Banksy

Banksy: Girl with Balloon (London, 2002) 

 

(Note the chalked message on the wall; if that doesn't make you want to 

vomit, pop the balloon and shoot the artist, I don't know what would.)

 

 

I. 

 

There's a rather poignant moment in his interview with the Sex Pistols when Bill Grundy mourns the passing of Beethoven, Mozart, Bach and Brahms. Classical composers mocked by Rotten as wonderful people whom, as Steve Jones reminds us, are long since dead [1]. 

 

It's as if Grundy realises that his time too is over and that the world he knows and loves - in which the majority shared his values and musical preferences - is coming to an end. 

 

Strangely, I felt something similar when I recently discovered that Britain's favourite artwork (according to a poll of 2,000 people conducted in 2017) is Girl with Balloon (2002) by Banksy ... 

 

Turner, Constable, Blake and Bacon have all died and no longer turn anybody on it seems, apart from a few old farts, myself included, and it's just our tough shit if tastes have changed and people now want banal (because immediately accessible) images and naive political clichés - which, let's be honest, is mostly what Banksy trades in - instead of complex, challenging works.

 

 

II. 

 

Now, just to be clear, I've nothing against a former public school boy making millions from the art world with his (sometimes amusing) stencilled designs whilst posing as part cultural prankster, part urban guerilla. And if people want to regard him as a folk hero and put his prints on their walls, that's fine by me. 

 

But, having said that, I do tend to agree with Alexander Adams, who argues that when one compares Banksy with, for example, Jean-Michel Basquiat - "another artist who started in the streets and moved to art galleries" - we soon discover the former's limitations: 

 

"Basquiat's art is alive because we see the artist changing his mind, discovering, adapting and revising. We see the art as it is being made. While Basquiat's art is palpably alive, Banksy's is dead - it is simply the transcription of a witty pre-designed image in a novel placement. There is no ambiguity or doubt, no possibility of misinterpretation. There's no fire and no excitement." [2]

 

Ultimately, concludes Adams - himself an artist, as well as a critic and poet - "Basquiat's art is so much richer and more inventive than Banksy's, which by contrast seems painfully limited and shallow" [3].

 

I'm not sure I agree, however, that a century from now people will still be viewing Basquiat and will have forgotten Banksy. And, as regular readers of Torpedo the Ark might appreciate, I have a lot of problems with several of the terms used here:   

 

"Banksy lacks most of the characteristics of a serious artist: originality, complexity, universality, ambiguity, depth and insight into human nature and the world generally." [4]

 

Indeed, reading this almost makes me want to embrace Banksy and tell Adams to keep his opinions to himself. 

 

One also wonders if Adams isn't just a tad jealous of an artist who, like Damien Hirst, has achieved such astonishing fame and fortune (speaking personally, I know that I would love to wield even a fraction of Banksy's influence over the popular imagination and envy both his talent for graphic design and flair for self-promotion).   

 

But, then, just when I'm starting to feel a certain fondness and admiration for Banksy, I think again of the above image and its message of hope and realise that Adams is right to ultimately brand him nothing but a "cosy culture warrior and peddler of pedestrian homilies" [5].     

 

Notes

 

[1] Bill Grundy's infamous interview with the Sex Pistols on the Today programme took place on 1 December, 1976: click here to relive the moment on YouTube - one which is as significant and as memorable for those of the punk generation as the Kennedy assassination was for those who witnessed events in Dallas on 22 November, 1963.

 

[2] Alexander Adams, 'Banksy and the triumph of banality', essay in The Critic (Jan 2020): click here to read online. Adams is quoting here from an earlier article of his which appeared on the Spiked website comparing Banksy and Basquiat.   

 

[3-5] Ibid. 

 

 

Gelassenheit: Notes on Heidegger and the Money Calm Bull

 This is the Money Calm Bull

 

 

I. 

 

One of the ads on TV that I find intriguing (and, indeed, faintly amusing) is by an online price comparison business specialising in financial services, featuring a bull who, apparently, is calmer than a banana [1]. 

 

"Why? Because with countless ways to save, from car insurance to energy, his bills are under control with MoneySuperMarket." [2]

 

He is thus able to handle whatever life throws at him - including stress-inducing situations ranging from the socially awkward to the life-threatening. Even when an asteroid threatens to smash into the Earth, the Money Calm Bull keeps his cool.      

 

Indeed, he's more than just stoical in the face of danger, he's positively serene; one might even argue that the Money Calm Bull displays an instinctive understanding of an important concept belonging both to Christian mysticism and Heideggerian philosophy: Gelassenheit ...

 

 

II. 

 

Within the Anabaptist tradition, Gelassenheit not only means composure or serenity, but implies submission to God's will and an acceptance of the world as is - the latter being an idea that Nietzsche develops in his teaching of the eternal recurrence, demanding an affirmation and not merely an acceptance of mortal existence, with every pain as well as every joy repeated ad infinitum.

 

For Heidegger, on the other hand, who developed the concept of Gelassenheit in his later thought as a fundamental attunement to being, the key aspect is releasement - a letting go of self and a letting be of others, or, more precisely, of things, in all their mystery and uncertainty. 

 

Heidegger may have rejected humanism, but Gelassenheit provides a powerful ethical component to his work (what we might term after Hölderlin its saving grace) - one that frees us from having to will and worry all the time and allows us to become a bit more like the Money Calm Bull. 

 

Of course, it's crucial to keep in mind that Heidegger is not arguing for a mere reversal within what he terms the domain of the will (i.e., the realm within which modern humanity has historically determined its essence):

 

"Rather, Heidegger's thought calls for a twisting free of this entire domain of the will and a leap into a region of non-willing letting-be that is otherwise than both will-ful activity and will-less passivity." [3] 

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] The first ad in the series, created by those clever people at the Engine Group, began airing in June 2020. It was directed by Nick Ball (Blink Productions), has a voice over provided by the actor and comedian Matt Berry, and utilises Mozart's famous Piano Concerto No. 21 (1785) for the score. Click here to watch on Vimeo.       

 

[2] I'm quoting from a MoneySuperMarket web page featuring the Money Calm Bull: click here. 

[3] Bret W. Davis, 'Will and Gelassenheit', Ch. 12 of Martin Heidegger: Key Concepts, ed. Bret W. Davis, (Routledge, 2014), pp. 168-182. 

