Blog assignments: (1) Write your personal response to each of the Irish Fairytales for this lesson’s reading. (2) What do the Irish fairytales tell you about the Irish view of space and time? DUE: Wednesday June 10 by 9:00 PM



The King Of Ireland's Son
In the second paragraph, when I read "hair as black as the raven's head, skin as white as snow, and cheeks as red as blood," the first mental image was Snow White.



(Disney's version)

As I read the rest of the tale, I was highly suspicious of that little green man. I kept waiting for the “Rumpelstiltskin” ending where the magical green man would kiss (claim) the woman for himself, using trickery to deprive the young man of his birth-right, which would later be “righted” when the prince out-tricked the trickster (a familiar motif). When we discover the true identity of the Little Green Man, we discover this story is about kindness and generosity, one that reminds the reader that deeds like nature, are cyclical.


The Little Green Man is a character that can be found in Ireland, Scotland and England. Though there is some mystery as to the origins of the little green man, his image is an archetype for the “man of nature” or “man as nature.” We might also see a connection between the little green man and leprechauns. The leprechaun/man of nature is a good lead-in for the next fairy tale. The traditional (green man) Leprachaun pot of gold shares the “rich-earth” motif we’ll see in the next fairy tale.

Dreams of Gold
The hidden treasure motif is also well known throughout folk literature and fairy tales. The dream of unimaginable wealth, especially among populations that lived off the land, represented an end to their daily toil. Instant wealth stories are ‘promise’ stories that appealed to an audience that frequently struggled with meeting basic needs for themselves and family. The message in the Dreams of Gold story can be interpreted many ways. In another story, we will read about druids. Druidism was the religion of pre-Christian Celts. In this story, it is “believed” that hidden treasure is to be found at the church of Kilmacdaugh (a Christian church).


The man from Mayo does not find treasure at the Church of Kilmacdaugh. Instead, he finds “a pot of gold with no end of riches in it” located at home, in his own garden. The message is fairly clear. The real ‘treasure’ is home, family, earth. The earlier druidism was a theology where man and nature were part of the same ‘family’. This fairy tale speaks to the dichotomy between the natural druidic heritages vs. the imported Roman Gods, that became prominent only by committing “theocide” when Druidic shaman were systematically rounded up by Roman soldiers and slaughtered.


The Birth of Finn MacCumhail
At the onset, we read a story about a king who hears from a Druid that his daughter’s son would take the kingdom from him. The first thought that comes to mind is the story of Merlin and how his advice to Uther Pendragon cost him his life. Arthurian legend is unclear on whether Merlin was a valued advisor to King Arthur or whether he was a power-hungry trickster. However, when we read this Irish folk tale, we might see similarities between Arthurian legend, and also references to Christianity (both sources share the story of a King who orders the murder of innocent children). The stories also feature the hero who escapes, only to rise and fulfill his destiny as an adult. The Christ Story, Arthurian Legend, and the Finn MacCumhail stories also feature super-human (or divine) rescues as well as super-human examples from their early years that comment on the greatness of the man the hero will become. Although there are some shared elements, one very bizarre scene that sets the MacCumhail story apart from the rest is the scene where MacCumhail is riding aboard his grandmother’s back as she makes a fantastic escape…and old woman with an adult male clutched to her back, and she’s outrunning white horses and brown horses, as well as giving that black horse a solid run for his money too.

When MacCumhail was killing the hag’s arsonist sons, I couldn’t help but imagine what that scary hag might have looked like. The first mental image was…



I reckon the idea of a scary old woman with her bumbling sons felt a little close to home. The third son in the story was unusual. The story-teller decided to give this particular son a cat’s head. I assume he didn’t mean a teeny-tiny domestic housecat-styled cathead. After all, big body with little teeny head would look like some Jivaro Indian got hold of him and turned him into a living tsantsa.

