A quote from The Prayer of Love and Silence by a Carthusian.
“In order to free oneself and become detached from things, one must see them in their true perspective, value them at their true worth, and give them their proper due. One needs as much judgement to renounce the things of the world as to acquire and keep possession of them– more in fact!”
(1) Dust My Shoulders Off (YouTube)
(1a) Edward Hopper related posts from the Limestone Archives:
(1b) Edward Hopper books:
(2) A quote from 1984 by George Orwell:
“These rich men were called capitalists. They were fat, ugly men with wicked faces, like the one in the picture on the opposite page. You can see that he is dressed in a long black coat which was called a frock coat, and a queer, shiny hat shaped like a stovepipe, which was called a top hat. This was the uniform of the capitalists, and no one else was allowed to wear it.”
*Scan is from Hopper Drawing
(1) Monasteries of the Mind by Victor Davis Hanson
“In reaction to the growing globalization of the Roman Empire, elite corruption, the banality of bread-and-circuses, and the end of the agrarian Italian Republic, the Stoics opted out, choosing instead a reasoned detachment from contemporary life. Some, like the worldly court philosopher Seneca, seemed hypocritical; others, such as the later emperor Marcus Aurelius, lived a double life of imperial engagement and mental detachment.”
“I have found the still point around which the whole country revolves without knowing it.” – Thomas Merton
A quote from The Prayer of Love and Silence by a Carthusian.
“The faithful soul finds its good in everything that affects it; a principle more profound than that which governs the life of nature causes it to derive strength and development from its contact with everything. When it is not so with us, when we allow the accidents of life to upset us and turn us from our path, it is surely because our life is not sufficiently interior. We must descend into the depths of our being, remain patient and still and re-find in the solitude where God dwells that divine intelligence, that mysterious force, thanks to which we are again able to assimilate harmoniously without exception all that happens to us and around us.”
Illustration: Sarah John
(2) Text exchange with my best friend… (Flickr)
Two quotes from The Prayer of Love and Silence by a Carthusian.
“Obedience and patience, we must remember, are not ends in themselves. ‘Art for art’s sake’ is nonsense, since nothing created can be its own end. It is the same with virtue. ‘Virtue for virtue’s sake’ as an ideal is meaningless and discouraging, because it can never be realized. Anyone leaving the world for the paltry pleasure of thinking himself perfect, or who accepts the world’s challenges from a sense of spiritual pride or to increase his self-esteem is simply ending up where he began—with himself!”
“The divine life can only take possession of us when we have done all we can, on our part, to become detached from created things. Death to self and life in God are inseparably linked: the one without the other remains sterile.”
‘Even though an old proverb says, “too much special knowledge makes you stupid” I, as a craftsman, must say that having gone through an apprenticeship in the field of applied art, gives me certain advantages in the difficult art of design, as compared to those who partly or completely work from theoretical knowledge.’ – Kay Bojesen
(1) Made in the U.K. (YouTube)
(2) A Water Lily by Jia Peng Fang
“Good and evil have not changed since yesteryear, nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves and another among Men. It is a man’s part to discern them, as much in the Golden Wood as in his own house.” – J.R.R. Tolkien
I’ve managed this blog since 2000. It was originally on Blogger and initially launched as something called ‘Unfinished Architecture.’ I moved to WordPress in 2010 after Blogger deprecated publishing via FTP. The old content was available via the current site (as static HTML) but it was hacked and injected with some redirect ridiculousness. I still have the old content and plan to sanitize and republish it one day -or- maybe Burgoyne can while picking through the detritus.
The one problem with blogging for sixteen years is that you eventually forget what books, poems, paintings, and themes you reference and quote in posts. You would think I’ve accrued enough literary capital to add something original at least once a week, but as eclectic as this mess is, the interests in my life follow broad patterns and themes (most of which I return to time and time again). I wonder if that’s normal or if my life is really that boring?
I also very rarely publish original content, preferring to aggregate content (long before curation and social media were careers). Blogging has gone through so many phases (may even be passé at this point) and I never really believed that anyone gave a rats a** what someone was posting to a blog. WHO really cares what anyone has to say on the internet (unless it’s inflammatory)? More critically, my blog is a distillation (a digital journal) of the 4-6 hours I spend every weekend reading and researching broad categories of interests in-between home and work (and mostly work).