 

Four Fascinating Things About the Amish

Photo by Debra Heaphy (2012)

 

The Old Order Amish [1] are a strange people; Christian traditionalists of Swiss-German origin, they are closely related to the Mennonites with whom they have shared Anabaptist roots in the so-called Radical Reformation of the 16th-century. 

 

For a variety of reasons, many Amish left Europe in the early 1700s for the New World and ended up in Pennsylvania, where they were free to practice their religion and breed (six or seven children still being the norm even now when infant mortality rates have significantly decreased).  

 

They are probably best known for their asceticism and resistance to the modern world and its technological innovations - including what Catweazle called elec-trickery - which they regard as disruptive of a humble lifestyle [2]. 

 

Anyway, here are four things (in no particular order) about the Amish which I find particularly intriguing ...

 

 

1. Amish Children Play With Faceless Dolls

 

Many children - even in non-Amish communities - play with rag dolls. But only Amish children get to play with faceless rag dolls ... 

 

Indeed, one suspects that a lot of non-Amish children (and parents) would find a faceless doll a little creepy; an unworldly inhabitant of the Uncanny Valley. But as someone who hates identity, loves anonymity, and has written extensively on the politics of (losing) the face and becoming-imperceptible [click here and here, for example], I'm fascinated by these soft-bodied objects of American folk art. 

 

Ironically, however, whereas for the Amish these dolls comply with the biblical injunction against graven images and symbolise that God makes no distinction between human beings - we are all his children and all equal in his eyes - for a Deleuzian, such as myself, there could be nothing more anti-Christian than a faceless figure ...  

 

Also ironic is the fact that these simple rag dolls have become highly collectable and authentic antique figures can sell for over a $1000. Naturally, this has led to the manufacture of fake dolls intended to deceive the unwary. 

 

It might also be noted that as commercial tourism has increased over the years, some Amish communities have made faceless dolls for sale in souvenir shops - a development that both surprises and disappoints. For whilst I accept that even the Amish have to make a buck, this commodification of their own culture (and childhood) seems a bit questionable ...      

 

 

2: The Amish Don't Care About Having Good Teeth and a Nice Smile

 

Although some Amish families opt for modern dental care and practice good oral hygiene, many still prefer the old way - i.e., to yank teeth out at the earliest opportunity and make do with dentures. 

 

Not only is extraction the cheaper option - and the Amish reject medical insurance as they do all other forms of financial cover - but some regard it as the option more in keeping with their values (they fear that caring for their teeth will quickly lead to other forms of personal vanity).  

 

Being British, I suppose I'm in no position to knock others for bad teeth - and besides, it's quite a punk thing to not care about having rotten gnashers; how d'you think Johnny got his name?    

 

 

3: The Amish Hate Buttons (Koumpounophobia)

 

The Amish are famous for their plain and simple (some might say minimalist) style of dress: men wear solid coloured shirts, broad-rimmed hats, and plain suits; women wear calf-length dresses in muted colours, along with bonnets and aprons. 

 

The aim is to fit in and look like everyone else; not to express individuality or draw attention to the body. For to take pride in one's appearance is regarded as sinful by the Amish and one of the things that there is fierce disagreement over within their world is the question of fastenings. 

 

Those within the more orthodox Old Order disdain the use of buttons, which are seen as far too flashy and veering dangerously away from the functional towards the ornamental. Instead, they advocate the use of hook and eye fastenings to secure their clothing (or, if needs must, metal snaps). Only the more progressive Mennonites have fancy buttons on their garments ...    

 

The irony here is that whilst they say they don't care about appearance or fashion, the Amish obviously care about even the smallest detail of their dress in a manner which is almost fetishistic. In trying so hard to make themselves look inconspicuous, they succeed only in making themselves more noticeable. 

 

 

4: Teenage Rampage: The Amish Have a Word For It ...

One might assume that Amish parents would be particularly strict with their adolescent offspring. And, by the standards of the English (i.e. the outside world), they are. 

 

But, having said that, they do cut teenagers some slack, allowing behaviour which would almost certainly result in the shunning of an adult. They even have a term for this period of tolerated nonconformity: Rumspringa - a Pennsylvanian German term that means running around, or jumping about, though it should be noted that not all Amish youth choose to rebel against established norms and customs. 

 

Rumspringa is also the time for romance and finding a potential spouse. Boys get to ride around in a small courting-buggy and girls get to paint their yard-gate blue, indicating that they are of marriageable age and affable.      

 

At the end of this de facto rite of passage - and it must be stressed that adolescents are not formally given permission to go wild and still remain under the authority of their parents - a youth must decide whether they wish to be baptised into the Amish church or leave the community; something which would be a major decision to make at any age, let alone sixteen [3].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The term Amish was originally used as an insult or term of disgrace [Schandename] for followers of Jakob Amman who, unhappy with the way things were going within his local church of Anabaptists, decided to break away in 1693. 

      Then, in the latter part of the 19th-century the Amish divided into a hardcore Old Order and a more progressive new group known as the Amish Mennonites. The latter were less concerned about retaining traditional culture at all costs and had no objection to members adapting to the modern world. When most people think of the Amish, they are usually thinking - as I am here - of the Old Order.      

 

[2] Demut (humility) is a key concept for the Amish; one which is founded upon a rejection of Hochmut (self-regard or arrogance). 

      Another important idea is that of Gelassenheit, which we might translate into English as calmness or serenity, but which within the Anabaptist tradition of Christian mysticism also implies a passive submission to the will of God and an acceptance of the way things are; a letting-be, if you want it in more Heideggerian terms (and, of course, Heidegger borrowed this concept of Gelassenheit and absorbed it into his own later thinking). 

      For the Amish, Gelassenheit also entails a yielding of the present to the traditions of the past; their way of life is the antithesis of the modern world's aggressive individualism and obsession with newness and progress. In this way, the Amish are profoundly un-American.      

 

[3] The vast majority - between 85 and 90% - of Amish teenagers do in fact choose to be baptised and remain within their community, so clearly the parents are doing something right and the lifestyle offered has a strong appeal for those reared within it. For those interested in knowing more about this topic, see Tom Shachtman's Rumspringa: To Be or Not to Be Amish, (North Point Press, 2006) and/or Richard A. Stevick's book, Growing up Amish: The Teenage Years, (John Hopkins University Press, 2007). See also the documentary dir. Lucy Walker entitled The Devil's Playground (2002): click here to watch an early-stage fundraising reel (there was no official trailer made for the film).

