War and Violence in Twentieth Century Film

The depiction of violence in American cinema has shifted from the beginning of the twentieth century to the present day. War has been consistently viewed in a negative light, as it very well should be. However, depictions of violence remained inaccurate until the latter half of the century and now America appears to have a disgusting morbid fascination.

In the first half of the century, depictions of violence were laughable. Sometimes violence was literally funny, as was the case with slapstick humor. Scenes in Charlie Chaplin’s The Kid feature acts of violence which are intentionally humorous. In one scene, Chaplin and the kid fight a man and a boy on the street. He is shown prepping the kid as a manager would to a boxer before he is to beat up the other boy. Shortly after, the boy’s brother punches a cop in the face so hard that the officer passes out. The brother then punches through the bricks of a sturdy doorway and punches a lamppost so hard that it bends into a 45 degree angle. Chaplin proceeds to bash the other boy’s brother over the head with a brick numerous times. At the end of the fight, the brother appears mildly concussed at worst. Obviously, this is highly unrealistic. There is no blood. No one breaks any bones. There are no swollen or bruised faces. The violence in The Kid is pure comedy. In the case of The Kid, Chaplin was more than capable of making a serious film, but he had to conform to the studio’s wishes. Further, this film was made in 1921, which was an era of consumerism, among many other things. People consumed to demonstrate their class level. The studio, as well as corporations in this era, overproduced as much as they could in order to bank on this fact. Had Chaplin been given an opportunity to really work on a film extensively, rather than quickly manufacture as much as possible, he may have made something more serious.

In other instances, the dishonest depictions of violence were unintentional. In Birth of a Nation, both the Cameron’s and the Stoneman’s lose sons in the Civil War and Ben Cameron is wounded in his valiant efforts. Although the film correctly depicts the tragedy of war, its inaccurate portrayal of violence causes it to fail to show the horror of war. Most of the more graphic scenes in Birth of a Nation are similar to comedic violence in The Kid. Near the end of the film, most of the white characters are trapped in a small cabin where blackfaced men are trying to get at them. The men in the cabin are shown bashing in the heads of intruders using both arms, which just looks ridiculous. In one scene, one of the women in the cabin smashes a beer bottle over the head of one of the men in blackface and sheepishly backs away. Just like in The Kid, the violence fails to produce realistic results and ends up being funny. In the actual war scenes, the film shows “wounded” men, who have no visible wounds, rolling around on the ground and it just looks silly. The closest this film comes to showing blood is in its use of a red tint in some portions of the film. For its time, this was probably a good way to depict horror, but it is hardly realistic. Filmed in 1915, at the height of World War I, the depictions of war and violence really well within its historical context. Since the United States was in a war at that time, the fighting was not glamorized. However, depictions of brutal and realistic violence would have hit too close to home for some families and veterans.

This unrealistic depiction of violence continued into World War II but they were not as slapstick as earlier representations. In Back to Bataan, war seems very neat and orderly. When people are shot, they simply fall over. This is not gritty or messy. One of the striking oddities of the movie is the lack of noise in the battle scenes. Although intermittent gunshots can be heard, one will not hear any screams of anguish. Given the dozens of people that are shot in various scenes, some sort of disgusting noises should be heard if this were a realistic portrayal of war violence. Throughout the movie, the hero, played by John Wayne, is never shown with any dirt on him. Near the end of the film, he even tumbles into a large, muddy puddle but, moments later, he appears to have only the slightest bit of grime on his face and his uniform is entirely clean. He does not even look sweaty. Making this movie even more unbelievable, the ending features a group of tanks arriving to save the day at the last minute to save the day. Back to Bataan was filmed in 1945, at the end of World War II. This unrealistic depiction reflects the mythology of how America fights a war. We are orderly and punctual. Americans do not get their hands dirty while defending their country. The soldiers do not commit horrific acts of violence. This piece is more so an act of propaganda rather than a realistic portrayal of our country’s defense system in action.

By the 1960s, violence and war were beginning to gain a more realistic portrayal, but even these depictions were so overly dramatic that they were inaccurate as well. In Bonnie and Clyde, the final scene shows the title characters being brutally shot. The violence is definitely horrific, unlike in the previous films mentioned. When Bonnie and Clyde are killed, blood oozes out of their wounds and their bodies flail wildly. However, they are shot at consistently for about thirty seconds. The extent of the violence in this case was overdone. In true story of Bonnie and Clyde, they were likely only shot a handful of times, rather than the hundred or so rounds they appear to be shot with in the film. Another major difference between this movie and the other works mentioned is that the violent acts committed by the title characters is glamorized. By the end of the feature, the audience feels sympathetic for Bonnie and Clyde when they are disgustingly extinguished. In this manner, the director has tricked his viewers, since these heroes had been committing various murderous acts throughout the film. A lot of this inconsistently can make sense when viewed in a historical context. This film was made in 1967, the year associated with the Summer of Love for the counterculture. By this point, distrust had formed among the American youth. The younger culture viewed the effects of World War II as what the older generation had done to them, by changing their life through the development of atomic weapons, the United States’ involvement in Vietnam, the paranoia over Communists and the dishonesty of JFK. When Bonnie and Clyde committed violent acts, they were defending their freedom and their youth. However, their disturbing death scene was meant to depict how the older generation attempted to keep the young down.

Rather than having a sobering effect, people are now starting to view really disgusting and realistic violence as amusing. Personally, I remember seeing Saving Private Ryan with a group of friends when it came out. During the battle scene, when the soldier removes his helmet and gets shot in the head, everyone laughed. Truly, this was a disturbing and more realistic battle scene than pretty much anything up until that point. Rather than being horrified, people were laughing. Quentin Tarantino also used violence as a humorous tool in Pulp Fiction. Vincent shot Marvin in the face, causing his head to explode. This was an accurate and disgusting depiction but the audience found it hilarious. The twentieth century itself has been possibly the most disturbing century in human history. For the past fifty years, at least, every generation has witnessed some absolutely horrific event, whether this was the Holocaust, the violence involved in desegregation, the Vietnam War or the attacks on September 11th. At this point, American culture is desensitized to violence. Laughter may be the only way to deal with the horrors which we have served as witnesses.