That rather lengthy intro was a segue to the real point of this post. Current events have pushed 1984 to the best sellers list (again). Orwell is generally seized by the left and the right whenever it’s convenient, but if you remove politics, the warnings are quite blind. Here’s Winston Smith on obliterating the past via the memory hole and the hammer of whatever ‘ism’ is fashionable at the moment:
“One could not learn history from architecture any more than one could learn it from books. Statues, inscriptions, memorial stones, the names of streets – anything that might throw light upon the past had been systematically altered.”
He doesn’t quite answer the why in that passage, but Winston sensed that objects, places, and words were part of the essentialness of being human. The past is as immutable as 2+2=4:
“What appealed to him about it was not so much its beauty as the air it seemed to possess of belonging to an age quite different from the present one…The thing was doubly attractive because of its apparent uselessness, though he could guess that it must once have been intended as a paperweight…It was a queer thing, even a compromising thing, for a Party member to have in his possession. Anything old, and for that matter anything beautiful, was always vaguely suspect.”
Why are those useless objects so critical to our humanity? Alain de Botton provides part of the answer in The Architecture of Happiness:
“The desire to remember unites our reasons for building for the living and the dead. As we put up tombs, markers, mausoleums to memorialize lost loved ones, so do we construct and decorate buildings to help us recall the important but fugitive parts of ourselves. The pictures and chairs in our homes are the equivalents – scaled for our own day, attuned to the demands of the living – of the giant burial mounds of Paleolithic times. Our domestic fittings, too, are memorials to identity…at its most genuine, the architectural impulse seems connected to a longing for communication and commemoration, a longing to declare ourselves to the world through a register other than words, through the language of objects, colors and bricks: an ambition to let others know who we are – and, in the process, to remind ourselves.”
In sixteen years, I’ve probably quoted Why I Write at least a half-dozen times. In this seminal essay Orwell previews the very limited separation between himself and the fictional character of Winston Smith. He writes:
“So long as I remain alive and well I shall continue to feel strongly about prose style, to love the surface of the earth, and to take a pleasure in solid objects and scraps of useless information.”
The past, and the objects that keep us attached to it, are part of our identity. And to rewrite, disavow, or obliterate the past cuts us loose from our humanity– ripe to be molded by any ism -or- to devolve into trousered apes.
Limestone is now a near two-decade old collection of my own digital scraps of useless information.
(1) Innovations Threaten the Neighborhood Bike Shop (NY Times)
“‘The change in the outside world is profound,’ he said. ‘We haven’t been as affected by the internet as bookstores and record stores, but it is coming.'”
(2) Generation Lost…
“Here was St. Augustine, the oldest city in the United States. How to build a hotel to meet the requirements of nineteenth century America and have it in keeping with the character of the place? that was my hardest problem.” – Henry Flagler
In both cases, the places they were from was just as important as who they were. The first is George B. Wilson from The Great Gatsby:
“The only building in site was small block of yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land, a sort of compact Main Street ministering to it, and contiguous to absolutely nothing. One of the three shops it contained was for rent and another was an all-night restaurant, approached by a trail of ashes; the third was a garage–Repairs. GEORGE B. WILSON. Cars bought and sold.– and I followed Tom inside.
The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had occurred to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind, and that sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead, when the proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands on a piece of waste. He was a blond, spiritless man, anemic, and faintly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes.”
The other is Mr. Charrington from 1984:
“The tiny interior of the shop was in fact uncomfortably full, but there was almost nothing in it of the slightest value. The floorspace was very restricted, because all round the walls were stacked innumerable dusty picture-frames…but he lingered for some minutes more, talking to the old man, whose name, he discovered, was not Weeks – as one might have gathered from the inscription over the shop-front – but Charrington. Mr Charrington, it seemed, was a widower aged sixty-three and had inhabited this shop for thirty years. Throughout that time he had been intending to alter the name over the window, but had never quite got to the point of doing it.”
Mr. Charrington of course betrays Winston and Julia.
In my next post, I’m going to comment on our fondness for “useless” things, and the importance of the those things Orwell referred to as, “solid objects and scraps of useless information.” I’ll also give you a good excuse to turn your living-space into a Mathom-house (thanks Tolkien).
Image courtesy of the Limestone Roof Photo Archives.
(1) Stunning Photos of Trains Roaring Through Picturesque Landscapes (My Modern Met)
Some of these photographs remind me of the Yellow Train by Francois Roca.
(1a) Flashback: Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival
(2) Brightline Brings High-Speed Trains To Florida: The 125-mph Brightline trains will be the first privately run passenger service to debut in over 100 years (The Drive)
Channeling Henry Flagler?
*Scan is from The Art of Makoto Shinkai