 

Bonus: an amusing clip from episode 3 of Kevin Eldon's BBC Two sketch show - It's Kevin - featuring the Amish Sex Pistols making a mug of an Amish Bill Grundy: click here. The episode aired on 31 March 2013. To watch the sketch alongside the original interview with Johnny Rotten and friends from December 1976: click here.     

 

 

On Useful Idiots

 

I. 

 

Perhaps seduced by its cynical charm, I've always had a thing for the political term and concept of a useful idiot ...

 

That is to say, an individual - usually a well-intentioned idealist of some description - who promotes a cause without fully understanding what's in play or what's at stake and who can be easily manipulated by those who do. 

 

I believe the idea originated early on during the Cold War to describe those left-leaning liberals and communist sympathisers in the West regarded as particularly susceptible to Soviet propaganda. Although some like to give Lenin credit for coining the term, this attribution is unsubstantiated and it seems to have first been used in a New York Times article in June 1948. 

 

Prior to this, however, some were already speaking (in rather less brutal terms) of useful innocents to refer to those confused and misguided souls whose tears of compassion for the suffering of others prevented them from seeing clearly when it came to the reality of life under communist rule. 

 

Those like the British Labour MP Diane Abbot, to give a relatively recent example, who, in 2008, was still putting the case for Maoism and said of the Chinese dictator that, on balance, he did more good than harm, blithely ignoring the fact that he was responsible for tens of millions of deaths [1]. 

 

 

II. 

 

Unfortunately, Abbott is by no means alone in being a useful idiot. Contemporary politics is full of 'em, on all sides, and not necessarily just doing the work of the far left. For many of the most useful of idiots today belong to (supposedly) radical environmental groups, such as Extinction Rebellion, and are unintentionally serving corporate interests and those promoting a Great Reset and/or a new industrial revolution. 

 

To be fair, however, thanks to social media and the way that the world now operates, perhaps we are all in some sense being made fools of; thus it is that one commentator proposes "a new, analogous term more appropriate for the age in which we live: useful hypocrites" [2]. 

 

Again, whilst that sounds a bit harsh, one suspects nevertheless that it's pretty much how the masters of the digital universe do in fact view us (and they have the data concerning our behaviour to back it up).

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm not making this up: appearing alongside Michael Portillo on This Week (a politics and current affairs show hosted by Andrew Neil on BBC One), Abbott - who would stand for the leadership of the Labour Party in 2010 and eventually serve as Shadow Home Secretary under Jeremy Corbyn (2016-2020) - really did attempt to put the case for Mao: click here. 

      Twelve years later, in November 2020, Abbott was forced to apologise for appearing on a livestream with Li Jingjing, a journalist working for the state owned CGTN, who denied human rights abuses against the Uyghurs, suggesting they were a fiction invented by China's enemies in order to to try and provoke a race war. At no point did Abbott challenge these remarks.   

 

[2] John Naughton, 'Why the internet has turned us into hypocrites', The Guardian (16 Nov 2014): click here to read online. 

 

 

Apple Maggots

Apple with maggot linocut by linocutboy

on tumblr.com

 

 

I. 

 

In a short piece of fragmentary writing, D. H. Lawrence laughably declares himself to be a good Catholic at heart; one who believes in an all-overshadowing God, recognises the divinity of Jesus, and accepts the authority of the Church, including "the power of the priest to grant absolution" [1].

 

On the religious fundamentals, says Lawrence, there is no real battle between himself and Christianity and no major breach between himself and the Church of Rome. 

 

Only, of course, there is: for whilst acknowledging the divinity of Christ, Lawrence also insists that Jesus is not, however, the only Son of God; that there are in fact many saviours and to teach otherwise is disastrous and hateful. 

 

Now, I'm no theologian, but I'm pretty sure that the idea of Christ as the one and only true path to God is crucial to Christianity's brand identity and its exclusivity. And that to deny this is heresy, is it not? Lawrence would immediately - and rightly by the terms and conditions of membership - be excommunicated from the faith were he in fact a Catholic (which he wasn't).                

 

 

II. 

 

Ultimately, queer and quirky individuals such as Lawrence require their independence above all else; they are isolated outsiders who instinctively shun all attachments, reject all dogma, and question all authority - even their own: Never trust the artist. Trust the tale [2].

 

Nietzsche calls such individuals free spirits and rightly points out how they are highly unsuitable as members of any kind of political party or faith-based organisation [3]. For just as they eat their way in to the body of such, so too do they quickly (and destructively) consume their way through it and out the other side. They can't help it. It's their nature - they're like apple maggots. 

 

Now, without claiming to be a free spirit in the mould of Nietzsche and Lawrence, I've often wondered why it is that I could never quite fit in or join in with others; could never belong to a group or society or movement, with the exception of punk, which, of course, was always a loose association of odd-bods and weirdos who came together on the basis of hating everyone else even more than they despised one another and which had no rules and only one imperative - do it yourself: Don't be told what you want / Don't be told what you need [4].    

 

Notes

[1] D. H. Lawrence, 'There is no real battle ...', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert, (Cambridge University Press, 1988), Appendix I: Fragmentary writings, p. 385. 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, Studies in Classic American Literature, ed. Ezra Greenspan, Lindeth Vasey and John Worthen, (Cambridge University Press, 2003), Final Version (1923), 'The Spirit of Place', p. 14.  

[3] See Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, trans. R. J. Hollingdale, (Cambridge University Press, 1993), Vol. I., Pt. 9. §579.  

[4] Sex Pistols, 'God Save the Queen', (Virgin Records, 1977). 

 

 

This post is dedicated to the the free-spirited feminist Afiya S. Zia.

Blessed are the Greens ...

Members of Extinction Rebellion's Red Brigade who have 

come to save the world with mime and religious rhetoric.

Photo by Sibylla Bam Bam

 

 

I. 

 

In an email responding to a recent post on Heide Hatry's Schneebären, an angry reader writes:    

 

"I was deeply offended (though hardly surprised) by your blasé attitude towards the global Climate Emergency; a phrase you italicise presumably to express your scepticism, if not, indeed, to indicate you are an out-and-out denier of the unfolding environmental crisis.   

