fun of the way that they’re using specific wording to cover up what’s really going on and to make it sound better than it is, though all know the truth.
“They thought I wanted to take the town, likely. Little did they know me. I wouldn’t have it”
Word: I wouldn’t have it
Devices: This sentence surprises the reader because they are expecting Twain to state that he wouldn’t take the town in general, because that would be wrong or bad or immoral, but instead he wouldn’t take it because he didn’t want it.
“And so I explained and explained and explained, and they took notes of all I said, but the more I explained, the more they could not understand it, and when they desisted at last, I could not even understand it myself…”
This is making fun of the ignorance of the Italian people and how they are too thick to get a joke, and it surprises the reader by showing that they over analyzed the joke so much that it finally confused Twain.
“Under the circumstances, the woman’s conduct was pardonable, perhaps, but we suggest that such exhibitions interfere with the decorum which should be preserved during the performances, and are highly improper in the presence of the emperor.”
Word: pardonable, perhaps and highly improper
This is making fun of how gory the Coliseum was and how perhaps a woman freaking out at her sons death could be understandable, perhaps, but that is wasn’t prudent in the present company of the emperor and that interfered with the “decorum”.
“Marcus Marcellus Valerian (stage name – his real name is Smith)”
This is making fun of the true Roman names, and kind of playing with the audience. It would be ridiculous is a Roman was named Smith.
“I used to worship the mighty genius of Michelangelo – that man who was great in poetry, paining, sculpture, architecture – great in everything he undertook. But I do not want Michelangelo for breakfast-for luncheon-for dinner-for tea-for supper-for in between meals. I like a change occasionally…. I never felt so fervently thankful, so soothed, so tranquil, so filled with a blessed peace as I did yesterday when I learned that Michelangelo was dead.”
This portion of the story is making fun of the obsession with Michelangelo and how the public is so entirely focused on him and everything he does. The surprise comes when he sets up Michelangelo as a “mighty genius” then knocks him down by saying that he’s had too much of him, and later that he’s happy that Michelangelo is dead!!!
Monday, February 5, 2007
Writing Assignment Week 6
Writing Assignment Week 6: Character Development
As Canary looked down the winding road that could be seen outside her bedroom window, a single tear rolled down her cheek and onto the leather journal spread out before her on the spindle legged desk. The journal spoke no answers to the incessant questions that would not leave. It did not have the power of decisiveness within its yellowed pages. Canary required an omniscient narrator to decide her path for her, but her omniscient narrator, her night in shining armor would not be there for her this time.
Canary’s soft black padded purse with an oh so not subtle double “C” in white letters rested against the corner of her desk. Vogue, Bazaar, Gormet and Fine Cooking rested together in a pile on her 300 thread-count Italian cotton sheets atop a handcrafted solid mahogany bed frame. Canary’s matching mahogany bedside table sported a Bose Wave Radio, in Platinum White, which perfectly complemented the Martha Stewart gray blue of the wall paint, freshly retouched. Canary’s bookshelf supported text upon text of Tax auditing and financial planning books – each well worn and individually loved. These were the only items in her bedroom showing any sign of wear.
Canary laughed softly to herself every time she had thought of John’s first experience within her parent’s house, when she was still a junior in High School. She always would remember with perfect clarity the way in which his eyes darted around nervously in her bedroom – at high canopy bed and vaulted ceilings, at her vast walk in closet and extensive bathroom with its marble floors. She knew he never felt fully comfortable within her parent’s house – instead always in some way excluded. Though Canary taught him how to tie his tie in a ‘Windsor knot’, he still managed to confuse the soup and salad bowls at dinner. He still managed to earn a meaningful glance from her parents.
Everyone Canary knew was interested to learn about Johns life – about his aspirations, his ambitions. Who was this mysterious man Canary was involved with and spoke so little about? Rarely did anyone meet this man. No one could name his family, where he was from or anything about him, except that he attended the same school as Canary. Was he in the medical school with her? Was he in the honors department with her?
John had interests other than Canary and what she was used to. John’s house was a half hazard jumbling of his various interests. He had unusual animals and plants, strange artifacts from his travels to Southern America and Africa, and an inordinate amount of books and old texts. His items were in a constant state of disarray to the ignorant viewer, yet he always said that there was some method behind the disorganization. He only wore clothes that he had acquired freely – and still wore boxers that his mother had given to him five years previously.
John went to school because he yearned for personal enrichment – for developing skills that were needed for “life”. John viewed college as a time to expand ones horizons and began to learn what interested one. College was not to begin a career, it was to learn what ones career would or should be. A well paying job was secondary, not as important. He lived for life, not his job. His job paying minimum wage working at a bookstore provided him with enough income to live without parental input and thus he thought of himself as successful. He did not want to tie himself down with a specific career and job path, he wanted to explore what interested him, and to only work in a career that was self fulfilling. He disliked work and wanted to do everything in his power to make it enjoyable.
Canary’s goal in life was to acquire as much wealth as was humanly possible. She also wanted to live her life to the fullest, but what does that mean without the monetary means in which to do such things. She had intensions to become as successful as possible in order to insure that had the funds to enjoy life to the fullest. Her ideas of success included being world renowned, and during her life she was motivated to always do the best possible in order to make that happen for herself. Her parents always pushed her to be the best possible, and she was simply expected to be successful. It would be unusual and strange if she wasn’t successful – she would be the black sheep of the family.
Canary spent every minute of everyday with John. She refused to be without him. His perspective was so different and difficult to understand and comprehend that it was like an entire new world that she would never and could never fully understand. There would not be a situation in old age in which Canary and John would be sitting together at dinner with nothing to talk about. John was a breath of fresh air to her stifled, carefully constructed rigid life. Yet their needs and wants in life were different. John already told her that he would not make this decision for her. Canary had to stand on her own and make a decision.
Writing Journal
I chose the character based on some personal strife that I myself was feeling with my relationship with my boyfriend and his current choice of major – that I feel is unsatisfactory. I felt that it was challenging to focus in on the character and rather ignore the plot of the story, or at least develop it secondary. I found it difficult to create a meaningful character without dialog, and in the end decided to do nothing in my story except have the character ponder some points, and as always, found it challenging to show, not tell. I attempted to give myself and the reader something familiar, and easy to relate to as everyone has relationship issues at one time or another. I chose this because It was easier for me to write a story with a character that I could relate to, because I could see their point of view very clearly.
As Canary looked down the winding road that could be seen outside her bedroom window, a single tear rolled down her cheek and onto the leather journal spread out before her on the spindle legged desk. The journal spoke no answers to the incessant questions that would not leave. It did not have the power of decisiveness within its yellowed pages. Canary required an omniscient narrator to decide her path for her, but her omniscient narrator, her night in shining armor would not be there for her this time.
Canary’s soft black padded purse with an oh so not subtle double “C” in white letters rested against the corner of her desk. Vogue, Bazaar, Gormet and Fine Cooking rested together in a pile on her 300 thread-count Italian cotton sheets atop a handcrafted solid mahogany bed frame. Canary’s matching mahogany bedside table sported a Bose Wave Radio, in Platinum White, which perfectly complemented the Martha Stewart gray blue of the wall paint, freshly retouched. Canary’s bookshelf supported text upon text of Tax auditing and financial planning books – each well worn and individually loved. These were the only items in her bedroom showing any sign of wear.
Canary laughed softly to herself every time she had thought of John’s first experience within her parent’s house, when she was still a junior in High School. She always would remember with perfect clarity the way in which his eyes darted around nervously in her bedroom – at high canopy bed and vaulted ceilings, at her vast walk in closet and extensive bathroom with its marble floors. She knew he never felt fully comfortable within her parent’s house – instead always in some way excluded. Though Canary taught him how to tie his tie in a ‘Windsor knot’, he still managed to confuse the soup and salad bowls at dinner. He still managed to earn a meaningful glance from her parents.
Everyone Canary knew was interested to learn about Johns life – about his aspirations, his ambitions. Who was this mysterious man Canary was involved with and spoke so little about? Rarely did anyone meet this man. No one could name his family, where he was from or anything about him, except that he attended the same school as Canary. Was he in the medical school with her? Was he in the honors department with her?
John had interests other than Canary and what she was used to. John’s house was a half hazard jumbling of his various interests. He had unusual animals and plants, strange artifacts from his travels to Southern America and Africa, and an inordinate amount of books and old texts. His items were in a constant state of disarray to the ignorant viewer, yet he always said that there was some method behind the disorganization. He only wore clothes that he had acquired freely – and still wore boxers that his mother had given to him five years previously.
John went to school because he yearned for personal enrichment – for developing skills that were needed for “life”. John viewed college as a time to expand ones horizons and began to learn what interested one. College was not to begin a career, it was to learn what ones career would or should be. A well paying job was secondary, not as important. He lived for life, not his job. His job paying minimum wage working at a bookstore provided him with enough income to live without parental input and thus he thought of himself as successful. He did not want to tie himself down with a specific career and job path, he wanted to explore what interested him, and to only work in a career that was self fulfilling. He disliked work and wanted to do everything in his power to make it enjoyable.
Canary’s goal in life was to acquire as much wealth as was humanly possible. She also wanted to live her life to the fullest, but what does that mean without the monetary means in which to do such things. She had intensions to become as successful as possible in order to insure that had the funds to enjoy life to the fullest. Her ideas of success included being world renowned, and during her life she was motivated to always do the best possible in order to make that happen for herself. Her parents always pushed her to be the best possible, and she was simply expected to be successful. It would be unusual and strange if she wasn’t successful – she would be the black sheep of the family.
Canary spent every minute of everyday with John. She refused to be without him. His perspective was so different and difficult to understand and comprehend that it was like an entire new world that she would never and could never fully understand. There would not be a situation in old age in which Canary and John would be sitting together at dinner with nothing to talk about. John was a breath of fresh air to her stifled, carefully constructed rigid life. Yet their needs and wants in life were different. John already told her that he would not make this decision for her. Canary had to stand on her own and make a decision.