“Sibannac Airplane” by Richard Barra

A whirl of bright colors appears as if an enormous autumnal version of a Starry Night comet. However, the similarities between these two paintings end there. Rather than Van Gogh’s thick impasto, the surface of Richard Barra’s Sibannac Airplane is flat watercolor. Giving him the title of “artist” is a questionable move, since he has no formal training and has no extensive history of creating art. His work is not located in the Louvre or any other magnificent museum. Instead, it is sitting on a shelf in his Huntsville, TX apartment, where he created the piece in 2011. This painting is also relatively small, at approximately 8 inches by 5 inches. The main feature of this artwork is a swirl stretching out across the borders and fading into a horizon line. He alternates a rainbow of teals, oranges, purples, greens, and reds to provide movement, which blurs into browns and other unidentifiable shades, like what is reflected in a pool of oil on pavement after a rainfall.
Classifying this piece within a movement provides difficulty, but a dissection of the title sheds some insight. When questioned about his work, the correlation between the name and his influences becomes incredibly clear. He has no qualms explaining that he created this work as an experiment regarding what would happen if he smoked marijuana and listened to Jefferson Airplane while painting. From this, the airplane is explained as is the psychedelic swirl. The suggestion of intoxication is found in the painting’s name. “Sibannac” is “cannabis” spelled backward. Considering this, Barra’s piece appears to fall into the abstract expressionist movement, since it is the product of subconscious creation. According to Leon Golub, abstract expressionist paintings must fulfill the following criteria:
“1. the elimination of specific subject matters and a preference for spontaneous, impulsive qualities of experience.
2. the unfettered brush- discursive, improvisatory techniques- motion, motion organization, and an activised surface.”
In this sense, Barra’s piece most certainly would be classified as abstract expressionism. He has no subject matter. To say that the subject is a swirl and a horizon line is the same as saying that Rothko’s subject was blocks or Pollock’s subject was messy lines. Further, Barra has openly admitted that the piece was done impromptu while smoking large amounts of marijuana, which satisfies Golub’s second principle.
Another interesting correlation between works created by abstract expressionists is that “the claims made for one painting could as easily typify works by other artists.” If one views Sibannac Airplane as a piece of abstract expressionism, correlations develop between Barra’s work and that of Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock. As far as painting style is concerned, he seems to draw heavily from Pollock’s career. His trademark splatter technique gives a similar effect as Barra’s lackadaisical brushstrokes. However, his use of shape is more reminiscent of Rothko. The bright colors used in Sibannac Airplane are also common in Rothko’s colorblock paintings, especially those of the 1950s. They give the same effect as one experiences upon opening their eyes from dreaming and looking into the sunset. Something is there, but, in coming out of one’s dream state, one cannot clearly identify what they are seeing. In this case, all of these painter’s works could be viewed in a sense which appeals to Dionysian ideals. Paintings like these are mostly meditative and convey feelings rather than objects. The viewer is enveloped in pure color and pure emotion. However, in the case of Barra’s painting, the Apollonian senses are also pleased as there is a horizon line and a culminating swirl.
Still, all of these definitions are from within the period of abstract expressionism’s boom. Care should be taken to see what has been said since the movement has, for the most part, passed. In the 1970s, Edward Levine reclassified abstract expressionism as a mystical experience. Previously, the movement was viewed from a personal angle. Action painting in particular was believed to clue the audience into the artist’s personality, as one could witness how they painted through their brushstrokes. Through this intimacy, the artist, in a way, surrenders themselves. However, in looking back on the movement, Levine found a correlation between the Abstract Expressionist works and the Romantic paintings of the late eighteenth century, which allowed him to view the results of this era in another manner. Through this comparison, he was able to examine the sublime aspect of abstract expressionism. Typically, one would not classify Sibannac Airplane as a sublime piece because it is very small. Sublime works are usually enormous or at least contain an awe-inspiring subject matter, such as God or nature versus man. Instead, Levine found that:
“Painting becomes sublime when the artist transcends his personal anguish, when he projects in the midst of a shrieking world an expression of living and its end that is silent and ordered. That is exposed to expressionism.”
Given this definition, Sibannac Airplane could also be viewed as sublime. Although some have said that abstract expressionism allows one to see into the personality of the artist, in reality, one leaves their paintings without really knowing anything about them since the artist “annihilates the personality.” If Barra’s painting had no name, one would have no idea about what kind of person created it. The artist could be a Martha Stewart disciple or a kindergartner. In this manner, Barra is simply expressing the moment and not really exposing any of himself. Another connection Levine found between the sublime and abstract expressionism is seen in the surrender of the self to the painting “as a metaphor for the obliteration of the ego and its release into the cosmic experience.” Through this process, Levine views abstract expressionism as a mystical experience, which Barra uses psychedelic drugs to reproduce in his own work.
An examination of Sibannac Airplane finds it to be a stereotype-breaking action painting. Typically, abstract-expressionists rely on heavy paint or sculpture in order to break out of the normality of two-dimensional painting. Instead, any intentional meaning found in Barra’s work lies in the process through which it was painted. He got high, put on some music, and expressed himself through painting. In this manner, Barra’s art can also be viewed as one-dimensional, using the passage of time to convey a message. Although the painting exists within the two-dimensional plane of a piece of Moleskine paper, it gains an extradimensionality since it is, in a sense, an action painting. Sibannac Airplane also breaks stereotypes through the results of the action painting process:
“In the classical process, the elements are relatively small and simple, for example, single strokes or lines. In the Pollock process, the selection is based not on individual strokes of paint or lines, but on whole complex surfaces, painterly masses and groups of lines- large blocks of painting.”
This description of Pollock’s work fits perfectly within a definition of Sibannac Airplane. Little attention is paid to line. In some regions, the lines are entirely blurred together, such as in an area on the right side of the painting where it appears that liquid has possibly been spilled on the watercolor. The lines in the painting are of little importance and the viewer essentially loses themselves within them. Instead, Barra clearly focuses on creating intense shapes and blocks in the form of “painterly masses.”
Some might argue that abstract expressionists are actually painting nothing at all. A definite subject is missing from most of their works. In the case of Sibannac Airplane, there are no identifiable forms. Despite the title’s suggestion, no airplanes are found in the piece. One can only imagine what he was trying to paint. Barra very well might have intentionally painted nothing. If that is so, this nothingness could have a deeper existential meaning. Barra’s painting actually could be depicting nothingness as defined by Jean-Paul Sartre or Martin Heidegger:
“For Sartre, nothingness is a nonbeing, a negation of all the entities in the world, which comes into ‘existence’ through human consciousness. Heidegger, however, assumes the existence of nothingness from the outset, arguing that although we cannot grasp or know nothingness, we nonetheless, when anxious, have an experience of it. He argues that because any being is finite, nothingness forms beings and as such is a prerequisite of everything that is.”
To Sartre, nothingness is an entity of nonbeing which comes into existence through human consciousness, which then makes it a something. He argued in Being and Nothingness that nothingness is the negation which exists within being. When one looks at Barra’s painting, he has depicted nothing, which is the origin of an expectation to find something in particular within it. However, the subject is elusive and haunting. It does not exist in any manner to which one can give a definitive answer. The issue with Sartre’s definition in regards to this painting is that one does not know what exactly it is that a viewer is expecting to find within this work. To this end, Heidegger’s definition is more useful, but also much more complicated:
“For Sartre, [nothingness] is merely a nonbeing, which stems from human consciousness, while, for Heidegger, nothingness is also an affirmation of beings as it is the limit imposed on all feelings.”
To these philosophers, there is not being without nothingness. In Heidegger’s definition, being is finite and, of all living forms, humans in particular exist within a state of anxiety over the aspect of nonbeing or death, which is “our own impending nothingness.” The somethings of the world, which engage human attention, are actually a device used to repress thoughts about death. One must also note the major difference between fear and anxiety. To Heidegger, fears are directed at something while anxiety has no cause. When one suffers from a bout of anxiety, all being slips away and one is forced to face their own mortality. Barra’s work, arguably, could be exploring mortality. Since there is really nothing in the painting, he is taking away the conscious constructs which humans use in order to repress thoughts about death.
If one can wade through Jacques Derrida’s babble about puns and how ridiculous he thinks everything is, one could find he has a lot of relevance to add to Barra’s work. His discussion of language is particularly interesting when applied to this painting. By dissecting his own name, which is similar to the word “derider” in French, which is a word associated with the smoothing of wrinkles by laughing. Derrida claims to provide this service through his critiques. Additionally, in an examination of the word “gel,” he finds relation to the word “glass” and the philosopher’s name, “Hegel.” A dissection of Barra’s work loses great meaning when one ignores his title, which essentially gives away the painting’s meaning. As previously mentioned, Sibannac Airplane is a reference to the marijuana Barra ingested while listening to Jefferson Airplane and playing with watercolors in order to produce this piece. Perhaps the artist is attempting to fill the viewer with the feeling of riding on a cannabis airplane of sorts. The color swirls together in a psychedelic manner and the horizon line might have been used by the artist to give the viewer the sense of riding into the sunset, which is represented as a vortex. However, from simply gazing upon the piece, one will never know the artist’s true intent. Derrida also states, “There is no text without silence.” This relates back to the definitions of nothingness provided by Sartre and Heidegger. Although the two have opposing viewpoints, they both can agree that there cannot be something without a nothing in our finite universe.
Additionally, Derrida discusses the importance of breaking down norms. Barra does this by openly admitting to purposefully making art under the influence of drugs, which is an illegal activity. Derrida also says that by stealing other people’s work, one is destroying the norms of property. In this manner, Barra is equally guilty of theft, as Jackson Pollock’s alcoholism was well-known and he was often high and drunk when he painted. Barra, a college student, is likely aware that he is not the first person to attempt this sort of artistic stunt. Also, Derrida discusses Foucault’s attempts to understand the madman. Since Barra was temporarily not in a sober state, one could call him a madman. Derrida says there is no point in attempting to understand the madman.22 This may be his most important idea in regards to this piece. Barra was intoxicated when he made Sibannac Airplane and does not take his work seriously, since he leaves it sitting on a shelf where no one can view it. Examination of the piece is mostly pointless since no one will be able to really comprehend what his intent was with the work. Even Barra might not know what he was attempting to make of it.
Sibannac Airplane is the subconscious result of the creative process under copious amounts of cannabis. Through Barra’s artistic experiment, he creates a dreamlike portrait of pure emotion. However, some existential philosophers might argue that his work is a painting of nothingness and the anxiety of life as a finite creature. Others might say that his piece falls more so into the category of the sublime. Further, some art critics could tear him to shreds and call him a hack. Regardless, in his piece, he does convey the criteria necessary to fall within the category of abstract expressionism, despite a questionable lack of artistic intent.