      Why must you treat this serious moral and political issue with the same studied irony and indifference that you seem to treat everything you write about? What is wrong with you? I can only hope and pray that you one day wake up and become part of the solution, not the problem."

 

I would like, if I may, to make a statement of reply here ...     

 

 

II. 

 

As someone with a philosophical disposition, I am naturally inclined towards scepticism; particularly when confronted with dogma, doxa, or a mixture of both - and, unfortunately, there are many people involved with the green movement who believe the things they believe to be incontrovertibly true as scientific fact, accepted opinion, or an item of faith.      

 

I don't deny the issues that concern my correspondent and others like her - in fact, if she goes back to the post which prompted her to write, she'll see that I express my own disquiet about environmental matters (including habitat destruction and the threat to wildlife) - but I do challenge the language used when, as so often, it takes on a religious tone and offers a moral interpretation of events. 

 

I can just about stomach those green activists who think of themselves as eco-warriors - and believe me I hate the language of militancy too - but when they start to also imagine themselves as crusaders and eco-evangelists on a mission to save the planet, then I'm afraid I resort to studied irony as a kind of defence mechanism or antiemetic, because, as Jello Biafra once put it, all religions make me sick [1].         

 

III.

 

Whilst it's obviously not the case that all eco-types are either seeking out a new faith or looking to supplement (and green) an old one, it's pretty clear that some are. That's why I think the author and filmmaker Michael Crichton wasn't too far off the mark to suggest that environmentalism has become the religion of choice for many in today's world.

 

In a 2003 speech, Crichton conveniently outlined some of the ways in which environmentalism has reinterpreted the Judeo-Christian belief system:

 

"There's an initial Eden, a paradise, a state of grace and unity with nature, there's a fall from grace into a state of pollution as a result of eating from the tree of knowledge, and as a result of our actions there is a judgment day coming for us all. We are all energy sinners, doomed to die, unless we seek salvation, which is now called sustainability. Sustainability is salvation in the church of the environment. Just as organic food is its communion, that pesticide-free wafer that the right people with the right beliefs, imbibe. 

      

Eden, the fall of man, the loss of grace, the coming doomsday ... these are deeply held mythic structures. They are profoundly conservative beliefs. They may even be hard-wired in the brain, for all I know. I certainly don't want to talk anybody out of them, as I don't want to talk anybody out of a belief that Jesus Christ is the son of God who rose from the dead. But the reason I don't want to talk anybody out of these beliefs is that I know that I can't talk anybody out of them. These are not facts that can be argued. These are issues of faith. 

      

And so it is, sadly, with environmentalism. Increasingly it seems facts aren't necessary, because the tenets of environmentalism are all about belief. It's about whether you are going to be a sinner, or saved. Whether you are going to be one of the people on the side of salvation, or on the side of doom. Whether you are going to be one of us, or one of them." [2]

 

To paraphrase Nietzsche: Environmentalism is the heir of Christian moral culture. In other words, it's a new form of ascetic idealism. And, for Nietzscheans at least, that's a problem. As it is for Crichton. As it is for me. Like the latter, I wish to demoralise environmentalism and abandon the mythic (and apocalyptic) fantasies that it likes to peddle - particularly when these are tied to utopian political narratives that always seem to end in tears (and bloodshed).    

 

  

Notes

 

[1] I'm referring to the classic Dead Kennedys song 'Religious Vomit', written by 6025 Cadona, on the 8-track EP In God We Trust, Inc., (Alternative Tentacles, 1981): click here. 

 

[2] Michael Crichton, 'Remarks to the Commonweath Club', San Francisco, (15 Sep 2003): click here to read the full transcript online. The paper is often referred to by the title 'Environmentalism is a Religion'. 

      Interestingly, Crichton fictionalised his arguments on this subject in his novel State of Fear (HarperCollins, 2004). Despite being a work of fiction, the book contains graphs, footnotes, an afterword explicitly setting out his views on global warming, an appendix in which he warns against the politicisation of science, and an extensive bibliography. It should also be noted, however, that many climate scientists, journalists, and green activists have gone on record to say that Crichton's work is an error-strewn and wilfully distorted interpretation of the facts.   

 

See also: Joel Garreau's essay 'Environmentalism as Religion', in The New Atlantis, No. 28, (Summer 2010), pp. 61-74. Garreau usefully traces the move from theology to ecotheology, touching on both neo-paganism and the greening of Christianity. Garreau also comes up with the amusing coinage carbon Calvinism. Click here to read online. 

Element 6

 

 

The chemical element carbon seems to have a bad press these days; people dream of becoming carbon neutral and achieving net zero carbon emissions; they wish to transition to a post-carbon economy and, in the meantime, worry about the size of their carbon footprint (a term popularised by a $250 million ad campaign by BP in an attempt to convince individuals that they too were responsible for greenhouse gases and that it was unfair simply to point the finger of blame at the fossil fuel industry).*

But carbon, despite what eco-evangelists may believe - and unlike suphur, obviously - really isn't diabolical in nature (it is produced within stars, not the burning pits of Hell). 

 

In fact, thanks to its universal abundance, unique diversity of organic compounds, and a rare ability to form polymers in the terrestrial temperature range, carbon is sometimes referred to as the king of elements and serves as a basis for all known life. 

 

The human body, for example, is composed of about 18% carbon and green plants (which are 45% carbon) can't get enough of the stuff, using it as they do to photosynthesise vital organic compounds. 

 

Thus, I don't imagine our vegetal friends are too unhappy that - thanks to human activity - there's now more carbon dioxide in the atmosphere than there used to be (and before anyone starts wetting their pants about global warming, it's worth remembering that if it wasn't for CO2 and other GHG trapping the sun's heat so that it doesn't escape back into space, the oceans would be frozen solid).

 

Of course, no one's saying that the warmer it is, the better it is; I'm not denying a significant rise in global temperature could be problematic (even for plants - who can only suck up and store so much extra carbon dioxide). I'm simply pointing out to those who mistakenly think of carbon as an evil pollutant which makes the environment dirty and impure, that this isn't the case.  

 

As always, things are complicated - and not helped by those who wish to moralise everything.  

  

* See Mark Kaufman's essay 'The Carbon Footprint Sham' on the digital media and news website Mashable: click here. 