Writing Journal
I chose the character based on some personal strife that I myself was feeling with my relationship with my boyfriend and his current choice of major – that I feel is unsatisfactory. I felt that it was challenging to focus in on the character and rather ignore the plot of the story, or at least develop it secondary. I found it difficult to create a meaningful character without dialog, and in the end decided to do nothing in my story except have the character ponder some points, and as always, found it challenging to show, not tell. I attempted to give myself and the reader something familiar, and easy to relate to as everyone has relationship issues at one time or another. I chose this because It was easier for me to write a story with a character that I could relate to, because I could see their point of view very clearly.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Reading Journal - Week 5 - Middlemarch
Reading Journal – Week 5
Eliot's "Middlemarch"
Dorthea
Inexperienced, insecure, passionate, idealistic, attentive
“Some discouragement, some faintness of heart at the new real future which replaces the imaginary, is not unusual, and we do not expect people to be deeply move by what is not unusual.” “the large vistas and wide fresh air which she had dreamed of finding in her husbands mind were replaced by anterooms and winding passages which seemed to lead nowither?”
Dorthea had an idealized version of what marriage was going to be, and now has to come to terms with what it actually is.
“Casaubon had often dwelt on some explanation or questionable detail of which Dorthea did not see the bearing; but such imperfect coherence seemed due to the brokenness of their intercourse, and, supported by her faith in their future, she had listened with fervid patience…”
Dorthea did not understand Casaubon’s obsessions with random details, but had faith that she simply did not understand him well enough and likely believed herself not intelligent enough to follow what he was saying
Mr Casaubon
dull, mature (in that he has a mature outlook on life, not in that he is emotionally or mentally mature), detached, intellectual, insecure
• “…no man was more incapable of flashy make-believe than Mr. Casubon: he was as genuine a character as any ruminant animal, and he had not actively assisted in creating any illusions about himself.”
• Casubon was a no-nonsense, very factual individual. A no frills, you see what you get kinda guy.
Will Ladislaw
Impatient, agreeable, idealistic, rash, passionate
“…she would have lost some of her halo if she had been without that duteous preoccupation; and yet at the next moment the husband’s sandy absorption of such nectar was too intolerable; and Will’s longing to say damaging things about him was perhaps not the less tormenting because he felt the strongest reasons for restraining it.”
Will had an idealized and contradictory version of Dorthea in his head, one that could not end happily. She could not be both – only one or the other.
In Eliot’s opinion (found in On Realism), what are some of the author’s most important responsibilities when designing characters for fiction? Do you think she “practices what she preaches” in Middlemarch? Why or why not?
The most important responsibility is to create realistic believable characters, the goal is not to do what you wish with your characters but to make it believable, and something that you could see them doing. The characters should not be idealized, but excepted for who they are – faults and all. This makes them more believable and more relatable, though the truth is more difficult to relate.
Yes I think she practices what she preaches, for the most part. For one thing, her characters are very believable and easy to relate to. I became very involved in the story very quickly and could not put it down. Clearly she is extremely successful in keeping a readers interest and creating believable characters. Her characters are all flawed in some respect. Will, though agreeable and very likeable, has an unrealistic and idealized version of Dorthea. The need for recognition, of remembrance and the realization that he cannot have her from the get go is extremely believable. He does not plot to take her from her husband – that would be impossible and ridiculous. It wasn’t some fairy tale. Dorthea, though beautiful, was really only seen in that way by Will – and Eliot specifically stated that in her town she really wasn’t considered THAT special. Obviously Mr. Casaubon had many flaws that are believable in an intelligent and focused man. However, Dorthea’s continued ignorance and innocence annoyed me, especially as she “spoke better than most women” - one would consider her especially intelligent. Her over the top innocence felt rather contrived and the story would have benefited from more character development on her behalf. Though there was a fair bit – it was difficult to believe she was that dumb, yet still so eloquent.
Eliot's "Middlemarch"
Dorthea
Inexperienced, insecure, passionate, idealistic, attentive
“Some discouragement, some faintness of heart at the new real future which replaces the imaginary, is not unusual, and we do not expect people to be deeply move by what is not unusual.” “the large vistas and wide fresh air which she had dreamed of finding in her husbands mind were replaced by anterooms and winding passages which seemed to lead nowither?”
Dorthea had an idealized version of what marriage was going to be, and now has to come to terms with what it actually is.
“Casaubon had often dwelt on some explanation or questionable detail of which Dorthea did not see the bearing; but such imperfect coherence seemed due to the brokenness of their intercourse, and, supported by her faith in their future, she had listened with fervid patience…”
Dorthea did not understand Casaubon’s obsessions with random details, but had faith that she simply did not understand him well enough and likely believed herself not intelligent enough to follow what he was saying
Mr Casaubon
dull, mature (in that he has a mature outlook on life, not in that he is emotionally or mentally mature), detached, intellectual, insecure
• “…no man was more incapable of flashy make-believe than Mr. Casubon: he was as genuine a character as any ruminant animal, and he had not actively assisted in creating any illusions about himself.”
• Casubon was a no-nonsense, very factual individual. A no frills, you see what you get kinda guy.
Will Ladislaw
Impatient, agreeable, idealistic, rash, passionate
“…she would have lost some of her halo if she had been without that duteous preoccupation; and yet at the next moment the husband’s sandy absorption of such nectar was too intolerable; and Will’s longing to say damaging things about him was perhaps not the less tormenting because he felt the strongest reasons for restraining it.”
Will had an idealized and contradictory version of Dorthea in his head, one that could not end happily. She could not be both – only one or the other.
In Eliot’s opinion (found in On Realism), what are some of the author’s most important responsibilities when designing characters for fiction? Do you think she “practices what she preaches” in Middlemarch? Why or why not?
The most important responsibility is to create realistic believable characters, the goal is not to do what you wish with your characters but to make it believable, and something that you could see them doing. The characters should not be idealized, but excepted for who they are – faults and all. This makes them more believable and more relatable, though the truth is more difficult to relate.
Yes I think she practices what she preaches, for the most part. For one thing, her characters are very believable and easy to relate to. I became very involved in the story very quickly and could not put it down. Clearly she is extremely successful in keeping a readers interest and creating believable characters. Her characters are all flawed in some respect. Will, though agreeable and very likeable, has an unrealistic and idealized version of Dorthea. The need for recognition, of remembrance and the realization that he cannot have her from the get go is extremely believable. He does not plot to take her from her husband – that would be impossible and ridiculous. It wasn’t some fairy tale. Dorthea, though beautiful, was really only seen in that way by Will – and Eliot specifically stated that in her town she really wasn’t considered THAT special. Obviously Mr. Casaubon had many flaws that are believable in an intelligent and focused man. However, Dorthea’s continued ignorance and innocence annoyed me, especially as she “spoke better than most women” - one would consider her especially intelligent. Her over the top innocence felt rather contrived and the story would have benefited from more character development on her behalf. Though there was a fair bit – it was difficult to believe she was that dumb, yet still so eloquent.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Week 5 Paper and Journal Questions
Week 5 writing assignment
It was the end of my first quarter at University of Washington - one quarter of Early Fall Start had just ended, and I had several weeks yet before I had to take Physics, Calculus and Programming. Before I had to face my major, and take “real college classes”. I was 18, had a brand new black Mazda 3 and a $200 non refundable food money left on my “Husky Card”. What to do?
Niklas, Max and myself decided that the only acceptable solution to this situation was a Road Trip. It hit us, while on I-90, that if we were we to get on I-5 South, we could just keep driving. And driving. And there was nothing to stop us. We had no commitments, no work, though also no money. We could pack enough food for a few days, pool our money together for gas, and stay in camp-sites along the way. We had a good friend going to school in northern California who we could surprise along the way. It was perfect, and nothing could go wrong.
We really wanted to go spur of the moment, unplanned, but our need for food stopped us until we could “hit up” some UW owned grocery stores and get our ”free food” off of my Husky Card. I also took out all the money I had to my name - a mere $87. I did this at a local ATM so as to avoid detection from my parents who would notice if I used my card in Oregon. We were determined to go undetected.
Thus, that very next morning, we awoke at an ungodly hour -12pm and with the trunk of my car bulging with a tent and a great deal of prepackaged preserved goodness we were off.
The drive through Southern Washington was largely uneventful, with a lot of highway, and worn down towns, strip malls and little else. When we finally reached Portland, we got immediately got very lost, very confused and finally found a smallish looking Motel with reasonable rates and food. Thus, we rested there for the night, our tummies full with a warm home-cooked meal, and the idea that the bulk of our driving was over. Tomorrow would be a day to explore and enjoy our freedom. With that comforting thought, we fell asleep.
The next morning, we showered, ate breakfast and planned out our day. We were to visit the Tillamook factory, and were extremely excited - we all loved Cheese. Laughing and enjoying ourselves, we spilled out onto the street, I with my car keys out and ready to roll. I was sitting down in the drivers seat when I heard someone call my name. I turned to look. Max was staring down at my tire, looking stricken.
“We have a flat.” He said it tonelessly.
“What? No that’s not possible. These tires are brand new.”
“Apparently it is,” Nik added in, annoyingly. “This isn’t a big deal though Kristina, I have Triple A, we’ll just have them solve it.”
So we waited. And waited. Finally “Burt” showed up, tow truck at the ready. We explained the situation, and he attached my car to the back of his truck. And we were off again. And the local Portland driver got lost along the way. So 2 hours later, we finally arrived at a Mom and Pops tire store. There were several customers in front of us, so we waited outside, chatting with Burt for about 45 minutes. Finally it was our turn and they quickly lifted my car up on stilts, removed the tire and began the repair process. They removed two long and sinister looking nails from the tire, and began patching. I went up to the cash register to pay, and they refused my money, saying that it was no problem. Things had begun to look up - perhaps we would be able to visit the Tillamook factory after all that day.
However, shortly into our cheese discussion, the manager approached us holding my tire. He explained that the tire was unfixable because I had driven it on the rim, and I needed a replacement. He also explained that this would be difficult to find as my car was very new.
So we were off again to find a Mazda dealership. Burt at the wheel, and my car in tow. The first two dealerships did not have tires to a 2004 Mazda 3 I with the “Sport Package”. The last directed us to Goodyear, right down the street. We pulled up, and dreading the answer asked for the Eagle RS-A tires. Yet they did have them! And in stock. Our hearts alight, we asked the price. And our hearts plummeted.
“Three hundred and Fifty dollars.”
“Why is it so expensive!?!?”
Looking scandalized, they replied, “The Eagle RS-A is a performance tire. It’s the top of the line.”
I inquired if there were any other tires that we could use instead – cheaper tires. The gentleman replied that apparently there would be an uneven wear pattern, and thus no. Niklas asked if we could purchase a used tire, and he again answered no, the tire was too new.