BIBLIOGRAPHY
Articles
Golub, Leon. “A Critique of Abstract Expressionism,” College Art Journal 14. [Winter 1955]: 142- 147.
Leon Golub was an American painter based out of Chicago with a career spanning the entire second half of the twentieth century. College Art Journal is an older name for Art Journal, which is a peer-reviewed scholarly publication formed in 1941. This article was written as abstract expressionism was on the rise among painters. Golub attempts to define this painting style and explain its purpose. He also examines new work by painters on both sides of the Atlantic. This article can assist with the research by citing definitions for abstract expressionism.

Kosoi, Natalie. “Nothingness Made Visible: The Case of Rothko’s Paintings,” Art Journal 64 [Summer 2005]: 20-31.
Natalie Kosoi is an aesthetics professor at the Open University in Israel. Her article is cited by many other newer works regarding Mark Rothko, abstract expressionism and existentialism. In this piece, she creates a definition for nothingness based on the work of Jean-Paul Sartre and Martin Heidegger. After forming a definition, she applies her findings to Rothko’s paintings to demonstrate how he paints nothingness. One could argue that “Sibannac Airplane” is a painting of nothing.

Levine, Edward M. “Abstract Expressionism: The Mystical Experience,” Art Journal 31. [Autumn 1971]: 22-25.
Edward M Levine is an art professor at MIT. This article examines the work of the abstract expressionists after their boom in the fifties and sixties. This piece is mostly concerned with action painting and the emotion behind those paintings. Of particular interest to this paper will be his correlations between romanticism and expressionism.

Tellez, Freddie, and Bruno Mazzoldi. “The Pocket-Size Interview with Jacques Derrida,” Critical Inquiry 33 [Winter 2007]: 362-368.
This interview took place over two sessions in 1978, was reviewed by Derrida two years later and first published in Spanish in 2005. In 2007, the interview was translated into English. Critical Inquiry is an academic publication from the University of Chicago which explores the literary arts. The appeal of this article lies in the fact that a lot of articles about abstract expressionism and existentialism cite Derrida’s “Cartouches” as a source and he did this interview after writing it. As a result, he talks extensively about existentialism and critiques the work of, essentially, every modern philosopher, from Nietzsche to Heidegger. If one can wade through Derrida’s babble about puns and how ridiculous he thinks everything is, there are some quality passages further into the interview. Particularly interesting is a section where he discusses language. He dissects his name, which is similar to the word “derider” in French. The word, “derider,” is associated with the smoothing of wrinkles, which Derrida claims to do through his critiques. Additionally, he examines the word “gel,” which he relates to the words “glass” and the philosopher’s name, “Hegel.” A dissection of Barra’s work loses great meaning when one ignores his title, which essentially gives away the painting’s meaning. “Sibannac Airplane” references the cannabis he smoked and the Jefferson Airplane he listened to while painting it. In a really great quote, Derrida also states, “There is no text without silence.” This relates back to Natalie Kosoi’s article which states that there cannot be something without a nothing in our finite universe, an idea borrowed from the philosophers she studies. Additionally, Derrida discusses the importance of breaking down norms. Barra does this by openly admitting to purposefully making art under the influence of drugs. Derrida says that by stealing other people’s work, one is destroying the norms of property. In this manner, Barra is equally guilty of theft, as Jackson Pollock’s alcoholism was well-known and he was often high and drunk when he painted. Also, Derrida discusses Foucault’s attempts to understand the madman. Since Barra was temporarily not in a sober state, one could call him a madman. Derrida says there is no point in attempting to understand the madman. He also says that those who interpret Foucault’s work as trying to understand the mind of the madman are misinterpreting his words.

Vinkovetsky, Yakov. “Painting as Process and Result,” Leonardo 18. [1985]: 165-169.
Yakov Vinkovetsky is a Russian expressionist painter and this article was published a few months after his death. Leonardo is a scholarly journal which allows art, science and technology to come together. In this piece, Vinkovetsky examines the work of previous action painters before looking at his own work. He is mostly concerned with the artistic process. Barra’s work is also mostly about the process, since he smokes marijuana and listens to Jefferson Airplane to create what he refers to as ‘art,’ scare quotes included.

Strange Love: Sex and the Atomic Age

In her book, Dr. Strangelove’s America: Society and Culture in the Atomic Age, Margot A. Henriksen argues that the atomic bomb changed American culture in ways which can be witnessed through the interwoven films, television programs and literature which was produced after its creation. Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb was a catharsis in the midst of these changes. Through its depiction of sexuality, Dr. Strangelove, as well as its contemporary, Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, demonstrate the devaluation of human life in favor of a love for technology following the development of the atomic bomb. In this manner, one could view the sexual revolution as a response to this frustration.

Dr. Strangelove begins with a command by General Jack Ripper from Burleson Air Force Base instructing an aerial nuclear attack on the Soviet Union because he believes they have put into action a conspiracy to fluoridate the United States’ water system so they may contaminate the nation’s “precious bodily fluids.” Ripper seals himself inside the base and refuses to disclose the three-letter code which would terminate the attack. Meanwhile, in the War Room, General Buck Turgidson informs President Merkin Muffley of this slip up. Efforts to retrieve the code from Ripper fail and an attempt to alert the planes which are carrying out the attack would be fruitless. Muffley calls the Soviet Premier, Dimitri Kisov, in a weak attempt to smooth things over. However, while this call is placed, the Soviet ambassador, who is also in the War Room, informs everyone that his country has a Doomsday Device, which will automatically destroy all life on the planet if the Soviet Union is bombed with a nuclear weapon. Despite getting close to developing a plan, all of the officials run out of time. The H-bomb is successfully deployed in the Soviet Union and, minutes later, the Doomsday Device is activated, destroying all of Earth’s inhabitants.

In her book, Henriksen extensively outlines the process through which American culture was drastically changed as a result of the development of nuclear weapons. Even though the atomic bomb brought the United States security from the Japanese, the weapon itself proved to be more frightful. The ultimate tool of death was created. Immediately following the test deployment of the H-bomb in New Mexico, physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer stated, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds”(Henriksen 6). However, with the bomb came newfound power and prosperity for America, which allowed the fear to fade out of consciousness in the 1950s. Having the bomb was a form of security for the nation. No one wants to go to war against such a power as the atomic bomb. Further, Americans in the 1950s had spent the past twenty years attempting to get themselves through the Great Depression and then witnessing the horrors of World War II. Once the economy settled and the population became more prosperous, the nation was tired of focusing on such depressing topics. They became preoccupied with leisure activities and material consumption and learned to accept the existence of the atomic bomb. As a result, the United States was morally confused. The bomb is a symbol of power, but also of death. To embrace or “love” the bomb is to embrace a culture of death, resulting in an insane and ridiculous situation.

