November 27th, 2007

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Good Morning!!



I search the news today for a joyful light. 

Here is an excerpt from an article in the New York Times by Natalie Angier.  She is writing about a symposium on the evolutionary value of art.   It is called "The Dance of Evolution, or How Art Got Its Start."   It culminates in a tribute to the joys and values of motherhood.  


Natalie Angier:

    In the main presentation at the conference, Ellen Dissanayake, an independent scholar affiliated with the University of Washington, Seattle, offered her sweeping thesis of the evolution of art, nimbly blending familiar themes with the radically new. By her reckoning, the artistic impulse is a human birthright, a trait so ancient, universal and persistent that it is almost surely innate. But while some researchers have suggested that our artiness arose accidentally, as a byproduct of large brains that evolved to solve problems and were easily bored, Ms. Dissanayake argues that the creative drive has all the earmarks of being an adaptation on its own. The making of art consumes enormous amounts of time and resources, she observed, an extravagance you wouldn’t expect of an evolutionary afterthought. Art also gives us pleasure, she said, and activities that feel good tend to be those that evolution deems too important to leave to chance.

What might that deep-seated purpose of art-making be? Geoffrey Miller and other theorists have proposed that art serves as a sexual display, a means of flaunting one’s talented palette of genes. Again, Ms. Dissanayake has other ideas. To contemporary Westerners, she said, art may seem detached from the real world, an elite stage on which proud peacocks and designated visionaries may well compete for high stakes. But among traditional cultures and throughout most of human history, she said, art has also been a profoundly communal affair, of harvest dances, religious pageants, quilting bees, the passionate town rivalries that gave us the spires of Chartres, Reims and Amiens.

Art, she and others have proposed, did not arise to spotlight the few, but rather to summon the many to come join the parade — a proposal not surprisingly shared by our hora teacher, Steven Brown of Simon Fraser University. Through singing, dancing, painting, telling fables of neurotic mobsters who visit psychiatrists,  and otherwise engaging in what Ms. Dissanayake calls “artifying,” people can be quickly and ebulliently drawn together, and even strangers persuaded to treat one another as kin. Through the harmonic magic of art, the relative weakness of the individual can be traded up for the strength of the hive, cohered into a social unit ready to take on the world.

As David Sloan Wilson, an evolutionary theorist at Binghamton University, said, the only social elixir of comparable strength is religion, another impulse that spans cultures and time.

A slender, soft-spoken woman with a bouncy gray pageboy, a grandchild and an eclectic background, Ms. Dissanayake was trained as a classical pianist but became immersed in biology and anthropology when she and her husband moved to Sri Lanka to study elephants. She does not have a doctorate, but she has published widely, and her books —the most recent one being “Art and Intimacy: How the Arts Began” — are considered classics among Darwinian theorists and art historians alike.

Perhaps the most radical element of Ms. Dissanayake’s evolutionary framework is her idea about how art got its start. She suggests that many of the basic phonemes of art, the stylistic conventions and tonal patterns, the mental clay, staples and pauses with which even the loftiest creative works are constructed, can be traced back to the most primal of collusions — the intimate interplay between mother and child.

After studying hundreds of hours of interactions between infants and mothers from many different cultures, Ms. Dissanayake and her collaborators have identified universal operations that characterize the mother-infant bond. They are visual, gestural and vocal cues that arise spontaneously and unconsciously between mothers and infants, but that nevertheless abide by a formalized code: the calls and responses, the swooping bell tones of motherese, the widening of the eyes, the exaggerated smile, the repetitions and variations, the laughter of the baby met by the mother’s emphatic refrain. The rules of engagement have a pace and a set of expected responses, and should the rules be violated, the pitch prove too jarring, the delays between coos and head waggles too long or too short, mother or baby may grow fretful or bored.