We went outside to discuss the situation amongst ourselves. We polled our money and found that we had a grand total of $174.82. Not quite enough. At 18 none of us had a credit card, there was going to be no “charging”. Searching for an answer that wasn’t going to come, I opened my wallet one last time. I noticed the gleaming golden edge of an American Express card, limitless and inscribed with my name. An idea formed in my head as I began to pull the edge of the golden solution out further. A bad idea. This was my parent’s American Express Card, for emergencies. Clearly this was an emergency, and normally my parents would have no problem with paying for a flat tire. However, I was in Oregon, without asking their permission – because I had known it wouldn’t have been given.
The beautiful card was slid back into my wallet, and my expression set, I climbed into my lopsided beautiful new Mazda. The spare tire now on, and my useless tire rim in the trunk, we drove in the direction of I-5 North, going no faster than 55 the whole way back.
Writing Journal Questions: What was learned?
I think that I am becoming more comfortable with writing creatively, because I have been having issues with keeping under the page length in the last two stories, which is much more normal for how I write. I believe I have a better understanding of how to write with constraints. I also realize many of my writing flaws, and how terribly difficult it is for me to be descriptive. Its so difficult for me to cut back my writing, too. Apparently I become very attached to every sentence and have to force myself to cut back. Also I become very interested in my own writing, and never want to stop and always feel that I have more to say.
It was the end of my first quarter at University of Washington - one quarter of Early Fall Start had just ended, and I had several weeks yet before I had to take Physics, Calculus and Programming. Before I had to face my major, and take “real college classes”. I was 18, had a brand new black Mazda 3 and a $200 non refundable food money left on my “Husky Card”. What to do?
Niklas, Max and myself decided that the only acceptable solution to this situation was a Road Trip. It hit us, while on I-90, that if we were we to get on I-5 South, we could just keep driving. And driving. And there was nothing to stop us. We had no commitments, no work, though also no money. We could pack enough food for a few days, pool our money together for gas, and stay in camp-sites along the way. We had a good friend going to school in northern California who we could surprise along the way. It was perfect, and nothing could go wrong.
We really wanted to go spur of the moment, unplanned, but our need for food stopped us until we could “hit up” some UW owned grocery stores and get our ”free food” off of my Husky Card. I also took out all the money I had to my name - a mere $87. I did this at a local ATM so as to avoid detection from my parents who would notice if I used my card in Oregon. We were determined to go undetected.
Thus, that very next morning, we awoke at an ungodly hour -12pm and with the trunk of my car bulging with a tent and a great deal of prepackaged preserved goodness we were off.
The drive through Southern Washington was largely uneventful, with a lot of highway, and worn down towns, strip malls and little else. When we finally reached Portland, we got immediately got very lost, very confused and finally found a smallish looking Motel with reasonable rates and food. Thus, we rested there for the night, our tummies full with a warm home-cooked meal, and the idea that the bulk of our driving was over. Tomorrow would be a day to explore and enjoy our freedom. With that comforting thought, we fell asleep.
The next morning, we showered, ate breakfast and planned out our day. We were to visit the Tillamook factory, and were extremely excited - we all loved Cheese. Laughing and enjoying ourselves, we spilled out onto the street, I with my car keys out and ready to roll. I was sitting down in the drivers seat when I heard someone call my name. I turned to look. Max was staring down at my tire, looking stricken.
“We have a flat.” He said it tonelessly.
“What? No that’s not possible. These tires are brand new.”
“Apparently it is,” Nik added in, annoyingly. “This isn’t a big deal though Kristina, I have Triple A, we’ll just have them solve it.”
So we waited. And waited. Finally “Burt” showed up, tow truck at the ready. We explained the situation, and he attached my car to the back of his truck. And we were off again. And the local Portland driver got lost along the way. So 2 hours later, we finally arrived at a Mom and Pops tire store. There were several customers in front of us, so we waited outside, chatting with Burt for about 45 minutes. Finally it was our turn and they quickly lifted my car up on stilts, removed the tire and began the repair process. They removed two long and sinister looking nails from the tire, and began patching. I went up to the cash register to pay, and they refused my money, saying that it was no problem. Things had begun to look up - perhaps we would be able to visit the Tillamook factory after all that day.
However, shortly into our cheese discussion, the manager approached us holding my tire. He explained that the tire was unfixable because I had driven it on the rim, and I needed a replacement. He also explained that this would be difficult to find as my car was very new.
So we were off again to find a Mazda dealership. Burt at the wheel, and my car in tow. The first two dealerships did not have tires to a 2004 Mazda 3 I with the “Sport Package”. The last directed us to Goodyear, right down the street. We pulled up, and dreading the answer asked for the Eagle RS-A tires. Yet they did have them! And in stock. Our hearts alight, we asked the price. And our hearts plummeted.
“Three hundred and Fifty dollars.”
“Why is it so expensive!?!?”
Looking scandalized, they replied, “The Eagle RS-A is a performance tire. It’s the top of the line.”
I inquired if there were any other tires that we could use instead – cheaper tires. The gentleman replied that apparently there would be an uneven wear pattern, and thus no. Niklas asked if we could purchase a used tire, and he again answered no, the tire was too new.
We went outside to discuss the situation amongst ourselves. We polled our money and found that we had a grand total of $174.82. Not quite enough. At 18 none of us had a credit card, there was going to be no “charging”. Searching for an answer that wasn’t going to come, I opened my wallet one last time. I noticed the gleaming golden edge of an American Express card, limitless and inscribed with my name. An idea formed in my head as I began to pull the edge of the golden solution out further. A bad idea. This was my parent’s American Express Card, for emergencies. Clearly this was an emergency, and normally my parents would have no problem with paying for a flat tire. However, I was in Oregon, without asking their permission – because I had known it wouldn’t have been given.
The beautiful card was slid back into my wallet, and my expression set, I climbed into my lopsided beautiful new Mazda. The spare tire now on, and my useless tire rim in the trunk, we drove in the direction of I-5 North, going no faster than 55 the whole way back.
Writing Journal Questions: What was learned?
I think that I am becoming more comfortable with writing creatively, because I have been having issues with keeping under the page length in the last two stories, which is much more normal for how I write. I believe I have a better understanding of how to write with constraints. I also realize many of my writing flaws, and how terribly difficult it is for me to be descriptive. Its so difficult for me to cut back my writing, too. Apparently I become very attached to every sentence and have to force myself to cut back. Also I become very interested in my own writing, and never want to stop and always feel that I have more to say.
Week 5 Reading Journal
Reading Journal Questions:
The first author, Benvenuto Cellini, was very focused on explaining the facts of his story, as opposed to an emotion or feeling that came across in the Andre Aciman piece. Both appeared to have different reasons for writing these pieces, Benvenuto’s being more of an old man looking back on his life and making sense of it, and looking for meaning. He “name dropped” quite a bit, attempting to make himself and his family appear well connected and important. Andre’s piece, on the other hand, was quite the opposite, he specially detailed the misfortune of his family and how he didn’t have enough money to afford the apartment. It was obvious that the purpose and focus of his story was entirely different, that Andre wanted you to get a feeling from his explanation of Rome, and the fact it was written from his perspective and with his personal input meant that it was simply easier to relate to. Thus, Benvenuto’s piece was more aware of the reader’s presence because he was clearly attempting to leave a legacy, and an impression. Andre’s piece was more convincing and believable because it was more personal and less forced, and I guess just easier for me to relate to overall because it was considerably more recently written.
The first author, Benvenuto Cellini, was very focused on explaining the facts of his story, as opposed to an emotion or feeling that came across in the Andre Aciman piece. Both appeared to have different reasons for writing these pieces, Benvenuto’s being more of an old man looking back on his life and making sense of it, and looking for meaning. He “name dropped” quite a bit, attempting to make himself and his family appear well connected and important. Andre’s piece, on the other hand, was quite the opposite, he specially detailed the misfortune of his family and how he didn’t have enough money to afford the apartment. It was obvious that the purpose and focus of his story was entirely different, that Andre wanted you to get a feeling from his explanation of Rome, and the fact it was written from his perspective and with his personal input meant that it was simply easier to relate to. Thus, Benvenuto’s piece was more aware of the reader’s presence because he was clearly attempting to leave a legacy, and an impression. Andre’s piece was more convincing and believable because it was more personal and less forced, and I guess just easier for me to relate to overall because it was considerably more recently written.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Art History Final Paper: Forum, Markets and Column of Trajan
Kristina Dahlberg
Honors in Rome – Winter 2007
Art History Final Paper: Forum, Markets and Column of Trajan
I: INTRODUCTION
Marcus Ulpius Nerva Traianus, was born September 18th, 53 AD in the city of Italica. Commonly referred to as Trajan, the Roman Empire achieved its greatest historical extent under his rule. Trajan was the son of a prominent Italian senator and general, Marcus Ulpius Traianus. Trajan served in the Roman army and Syrian army when his father was governor of that province. Trajan quickly rose through the ranks, becoming nominated as Consul in 91 AD with Domitian was emperor at the time.
It was at this point that Trajan brought Apollodorus of Damascus to Rome. Apollodorus was a Greek architect, engineer and sculptor who designed Trajan’s forum and Column as well as being widely acknowledged as the main architect of the Pantheon.
Trajan took a significant part in Domitian’s wars along the Rhine River, as well as others under Nerva’s short rule. When Nerva became emperor, Trajan was appointed as governor of upper Germany. Nerva was the first emperor to select his successor by potential rather than paternal relation. Nerva was also considered to be the first of the “five good emperors of the Roman Empire”, a series of five emperors all chosen by adoption and known for less tyrannical and oppressive policies. Nerva became emperor after the murder of Domitian, and his seat in office was not considerably stable. To cement his rule, Nerva chose the popular Trajan as his adopted son in the summer of 97. Trajan was highly respected and succeeded to power without issue.
The Forum of Trajan was the last in a series of grand imperial constructions that were intended to complement the fairly limited space of the Roman Forum. Domitian specifically had taken a personal interest in the architecture of Rome and wanted to add to the existing imperial constructions, so he began the construction of a vast Forum, including clearing out markets that citizens had previously used in the area. During Nerva’s short rein of 96 to 98 AD, he did not permit the resumption of Domitian’s forum because he was otherwise occupied with foreign affairs. The neglect of the construction of the Forums continued as Trajan first assumed office, as Domitian’s costly constructions had consumed the imperial treasury.
Construction of the forum did not continue until the Dacian wars, which provided Trajan with the funds to complete the Forum and its lavish buildings. The construction of the Forum began in 106 AD, and most of the buildings were complete by 112 AD. The Column of Trajan was dedicated in 113 AD, and upon Trajan’s death in 117 AD he was cremated and buried inside it. In the next 11 years Hadrian had completed a temple to Trajan, now defied, which was completed in 128 AD. Though not constructed by Trajan, the temple likely was planned in advance and constructed in the Forum itself.
