flipsiding
returning to the tibet exhbit "from the roof of the world" last night, sarah and i toured the third and final gallery: "sacred works". in this room is a great concentration of thangkas and statuary of explictly devotional nature, some as old as the 13th century, and at least one a gift to a high lama from no less than Kublai Khan. i hope you all know who Kublai Khan is, although he is only idenified as a "Yuan Emperor of China" by the thingie that has all the info about what you are not seing but probably just were and then gave up or got curious so went a few eye feet to the side to read the plaque about the artwork [would be very grateful if someone knows an actual word for this thingie], but then the Asian has clear and close ties to the Chinese & Chinese American community (kind of a default in SF), and sometimes the Mongols just don't represent.
We are only 1 degree of seperation from writing about Coleridge here, folks. Or, from that, talking about the best paper I wrote in English Lit in college, which my prof didn't appreciate much (because it pulled a trick on him that he fell for all too clearly - admittedly a presumptious thing to do- but les here it for pre-presumpting profs).
So, for the paper, I was reading Coleridge's work and being a college druggie myself was wondering what it meant that Colerdige was "addicted" to opium/laudanum. My theory was that there was a predisposition I could find in his early work, before he tried opium - my hunch was that the poems would often show the trademarks of an opium high, even though he had not taken it yet, and that his old pal Wordsworth's poetry, would not. In short order I found some work by both that bore this out.
I don' know what I think of this now, but next I wrote up a standard "you can see the infl. of opium on coleridge's poetic vision..." paper using this early work. Without hinting there was any discrepency. All along the paper I remember frustrated, nagging red marks about "yes, but he hadnt tried it yet..." etc. My prof evidently knew his Coleridge drug history well. And then, in a flourish, I announce halfway through the "but..."and moved into a critique of theories of addiction (specifically the "dark power" of drugs the authorities tend to propogate, the old "demons" in new, appropriately materialist, chemical forms for the age of Christian science (not the faith). If a drug only addicts those who already desire/move in specific orbits, then its dark, seductive power is far reduced. The red marks stopped, but I think I got a very dry comment at the end about not being amused and a B+. Thus began and ended my career as a stage magician of English Lit. If he had a sense of humor, I might be the next Tom Robbins by now.
On seeing this room, with its radiant and unwordable and very impressive/powerful Kalachakra and Mahakaya thangkas, its gold statues of Tara, I had none of the same pessimism and sense of gloom I had last time. Maybe it was becuase the swooning rich women and the natty and chatty rich men weren't there, talking over and summing up and ignoring/voiding it all (curse my weakness for even letting them IN my mind!). But also, the spiritual dimension of the work, or else my familiarity w/ (rudely) Tibetan Buddhist practice/beliefs, or w/ the thangkha as a form... I dont know. I felt closer, engaged, and able to marvel at how much complexity and life each piece held. I witnessed a foreign language here, a whole other mode of wording, and I knew a few phrases, and could move around in it, begin to appreciate, orientate...
They worked. They just worked as teachings to me, even behind glass, on walls, with the full power of an institution (or twelve) behind them. While Tibetan daily life felt horribly, irretrievably diminished in the first galleries, the spiritual heart of the Tibetan teachings came shining through unblemished, and i got just a base glimmer of it.
Not to idolize Tibet. Thibet. A feudal system, with its static hierarchies, its own unquestioneds... but what the hey... some amazing teachings, some profound artwork, some bold use of color (cutting is the word- those reds and blues slice right through me.). IF you are feeling particularly high or low on yourself, I suggest staring into the eyes of a wrathful deity for 5 or 10 minutes. should sober you right up.
(and a painted or sewn depiction of such a deity will do in a pinch...)
We are only 1 degree of seperation from writing about Coleridge here, folks. Or, from that, talking about the best paper I wrote in English Lit in college, which my prof didn't appreciate much (because it pulled a trick on him that he fell for all too clearly - admittedly a presumptious thing to do- but les here it for pre-presumpting profs).
So, for the paper, I was reading Coleridge's work and being a college druggie myself was wondering what it meant that Colerdige was "addicted" to opium/laudanum. My theory was that there was a predisposition I could find in his early work, before he tried opium - my hunch was that the poems would often show the trademarks of an opium high, even though he had not taken it yet, and that his old pal Wordsworth's poetry, would not. In short order I found some work by both that bore this out.
I don' know what I think of this now, but next I wrote up a standard "you can see the infl. of opium on coleridge's poetic vision..." paper using this early work. Without hinting there was any discrepency. All along the paper I remember frustrated, nagging red marks about "yes, but he hadnt tried it yet..." etc. My prof evidently knew his Coleridge drug history well. And then, in a flourish, I announce halfway through the "but..."and moved into a critique of theories of addiction (specifically the "dark power" of drugs the authorities tend to propogate, the old "demons" in new, appropriately materialist, chemical forms for the age of Christian science (not the faith). If a drug only addicts those who already desire/move in specific orbits, then its dark, seductive power is far reduced. The red marks stopped, but I think I got a very dry comment at the end about not being amused and a B+. Thus began and ended my career as a stage magician of English Lit. If he had a sense of humor, I might be the next Tom Robbins by now.
On seeing this room, with its radiant and unwordable and very impressive/powerful Kalachakra and Mahakaya thangkas, its gold statues of Tara, I had none of the same pessimism and sense of gloom I had last time. Maybe it was becuase the swooning rich women and the natty and chatty rich men weren't there, talking over and summing up and ignoring/voiding it all (curse my weakness for even letting them IN my mind!). But also, the spiritual dimension of the work, or else my familiarity w/ (rudely) Tibetan Buddhist practice/beliefs, or w/ the thangkha as a form... I dont know. I felt closer, engaged, and able to marvel at how much complexity and life each piece held. I witnessed a foreign language here, a whole other mode of wording, and I knew a few phrases, and could move around in it, begin to appreciate, orientate...
They worked. They just worked as teachings to me, even behind glass, on walls, with the full power of an institution (or twelve) behind them. While Tibetan daily life felt horribly, irretrievably diminished in the first galleries, the spiritual heart of the Tibetan teachings came shining through unblemished, and i got just a base glimmer of it.
Not to idolize Tibet. Thibet. A feudal system, with its static hierarchies, its own unquestioneds... but what the hey... some amazing teachings, some profound artwork, some bold use of color (cutting is the word- those reds and blues slice right through me.). IF you are feeling particularly high or low on yourself, I suggest staring into the eyes of a wrathful deity for 5 or 10 minutes. should sober you right up.
(and a painted or sewn depiction of such a deity will do in a pinch...)
posted by Kyle at 5:03 PM
1 Comments:
Someone (Ann Marlowe, she wrote a very smart book about her three years using heroin) talks about Thomas De Quincey, who wrote Diary of an English Opium Eater, or some such thing. Sounds weird and cool, ever read it?
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