A later result of the nuclear detonations on Japanese soil came in the form of Herman Kahn’s On Thermonuclear War from 1960. This rationalized perspective of nuclear war attempted to predict the recuperation time in the event of an attack. Kahn’s book quantified economic recovery times through the amount of people dead from a nuclear bomb in a given situation. He claimed this was in order to minimalize casualties. In an example, he says that, rather than 40 million people dead from a nuclear attack, if the dropping of an H-bomb were well-planned, casualties could be reduced to 20 million dead (Henriksen 218-219). Kahn then tried to address this further by saying, “The average citizen has a dour attitude toward planners who say that if we do thus and so it will not be 40 million dead- it will be 20 million dead. Somehow the impression is left that the planner said there will be only 20 million dead” (Henriksen 219). However, regardless of what his intent was in writing his book, Kahn quantified the casualties of war. In doing so, he took away an aspect of humanity. He attempted to put a cost on the loss of millions of human lives. Even though he claims not to, he nonchalantly throws around figures in the tens and thousands of millions regarding death tolls. Even twenty million deaths is an unimaginable horror which Kahn tries to quantify. The loss of twenty million citizens would be equivalent to killing everyone in the state of New York, and then some. By reducing warfare to numbers like these, Kahn is removing the human aspect. In the age of atomic bombs, human lives appear to lose value through Kahn’s book. They are merely numbers in the cost of war.

Shortly before Dr. Strangelove  was released, Kurt Vonnegut published Cat’s Cradle, which Henriksen views as the film’s companion in atomic age catharsis. In this novel, Vonnegut uses love, passion and sex to depict a loss of humanity. The book’s narrator follows the story of Felix Hoenniker, a scientist responsible for creating “ice-nine,” an isotope of water which is a solid at room temperature. According to the book, this is much more dangerous than an atomic bomb. Hoenikker’s son, Newt, finds very little humanity in his father. In his son’s description, Felix is clearly defined as a person more concerned with the ends than the means (Vonnegut 15-17). The cat’s cradle becomes a symbol of the absurdity in  the game of life. Felix Hoenikker is playing cat’s cradle when the atomic bombs were dropped on Japan during World War II. Newt says, “Making the cat’s cradle was the closest I ever saw my father to playing what anyone else would call a game”(Vonnegut 15-17). When asked about what games he likes to play, Felix Hoenikker responds, “Why should I bother with made-up games when tehre are so many real ones going on?”(Vonnegut 15-17). Henriksen says that these “real games” he is playing refer to the “ice-nine.” By treating this as a game, Felix is devaluing human life, just like Kahn did (Henriksen 311). In order to reinforce this fact, in a later passage, a scientist says to him, “Science has now known sin.” Felix replies, “What is sin?”(Vonnegut 21). Additionally, Felix cannot even remember any details about his own wife because “he just wasn’t interested in people” (Vonnegut 18-19). In this manner, Hoenikker appears incapable of love. He seems robotic and entirely nonsexual. Henriksen finds “a lack of human and moral concerns in the scientific and technological worldview,” which is reflected through Felix Hoenikker’s treatment of others and his inability to love (312). Just like in Kubrick’s film, the book ends with a horrible disaster; all of the world’s water is turned into “ice-nine,” which comes as a result of scientific indifference toward human life. After the accident, Newt and the narrator discuss their lack of sexual urges as they reach hopelessness. Earlier in the novel, the two discuss an apocalyptic novel in which the end of the world creates a sex orgy. However, the opposite actually occurs. Through this, Henriksen argues that “Vonnegut proposed… that healthy or ‘normal’ sexual desire disappeared in the atmosphere of hopelessness that surrounded the end of the world” (320). Further, the indifference toward people through Felix Hoenikker demonstrates again a lack of passion or love.

Much like Vonnegut does in Cat’s Cradle, Kubrick’s use of sex in Dr. Strangelove also reveals this loss of humanity in the atomic age. Much like the name of the movie suggests, Kubrick only displays “’strange’ forms of love and sex”(Henriksen 319). Humans are not depicted loving each other. Instead, all love is saved for technology, such as the bomb, which is also a symbol of death. The whole mess of the plot begins by General Ripper, who is paranoid of tampering with his “precious bodily essences.” In reference to women, he says, “I do deny them  my essence.” His abstinence causes him to refrain from the act necessary for humans to continue to exist. Meanwhile, Buck Turgidson has no problem having lots of sex with his secretary.  However, his relationship with her seems to be more lust-based than one of love. Indeed, while in the War Room, he tells her on the phone that relationship is more than just physical and he also states, “I deeply respect you as a human being.” Based on his tone, one can tell that he means none of what he tells her. Further connecting all of these cultural concerns, when Turgidson is speaks about death tolls, he is made to sound exactly like Kahn, the great quantifier of human life. Major King Kong’s ride on the the deployed H-bomb is another sexually-charged scene which furthers this theme. By depicting the bomb as “an extention of his sexuality,” Kubrick connects “sex, death and the bomb” (Henriksen 320). Dr. Strangelove himself appears unconcerned about the impending doom to the human race and more in love with all of the technology surrounding the event. The mechanized manner of his alien hand demonstrates the current attitude. Those in charge are becoming less manlike and more robotic by lessening the value of human life in favor of technology. Sealing this idea, Kubrick’s only sex scene in the entire film occurs in the opening credits, when a bomber is being refueled in air. He machines are making love in the manner which was formerly reserved for life. Henriksen nicely summarizes:

“The supremacy of technology and the declining value of human life, intimately linked with America’s thermonuclear bravado and its threatened extinction of all human life, are illustrated in the sexual orientation of these characters (which are also illustrated in their names) and in the various sexual symbols that punctuate the film”(319).

From this position, where humans are devalued in favor of technology, is it any surprise that the sexual revolution soon developed? Clearly, as Rabbi Dresner put it, there was a need for a “change in man’s heart” (Henriksen 380). Through experimentation with sexual liberation, the youth culture of the 1960s and 1970s responded to dehumanization through “strange love.” Some of the most famous examples are the “Summer of Love” in 1967 and the “Woodstock Nation” of 1969, through which “renewed respect for human sexuality” were embodied (Henriksen 381). By breaking down sexual barriers, the counterculture was protesting the devaluing of humanity and “sexuality became a symbol for the renewed values of love and respect”(Henriksen 381). In this manner, Dr. Strangelove can be viewed as a film which depicts a transition in American culture. The use of sexuality in the film demonstrates the absurdity of a culture which values technology above people, a true “strange love.”

Spring 2011 Dance Spectrum: Beyond

Of the seven contributions to Sam Houston State University’s Spring 2011 Dance Spectrum, two stood out as sharing common themes. “The Promise. The Unity. The Betrayal. The Wrath. The Redemption.” and “Valses Po’Eticos” could both be interpreted as gender deviation. Interestingly, the former was danced by two females while the latter had an entirely male cast. However, both of these pieces featured their dancers utilizing their opposing gender roles.

“The Promise. The Unity. The Betrayal. The Wrath. The Redemption.” was a piece choreographed and danced by Alicia Carlin and Julie Holcomb, who were two SHSU graduates, from 2006 and 2008 respectively. After their graduation, the two went to work with the Blue Lapis Light studio. Within the company, they primarily performed using aerial silk. In the piece they contributed to Spectrum, the two utilized this type of dance, which involved performing acrobatics while suspended by clinging to a piece of silk, which was attached at the ceiling. For this performance, they used two pieces of silk, but sometimes the two of them both danced on just one, which is actually how they began their dance. The “Promise” and “Unity” parts of their piece involved gliding, weaving and contorting around each other on the single piece of silk. In this part, it seemed very clear that they are in some sort of committed lesbian relationship as the piece was very sexually-charged. In the parts which were likely the “Betrayal” and the “Wrath,” the two dancers departed for separate pieces of silk and their dances conveyed anger and longing. In the end, the two dancers were reunited in the “Redemption” and the two pieces of silk were entwined.