II: PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
The forum was designed as “a rectangular, axially symmetrical, and frontally orientated plaza that was framed by the Basilica Ulpia and the adjacent East and West colonnades and separated from the rest of the city by high fire walls.” (Packer 174) The Basilica Ulpia, divided the piazza from the Column of Trajan, two opposite Greek and Latin libraries and, later, the Temple of Trajan were all hidden by the law court. Curving around the eastern hemicycle of the forum were Trajan’s markets, a complex of shops and offices for Roman citizen use.
The Forum of Trajan was influenced by the large scale temples of Egypt and Mesopotamia as well as markets and shrines of the Hellenistic east. The forum also incorporated some local architecture; the Theatre of Pompey and the Forum of Augustus himself, which really influenced much of the plan and the “cool classicizing style of the architectural elements.”(Packer 174) “Apollodorus’s plan for the Forum of Trajan was an intelligent blend of oriental, Greek, Italic and Roman elements that visually expressed Rome’s unique position as the capital of the Mediterranean World.”(Packer 174)
The Markets of Trajan were fairly innovative in that they were the first to incorporate an indoor shopping experience. All markets previous had been a series of outdoor shops.
The Markets were truly revolutionary in that they did not utilize one supporting column but instead were able to successfully disperse the weight through a series of arches. The markets also show extensive planning in “the relationships between the streets and shops, the functional locations of the stair systems and ramps, and the pains taken to bring adequate lighting and ventilation to nearly every roofed space.” (Packer 25) The markets were roofed by a concrete vault raised on piers, serving the dual purpose of providing cover and also to allow in air and light.
The Forum of Trajan, again, borrowed heavily from other sources and this is evident even in the equestrian statue of Trajan in the center of the forum. This statue heavily imitated the equestrian statue of Caesar in the Roman Forum. Trajan’s column was innovative in its design of the rotating depiction of the Dacian wars, which was depicted, arguably, to great effect. Although it was common to engage the viewer, and force one to focus on a particular tomb, none arguably, was able to do so with quite as much success as Apollodorus in the Column of Trajan.
III: FUNCTION
The Markets of Trajan were again created as replacements to former markets, destroyed by Domitian to make way for the Forum. The shops inside the markets varied in size, though most were rather small, the customer would have actually approached the door from outside and then have been served. The rooms at the level of the Forum would have been occupied by cashiers of the imperial treasury, while shops at higher levels would have been given to private venders.
The Column of Trajan was designed to attract attention and keep the focus of the viewer, for only “disinterest or neglect means a true ‘death’.” (Davies 56) Many believe that the design was not successful because of the awkward viewing angle as well as the fact that because of the location of the Basilica Ulpia and the surrounding libraries, the viewer would not have a sufficient amount of space to back away from the column so to view the various scenes depicted. However, according to Davies’ article, the Column of Trajan was successful in its task of maintaining reader focus because circumventing the column was fairly ritualistic and insured that attention was maintained.
The Forum itself was decorated extremely lavishly with marble from all over the world. The extensive flashy use of different colored marbles emphasized the imperial power able to organize extensive human and monetary resources that was able to provide Rome with such expensive foreign material. “Although composed of simple geometric elements, the plan of the forum must have seemed enormously complex to the ancient visitor.” (Packer 37)
The Forum constantly revealed itself to the visitor; “a series of unfolding surprises, with each new perspective revealing something new.” (Davies 57) The Basilica Ulpia hid much of the Column of Trajan, the libraries and the temple from view, the Column of Trajan was “only fully visible from the north terrace of the Basilica Ulpia of the Steps of the temple.” (Packer 175) “Consequently, these architectural “secrets” transformed a casual walk through the forum into a series of progressive visual revelations...” (Packer 176)
IV: CONCERNS/GOALS OF PATRON
The Forum was a complex structure, chosen to be an optimum method of political propaganda because it would continue to be an essential part of everyday life for many Romans utilizing the libraries, law office or, usually, the markets. The complex was designed chiefly to glorify the new Roman Empire and his military victories in Dacia. The citizens of Rome required the explanation of necessity and benefit of the Dacian wars, as wars are generally costly and often fruitless.
Trajan’s primary operative was to remain in power, and he had
learned from past Emperors such as Domitian how fickle public opinion could be. Trajan and Apollodorus apparently consequently conceived of the Forum of Trajan as the triumphant climax in the series of imperial propaganda that were designed to maximize public opinion by showing a understanding and concern of a Roman citizen’s needs.
The Forum and Markets were created for the people, to show off an aggressive grandeur, which was successfully gained from the Dacian wars. The Forum of Trajan was designed to show off the competence, strength and superiority of Rome to its citizens and visitors. This is entirely evident in the monument at the center of the Forum. This depicts the figure of Trajan mounted on an impressive steed, with the symbols of war and victory held high. The richness and exoticness of the materials chosen to use also ensured a similar effect. “Expensive imported marbles and standards and statues of gilded bronze that crowned the surrounding buildings were the unmistakable signs of an overwhelming imperial prosperity and achievement.” (Packer 187)
The Column itself is the most clearly attempting
to convey a message. The Column is an obvious tribute to Trajan’s wars, with the bottom half devoted to the first Dacian war, and the top half devoted to the second Dacian war. The column is designed with very little actual battle scenes in an attempt to downplay the actual atrocities and realities of war. Instead the column depicts more peaceful scenes, always showing Roman soldiers in complete control. The Roman soldiers depicted struggle almost exclusively in the direction of the spiral itself, this allows the viewer to add his or her own strength when viewing and essentially is simply another technique in which to downplay the reality of war.
Roman society was fairly poor at the beginning of Trajan’s rule, largely due to Domitian’s lavish building. In many ways Trajan’s conquests of Dacia were viewed as costly rather than valuable by the common people because of the large cost of war in general. Thus Trajan was required to show what money was gained from these conquests, and he did this not only in the excessive grandeur but also in placing “From Spoils” on many of the columns in the Forum itself to further cement this idea.
V: CONCLUTION
As the Forum of Trajan borrowed heavily from other monuments it does not appear to be considered extremely influential. However, the Markets of Trajan were extremely influential and revolutionary in form, and essentially were the birth of the shopping mall experience.
The Column of Trajan continues to fascinate us to this day because of the stunning artwork portrayed. The artwork continues to astound and inform audiences to this day. Historians look to the intricate artwork for clues on how wars were fought, what kind of weaponry was used as well as many other historical clues. A perfect example of the influence of the Column of Trajan is the Column of Marcus Aurelius, now standing in the Piazza Colonna. This Column borrows heavily from Trajan’s Column, utilizing the circumventing imagery effectively. The Column is so similar in fact, it is often confused with Trajan’s.
VI: WHAT WAS THE MOST INTERESTING OR SUPRISING?
The most fascinating find during my research was the through extent that the propaganda infiltrated every aspect of the construction of the Forum and Column of Trajan. Knowing how many specific instances could be explained in such minute detail was eye opening for me and really made me realize how many other Roman monuments were just as carefully constructed. This knowledge has made me rethink the way in which I approach any monument constructed by the governing body in power.
Another fascinating bit of information was the sheer detail that one could see and learn by studying the Column of Trajan. One could learn a great deal of historically significant and fascinating information simply by thoroughly reading into the Column’s artwork. The information that fascinated me the most involved the fact that all of this information – the way in which the statues were poised as well as the hand gestures, would convey their meaning to the Roman citizen clearly with little effort. An uneducated Roman citizen would be much better positioned to read the artwork of the Forum of Trajan than some of the most learned historians today. This realization of what really is meant by 2000 years of history, and how much can change in culture and our understanding of it is the most profound ‘take-away’ of this project and presentation.
VII: BIBLIOGRAPHY
Beard, Mary, and John Henderson. Classical Art : From Greece to Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.
Davies, Penelope J.E. The Politics of Perpetuation:Trajan's Column and the Art of Commemoration. American Journal of Archaeology, v. 101, 1997.
Hedrick, Charles W. History and Silence : Purge and Rehabilitation of Memory in Late Antiquity. Texas: University of Texas P, 2000.
Heiken, Grant, Renato Funiciello, and Donatella De Rita. The Seven Hills of Rome : a Geological Tour of the Eternal City. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2005.
Macdonald, William. The Architecture of the Roman Empire. 2nd ed. Bingham, NY: Yale UP, 1982. 75-83.
Packer, James E. The Forum of Trajan in Rome. 1st ed. London, England: University of California P, 2001.
Honors in Rome – Winter 2007
Art History Final Paper: Forum, Markets and Column of Trajan
I: INTRODUCTIONMarcus Ulpius Nerva Traianus, was born September 18th, 53 AD in the city of Italica. Commonly referred to as Trajan, the Roman Empire achieved its greatest historical extent under his rule. Trajan was the son of a prominent Italian senator and general, Marcus Ulpius Traianus. Trajan served in the Roman army and Syrian army when his father was governor of that province. Trajan quickly rose through the ranks, becoming nominated as Consul in 91 AD with Domitian was emperor at the time.
It was at this point that Trajan brought Apollodorus of Damascus to Rome. Apollodorus was a Greek architect, engineer and sculptor who designed Trajan’s forum and Column as well as being widely acknowledged as the main architect of the Pantheon.
Trajan took a significant part in Domitian’s wars along the Rhine River, as well as others under Nerva’s short rule. When Nerva became emperor, Trajan was appointed as governor of upper Germany. Nerva was the first emperor to select his successor by potential rather than paternal relation. Nerva was also considered to be the first of the “five good emperors of the Roman Empire”, a series of five emperors all chosen by adoption and known for less tyrannical and oppressive policies. Nerva became emperor after the murder of Domitian, and his seat in office was not considerably stable. To cement his rule, Nerva chose the popular Trajan as his adopted son in the summer of 97. Trajan was highly respected and succeeded to power without issue.
The Forum of Trajan was the last in a series of grand imperial constructions that were intended to complement the fairly limited space of the Roman Forum. Domitian specifically had taken a personal interest in the architecture of Rome and wanted to add to the existing imperial constructions, so he began the construction of a vast Forum, including clearing out markets that citizens had previously used in the area. During Nerva’s short rein of 96 to 98 AD, he did not permit the resumption of Domitian’s forum because he was otherwise occupied with foreign affairs. The neglect of the construction of the Forums continued as Trajan first assumed office, as Domitian’s costly constructions had consumed the imperial treasury.