 

 

Heide Hatry's Icons in Ice and an Inconvenient Truth About Polar Bears

Dylan: the All-Singing Snow Bear with Guitar

Heide Hatry (2021) 

For more bears go to Instagram

 

 

There's no doubting the genius of Heide Hatry's Schneebären currently residing in New York's Central Park (near the Upper West Side entrance off 86th Street - hurry before the temperatures rise and they are gone forever). 

   

And, of course, I share her concern with environmental issues and animals threatened with extinction due to habitat destruction, etc. 

 

Having said that, I don't really buy into the idea of a climate emergency or worry about carbon footprints. 

 

And it might also be pointed out that the polar bear population is significantly larger than it was fifty years ago - thanks to a ban on hunting - even if melting Arctic sea ice might very well prove problematic to their welfare (and survival) at some point in the future; scientists project polar bear numbers will have fallen 30% by 2050. 

 

Presently, however, there are an estimated 25,000 of these magnificent creatures walking around and hunting seal pups - mostly in Canada - divided into nineteen distinct sub-populations; some of which are declining, some of which are stable, and two of which are actually increasing in size. 

 

So it's not all bad news; they're certainly not all starving to death and, again, let's remember that in 1971 there were only about 5,000 polar bears left in the wild.  

 

But keep up the good work Heide - and stay warm! Your snow sculptures bring much joy into what is a deeply depressing world right now and like many others I'm deeply touched by them.     

 

 

Pan and Jesus in the Art of Dorothy Brett

Fig 1. Dorothy Brett: Portrait of D. H. Lawrence as Pan and Christ (1963)

Fig. 2. Dorothy Brett: Pan and Christ (date unknown)

 

I would like, if I may, to develop a point added as a note to a recent post discussing an essay by Catherine Brown [1] which mentions a painting by the Anglo-American artist Dorothy Brett entitled Portrait of D. H. Lawrence as Pan and Christ (fig. 1); a work which nicely illustrates Lawrence's dual nature whilst, crucially, making no attempt to reconcile his twin selves.

 

As suggested in the note, the work maintains what Deleuze and Guattari describe as a relation of non-relation. In other words, Brett's very lovely picture illustrates a disjunctive synthesis between divergent forces that somehow manage to communicate by virtue of a difference that passes between them like a spark (or what Lawrence would probably term the Holy Ghost) [2]. 

 

As I also say in the note, if only she'd been thinking with her Nietzsche head on Brett might have called the painting Pan versus the Crucified. But I'm now doubtful she would understand what is meant by this, or why such a twist on the German thinker's original formula provides as useful a key for unlocking Lawrence's philosophical project as Dionysus versus the Crucified does for Nietzsche's own [3]. 

 

For if we are to judge by another painting she produced of Pan and Christ (fig. 2) - in which there is clearly a reconciliation between them (to the extent that they are shown holding hands) - then Brett seems not to grasp the crucial fact that the two gods each have their own flowers, as Brown nicely puts it, and by which she acknowledges that Pan and Christ are antagonists forever separated by a pathos of distance.     

The fact is you can't have horns on your head and wear a crown of thorns - despite the desire of many New Age hippies to create a kind of syncretic religious mishmash. As Lawrence shows in The Escaped Cock, in order for the man who died to resurrect into pagan vitality he has to renounce his mission and his Christhood and accept that the earth doesn't need salvation, it needs tillage and that mankind is better off being watched over by an all-tolerant Pan than a judgemental Jehovah.   

 

Like Elsa in 'The Overtone', you can certainly experience both Jesus and Pan, but not at one and the same time, or in the same way; the former belongs always to the pale light and the latter to the darkness: "'And night shall never be day, and day shall never be night.'" [4]     

 

To imagine them hand-in-hand, as Brett does, is a form of nihilism in that it annihilates the nature of each. As Lawrence notes of another two forces forever divided and at odds - the lion and the unicorn - each exists only by virtue of their inter-opposition: "Remove the opposition and there is a collapse, a sudden crumbling into universal nothingness." [5] 

 

It is the fight of opposites which is holy and there is no reconciliation save in this negation which, for Lawrence, is the unforgivable sin. And Brett has either forgotten this idea, chosen to ignore it, or perhaps never really understood the huge importance it has for Lawrence ... 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The post in question - Iconography is Never Innocent - can be read by clicking here. See note 4.

[2] In a post on his blog - Larval Subjects - Levi R. Bryant uses non-technical terms to help readers understand what Deleuze and Guattari mean: "Consider the relationship between me and my cat. My cat and I share entirely different worlds even though we inhabit one and the same earth or heteroverse. There is no point where our worlds converge, yet nonetheless certain differential events flash across our distinct and divergent worlds, creating a relation in this non-relation. Somehow our worlds come to be imbricated and entangled with one another, even though they don’t converge on any sort of sameness." To read Bryant's post in full, click here.   

 

[3] See Nietzsche, 'Why I Am a Destiny', in Ecce Homo, where this line appears; or see section 1052 in Book IV of The Will to Power, where Nietzsche explains the distinction between Dionysus and the Crucified as he understands it.   

 

[4] See D. H. Lawrence, 'The Overtone', in St Mawr and Other Stories, ed. Brian Finney, (Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 3-17. The line quoted is on p. 16.

[5] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Crown', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert, (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 256. 

La Chronique Scandaleuse 2: The Case of Denise Poncher and Her Vision of Death

Denise Poncher before a Vision of Death

 Illumination from The Poncher Hours (c. 1500)

by the Master of the Chronique scandaleuse

(Tempera colours, ink and gold on parchment) [1]

 

I. 

 

As Bataille once said: Nothing is more scandalous than death ... 

 

So it's not so surprising that the anonymous artist known as le Maître de la Chronique scandaleuse should contribute a terrifying vision of death to an illuminated manuscript called The Poncher Hours that he collaborated on with several other artists in or around 1500. 

 

 

II. 

 

Born some date after 1487, Denise Poncher was a member of an elite French family; her father served as a treasurer for the crown and her uncle was the bishop of Paris. Like many young women of her class, she desired her own personalised prayer book (or book of hours); items which were very much in vogue during the late Middle Ages, particularly in the French capital which was famous throughout Europe for producing the most exquisite works.  