While “The Promise. The Unity. The Betrayal. The Wrath. The Redemption.” conveyed lesbian themes, “Valses Po’Eticos” was more homoerotic on the masculine end of the continuum. This piece was choreographed by Jonathan Charles, an assistant professor of dance at SHSU, and was danced by five of the school’s male dance students. The dance began with the entrance of the pianist, Dr. Sergio Ruiz. As soon as the dancers entered the stage, they started to fawn and flirt over with the pianist. They then performed a series of waltzes, which were used in order to gain the attention of the piano player. Each of the dancers seemed as if they were attempting to out-dance the other performers. This piece was also interesting because typically men are stuck dancing in the back while everyone pays attention to the women. However, in “Valses Po’Eticos,” the male dancers were hamming it up center stage. In some ways it seemed like they were getting to live out their own ballerina moments, making the men seem more feminine.

SHSU’s Spring 2011 Dance Spectrum featured many other wonderful dances, but these two seemed to particularly stand apart from the rest as they both had themes involving gender and sexuality. “The Promise. The Unity. The Betrayal. The Wrath. The Redemption.” and “Valses Po’Eticos” were interesting because they broke the pattern of male-female partnership in dance. In the larger scale, pieces like these convey themes which reflect the changing attitudes of a society which is discussing topics like gay marriage in the political arena.

Sex and the City on the Hill: Race and Sexuality in “The Birth of a Nation”

The stereotype of dangerous African-American sexuality in contrast with Caucasian sexuality is not new and is still in American culture. Rap videos portray the improper sexuality of African-Americans.  African-American women are often stereotyped as having tons of children, for whom they cannot provide proper care, which implies their careless sexuality. Meanwhile, white women are often told not to walk anywhere alone at night, as society has a fear that they will automatically be raped and left impure. Back in 1915, Griffith used sex as a threat or a weapon in ‘Birth of a Nation’ to portray African-American characters as villains and to demonstrate proper courting methods. Melvyn Stokes explains in ‘DW Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation: A History of the Most Controversial Motion Picture of All Time’ that the director particularly used the characters of Lydia, Silas Lynch and Gus as sexual villains (217). Meanwhile, Griffith contrastingly depicts the relationships of caucasian characters as morally-correct and as examples of how pure relationships function.

Birth of a Nation’ chronicles the northern Stoneman and a southern Cameron family’s fictional story set in the backdrop of the Civil War and Reconstruction, as interpreted by Thomas Dixon and DW Griffith. Both families send their sons to the war and, following Lincoln’s assassination, the Cameron’s are left in ruin while the head of the Stoneman family is the most powerful man in America. After the president’s death, Mr. Stoneman, an abolitionist, allows African-Americans to take on leadership positions. As a result, the African-Americans take over the nation, leaving the Cameron’s and Stoneman’s to fight them off alongside the Ku Klux Klan, which is depicted as being created by Ben Cameron. At the end of the film, the African-Americans are disarmed and the Aryans brotherhood rules the land once again.

Lydia Brown, played by Mary Alden, is Austin Stoneman’s mulatto slave. Alden is actually Caucasian, so her face was darkened for the film. She is obviously a villain because she acts very witchlike. Throughout the film, she is shown hanging all over Stoneman while licking her fingers and touching her breasts. However, he never seems to push her away, indicating that he was likely involved with her, although the film never blatantly admits to this. Because she was hanging on Stoneman and he was taking no action, she still appears to be attempting to seduce him. This is further evidenced by his arousal when she reveals her bare shoulder to him. Coupled with her evil appearance, Lydia is depicted as using sex as a tool used to brainwash him (Stokes 217-222). She also hangs all over Stoneman in a serpentine manner. When she declares him the most powerful man in the country following Lincoln’s assassination, her body language causes the scene to resemble the conversation between Eve and the snake in the Garden of Eden depicted in the Book of Genesis. If there was any further question about her motives, this scene clarifies that Lydia is a villain.

When Austin Stoneman gains his power through Lincoln’s assassination, Silas Lynch, a mulatto, becomes his right-hand man. The main manner in which Lynch is initially painted evil to the audience is through his sexuality. He poses a threat by ogling women and spying on Elsie Stoneman. As the film progresses, he gains the position of Lieutenant Governor through an election, which is rigged to only allow African-Americans to vote. Thus, Lynch’s authority is gained through illegitimate means. From here, Lynch is undoubtedly painted as a villain, as he uses his power to raise an African-American militia to take on the Caucasians. Terrified by these attacks, Elsie Stoneman finds Lynch for help but, instead, he decides trap her in order to make her the queen in his ‘black empire.’ Through this action, Lynch is basically using rape as a weapon against her, which is another example of Griffith’s depiction of the dangers of African-American sexuality directed toward Caucasians. When Lynch tells Stoneman that he wants to marry a woman, the mentor is initially excited. After it is revealed that the woman he desires is Stoneman’s daughter, he no longer considers Lynch a friend, indicating that even the great abolitionist is frightened by this sexuality. While Lynch is shown with the captured Elsie, he begins drinking. By the time Stoneman busts in on him, Lynch is drunk, angry and about to rape her (Stokes 219). Again, Griffith is depicting the sexual African-American as a danger.

Gus, played by Caucasian actor Walter Long, is a former slave painted in blackface. Again, this character uses his sexuality as weapon against a white woman, Flora Cameron. She quite obviously stands out from other characters in the movie, as she is unfailingly cheerful to the point of absurdity. Rather than fearing the African-American militia, Flora walks freely to a spring to fetch water, which is where Gus has the opportunity to propose to her. She responds by slapping him and running away. Although he claims to mean her no harm, she continues to run from him until she reaches the edge of a cliff. Faced with the choices of jumping off the cliff to her death or the possibility of being violated by an African-American, she chooses the former. Without doubt, his sexuality was enough of a threat to her that she chose suicide. She is shown as a figure who maintains the purity and honor of her race through the intertitle, “For her who has learned the stern lesson of honor, we should not grieve that she found sweeter the opal gates of death.” Further, this scene indicates that free women are more likely to advances from African-American males, which seems like propaganda against the women’s movement which occurred during the filming of ‘Birth of a Nation.’ Even though Gus did not really do anything wrong and he claimed he was not going to hurt her, he is still placed with blame. The KKK retaliates by lynching him and placing his body on Silas Lynch’s doorstep.

Meanwhile, Caucasian sexuality is portrayed as moral. When characters with any African blood pursue the opposite sex, they do so in an immediate and obvious sexual manner. Gus, who has not developed a friendship with Flora, quickly jumps to propose marriage to her. Lynch simply takes Elsie as his bride without asking. Lydia does not even seem concerned with marriage and is purely sexual. These depictions perpetuate stereotypes of the primitive and uncivilized African. Interestingly, although the African-American congressmen of the film demand ‘equal marriage,’ they are depicted as not being able to grasp the concept of proper marriage, thus negating its equality. Through the development of the relationships between the couples featured as happy honeymooners at the film’s conclusion, one can see how proper courtship is pursued, which is very different from the types of relationships sought out by the African-Americans. Ben falls in love with Elsie by seeing her picture while Margaret and Phil engage in mild and innocent flirtation upon being introduced to each other. The couples become acquainted with each other, building a friendship. Their relationships take the entire length of the film, which spans several years, to reach a stage where sexuality is acceptable, which only occurs after marriage. Further, neither couple marries until the men have saved their women from the African-American threat. Ben rescues Elsie from an impending rape by Lynch while Phil is simultaneously depicted as protecting Margaret from an African-American mob. Through this, one might also gather that Griffith was saying that proper courtship also entails women remaining pure until marriage and chivalrous men working to ensure this purity (Stokes 221). Also, the film suggests that proper love blooms through God’s will. Ben falls in love with Elsie through viewing her picture, but he does not meet her until a chance meeting at the hospital due to his injury. Since he was in the hospital because he was defending his nation, one might also say God was rewarding his heroic acts by providing this meeting with his love. This contrasts with African-American attempts at relationship-building, which are forced and never consummated, like those with Lynch and Gus. Lydia is not included in this group, since she is depicted as being only interested in sex.