Construction of the forum did not continue until the Dacian wars, which provided Trajan with the funds to complete the Forum and its lavish buildings. The construction of the Forum began in 106 AD, and most of the buildings were complete by 112 AD. The Column of Trajan was dedicated in 113 AD, and upon Trajan’s death in 117 AD he was cremated and buried inside it. In the next 11 years Hadrian had completed a temple to Trajan, now defied, which was completed in 128 AD. Though not constructed by Trajan, the temple likely was planned in advance and constructed in the Forum itself.
II: PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
The forum was designed as “a rectangular, axially symmetrical, and frontally orientated plaza that was framed by the Basilica Ulpia and the adjacent East and West colonnades and separated from the rest of the city by high fire walls.” (Packer 174) The Basilica Ulpia, divided the piazza from the Column of Trajan, two opposite Greek and Latin libraries and, later, the Temple of Trajan were all hidden by the law court. Curving around the eastern hemicycle of the forum were Trajan’s markets, a complex of shops and offices for Roman citizen use.
The Forum of Trajan was influenced by the large scale temples of Egypt and Mesopotamia as well as markets and shrines of the Hellenistic east. The forum also incorporated some local architecture; the Theatre of Pompey and the Forum of Augustus himself, which really influenced much of the plan and the “cool classicizing style of the architectural elements.”(Packer 174) “Apollodorus’s plan for the Forum of Trajan was an intelligent blend of oriental, Greek, Italic and Roman elements that visually expressed Rome’s unique position as the capital of the Mediterranean World.”(Packer 174)
The Markets of Trajan were fairly innovative in that they were the first to incorporate an indoor shopping experience. All markets previous had been a series of outdoor shops.
The Markets were truly revolutionary in that they did not utilize one supporting column but instead were able to successfully disperse the weight through a series of arches. The markets also show extensive planning in “the relationships between the streets and shops, the functional locations of the stair systems and ramps, and the pains taken to bring adequate lighting and ventilation to nearly every roofed space.” (Packer 25) The markets were roofed by a concrete vault raised on piers, serving the dual purpose of providing cover and also to allow in air and light.
The Forum of Trajan, again, borrowed heavily from other sources and this is evident even in the equestrian statue of Trajan in the center of the forum. This statue heavily imitated the equestrian statue of Caesar in the Roman Forum. Trajan’s column was innovative in its design of the rotating depiction of the Dacian wars, which was depicted, arguably, to great effect. Although it was common to engage the viewer, and force one to focus on a particular tomb, none arguably, was able to do so with quite as much success as Apollodorus in the Column of Trajan.
III: FUNCTION
The Markets of Trajan were again created as replacements to former markets, destroyed by Domitian to make way for the Forum. The shops inside the markets varied in size, though most were rather small, the customer would have actually approached the door from outside and then have been served. The rooms at the level of the Forum would have been occupied by cashiers of the imperial treasury, while shops at higher levels would have been given to private venders.The Column of Trajan was designed to attract attention and keep the focus of the viewer, for only “disinterest or neglect means a true ‘death’.” (Davies 56) Many believe that the design was not successful because of the awkward viewing angle as well as the fact that because of the location of the Basilica Ulpia and the surrounding libraries, the viewer would not have a sufficient amount of space to back away from the column so to view the various scenes depicted. However, according to Davies’ article, the Column of Trajan was successful in its task of maintaining reader focus because circumventing the column was fairly ritualistic and insured that attention was maintained.
The Forum itself was decorated extremely lavishly with marble from all over the world. The extensive flashy use of different colored marbles emphasized the imperial power able to organize extensive human and monetary resources that was able to provide Rome with such expensive foreign material. “Although composed of simple geometric elements, the plan of the forum must have seemed enormously complex to the ancient visitor.” (Packer 37)
The Forum constantly revealed itself to the visitor; “a series of unfolding surprises, with each new perspective revealing something new.” (Davies 57) The Basilica Ulpia hid much of the Column of Trajan, the libraries and the temple from view, the Column of Trajan was “only fully visible from the north terrace of the Basilica Ulpia of the Steps of the temple.” (Packer 175) “Consequently, these architectural “secrets” transformed a casual walk through the forum into a series of progressive visual revelations...” (Packer 176)
IV: CONCERNS/GOALS OF PATRON
The Forum was a complex structure, chosen to be an optimum method of political propaganda because it would continue to be an essential part of everyday life for many Romans utilizing the libraries, law office or, usually, the markets. The complex was designed chiefly to glorify the new Roman Empire and his military victories in Dacia. The citizens of Rome required the explanation of necessity and benefit of the Dacian wars, as wars are generally costly and often fruitless.
Trajan’s primary operative was to remain in power, and he had
learned from past Emperors such as Domitian how fickle public opinion could be. Trajan and Apollodorus apparently consequently conceived of the Forum of Trajan as the triumphant climax in the series of imperial propaganda that were designed to maximize public opinion by showing a understanding and concern of a Roman citizen’s needs.The Forum and Markets were created for the people, to show off an aggressive grandeur, which was successfully gained from the Dacian wars. The Forum of Trajan was designed to show off the competence, strength and superiority of Rome to its citizens and visitors. This is entirely evident in the monument at the center of the Forum. This depicts the figure of Trajan mounted on an impressive steed, with the symbols of war and victory held high. The richness and exoticness of the materials chosen to use also ensured a similar effect. “Expensive imported marbles and standards and statues of gilded bronze that crowned the surrounding buildings were the unmistakable signs of an overwhelming imperial prosperity and achievement.” (Packer 187)
The Column itself is the most clearly attempting
to convey a message. The Column is an obvious tribute to Trajan’s wars, with the bottom half devoted to the first Dacian war, and the top half devoted to the second Dacian war. The column is designed with very little actual battle scenes in an attempt to downplay the actual atrocities and realities of war. Instead the column depicts more peaceful scenes, always showing Roman soldiers in complete control. The Roman soldiers depicted struggle almost exclusively in the direction of the spiral itself, this allows the viewer to add his or her own strength when viewing and essentially is simply another technique in which to downplay the reality of war.Roman society was fairly poor at the beginning of Trajan’s rule, largely due to Domitian’s lavish building. In many ways Trajan’s conquests of Dacia were viewed as costly rather than valuable by the common people because of the large cost of war in general. Thus Trajan was required to show what money was gained from these conquests, and he did this not only in the excessive grandeur but also in placing “From Spoils” on many of the columns in the Forum itself to further cement this idea.
V: CONCLUTION
As the Forum of Trajan borrowed heavily from other monuments it does not appear to be considered extremely influential. However, the Markets of Trajan were extremely influential and revolutionary in form, and essentially were the birth of the shopping mall experience.
The Column of Trajan continues to fascinate us to this day because of the stunning artwork portrayed. The artwork continues to astound and inform audiences to this day. Historians look to the intricate artwork for clues on how wars were fought, what kind of weaponry was used as well as many other historical clues. A perfect example of the influence of the Column of Trajan is the Column of Marcus Aurelius, now standing in the Piazza Colonna. This Column borrows heavily from Trajan’s Column, utilizing the circumventing imagery effectively. The Column is so similar in fact, it is often confused with Trajan’s.
VI: WHAT WAS THE MOST INTERESTING OR SUPRISING?
The most fascinating find during my research was the through extent that the propaganda infiltrated every aspect of the construction of the Forum and Column of Trajan. Knowing how many specific instances could be explained in such minute detail was eye opening for me and really made me realize how many other Roman monuments were just as carefully constructed. This knowledge has made me rethink the way in which I approach any monument constructed by the governing body in power.
Another fascinating bit of information was the sheer detail that one could see and learn by studying the Column of Trajan. One could learn a great deal of historically significant and fascinating information simply by thoroughly reading into the Column’s artwork. The information that fascinated me the most involved the fact that all of this information – the way in which the statues were poised as well as the hand gestures, would convey their meaning to the Roman citizen clearly with little effort. An uneducated Roman citizen would be much better positioned to read the artwork of the Forum of Trajan than some of the most learned historians today. This realization of what really is meant by 2000 years of history, and how much can change in culture and our understanding of it is the most profound ‘take-away’ of this project and presentation.
VII: BIBLIOGRAPHY
Beard, Mary, and John Henderson. Classical Art : From Greece to Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.
Davies, Penelope J.E. The Politics of Perpetuation:Trajan's Column and the Art of Commemoration. American Journal of Archaeology, v. 101, 1997.
Hedrick, Charles W. History and Silence : Purge and Rehabilitation of Memory in Late Antiquity. Texas: University of Texas P, 2000.
Heiken, Grant, Renato Funiciello, and Donatella De Rita. The Seven Hills of Rome : a Geological Tour of the Eternal City. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2005.
Macdonald, William. The Architecture of the Roman Empire. 2nd ed. Bingham, NY: Yale UP, 1982. 75-83.
Packer, James E. The Forum of Trajan in Rome. 1st ed. London, England: University of California P, 2001.
Damon pulled into the driveway of his mother’s house, just like he did everyday yet today something was different. There was a fancy sports car, a bright Orange Lotus Elise in the garage. A fast car. In Damon’s spot. Damon parked his 2001 Honda Civic Si behind this new monstrosity, careful to bump it just a little. Suddenly loud blaring honking and flashing sounded through the quiet neighborhood. A 20 year old male barreled out of the house, looking stricken.
“Sorry bro, my bag bumped it.” Damon said, earnestly.
“What do you think?” Stephan’s face was lit with a certain innocence, a certain ignorance that aggravated Damon to no end.
“Can you drive it?” Damon wondered whether Stephan knew that this car could do 0-60 in 3.33 seconds. He wondered whether he knew that this was the car Consumer Reports had described as “the hybrid alien insect from the planet Sextron”. Due to the solid Aluminum frame if Stephan a speed bump improperly could damage the Chassis enough to render it totaled.
Stephan chucked knowingly, stupidly. “Not really” he answered.
Damon could only swallow hard and nod.
“Well let’s take it out for a ride. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Damon said this aggressively, knowing Stephan would back down. Knowing Stephan wouldn’t dare.
“Sure, later tonight after mum goes to bed.”
Damon’s Civic revved, in preparation. It was excited to be pushed to the limits, to be shown off. The powerful sound of a supped-up engine seared through the night, getting Damon’s adrenaline pumping. Stephan pulled up beside him, the moonlight shining off the perfect paint job.