 

Probably commissioned as a wedding gift - there are numerous references to marriage and motherhood in the text - The Poncher Hours is written in French and Latin and contains some astonishing illuminations, beginning with a full-page vision of the Virgin enframed by a mandorla and flanked by St. Barbara and St. Catherine.   

 

But the most striking and, as I have said, most scandalous image, is the vision of death showing a fashionably dressed Mlle. Poncher kneeling, prayer book in hand, before a skeleton with bits of rotting flesh still hanging from the bones and - in full grim reaper mode - holding several scythes. 

 

Just to complete the nightmare scenario, three persons whom Death has already claimed lie on the ground nearby, "covered with bloody wounds and staring with wide, sightless eyes" [2].

 

Doubtless the picture was intended to serve as a stark reminder of human mortality and of the importance of saying one's prayers in order to ensure the soul's salvation. But, to a modern mind, it's of highly questionable taste and not the sort of thing a young woman on her wedding night should have to worry about. 

 

Unless that is, like Bataille, you happen to believe that death and sex are intimately entwined and that eroticism is a saying yes to life conceived as merely a very rare and unusal way of being dead ...

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] The Poncher Hours was acquired by the J. Paul Getty Museum in 2011: click here to visit the Getty website from which I gleaned much of the information used in the writing of this post.    

[2] Elizabeth Morrison, 'Marriage, Death, and the Power of Prayer: The Hours of Denise Poncher', in The Getty Research Journal, Vol. 6, (University of Chicago Press, 2014), pp. 143-50. Click here to access via JSTOR. Morrison is senior curator of manuscripts at the J. Paul Getty Museum.   

 

To read part one of this post - on the case of Claude Le Petit - click here.  

 

This post is for the artist Heide Hatry; a woman with her own distinctive vision de la mort.   

La Chronique Scandaleuse 1: The Case of Claude Le Petit

 

 

The French phrase chronique scandaleuse was one that captured my youthful imagination back in the Blind Cupid days and whilst plans for a little magazine with that title came to nothing, I did once incorporate it as a slogan into a hand-painted shirt design. 

 

I seem to recall that I picked up the phrase from Claude Le Petit; a debauched and free-thinking libertine poet and lawyer who, in 1661, published a satirical work entitled Le Bordel des Muses which included a collection of verse called La Chronique scandaleuse, ou Paris ridicule. The work not only maliciously mocked the rich and powerful, but blasphemed against the Virgin Mary whilst honouring a notorious sodomite (Jacques Chausson) for his strength of character. 

 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this did not go down well: Le Petit was arrested, tried, and condemned to death for gravely insulting God and the French State. He was burned at the stake, in Paris, on the 1st of September 1662, aged 23, having first had the offending hand with which he wrote the text cut off by the public executioner. 

 

Although his work had been seized from the printers and destroyed, a copy survived and his writings were republished posthumously. It was a good while, however, before they became widely available; for as a result of this affair, all works regarded as being of an obscene, immoral, and politically subversive nature were suppressed in France until well into the 19th-century.  

 

It was said by those who sat in judgement upon him that his was a fine but wasted talent - and who knows, perhaps they were right. Though what else is there to do with talent - with life - but to waste it? As Bataille says: "Our only real pleasure is to squander our resources to no purpose, just as if a wound were bleeding away inside us ..."*

 

Anyway, here's one of Le Petit's poems - Sonnet Foutatif - which anticipates not only Sade and Bataille, but Serge Gainsbourg ...

 

 

Foutre du cul, foutre du con, 

Foutre du Ciel et de la Terre, 

Foutre du diable et du tonnerre, 

Et du Louvre et de Montfaucon. 

 

Foutre du temple et du balcon, 

Foutre de la paix et de la guerre, 

Foutre du feu, foutre du verre, 

Et de l'eau et de l'Hélicon. 

 

Foutre des valets et des maistres, 

Foutre des moines et des prestres, 

Foutre du foutre et du fouteur.

 

Foutre de tout le monde ensemble, 

Foutre du livre et du lecteur, 

Foutre du sonnet, que t'en semble?

 

 

I'm not even going to try to translate the above. But readers who feel tempted to do so are welcome to give it a go ...  

* Georges Bataille, Eroticism: Death and Sensuality, trans. Mary Dalwood, (City Lights, 1986), p. 170. 

 

To read the second entry in this short history of scandal - on Denise Poncher and her vision of Death - click here.  

Iconography is Never Innocent

Dorothy Brett (1883-1977): 

Portratit of D. H. Lawrence with Halo (1925)

Oil on canvas (78 x 48 cm)

 

'The narrowed, slightly stylised eyes ... gaze with pain ... at the state of the world and at his own fate. 

His halo is formed by a moon in near-total eclipse; soon he will be left in darkness, 

save for the star that burns ...'   

 

 

I. 

 

The Edinburgh Companion to D. H. Lawrence and the Arts (2020) is a big, heavy hardback book - over 440 pages divided between 28 essays, written by 27 different authors - so pretty much impossible to read from start to finish. 

 

Thus, once having read the Introduction, one begins to cruise the text, searching out those authors and those essays most likely to give pleasure ... Authors such as Catherine Brown, for example, and her essay: 'D. H. Lawrence: Icon' [1] ...

 

 

II.

 

As the title of the essay indicates, Brown is interested in the manner in which the English poet, novelist, and painter, Mr D. H. Lawrence, has been subordinated to an image [2].   

 

This public image was partly of Lawrence's own making and partly due to the (loving) characterisations and (sometimes spiteful) caricatures produced by friends, followers, critics, and opponents [3]; some of whom portray him as a visionary Christ-like figure, some of whom depict him as a smiling Pan-like figure with devilish horns and hooves, and some of whom - like the Hon. Dorothy Brett - can't quite decide or imagine Lawrence as a combination of both; part-saint, part-satyr [4].

 

Either way, this iconisation of Lawrence as Christ or Pan is not only a bit lame, but, as Brown points out, all too bleeding obvious, as numerous Lawrentian features - not least of all the beard - "suggested contemporary understandings of each or both gods" [5] to many of his circle and, indeed, many of his most ardent (but unimaginative) readers even today. 

 

Brown spends some considerable time discussing Lawrence as Christ and Lawrence as Pan with reference to some of the more famous photographs of Lawrence and I pretty much agree with her analysis; except for her remarks on the 1915 studio portrait of Lawrence in a hat - an image used in 2017 for the 14th International D. H. Lawrence Conference [click here] - which I don't think should be read in religious terms at all. 