When placed in the context of the decade, one need not wonder why Griffith was so brutal in his representation of African-Americans as sexual villains. During this period, the NAACP was busily fighting legislation banning interracial marriage (Stokes 218). “That ‘the Birth of a Nation’ foregrounded the whole intermarriage issue so emphatically… had very little to do with what actually happened during Reconstruction days and everything to do with the sexual obsessions of Thomas Dixon, reinforced by contemporary racial concerns at the time the film was made” (Stokes 218). Some people believe, because it comes from such a racist viewpoint, this film should not be viewed ever again by anyone. However, one of the worst solutions to issues of racism is to ignore the fact that it occurred in the past. A large part of American history lays in the mistreatment of non-Caucasian people. If our history is forgotten, this mistreatment can repeat itself, which is truly the worser fate. Rather than whitewash over racism, one must confront it. DW Griffith’s interpretation of dangerous African-American sexuality and the purity of Caucasians depicts the views of its time and is a relevant contribution to history. If he viewed race in this manner, along with Thomas Dixon and many audience members at the film’s premier, then it is likely that this was the common viewpoint of the Southern United States (Stokes 218).

Carl Sagan, The Cold War and the Alexandrian Library

Most of this article pertains to this clip from Carl Sagan’s ‘Cosmos.’

“History is full of people who out of fear or ignorance or the lust for power have destroyed treasures of immeasurable value which truly belong to all of us. We must not let it happen again.”

-Carl Sagan

In 1980, Dr. Carl Sagan wrote his book, “Cosmos,” and his television show of the same name was also broadcast for the first time by PBS. Through both of these, he produced a great contribution to the history of science. He demonstrated how science’s past relates to the present and what can be taken from it. In the early eighties, the present situation contained the threat of nuclear weapons due to the Cold War and, through his work on television, Sagan was able to broadcast his ideas to a very large group of home audiences.

Although Carl Sagan is best known for his popular science, he actually has a pretty amazing list of credentials. While completing his doctorate, Sagan was already working with NASA and continued to assist them while also working as a professor at Harvard and Cornell. He correctly described the Venusian surface conditions, which were vital in the Mariner missions. His work with Venus described the planet as extremely hot and dry, which was contrary to the current views of the planet. Additionally, he saw correlations between Venus and Earth regarding the greenhouse effect, which led him to advocate action against global warming. Through his work, Sagan found evidence to support his political beliefs. These included a desire for disarmament, religion’s effect on science, legalization of marijuana, environmental concerns and peace. His ability to intertwine science, history and politics made him famous. In his lifetime, he earned the Oersted Medal, two NASA Distinguished Public Service Medals, the Pulitzer Prize for General Non-Fiction and the National Academy of Sciences Public Welfare Medal. His television show won an Emmy and a Peabody Award. Unfortunately, Carl Sagan passed away in 1996.

In a scene from the first episode of Cosmos, “The Shores of the Cosmic Ocean,” Sagan visits the Alexandrian Library. Obviously, this is physically impossible since the library was destroyed but, through the magic of television, he visits a recreation of the site, which he rightfully believed to be the origin of space exploration research. Since the destruction of Alexandria approximately two thousand years ago, only the library’s cellar remains, which left the world with only a very small fraction of its holdings. The library contained the majority of the world’s knowledge, which was about a million volumes. In a later episode, he compares this to the New York Library, which contains about ten million volumes. Sagan samples the holdings of the Alexandrian Library, whose knowledge included:

“…the astronomer Hipparchus, who mapped the constellations and estimated the brightness of stars; Euclid, who brilliantly systematized geometry…; Dionysus of Thrace, the man who defined the parts of speech and did for the study of language what Euclid did for geometry; Herophilus, the physiologist who firmly established that the brain rather than the heart is the seat of intelligence; Heron of Alexandria, inventor of gear trains and steam engines and the author of ‘Automata,’ the first book on robots; Apollonius of Perga, the mathematician who demonstrated the forms of the conic sections… followed in their orbits by the planets, the comets and the stars; Archimedes, the greatest mechanical genius since Leonardo di Vinci; and the great astronomer and geographer Ptolemy, who compiled much of what is today the pseudoscience of astrology.”

On his show and in his book, he says, “We have far surpassed the science known to the ancient world. But there are irreparable gaps in our historical knowledge. Imagine what mysteries about our past could be solved with a borrower’s card to the Alexandrian Library.” He goes on to explain that society went on without the information which was destroyed in the library, which would be the period of the Middle Ages, and that the Renaissance was really just the rediscovery of this lost work. According to Sagan, at the time movable type was invented, only a few tens of thousands of books were in existence in Europe, which is only a small amount in comparison to the glory of the Alexandrian Library.

Sagan never actually mentions the Cold War in this passage or on his show. However, a mention of the current issues would have been unnecessary. Sagan makes his point in this segment. The destruction of the Alexandrian Library set back science for at least 1500 years. When discussing a lost work of Aristarchus, which argued that the Earth is one of the planets, which orbits the Sun, he says, “If we multiply by a hundred thousand our sense of loss for this work of Aristarchus, we begin to appreciate the grandeur of the achievement of classical civilization and the tragedy of its destruction.” In the event that nuclear weapons were used, humans could have again lost so much of their knowledge. It appears unlikely that Sagan would be able to state his anti-war sentiments blatantly, so he had to use history to subtilely get his point across. He closes the episode by saying,

“We are the legacy of fifteen billion years of cosmic evolution. We have a choice: We can enhance life and come to know the universe that made us or we can squander our 15 billion year heritage in meaningless self- destruction. What happens [in the near future] depends on what we do here and now with our intelligence and our knowledge of the cosmos.”

Interestingly, this was written in 1980, before the internet rose to importance in containing the world’s information. However, Sagan’s history lesson still holds true. If some terrorist attack erased all the information on the internet, so much of the world’s knowledge would be lost, in addition to a lot of complete garbage. Even the Alexandrian Library had its nonsense though. Sagan says, “[Ptolemy's] Earth-centered universe held sway for 1,500 years, a reminder that intellectual capacity is no guarantee against being dead wrong.” The destruction of the internet would probably mean people would have to start reading books again, something which appears to be in decline due to projects like gutenberg.org, which offers over 33,000 books online for free, and gadgets such as the Kindle, a tablet-like device which makes electronic books portable.

Unfortunately, Carl Sagan is often overlooked because he wrote popular science. However, in addition to making important contributions to NASA, he also worked to better the common man. His work made the history of science accessible to everyone and also showed how it related to current events. Furthermore, he used his show as a platform to demonstrate his political beliefs. He presented how the destruction of the library of Alexandria could be repeated in our lifetime.

Works Cited

Cosmos, “The Shores of the Cosmic Ocean,” episode 1, April 11, 2011 [originally aired September 28, 1980].

Cosmos, “The Persistence of Memory,” episode 11, April 11, 2011 [originally aired December 1, 1980].

Cosmos, “Who Speaks for Earth?” episode 13, April 11, 2011 [originally aired December 21, 1980].

Poundstone, William. Carl Sagan: A Life in the Cosmos. New York: Henry Holt and Company. 1999.

Sagan, Carl. Cosmos. New York: Random House, 1980.

“Bill Cunningham, NYC” by Scott Schuman

        Scott Schuman is an American fashion photographer who primarily does commercial work, but has also been featured in several Conde Nast publications. He is most well-known for his ongoing street photography project, which he maintains in the form of a blog located at thesartorialist.com. The photographs displayed on the site, which has also spun off into a book deal, feature mostly strangers he encounters along the streets of Europe and New York whom he finds to be visually-inspiring.