There was no one to count down, no one to say ‘go’. It was not that official. So Stephan and Damon counted together.
“1-2-3 GO!” Damon’s Civic sped off through the night, the air thick with spent gas. Stephan, clumsy with a stick, was slower to start, but the perfect balance of the Elise took the turns easily: he quickly caught up to Damon. Damon noticed the approaching orange blur and slammed his gas pedal into the floor of his car. He was clearing the double digits now, yet the orange car sped on. The nose of the Elise was passing into view in Damon’s driver’s-side window, then all of a sudden it overtook him. It overtook his Civic. He was in 5th gear, the pedal to the floor.
Suddenly a wave of anger overtook Damon. He built this car. It was a part of him. It was him. Stephan could have anything in this world. Everything was handed to him. Damon wasn’t a mathematician, wasn’t good at computers, at books, at anything but cars. And Stephan was taking that glory from Damon. Damon couldn’t see anything but the orange car in front of him, mocking him.
A sharp corner was quickly approaching. Stephan slowed down to brace for the turn. Damon drew level with him. They blew through the turn together, nose to nose. Damon noticed a small bump ahead. Still level with Stephan he drifted slightly to the left, knowing Stephan wouldn’t notice. Stephan corrected by going left slightly. A red gleam in his eye, Damon aimed perfectly, and Stephan hit the speed bump.
Suddenly Stephan wasn’t anywhere. For a fraction of a second Damon was joyful: Stephan had been slowed down; had been brought to his knees; had been shamed. Now Stephan would know who was the real driver. But Stephan was in the air. The car that was as light as air, was now spinning above Damon. It seemed like slow motion in Damon’s rear view mirror. This wasn’t real. It was a movie. Just like ‘Fast and the Furious’. The car will be totaled, but Stephan will get out, will get up. Will be alive.
The car hit the ground with a screeching thud. It slid 20 feet on the pavement, the crumpled heap of the once beautiful sports car crying in pain as it went. It didn’t burst into flame – this wasn’t the movies – this was real life. Damon smelled burned rubber, but it wasn’t coming from the Elise. His car was stopped, but he couldn’t remember pressing the breaks. A cell phone was already out, but he couldn’t remember putting his hand in his pocket. He dialed 9-1-1, though in his heart he knew it was in vain. Slowly Damon pulled himself out of his Civic, and began to walk towards the crumpled wreckage of what had been his younger brother.
WRITING JOURNAL
I chose anecdotes to reflect the overall moral of the story. It was difficult to settle on specific ones to use, and they changed greatly as the story progressed. The resolution of the piece is pretty negative, and not that resolved. The moral is essentially you don’t know what you have until its gone, or cherish what you have, or “don’t be a cocky asshole.” I think its successful in that it surprises the reader, but there are specific clues as to Damon’s attitude throughout the story, with him purposely bumping Stephan’s car in the beginning, and also thinking about if Stephan knew that his car was so easily totaled. I think most people will be just expecting some classic story of Damon persevering or something. I did not return to Machiavelli’s fable as a point of reference. Although I liked it, it wasn’t something that particularly inspired me. The most challenging part of the assignment was outlining how to fulfill the standard fable form, when I didn’t really understand it. I do feel better in how to construct my next story but not because of the rigorous rules, instead its because of the fact that I had to figure out a lot of logistical issues involved in writing a story that I didn’t even know I didn’t understand previously.
“Sorry bro, my bag bumped it.” Damon said, earnestly.
“What do you think?” Stephan’s face was lit with a certain innocence, a certain ignorance that aggravated Damon to no end.
“Can you drive it?” Damon wondered whether Stephan knew that this car could do 0-60 in 3.33 seconds. He wondered whether he knew that this was the car Consumer Reports had described as “the hybrid alien insect from the planet Sextron”. Due to the solid Aluminum frame if Stephan a speed bump improperly could damage the Chassis enough to render it totaled.
Stephan chucked knowingly, stupidly. “Not really” he answered.
Damon could only swallow hard and nod.
“Well let’s take it out for a ride. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Damon said this aggressively, knowing Stephan would back down. Knowing Stephan wouldn’t dare.
“Sure, later tonight after mum goes to bed.”
Damon’s Civic revved, in preparation. It was excited to be pushed to the limits, to be shown off. The powerful sound of a supped-up engine seared through the night, getting Damon’s adrenaline pumping. Stephan pulled up beside him, the moonlight shining off the perfect paint job.
There was no one to count down, no one to say ‘go’. It was not that official. So Stephan and Damon counted together.
“1-2-3 GO!” Damon’s Civic sped off through the night, the air thick with spent gas. Stephan, clumsy with a stick, was slower to start, but the perfect balance of the Elise took the turns easily: he quickly caught up to Damon. Damon noticed the approaching orange blur and slammed his gas pedal into the floor of his car. He was clearing the double digits now, yet the orange car sped on. The nose of the Elise was passing into view in Damon’s driver’s-side window, then all of a sudden it overtook him. It overtook his Civic. He was in 5th gear, the pedal to the floor.
Suddenly a wave of anger overtook Damon. He built this car. It was a part of him. It was him. Stephan could have anything in this world. Everything was handed to him. Damon wasn’t a mathematician, wasn’t good at computers, at books, at anything but cars. And Stephan was taking that glory from Damon. Damon couldn’t see anything but the orange car in front of him, mocking him.
A sharp corner was quickly approaching. Stephan slowed down to brace for the turn. Damon drew level with him. They blew through the turn together, nose to nose. Damon noticed a small bump ahead. Still level with Stephan he drifted slightly to the left, knowing Stephan wouldn’t notice. Stephan corrected by going left slightly. A red gleam in his eye, Damon aimed perfectly, and Stephan hit the speed bump.
Suddenly Stephan wasn’t anywhere. For a fraction of a second Damon was joyful: Stephan had been slowed down; had been brought to his knees; had been shamed. Now Stephan would know who was the real driver. But Stephan was in the air. The car that was as light as air, was now spinning above Damon. It seemed like slow motion in Damon’s rear view mirror. This wasn’t real. It was a movie. Just like ‘Fast and the Furious’. The car will be totaled, but Stephan will get out, will get up. Will be alive.
The car hit the ground with a screeching thud. It slid 20 feet on the pavement, the crumpled heap of the once beautiful sports car crying in pain as it went. It didn’t burst into flame – this wasn’t the movies – this was real life. Damon smelled burned rubber, but it wasn’t coming from the Elise. His car was stopped, but he couldn’t remember pressing the breaks. A cell phone was already out, but he couldn’t remember putting his hand in his pocket. He dialed 9-1-1, though in his heart he knew it was in vain. Slowly Damon pulled himself out of his Civic, and began to walk towards the crumpled wreckage of what had been his younger brother.
WRITING JOURNAL
I chose anecdotes to reflect the overall moral of the story. It was difficult to settle on specific ones to use, and they changed greatly as the story progressed. The resolution of the piece is pretty negative, and not that resolved. The moral is essentially you don’t know what you have until its gone, or cherish what you have, or “don’t be a cocky asshole.” I think its successful in that it surprises the reader, but there are specific clues as to Damon’s attitude throughout the story, with him purposely bumping Stephan’s car in the beginning, and also thinking about if Stephan knew that his car was so easily totaled. I think most people will be just expecting some classic story of Damon persevering or something. I did not return to Machiavelli’s fable as a point of reference. Although I liked it, it wasn’t something that particularly inspired me. The most challenging part of the assignment was outlining how to fulfill the standard fable form, when I didn’t really understand it. I do feel better in how to construct my next story but not because of the rigorous rules, instead its because of the fact that I had to figure out a lot of logistical issues involved in writing a story that I didn’t even know I didn’t understand previously.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Reading Journal - Week 3
I have no idea what is meant by the “three context elements”, or if this story includes them. It does appear to set some context when Pluto is deciding what to do about mortal men and their problems with their wives as well as when Belfagor is decided as the demon who must go down to earth. The turning point would be when Belfagor becomes in debt, and has to run for it. The actions of the main character in response would be Rodergio hiding from his pursuers, being helped by Gianmatteo, possessing the first woman, possessing the second women, possessing the third, and being driven out by the thought of his wife. The moral is explicit and is seen in the second to last sentence, as well as the underlying throughout the story. The reversal is seen when Rodergio is scared away and decides to go back to hell rather than face his wife. The resolution could be seen in the last sentence of the story, when Gianmatteo returned home a happy man
I have no idea what is meant by the “three context elements”, or if this story includes them. It does appear to set some context when Pluto is deciding what to do about mortal men and their problems with their wives as well as when Belfagor is decided as the demon who must go down to earth. The turning point would be when Belfagor becomes in debt, and has to run for it. The actions of the main character in response would be Rodergio hiding from his pursuers, being helped by Gianmatteo, possessing the first woman, possessing the second women, possessing the third, and being driven out by the thought of his wife. The moral is explicit and is seen in the second to last sentence, as well as the underlying throughout the story. The reversal is seen when Rodergio is scared away and decides to go back to hell rather than face his wife. The resolution could be seen in the last sentence of the story, when Gianmatteo returned home a happy man
Myth
It was not very long ago and not so far away that fashion was born. It all started with Ares, the most active player of his time. Ares could pry open even the most chaste thighs. He was admired by his mortal as well as even his immortal friends. Dionysus, after a long drunken night barhopping admitted, “Duuuuuddeee, you certainly are a ladies man. Even my madskillz at wine could not challenge your skillz in women. I admit that you are the master womanizer.”
Ares’ father Zeus would brag about his son’s conquests at business meetings, asking Poseidon how many women Cyclopes had hooked up with in the last month. These discussions really bothered Hera, Zeus’s ball and chains. Hera was of the belief that Ares should settle down and give her “some damn grandkids already.” After centuries of nagging, Hera finally convinced Ares to choose a wife, citing that just like his ol’ pop, marriage didn’t necessarily need to stop him from sharing other beds.
Ares, as the personification of the fighting spirit and all that is manly of course required a wife of a similar caliber. This meant he wanted the hottest bitch in the universe as his bride. As gossip spreads like wildfire on Mt. Olympus soon every woman, god or mortal had learned of Ares and his new ultimate objective. Women were chiming to become his one and only, constantly calling him, sending love letters or flowers, and screaming to the heavens.
Ares quickly realized that there had to be some sensible way in which to deal with this daunting task. So, as gods do, he decided to organize a competition between the most attractive women in all the land.
