Turner to Manet Exhibition At Blanton

Just coming back from this Turner to Manet exhibition at Blanton. There were lots of stuff there to think, reflect upon. But for some reason, my mind is stuck upon two paintings I saw.

The first one by Edouard Manet, the second one by Jules Breton. In the first one, there is the dandy and there is his nocturnal adventure. Or maybe not. But these are not the middle-class, domesticated women. But here we have the cabaret dancers, the prostitutes. I am struck by the expression in the woman's face. One can call it despondency.I will call it alienation. Alienation from anything that is going around her. There is a beer mug in front of her, almost full. But her fingers are not wrapped around it. In fact, we cannot see her two hands fully. Title: At the Cafe

The second one is by Jules Breton. Breton has often been called the "peasant painter" and had been criticized for idealizing the peasant life in nineteenth century France. Although, I liked what I see here. Three peasant girls, with carefully sculpted faces. That does not seem that "realistic" of course. But they are not static peasant girl of the pastoral. They are walking, in motion. Not only are they walking, but they are talking amongst themselves, as if sharing a secret. It is this moment of solidarity between these three peasant women that Breton hints at which I liked. I would have loved it more if he had represented them with open lips. But what stood out to me is that the artist here is struggling with the classic pastoral and is trying to do something different. I don't know anything about Breton as an artist. In fact, this is the first time I came across his work. But what I see here is enough to make me want to know more. This is what I came across when I did a search on his name. Well, that will have to wait for a while. By the way, the title of this one is Returning from the Field.

Then there was a lengthy discussion on Impressionism over cappuccino, cheesecake and tiramisu at the Museum cafe. This is how me and my friends welcomed 2011, although none of us, it turned out, has processed 2010 yet. And as for me, I don't think I have been able to process even1492 or 1947 yet

End of the Year Rant

I have been thinking about the place of "biography" and "personal history" and the role they play in writing a lot these days. I still believe that texts writers/artists end up producing do have lives of their own, they are autonomous entities in themselves. But at the same time, I think, our personal limitations (which, to me, are never merely personal), the limitations of our social location do show up in the texts we produce. I am realizing this more and more as I am getting to know more and more writers, and reading their works. Some people I have met before I have read their works. Some I have read before meeting them. In both cases, their writings were trying to grapple with exactly the same kind of crises they were trying to grapple with in life. I have also come to realize, if someone is trying to deal with one's life-issues in a less-than-honest kind of a way, that would show up in the writings they would produce. Even if the writers themselves are not very conscious of it. If someone is trying to deal with life primarily through denial and evasion, that will show up in the art too. In short, art provides an artist with very little respite in that way.

In my own case, the more I have gotten into writing, I am finding that it has become harder for me to pretend, perform in real life. I have to be honest in my opinions to others. I don't have any problems if someone doesn't agree with me or doesn't follow the suggestions I have for him/her. What I find difficult is to keep on going in relationships where there is no space for my honest opinions. Where, in order to keep the relationship going, I have to suppress them or lie to the people. In the last couple of years, I have let go of friends with whom sharing an honest space was becoming difficult. In some cases, I was realizing that our differences were so huge that any attempt on my part to be the real me would end up breaking the relationship anyway. I didn't want to spend my energy in fights and arguments, because with age I have become very very wary of the energy I expend in such things.

Although, I will be the first one to say that arguments and fights can be extremely productive too. They can expand a person, force him/her to rethink certain opinions and locations, and lead to discovery of things about one's own self and the world. In other words, I am not that much of a lovey-dovey hippie who doesn't acknowledge how fruitful conflicts and contradictions can be. But I have also come to realize that one can have engaging fights and arguments only when one shares a basic level of emotion and a political common ground with someone.

I know I am not exactly an easy person to be with. I can be "critical" of someone's work or decisions in life. ( I think, the trendy word is "judgemental.") I do tend to (over)emphasize a certain kind of ideological framework when judging my own or others' actions. And "ideology" is not exactly the word most people during these sad times of ours want to take into account. Although, these are deeply "ideological" times. In every fucking sense of the word. So, most of the times these days, I tend to spend with my writing and my books. Yes, I do have a few friends. And I value them over more than anything else in life. Yes, I write for them. At the end of the day, I hope my writing will have something to offer to the friends I love. It will lead them to see me a little bit more. Beyond that, if my writings touch anyone else, it's a gift that I will humbly accept. But I don't expect that gift from the world. And in the last resort, if my writing doesn't necessarily make me a better person, I have no use for it or any other forms of art in my every day life.

I don't write to please anyone. I don't write to impress anyone either. I write to know myself better. To discover and understand the world around me better. And the more I write, the more I believe that itself is a political act. Art is inherently political in that way. To deny that politics to art, is to be delusional.