        The subject of “Bill Cunningham, NYC” is, not surprisingly, Bill Cunningham. He is a fellow street fashion photographer, with a much more prolific career than Schuman’s as he has been working in the field much longer, primarily through his work with the New York Times. The photograph is dated September 10, 2008, which would place it in the middle of New York Fashion Week. In the image, the weather is clearly rainy and Cunningham is shown draped in a black garbage bag while attempting to photograph passer-bys. On his blog, Schuman simply states, “The man just goes and goes and goes.” One might guess that Cunningham is someone for whom Schuman has much respect.

        A repeating subject of Schuman’s work is accidental fashion. Often, he finds the most well-assembled outfits on the homeless or elderly, who are not concerned about fashion in the slightest and probably could not name a single designer. The photograph of Cunningham is no exception to this theme. The wearing of the garbage bag does not appear “trashy” in the slightest. The manner in which he has it draped around his shoulders causes it to resemble some sort of patent leather or vinyl black poncho. The subject does not appear to be wearing a trash bag at first glance. Through this image, Schuman is showing how something practical and last-minute can actually look good.

        This image is also a good representation of Schuman’s photography style on the whole. He literally tends to shoot color photographs on the street or sidewalk, typically in some sort of visually-appealing neighborhood. However, as far as subjects go, he shows no discrimination for age, sex or ethnicity. Schuman’s subjects only need be interesting in appearance. Typically, they are either stopped and asked to be photographed or just snapped on the go, as in this one. Also, his subjects always appear very crisp and in color, always shown from head to toe. One can easily pick apart the details of the person’s ensemble. Sometimes, in addition to showing the entire body, Schuman will accompany the image with a detail shot of something of particular interest. Meanwhile, the background is clearly visible but slightly out of focus. Schuman’s style of photography is easily recognized in comparison to other street fashion photographers due to its great clarity.

Happy birthday.

I am very very tired. In a few hours, it will be February. In the past few years, I have tended to worry throughout January about that month.

On March 5, 2007, I headed to Texas from Chicago. I didn’t know what would happen or if I’d even survive. I just knew I needed to leave Chicago. I only said goodbye to my grandparents and a few cousins. I never said farewells to any of my immediate family. I didn’t even tell them I was leaving the state.

Sometime in early February 2007, there was an incident where people were doing a lot of drugs in my room at my parents’ house. Maybe I should have not made a big deal about this. But I was working as a stripper to support my family, so the last thing I wanted at three am was to come home to a drug party in my room. I yelled. I demanded that everyone leave. One of the drug dealers called me a bitch and pushed me into a television. I threw a lawn chair at him. My parents were sleeping the entire time. I ran to their room. I told them that I was going to run away if they didn’t kick this drug dealer out. Larry, my stepfather, never got out of bed. My mom came into the living room and just stared me down. It felt like an extremely long time but it was probably only a minute. I packed two suitcases and went to a Motel 6 to stay with one of the other dancers and her boyfriend.

Almost immediately, drug dealers and gang members started to come to the club I worked at harassing me for money. When I left, so did the drug money. The club, though they treated me like family, couldn’t have this going on. On Valentine’s Day, my boyfriend broke up with me because he couldn’t handle all the drama I was going through. I had nothing going for me, except my health, a steady job and coworkers who served as the most incredibly loyal friends I had yet to meet. A few weeks later and I was on that train to Houston.

In February 2008, my grandfather passed away. It was the first time that someone close to me died. I had been to funerals and known people who died, but it was always the kid I helped cheat in English or some uncle I met once. I knew from my grandma that grandpa was sick and had made plans to come to Chicago for the funeral. I was entirely expecting this. What I was not expecting was my grandmother calling me the day of the funeral to tell me of his passing because she didn’t want me to attend the service.

Exactly three weeks later, on March 5, 2008, exactly a year after I left Chicago, I was preparing for a huge meeting at the boutique I ran at the mall. Some of the corporate people from NYC had flown in to discuss a promotion for me. I had spent days making the store look amazing. When the phone rang, I was expecting it to be these corporate folks telling me they were on their way. Instead, it was my grandmother, informing me that my mom was with her and to please not hang up. My mom only said, “It’s John.” I knew every detail in those words. I dropped the phone and screamed. I just kept screaming and crying and the customers and other employees were so confused but I couldn’t calm down. Someone took me into the backroom and I tried to explain but they kept telling me that I didn’t know enough about the situation. I insisted that it was all my fault. It was all my doing. My mother called the store again and confirmed what I already knew with alarming detail from so few words. My brother, my closest companion, died of a heroin overdose that morning.

The funeral was a circus. The week I spent in Chicago to take care of all the arrangements was a nightmare. The following year was an emotional rollercoaster, with a spectrum ranging from catatonia to hysteria. I’m not the only one who went a little crazy that year. Between her husband’s death and then her grandson’s, my grandmother completely lost it. She was admitted to a hospital and never allowed back home again.

Tomorrow is the start of February, a month that reminds me of all the times that took away my naivety. Nothing feels like home since then despite my attempts to find gemueglichkeit. After John died, my entire family drifted apart. Everyone is so angry with each other. I’m not really angry at any of them. When I get angry, its either at him for being so fucking incredibly stupid or at myself, for leaving and not protecting him from that crap.

I’m not saying that someone is a good person just because they died, but John had so many friends. He was probably the most popular guy in high school. I don’t think he would be so well-liked if he wasn’t fun to be around. And he was. Despite his flaws, of which there were many, he was my closest friend and I was his hero, as he would often brag to people. He knew me better than anyone and still does. Our identities were so intertwined. When he died, I didn’t just mourn for him. I feel like I died too and can’t go back to my previous state.

I’m very very tired. I’m also happier than I’ve been in a few years. But tomorrow is February 1, John’s birthday. Because I felt exhausted, I tried to sleep, even though it was 8:30pm. But the sudden realization that it is February tomorrow jolted me out of my sleepiness. I’m not sad. I just kind of feel like my brain is overworked to the point where it is jammed like a printer. Or full of sludge. So, I wrote. And now there are nearly a thousand words in this text box. The writing didn’t really make me feel any better. But the sudden ideas of how John would spend his 23rd birthday have given me some amusement. I think I want to spend tomorrow doing things he liked. So, I think I will make a pizza, get a tattoo and drink some PBR. I can celebrate his birthday for him.

Theodore Gericault, “Raft of the Medusa,” 1818-1819

Theodore Gericault was born in France in 1791 and enrolled in the Lycee Imperial at age fifteen. At seventeen, his teachers included the important French painters Carle Vernet and Pierre-Narcisse Guerin. His work was exhibited in the Salon of 1812 to good reviews and again in the Salon of 1814 to lesser reviews. He did take a brief pause from art when he joined the royalist garde du corps after the 1814 French restoration. He eventually found disgust in the Bourbon attempt at reestablishment and abandoned the cause to return to art. Between 1816 and 1817, Gericault took a trip to Italy, during which time he came to love the work of Michelangelo.

In June 1816, when the French warship Meduse departed from France to Senegal in order to carry out the terms of the Peace of Paris, which called for the British return of Senegal to the French. Although the Meduse was joined by three other ships, the frigate sped ahead of them in order to make better time. As a result, the ship drifted a hundred miles off course before colliding with a sandbank near Mauritania on July 2. The passengers tried to free the boat from the sandbank for three days. Finding no success, they developed plans to take the six lifeboats onboard the Meduse on a sixty mile journey to the nearest African coast. The warship held approximately 400 passengers, but the lifeboats were only able to carry about 250 of them. Pieces of the Meduse were quickly placed together in order to create a large raft, which was able to carry another 146 passengers. The remaining seventeen crew members decided to remain aboard the frigate. In addition to its hefty cargo of passengers, the raft held a bag of ship’s biscuits, two casks of water and a few casks of wine. Initially, some of the lifeboats were going to tow the raft, which they did, but, after only a few miles, the raft let loose. The ration of biscuits was entirely consumed on the first day and fights broke out between sailors and soldier and officers and passengers. By the fourth day, the 67 remaining passengers began to resort to cannibalism. By the eighth day, the strongest survivors tossed the weaker passengers overboard, leaving the fifteen men who actually made it to the twelfth day. On July 17, one of the Medusa’s original accompanying ships, the Argus, coincidentally spotted the raft and took the survivors onboard.