Thus word spread and women began to schedule hair and makeup appointments for the date. Ares opened the competition to women of mortal and immortal decent, citing that he didn’t care where they came from or who they were as long as they were hot.
On the days leading up to the competition, ladies were brought from every corner of the earth, the one deemed most attractive out of every major country or province. The competition was designed so that it would emphasize the women’s beauty as much as possible; all women wore the same classic white toga, so as not to distract from the judging.
The competition day arrived and the opposition was stiff, with ladies threatening and attempting to sabotage each other at every turn. Ares himself was the only judge, and he was duly impressed by the hotness of the ladies present. However, it quickly became evident that mortal women were losing badly to the immortal women in the party. Although there were extremely attractive mortal women, none could compete with the unreal timeless beauty and grace of immortal goddesses. At last there were only three women left, all goddesses; Aphrodite, Artemis and Athena.
Each goddesses was beautiful in her own way to Ares. Aphrodite, as goddess of love and beauty, could not be rivaled in her classic sexual charm and sultry looks, clearly very experienced. Artemis, goddess of wildlife and the hunt, had an exotic and wild appeal, yet innocent at the same time. Athena, on the other hand, as goddess of wisdom and victory at war spoke to Ares’ own heart with a strong stoic and mysterious appeal.
Each goddess was undeniably beautiful, and it was impossible for Ares to choose one clear winner out of the three, so the competition was postponed. The competition was said to resume in one weeks time, but with new rules. A series of contests were organized, one each with a different shape and type of tunic. The first contest required a casual tunic, the second a dressier more business like dress, and the last essentially something slutty. But the real difference here was the fact that the ladies were able to design their tunics themselves.
A week passed, and the new competition drew even larger crowds than the last. All three contests went well, with all ladies looking hot. This time, at the end of the last contest, Ares had decided on a clear winner: Aphrodite. He announced it to the crowd saying, “Although all three women are attractive, Aphrodite’s last outfit was so slutty that it made her look especially hot.”
From that point on women everywhere learnt the importance of their choice of clothing in securing a mate and thus the first stirrings of style were born on Mt Olympus.
Journal Questions
I chose specific characters based on how they would fit with my overall idea and theme that I wanted to portray. I kind of developed my story around those specific characters when thinking it up, based on what I’d remembered from reading the myths as well as studying Greek mythology in high school. I didn’t really employ metaphors in my story at all, so I assume had I, I would have found it challenging. My point of view made descriptions easier, and the story telling easier, but I believe a reader would be less ready to relate to the story because of it, unfortunately. I chose to include dialog very seldom in this piece because it was difficult to do without sounding awkward, but when I did I felt like it cemented what I was trying to convey and gave it a more modern flair then the “narrator” voice could sufficiently fulfill. Every single part of this piece was challenging and difficult to write, from how much description to place into it, to how to convincingly use dialog, to how to make it sound convincingly modern. It was extremely difficult for me to get ideas, to set the tone, to attempt to make it entertaining yet not too inappropriate. Overall, I like the pretense of this piece and believe that in the hands of an actual creative writer it would have flowed better, and been actually successful.
Ares’ father Zeus would brag about his son’s conquests at business meetings, asking Poseidon how many women Cyclopes had hooked up with in the last month. These discussions really bothered Hera, Zeus’s ball and chains. Hera was of the belief that Ares should settle down and give her “some damn grandkids already.” After centuries of nagging, Hera finally convinced Ares to choose a wife, citing that just like his ol’ pop, marriage didn’t necessarily need to stop him from sharing other beds.
Ares, as the personification of the fighting spirit and all that is manly of course required a wife of a similar caliber. This meant he wanted the hottest bitch in the universe as his bride. As gossip spreads like wildfire on Mt. Olympus soon every woman, god or mortal had learned of Ares and his new ultimate objective. Women were chiming to become his one and only, constantly calling him, sending love letters or flowers, and screaming to the heavens.
Ares quickly realized that there had to be some sensible way in which to deal with this daunting task. So, as gods do, he decided to organize a competition between the most attractive women in all the land.
Thus word spread and women began to schedule hair and makeup appointments for the date. Ares opened the competition to women of mortal and immortal decent, citing that he didn’t care where they came from or who they were as long as they were hot.
On the days leading up to the competition, ladies were brought from every corner of the earth, the one deemed most attractive out of every major country or province. The competition was designed so that it would emphasize the women’s beauty as much as possible; all women wore the same classic white toga, so as not to distract from the judging.
The competition day arrived and the opposition was stiff, with ladies threatening and attempting to sabotage each other at every turn. Ares himself was the only judge, and he was duly impressed by the hotness of the ladies present. However, it quickly became evident that mortal women were losing badly to the immortal women in the party. Although there were extremely attractive mortal women, none could compete with the unreal timeless beauty and grace of immortal goddesses. At last there were only three women left, all goddesses; Aphrodite, Artemis and Athena.
Each goddesses was beautiful in her own way to Ares. Aphrodite, as goddess of love and beauty, could not be rivaled in her classic sexual charm and sultry looks, clearly very experienced. Artemis, goddess of wildlife and the hunt, had an exotic and wild appeal, yet innocent at the same time. Athena, on the other hand, as goddess of wisdom and victory at war spoke to Ares’ own heart with a strong stoic and mysterious appeal.
Each goddess was undeniably beautiful, and it was impossible for Ares to choose one clear winner out of the three, so the competition was postponed. The competition was said to resume in one weeks time, but with new rules. A series of contests were organized, one each with a different shape and type of tunic. The first contest required a casual tunic, the second a dressier more business like dress, and the last essentially something slutty. But the real difference here was the fact that the ladies were able to design their tunics themselves.
A week passed, and the new competition drew even larger crowds than the last. All three contests went well, with all ladies looking hot. This time, at the end of the last contest, Ares had decided on a clear winner: Aphrodite. He announced it to the crowd saying, “Although all three women are attractive, Aphrodite’s last outfit was so slutty that it made her look especially hot.”
From that point on women everywhere learnt the importance of their choice of clothing in securing a mate and thus the first stirrings of style were born on Mt Olympus.
Journal Questions
I chose specific characters based on how they would fit with my overall idea and theme that I wanted to portray. I kind of developed my story around those specific characters when thinking it up, based on what I’d remembered from reading the myths as well as studying Greek mythology in high school. I didn’t really employ metaphors in my story at all, so I assume had I, I would have found it challenging. My point of view made descriptions easier, and the story telling easier, but I believe a reader would be less ready to relate to the story because of it, unfortunately. I chose to include dialog very seldom in this piece because it was difficult to do without sounding awkward, but when I did I felt like it cemented what I was trying to convey and gave it a more modern flair then the “narrator” voice could sufficiently fulfill. Every single part of this piece was challenging and difficult to write, from how much description to place into it, to how to convincingly use dialog, to how to make it sound convincingly modern. It was extremely difficult for me to get ideas, to set the tone, to attempt to make it entertaining yet not too inappropriate. Overall, I like the pretense of this piece and believe that in the hands of an actual creative writer it would have flowed better, and been actually successful.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Journal Entry # 2
The theme of transformation is not nearly as evident in Calvino’s invisible cities as opposed to Metamorphoses. In Calvino, the transformation was not a continuous underlying theme that could be pointed to. A few stories obviously had transformation as a theme, but it wasn’t necessarily true of all stories. However in Metamorphoses, this is a different way of looking at transformation. In Metamorphoses, the transformation is more clearly evident, its an obvious theme. For example, its obvious and clear that Narcissus is turned into a flower, and is clearly transformed in doing it. I guess what I’m trying to articulate is that the theme of transformation in Calvino is only seen by doing a deeper more through reading. Although there are many differences, both texts clearly articulate feelings using clear and descriptive language.
It’s interesting to me that people often interact with the gods on a very informal level in Ovid’s work. It seems rather like a convoluted situation, with the gods creating the humans yet having strange love affairs with them. I am very familiar with Greek myths from high school mythology so I continuously was comparing from what I remembered.
The myths are different in that the Roman myth is more innocent, Persephone is portrayed as a young girl, and the romantic relationship between her and Hades is downplayed.
The theme of transformation is not nearly as evident in Calvino’s invisible cities as opposed to Metamorphoses. In Calvino, the transformation was not a continuous underlying theme that could be pointed to. A few stories obviously had transformation as a theme, but it wasn’t necessarily true of all stories. However in Metamorphoses, this is a different way of looking at transformation. In Metamorphoses, the transformation is more clearly evident, its an obvious theme. For example, its obvious and clear that Narcissus is turned into a flower, and is clearly transformed in doing it. I guess what I’m trying to articulate is that the theme of transformation in Calvino is only seen by doing a deeper more through reading. Although there are many differences, both texts clearly articulate feelings using clear and descriptive language.
It’s interesting to me that people often interact with the gods on a very informal level in Ovid’s work. It seems rather like a convoluted situation, with the gods creating the humans yet having strange love affairs with them. I am very familiar with Greek myths from high school mythology so I continuously was comparing from what I remembered.
The myths are different in that the Roman myth is more innocent, Persephone is portrayed as a young girl, and the romantic relationship between her and Hades is downplayed.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Assignment: 4 Calvino Cities
Cities really are, in essence, the same
When you eventually reach shore on the small town of Fangora you are immediately thrown off by the large percentage of shrubbery which occupies a large proportion of the land. You feel as if thrown into a different world, stranded in wilderness, a border city between two deserts. You will see a crack open and a different city appear as your ferry docks.
You soon realize you’ve actually entered into a time portal vortex. The cars are 10 years old, the fashions at least as old. The people who inhabit the land clearly are not human beings. These beings may appear human. They may speak in your tongue initially and utilize the same body language but once you attempt to communicate with them you soon realize that is where the similarities end.
As you begin to make your departure, the beings begin to show their strange ways. These people, upon beginning the decent downstairs, will wait, holding their newly opened door in kindness for you. Now, this odd behavior will continue even if one hasn’t set one foot on the first stair. When you travel into town, the people continue this awkward polite kindness. You are not seen as an outsider. The people welcome you into their city and ask how your day has been. The smiling lady at the coffee stand will recommend her personal favorite options, and what locals have been enjoying lately. The bakery on the corner has been family owned for 30 years, with freshly baked goods daily.
You begin to frequent the local stores and the people begin to know you. They refer to you by name. Years later you realize that this city, to you, at one point, is really just like any other.