To Ms. Dissanayake, the tightly choreographed rituals that bond mother and child look a lot like the techniques and constructs at the heart of much of our art. “These operations of ritualization, these affiliative signals between mother and infant, are aesthetic operations, too,” she said in an interview. “And aesthetic operations are what artists do. Knowingly or not, when you are choreographing a dance or composing a piece of music, you are formalizing, exaggerating, repeating, manipulating expectation and dynamically varying your theme.” You are using the tools that mothers everywhere have used for hundreds of thousands of generations.

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Acceptance -



This morning Jane and I spoke of her mother who visited for Thanksgiving.  Her mother told her she had an epiphany when she was standing outside one day unsure of what to do: library, coffee, home.  A young woman came up to her and asked if she needed help, and she thought about it and answered that yes, she would appreciate help to her car.  She realized then she was old.

I sit sometimes with what the gift of nine months of treatment for cancer taught me.  One gift was learning to receive, learning that I couldn't do things alone, not that I had been, but I had to acknowledge dependence, how intertwined we all are.  I was confronted with mortality.  It is not there for me every moment of every day. I would like to cultivate more awareness of it, and it is there for me in a way it wasn't before.  I am grateful for that, for knowing the gift of the tides, and that one day there will be one high enough to slip me on out, like a clam loosened from its shell.

For today, I am here,and reverently so.  I love life and birds and me and you.


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Mourning poem -


Tribute

 

 

It is less than three weeks,

and 20,000 birds may have died

in the oil disaster in San Francisco bay.

 

20,000 birds.

 

40,000 wings.

 

So many feathers used to fluff the wind,

Gone.

 

It is not over.

 

Birds are still being found and as they preen, they ingest more oil.

The oil could be a problem for ten to twenty years.

 

Birds are not just decorative, scenery for sea and sky.

These ducks and seabirds –

surf scoters, Western grebes, common murres,

Clark’s grebes, Brandt’s cormorants, greater scaups

and eared grebes,

are varied as we.

Some are local, some come for the winter,

and others are tourists pausing and making a deposit

as they journey on through.  

 

What rumbles through bird lore now?

What tales are told, and to whom?

 

This spill of manmade fuel oil

is not as easily broken up as crude.

It sticks in globules, goes in and out with the tides,

resists microorganisms, is as arrogant as those

who dismiss that we live

in circles, not hierarchies.

We need to honor how each bird

lifts more than our eyes with its wings.

 

Some days the bay sparkles, and other days

it is still, and stagnant as though silenced,

knowing that licking its wounds, may kill.

 

We are meek now, humbled, bowed,

our attempts to travel easily as birds,

thickly

skewed.


I walk and a pelican circles overhead,

forgives.



 

 

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Silence -



I am reading Patrick Leigh Fermor's short book, A Time to Keep Silence.   Refreshment and transcendence may lie there. 



    To every thing there is a season and a
    time to every purpose under heaven ....

       .... a time to keep silence and a time to speak.


                   Ecclesiastes: III, 1 & 7





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Complexity -



I receive this question from the Two Cents pool.   My first "hit" is that race or ethnicity should not matter, but when I read the details about the artist, it does seem that in this case, a better choice could be made, and that an African-American artist would make sense and be a part of the statement and honoring.

"Does the race or ethnicity of an artist matter in a tribute honoring a historical figure?"

It's for this story:

The California NAACP is the first state to join a growing protest over the selection of a Chinese artist to sculpt the tribute to Martin Luther King Jr. planned for the National Mall. The monument, expected to be finished for the 40th anniversary of King’s 1968 assassination, would be the first on the Mall honoring an African American. The selection of Lei Yixin to carve the stone statue has angered many who say an African-American artist should have been chosen. The California NAACP unanimously passed a resolution condemning the choice to “outsource the production of the monument to Dr. King to the People’s Republic of China, the country with the worst record of human rights violations and civil rights abuses in the world" and artist Yixin, who is “renowned for his many sculptures and busts glorifying Mao Zedong, murderer of 70 million innocent Chinese, which is indirect opposition to Dr. King’s philosophy.”