During this time of anti-Bourbon sentiment, which Gericault shared after his brief military involvement, accounts of the shipwreck and its subsequent court precedings were major news. In order to accurately reflect their adventures, two of the raft’s survivors produced accounts of the event. The surgeon, Henri Savigny, returned to France from Senegal in September 1816 and the geographer, Alexandre Correard, returned on Christmas Day of the same year.  Their accounts were published in a book in 1817 and, while they did not tell of all their struggles, the basic mutiny was at least covered. Not only did Gericault read this book, but he also remained in close contact with these men even after he completed his painting. He often asked them to recall the events and the features of the men on board the raft.

Gericault’s studio after his return to France from Italy for this project was situated behind the Hospital Beaujon. He wanted to truly capture death and despair so he often sketched the dying and deceased in the hospital. Although he worked extensively with corpses and severed limbs, he used live models for the painting. Three of the models were actual survivors from the raft. One of the models was his contemporary, Eugene Delacroix.In order to maintain atmosphere, he did leave the decaying body parts piled around his studio which the models had to endure. Despite his repeated attempts at accuracy, Gericault did not portray the actual conditions of the men. He captured their moods but he did not show their physical states of exhaustion, emaciation and sunburn. Other inaccuracies include the clouds in the sky, of which none were present that day. Also, the men are presented as clean-shaven, despite being onboard the raft for nearly two weeks.

The actual painting is composed of crossed diagonals signifying hope and despair. The diagonal rising from left to right depicts the figures reaching towards the sunset, while the opposing diagonal represents a trail of dead bodies climaxing in an enormous wave which is about to crash into the raft. There is no land in sight, leaving the fate of these men uncertain to the viewer. There appears to be a very tiny speck towards the right horizon line. Since Gericault painted this to represent day thirteen of the journey, this is likely the Argus and men composing the right pyramid are frantically waving at it in order to gain its attention. The figure at the top of the right-hand pyramidal structure is the last surviving African crew member, Jean Charles, who never recovered from the incident and died shortly after his arrival in Senegal. He is displayed as a hero, being the only one on the ship with the strength to climb aboard the empty cask in order to flag down the distant ship. Through this, Gericault is suggesting that, in the state of nature, race does not signify freedom. It appears as though Jean-Charles is leading the raft, giving him the highest position. This could also suggest a belief in emancipation for all in general.

The work was entered in the Salon of 1819, but only placed eleventh. While some celebrated this refreshing romantic painting, others found it offensive to the current neoclassical ideal due to the piles of dead bodies. Although the original title for the piece was “Shipwreck Scene,” the true subject was quite obvious to those who viewed it. While his subjects privately found the work to be quite good, King Louis XVIII did not show pleasure from it, as the collision of the Medusa was among the country’s embarrassments. Gericault, realizing that the painting was being judged solely upon the viewer’s political stance, stated, “This year our journalists have reached the pinacle of the ridiculous.” He then took the painting to Britain in order to capitalize off the success the news story had there, which worked well.

Upon his return from Britain, Gericault suffered from a bout of depression. Shortly after, he suffered an injury during a horse riding accident. He never fully recovered and died in 1824 at the young age of 32. After his death, the director of the Louvre bought ‘The Raft of the Medusa’ from his heirs and it still hangs there today. While Gericault was not alive long enough to enjoy the fruits of his labor, he was immediately posthumously held in high regard. Had he only lived five years longer, he might have been able to taste the positive criticism the work received.

 

Mark Rothko, “Untitled 10,” 1957

Marcus Rothkowitz was born in 1903 in a portion of Russia which is now Latvian. His family immigrated to the United States when he was ten years old and moved to Portland, Oregon. Growing up, he was primarily interested in Jewish activism, but, after his twentieth birthday, he discovered a passion for art. He worked as an artist throughout the Great Depression and was a founder of an artist’s group known as “The Ten.” During this period, he began to explore the works of Jung and Nietzsche, which helped influence his mature period. In the wake of World War II, he changed his last name to “Rothko” as he feared a Jewish persecution like the one his family evaded in Russia. During the forties, he initially made paintings referencing classical mythology but moved toward surrealist creatures floating in the primordial ooze. As the decade progressed, the shapes of his composition relaxed, producing loosely defined edges.

By 1949, Rothko produced his first “colorblock” or “multiform” painting, for which he is most often recognized. The format of “Untitled 10” is standard for this variety of painting, although, as he aged, Rothko tended to use darker and darker colors. In these works, the common view among art critics is that Rothko was displaying a theory of Friedrich Nietzsche which describes the two separate human tendencies known as the Dionysian and the Apollonian. The Dionysian element describes that which is emotional and instinctual while the Apollonian element is rational and disciplined. In this multiform paintings, the richness in color appeals to the Dionysian sense while the composition of rectangles appeals to the Apollonian. As he furthered in his career, Rothko also used larger canvases, which were usually at least human sized. These paintings envelop the viewer in pure color in order to evoke an equally pure emotion and the three block composition reflects the viewer’s own human form of head, torso and legs.

In a 2005 article for Art Journal, Natalie Kosoi made the case that Rothko’s multiform paintings conveyed nothingness. Although a painting of nothing would be impossible if a painting actually existed therein, she was able to demonstrate this using the definitions of nothingness created by existential philosophers. Sartre considered nothingness to be a lack of being or entity which comes into being through the human consciousness. In this sense, Rothko’s colorforms fulfill the definition as if the forms witnessed are hovering nothingness with a ground of being. She also sees the work of Heidegger as working within this context, as he finds nothingness to represent human limitation. He believes everything of the world is finite, while nothingness is the actual being of all existence. Death is the nothingness to which each human has to look forward. He claims that the awareness of our impending nothingness shapes human thought. We do our daily activities to repress the anxieties we face knowing that one day we will die. Indeed, Rothko has been quoted as saying, “The familiar identity of things has to be pulverized in order to destroy the finite associations with which our society increasingly enshrouds every aspect of our environment.” However, Heidegger finds a difference between fear and anxiety, as a fear is geared toward a particular object, while an anxiety is over nothing. Her critique shows how Rothko used nothingness as a tool to bring the viewer back to a primitive state so they may find their purest emotions.

“No. 10” can be viewed at the Menil Collection in Houston. This museum is the home of the private art collection of John and Dominique de Menil. They are the same Menil’s who commissioned the building of the Rothko Chapel, which is located directly next door. Painted in 1957, the oil on canvas piece is typical of Rothko during that period. His canvas is not of the enormous height of those in the chapel, measuring only about five feet by three feet. In his early works of maturity, such as this one, he worked from a color palette of very light value and tonality. The floating effect of the forms within the painting is produced by the saturation of color achieved through the many thin layers of oil paint. Additionally, this technique produces a rougher texture in person, which cannot be seen in reproductions of the work on the internet or in a book. The painting is an example of abstract expressionism. The statements from Kosoi regarding nothingness apply to nearly every aspect of the piece. “No. 10” is a form of abstraction so far from tangibility that its subject and iconography are just nothing. While there is definite sense of line there is little else, which allows the viewer to tap into their own Dionysian instincts. Depending on the viewer’s interpretation, the use of the cream color in the middle block could be considered a use of light. As it is reminiscent of the first glimpse of morning upon waking, the cream could be seen as the blinding light which seeps into one’s eyes. The perspective is intuitive since it is a view into nothingness which is intended to envelop the viewer in emotion. As a result, foreshortening is not to even be taken into consideration. One cannot foreshorten nothingness.