Being Thankful
After three days of traveling you see bright lights on the horizon and you will realize you’ve reached Joveville. I arrived at night, though I had expected a sunrise. The people were awake, in the dead of night. They had congregated in the center of the city, there was a bright globe sitting on a light pole that was twice the side of any I’d previously encountered. The people looked like they were waiting for something. A mother clothed in a flowery summer dressed clutched her infant daughter tightly, both transfixed by the light in front of them. Speechless. A scrawny dog howled, than laid down in front of the crowd.
I tried to talk to an older gentleman with a cane. He ignored me, eyes on the globe. I asked the flowered lady for directions, the infant followed my mouth as I spoke but there was no other inclination that I had been noticed. I walked away from the crowd, afraid.
Although I was certain the street leading up to the light pole was entirely lit at one point, now I was unsure of which it was since all was dark. There was no distinguishing one from another. No buildings were lit and even the sky has disappeared. The world was eerily quiet all around me. I wandered down some road for sometime in the pitch dark. I followed the sound my feet made on the gravel. Suddenly I came to an empty field where an old man was sitting on a bench. I walked up to him, hopeful for directions.
His eyes were glazed over, he sat with his head tilted up, focusing on nothing. I asked to sit down beside him. He obliged, nodding once. I asked for directions to the nearest city. He told me that I would never find my way out. I was appalled by his negativity. I told him I surely could, that I’d wait for the power to come back on or the night to turn to day. He explained that it never would. That it was a bright summer day, the birds were chirping and the trees were swaying in the wind. I looked out into the deep darkness, and thought longingly of the bright globe atop the light pole.
Atheism
Medina can be reached only on foot. The city is surrounded by steep hills, with no clear way in which an automobile can enter. The city is barren, stricken. The city is entirely made up of a harsh reddish brown tone. Nothing can grow. There is no green. The temperature is unbearable, so the people all mill about in the public bathing chambers, staying cool by way of recycled refrigerated water. The people here never smile, they never laugh. They have forgotten how.
Those that remain alive look dead: their skin is wrinkly and wheathered, leather like. Their eyes are blank and lifeless. The remnants of the dead are scattered about the road, both foliage and human remains.
There is no purpose to life. No one moves, no one eats, no one breathes. No one knows if these people no longer require breath, or simply are apathetic to living entirely: there is no god.
Late at night, if you listen hard enough, you can hear the distant sounds of the city alive again, happy. Children playing in the street, jumping over sprinklers, laughing. Men kissing their wives goodbye before they get in their company car and drive to work. Trees, grass, plants, animals. Every second the unhappy city contains a happy city unaware of its own existence.
Contradiction (Own choice)
You ride horseback for eight nights before you come to Altania. The first thing you’ll notice as you cross the city limits is the ultimate penetrating silence. The sun is shining and warm. The people however are not. If you did see a body I’d only be for a quick second. You wouldn’t even be certain you’d seen anything at all. You’d be hard pressed to find a child within fifty miles of the area.
However, at night, it is a mad house. Individuals everywhere: laughing, merrymaking and enjoying life. The people are loud, rambunctious, and of all colors and social classes. However, they appear to be very excepting of all races. Not a one of them is prejudice or thinks ill of another member of their family. The little fighting that is done is over quickly and is carefully dealt with.
The food is plentiful and individuals relish the hunt. Theirs is a tightly ordered society. The women are given equal rights in their culture. Many hold high positions of power. The individuals are highly religious, in their own way.
The society functions well at night. Clearly, except for the few lone people, the individuals are a nocturnal lot. However, the individuals do not consume food like a normal human, and they cannot procreate easily. They do not create anything, only destroy it. They cannot go out in daylight without suffering intense dermatological pain.
Journal Questions:
The theme that was easiest to use was ‘Atheism’. This is because that theme was very general and I had a lot of ways that I could tie the city into that theme. The more specific themes, I believe, would have been more difficult because that would have meant that I would have had a hard time coming up with a story about a city that was different from what Calvino had already written. It was easiest to write the descriptions with a theme because then I had an idea of what that concept meant to me and where I wanted to go with it. I had a starting point. The most difficult part of the assignment, hands down, was deciding on what I wanted to write about. The actual writing was easy. Calvino’s use language clashed with my own in a lot of situations and the phrases I chose only fit very specific situations unfortunately. I neither tried to avoid sounding like him or really thought about borrowing from his writings. I could imagine him writing a few sentences of what I wrote, however, and I felt like that assured me that I was on the right track. For seems like an invisible city in a lot of ways. It has so much history and so many things going on inside its limits at once that you could take any one topic and go crazy with it. I would probably chose a theme about contrasting cultures were I to write about Rome, because Rome has so many current different cultures as well as so many cultures that influenced its creation and the creation of all of its different monuments.
When you eventually reach shore on the small town of Fangora you are immediately thrown off by the large percentage of shrubbery which occupies a large proportion of the land. You feel as if thrown into a different world, stranded in wilderness, a border city between two deserts. You will see a crack open and a different city appear as your ferry docks.
You soon realize you’ve actually entered into a time portal vortex. The cars are 10 years old, the fashions at least as old. The people who inhabit the land clearly are not human beings. These beings may appear human. They may speak in your tongue initially and utilize the same body language but once you attempt to communicate with them you soon realize that is where the similarities end.
As you begin to make your departure, the beings begin to show their strange ways. These people, upon beginning the decent downstairs, will wait, holding their newly opened door in kindness for you. Now, this odd behavior will continue even if one hasn’t set one foot on the first stair. When you travel into town, the people continue this awkward polite kindness. You are not seen as an outsider. The people welcome you into their city and ask how your day has been. The smiling lady at the coffee stand will recommend her personal favorite options, and what locals have been enjoying lately. The bakery on the corner has been family owned for 30 years, with freshly baked goods daily.
You begin to frequent the local stores and the people begin to know you. They refer to you by name. Years later you realize that this city, to you, at one point, is really just like any other.
Being Thankful
After three days of traveling you see bright lights on the horizon and you will realize you’ve reached Joveville. I arrived at night, though I had expected a sunrise. The people were awake, in the dead of night. They had congregated in the center of the city, there was a bright globe sitting on a light pole that was twice the side of any I’d previously encountered. The people looked like they were waiting for something. A mother clothed in a flowery summer dressed clutched her infant daughter tightly, both transfixed by the light in front of them. Speechless. A scrawny dog howled, than laid down in front of the crowd.
I tried to talk to an older gentleman with a cane. He ignored me, eyes on the globe. I asked the flowered lady for directions, the infant followed my mouth as I spoke but there was no other inclination that I had been noticed. I walked away from the crowd, afraid.
Although I was certain the street leading up to the light pole was entirely lit at one point, now I was unsure of which it was since all was dark. There was no distinguishing one from another. No buildings were lit and even the sky has disappeared. The world was eerily quiet all around me. I wandered down some road for sometime in the pitch dark. I followed the sound my feet made on the gravel. Suddenly I came to an empty field where an old man was sitting on a bench. I walked up to him, hopeful for directions.
His eyes were glazed over, he sat with his head tilted up, focusing on nothing. I asked to sit down beside him. He obliged, nodding once. I asked for directions to the nearest city. He told me that I would never find my way out. I was appalled by his negativity. I told him I surely could, that I’d wait for the power to come back on or the night to turn to day. He explained that it never would. That it was a bright summer day, the birds were chirping and the trees were swaying in the wind. I looked out into the deep darkness, and thought longingly of the bright globe atop the light pole.
Atheism
Medina can be reached only on foot. The city is surrounded by steep hills, with no clear way in which an automobile can enter. The city is barren, stricken. The city is entirely made up of a harsh reddish brown tone. Nothing can grow. There is no green. The temperature is unbearable, so the people all mill about in the public bathing chambers, staying cool by way of recycled refrigerated water. The people here never smile, they never laugh. They have forgotten how.
Those that remain alive look dead: their skin is wrinkly and wheathered, leather like. Their eyes are blank and lifeless. The remnants of the dead are scattered about the road, both foliage and human remains.
There is no purpose to life. No one moves, no one eats, no one breathes. No one knows if these people no longer require breath, or simply are apathetic to living entirely: there is no god.
Late at night, if you listen hard enough, you can hear the distant sounds of the city alive again, happy. Children playing in the street, jumping over sprinklers, laughing. Men kissing their wives goodbye before they get in their company car and drive to work. Trees, grass, plants, animals. Every second the unhappy city contains a happy city unaware of its own existence.
Contradiction (Own choice)
You ride horseback for eight nights before you come to Altania. The first thing you’ll notice as you cross the city limits is the ultimate penetrating silence. The sun is shining and warm. The people however are not. If you did see a body I’d only be for a quick second. You wouldn’t even be certain you’d seen anything at all. You’d be hard pressed to find a child within fifty miles of the area.
However, at night, it is a mad house. Individuals everywhere: laughing, merrymaking and enjoying life. The people are loud, rambunctious, and of all colors and social classes. However, they appear to be very excepting of all races. Not a one of them is prejudice or thinks ill of another member of their family. The little fighting that is done is over quickly and is carefully dealt with.
The food is plentiful and individuals relish the hunt. Theirs is a tightly ordered society. The women are given equal rights in their culture. Many hold high positions of power. The individuals are highly religious, in their own way.
The society functions well at night. Clearly, except for the few lone people, the individuals are a nocturnal lot. However, the individuals do not consume food like a normal human, and they cannot procreate easily. They do not create anything, only destroy it. They cannot go out in daylight without suffering intense dermatological pain.
Journal Questions:
The theme that was easiest to use was ‘Atheism’. This is because that theme was very general and I had a lot of ways that I could tie the city into that theme. The more specific themes, I believe, would have been more difficult because that would have meant that I would have had a hard time coming up with a story about a city that was different from what Calvino had already written. It was easiest to write the descriptions with a theme because then I had an idea of what that concept meant to me and where I wanted to go with it. I had a starting point. The most difficult part of the assignment, hands down, was deciding on what I wanted to write about. The actual writing was easy. Calvino’s use language clashed with my own in a lot of situations and the phrases I chose only fit very specific situations unfortunately. I neither tried to avoid sounding like him or really thought about borrowing from his writings. I could imagine him writing a few sentences of what I wrote, however, and I felt like that assured me that I was on the right track. For seems like an invisible city in a lot of ways. It has so much history and so many things going on inside its limits at once that you could take any one topic and go crazy with it. I would probably chose a theme about contrasting cultures were I to write about Rome, because Rome has so many current different cultures as well as so many cultures that influenced its creation and the creation of all of its different monuments.
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