 

The image - certainly as featured on the Conference poster - is more punk than Pan and invites viewers to consider Lawrence as a figure within popular culture, rather than Romantic paganism or Ancient Greek mythology. I think you really have to stretch things to insist on Pan as a revolutionary (and/or déclassé) outsider, as Brown does (not once, but twice) - just as you have to subscribe to a false etymology to think that the god Pan lends his name to pantheism [6].          

 

Moving on, we come to the subject of iconoclasm ... As Brown notes: 

 

"One consequence of Lawrence's deification has been that many of the attacks on him have addressed deified versions of him. [...] Such attacks tend to fall into two categories - those which accuse him of resembling Christ or Pan, and those which accuse him of failing to resemble them, thus respectively condemning him by negative association with, and critiquing his alleged pretensions in relation to, these gods." [7]

I have to say, this seems fair enough: those who live by the image, die by the image - and Lawrence lived by the image at least as much as other modernist writers. He may have satirised the desire for literary fame and personal recognition, but, as Brown points out, he certainly contributed to his own celebrity (or notoriety) and was acutely conscious of his public persona. 

 

Thus, whilst most would struggle to remember what James Joyce or Ezra Pound looked like, there are probably still quite a few people who would recognise red-bearded D. H. Lawrence (if only as drawn by Hunt Emerson, comic book style [8]), even though his popularity and iconic status has been waning for the past forty or fifty years.      

 

 

III. 

In conclusion ... Whilst Catherine ends on a relatively upbeat note, calling for "passionate and joyful admiration" of Lawrence, rather than "misdirected deification, or irrelevant iconoclasm" [9], I think I'd like to emphasise the following: Iconography is never innocent ...

 

That is to say, it plays a complicit role in what Baudrillard terms the perfect crime and by which he refers to the extermination of singular being via technological and social processes bent on replacing real things and real people with a series of images and empty signs [10]. 

 

When this happens, we pass beyond representation (or, in the case of the dead, commemoration) towards obscenity; a state wherein everything and everyone is made visible and the image no longer reflects, masks, or perverts a basic reality, but bears no relation to any reality whatsoever (i.e., it becomes a simulacrum).

 

Whilst I don't subscribe to aniconism, I do think that all image making is ideally and idealistically reductive and that we - Lawrence scholars included - need to theorise the play and proliferation of images carefully and critically. For it's arguable that philosophical questions of representation and reality, truth and appearance, have never been as crucial as today in an age of social media and deepfake software; a world in which everyone comes to presence on a myriad screens (close-up, in high-definition, and full transparency).     

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] A pre-edited version of this essay can be read on Catherine Brown's website: click here. 

 

[2] As readers will doubtless know, the word icon, from the Ancient Greek εἰκών, simply means image or likeness. As Catherine Brown reminds us, however: "'Icon' expanded its meaning from a visual depiction (especially of a divinity) to 'A person or thing regarded as a representative symbol' or one 'considered worthy of admiration or respect' in the early 1950s (OED draft addition 2001)." See 'D. H. Lawrence: Icon', in The Edinburgh Companion to D. H. Lawrence and the Arts, ed. Catherine Brown and Susan Reid, (Edinburgh University Press, 2020),p. 428. 

 

[3] For details of how Lawrence has been seen by other artists, see the fascinating essay by Lee M. Jenkins, 'Lawrence in Biofiction', in The Edinburgh Companion to D. H. Lawrence and the Arts, pp. 385-397. 

 

[4] To be fair, Brett produced a very lovely work which reveals Lawrence's dual nature. Entitled Portrait of D. H. Lawrence as Pan and Christ, the picture (produced in 1926 and re-painted in 1963 after she destroyed the original canvas due to the mockery and unfair criticism it received), crucially doesn't try to reconcile the twin selves. Rather, it maintains what Deleuze and Guattari describe as a relation of non-relation. In other words, Brett's picture illustrates a disjunctive synthesis between divergent forces that somehow manage to communicate by virtue of a difference that passes between them like a spark (or what Lawrence would probably term the Holy Ghost). If she'd only been thinking with her Nietzsche head on Brett might have called it Pan versus the Crucified. 

      Whilst Catherine Brown doesn't use the above philosophical terminology, she clearly understands that Pan and Christ are (as she says) mutually antagonistic, despite certain similarities between them, and that "each god has his own, separate validity; each has his own flowers", although she clearly longs for a more balanced (less hostile) relationship between the two. See her essay 'D. H. Lawrence: Icon', in The Edinburgh Companion to D. H. Lawrence and the Arts, pp. 427 and 428. Brett's painting is reproduced in this book as Plate 36, on p. 302.      

 

[5] Catherine Brown, ibid., p. 427.  

[6] It's a mistaken piece of folk etymology to equate Pan's name (Πάν) with the Greek word for 'all' (πᾶν). The former is probably contracted from the earlier term Παων, which is in turn derived from a root word meaning to guard (it wil be recalled that Pan is a pastoral deity who looks over shepherds). Lawrence cheerfully exploits this false etymology; thus his talk of the Pan mystery and being "within the allness of Pan". See 'Pan in America', in Mornings in Mexico and Other Essays, ed. Virginia Crosswhite Hyde, (Cambridge University Press, 2009), p. 158. The line is quoted by Catherine Brown in 'D. H. Lawrence: Icon', The Edinburgh Companion to D. H. Lawrence and the Arts, on p. 434.   

[7] Catherine Brown, ibid.

[8] See 'D. H. Lawrence - Zombie Hunter', by Hunt Emerson and Kevin Jackson, in Dawn of the Unread (Issue #7, 2016): click here. Or see Plate 38 in The Edinburgh Companion to D. H. Lawrence and the Arts, p. 304.  

[9] Catherine Brown, op. cit., p. 439.

 

[10] See Jean Baudrillard, The Perfect Crime, trans. Chris Turner, (Verso, 1996). 

 

 

For a follow up post to this on the figures of Pan and and Christ in the art of Dorothy Brett, click here.

D. H. Lawrence: The Reluctant Fashion Beast

 D. H. Lawrence in 1915 modelling his Edwardian 

hipster look complete with velveteen jacket

 National Portrait Gallery, London 

(NPG x140423)

 

I.

 

The Edinburgh Companion to D. H. Lawrence and the Arts (2020) is a big, heavy hardback book - over 440 pages divided between 28 essays, written by 27 different authors - so pretty much impossible to read from start to finish. 

 

Thus, once having read the Introduction, one begins to cruise the text, searching out those essays and those authors most likely to give pleasure. Let's begin with Judith Ruderman's essay on the importance in Lawrence's work of clothing and jewellery (though note that I'll not be discussing the latter here) ...

 

 

II.

 

Ruderman says that Lawrence's views on fashion are complex (sometimes contradictory) and often need to be discussed in relation to his other concerns to do with art, sex, and society. That's certainly true. In fact, it could be argued that the Lawrentian call for a revaluation of all values is founded upon a revolt into style: "Start with externals, and proceed to internals" [1], as he puts it. 

 

Unfortunately, however, this statement merely reveals Lawrence's metaphysical naivety. For there are no internals to which we might proceed and outer form or appearance is not expressive of inner essence or substance; things have no concealed reality. The secret of life revealed by dandyism - conceived by Foucault as a critical ontology and philosophical ethos beyond the dualism of inside/outside - is that it has no secret.

 

Thus, what's ironic - Ruderman's word - is not that "an author infamous for having his characters shed their clothes actually paid a great deal of close attention to what they are wearing" [2], but that an author who cared so much about fashion seems not to have grasped its deconstructive  logic. 

 

Strolling along the Strand in brave feathers - which for Lawrence means wearing "tight scarlet trousers fitting the leg, gay little orange-brown jackets and bright green hats" [3] - isn't simply to defy dreary social convention and sartorial dullness, it's to declare that one is Greek in the Nietzschean sense - i.e.,  superficial out of profundity [4].

 

Another thing that Ruderman highlights is Lawrence's fascination for strikingly colourful clothing. And it's true, he did favour fabulous - some might say garish - colour combinations in his battle against the drabness of those he calls the grey ones. And whilst I'd probably feel a little uncomfortable in some of the gay outfits Lawrence proposes, they would certainly have delighted Oscar Wilde, who wrote:

 

"There would be more joy in life if we could accustom ourselves to use all the beautiful colours we can fashioning our own clothes. The dress of the future, I think, will [...] abound with joyous colour.” [5]

 

Maybe, Oscar, maybe ... Though as all fashionistas and "naturally exquisite people" [6] - from Mrs Morel to Coco Chanel - know, ultimately, there's nowhere to go but back to black, which paradoxically, is the negation of all colour whilst also the most vital of colours. Sometimes, even Lawrence comes close to admitting this, when, for example, he talks of dark gods and the invisible black sun. 

 

But, push comes to shove, when it comes to clothes, Lawrence prefers sensible blues and browns and home-knit socks. What's more, he often sneers at truly fashionable people (who frighten and repulse him), openly disparaging haute couture. As Ruderman reminds us, although like other modernist writers he was happy to have his pieces published in Vogue, "being 'smart' in the Vogue sense was anathema to him" [7] - full of what he described as the vanity of the ego.      

 

That's why, despite his fetishistic fascination with clothes - particularly stockings - I think we can characterise Lawrence as a reluctant fashion beast or closeted dandy; one who is slightly ashamed of his own love for and knowledge of clothes and who regards those who always dress to impress as affected and a bit show-offy [8]. 

 

Ruderman concludes: 

"Fashion for Lawrence is best adopted as a hallmark of transformation and revitalisation: not for the sake of impressing others, but, rather, for expressing the self at any given moment in time. [...] As a 'rare bird' among men [...] Lawrence appreciated fashion, but with caveats and contradictions. That Lawrence's attitudes towards this subject are complex and evocative only highlights how they are intricately woven into the fabric of the life and art of a very complicated man." [9]

I agree with that and would only add that Lawrence's appreciation of fashion isn't all that rare amongst male writers; indeed, some of the most insightful meditations on clothes have come from our poets, novelists, and philosophers - from Baudelaire to Roland Barthes. Even Kant, when mocked for wearing silver-buckled shoes, replied: Better to be a fool in fashion, than a fool out of fashion ...  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, 'Red Trousers', in Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton, (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 138.  

[2] Judith Ruderman, 'Clothes and Jewellery', The Edinburgh Companion to D. H. Lawrence, ed. Catherine Brown and Susan Reid, (Edinburgh University Press, 2020), p. 371.

[3] D. H. Lawrence, 'Red Trousers', Late Essays and Articles, p. 138. 

[4] See section 4 of the preface to the second edition of Nietzsche's The Gay Science. For Nietzsche, living courageously in the Greek manner requires remaining at the surface at the level of folds, adoring appearance, believing in forms, etc.

      Of course, the desire to become-Greek isn't the only logic of fashion; it is also motivated by the desire to become new (to constantly change one's look). To his great credit, Kant realised that fashion has nothing to do with aesthetic criteria (i.e. that it's not a striving after beauty); in this respect his writings on fashion are rather more modern than those of Baudelaire.

      The key point is that fashion seeks to make an object superfluous as quickly as possible. It does not seek to improve an object, which is why there is no ideal of progress within the world of fashion; a short skirt is not an advance on a long one. As Norwegian philosopher Lars Svendsen writes: "Fashion does not have any telos, any final purpose, in the sense of striving for a state of perfection [...] The aim of fashion is rather to be potentially endless, that is it creates new forms and constellations ad infinitum." See Fashion: A Philosophy, trans. John Irons, (Reaktion Books, 2006), p. 29.  

[5] Oscar Wilde, 'The House Beautiful', in the Complete Works of Oscar Wilde, (Harper Collins, 1994), p. 923. 

[6] D. H. Lawrence, Sons and Lovers, ed. Helen Baron and Carl Baron, (Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 151. Quoted by Judith Ruderman, op. cit., p. 371.

 

[7] Judith Ruderman, op. cit., 377.

 

[8] As Ruderman reminds us, in 'Education of the People' Lawrence sneers at the modern woman who follows fashion and "wants to look ultra-smart and chic beyond words", creating an effect on those around her. See D. H. Lawrence, 'Education of the People', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert, (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 152. Quoted by Ruderman, op. cit., p. 381. 

 

[9] Judith Ruderman, op. cit., pp. 381-82.