The druidic practitioners believed in animism. It was believed (and still is in some areas of the world) that the essence of a creature resides in its flesh (and more specifically, the blood). It is believed that a man inherits the traits of the creatures he consumes. This type of animist thinking is the reason the story-teller gave the third son a cat’s head. In the natural world, feline predators are among the most ferocious hunters. The cathead is a metaphor that tells the reader that the third son is more than a man. He is ferocious and agile and fast… like a cat. When MacCumhail chews his thumb, he learns that the old hag has a special elixir that can revive her dead sons. Later, we learn that the dead hag’s blood also has the ability to miraculously heal; the same motif of healing-blood is seen in Arthurian legend, which links us to Christianity and lore about the Holy Grail and the curative power of the blood of Christ (brought back into popular focus by both Indiana Jones and The DaVinci Code).

The old hag’s “magical” blood relates to animism where “blood” is “the essence” of life. The idea that living blood has the ability to stave off death gave rise to the legend of vampires. The myth of living blood also encouraged some humans to consume blood, furthering the vampire legend. One of the more famous examples of this quest for living blood was Elizabeth Bathory who purportedly murdered over 650 women, bathing in their blood because she believed it would keep her young.

Eduard Veith – Mythical Fountain of Youth Elizabeth Bathory, The Blood Countess




Usheen’s Return to Ireland
This story might remind the reader of a fellow named Rip VanWinkle. This story plays with the idea of mortality and the fountain-of-youth solution to aging. Where other conventions such as fountains and blood have offered immortality, this story provides an entire otherworldly realm in which time seems to stand still. Tir-Nan-Oge may remind us of the garden of eden story. From a Christian tradition, this story suggest a return to the time before the fall of man. And like the Garden story, in the story of Usheen’s return, his great fall results from an act of simple disobedience. Simply put, he broke the rules and death was his reward. The defeat-of-death motif also set the stage for Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey. Additionally, the notion of cheating death/playing God was also addressed by Mary Shelley in her novel Frankenstein. In biblical literature, Pilate was condemned by god to walk the earth for eternity. The dream of life-everlasting is as old as recorded human history. The question we might ask ourselves then, would we *want* to live forever? Or is “forever” a curse?

The Western World was not the only culture that sought to dream about cheating death. In China, the Emperor YungLe (builder of the Forbidden City) died from mercury poisoning as he believed the “elixir” would give him immortality.


Fair, Brown and Trembling
The story shares elements from the Cinderella stories. However, in this version, there is no knight in shining armor. Instead, it appears the more beautiful “Trembling” is just out of luck. The story ends commenting that The King of Omanya fell in love with the eldest sister. I think the rest of the story got chopped off



The Man Who Had No Story
This story is a gentle warning about sacred space. When O’Braonachain violates the fairly glen, his violation is a violation of sacred ground. Fortunately, his adventure didn’t cost him his life. However, at the very end of the story we read “he never again cut a rod from that day to this.” I think it’s worth noting that O’Braonachain didn’t violate the fairy glen for folly. The poor guy was trying to eek out a meager living and did what he had to do to provide. He may not have lost his life, but he did lose his occupation, the means to put food on the table. The story tends to work as an admonishment against the powerful and wealthy lords who held large estates, men who were known to abuse their absolute power by executing members of the commonwealth for petty crimes such as hunting or taking any form of food from the “sacred” estate. This notion of land-ownership is an idea that conflicted with the druidic culture where characters like the little green man provided an archetypal reminder that man and nature were equal. The little green man was the personified nature. So when we read this story, we might see the dichotomy between the natural world, the world inhabited by fairies and all variety of wonderful creatures of the unknown vs. the western violation into Ireland’s mother culture. It was a violation that diminished the value of the man and held sacred the value of OWNED (and therefore sacred) land and resource rights. The story reminds acts as a lesson to remind the reader/teller that sacred land is sacred for a reason. If we consider the oftentimes brutal methods of landlord practices, the story also shows kindness and the gentler good spirit of the natural world; Western Mother Culture/Christianity/Rome vs. Irish Mother Nature/druidism/rusticism.


The Irish folk literature shares features that will remind us of fairy tales we've all heard before.

The really cool thing is that fairy tales and folk literature share similar features almost nose-to-nose with linguistics as they emerged from Africa. I would suggest oral tradition vs. written tradition explains why there are similar threads, even though the stories are not the same. This common mythology links Ireland back to the Caucuses area near the Black Sea where similar folk tales were told and retold along early Celtic trade routes. This is why folk literature among the Black Sea tribes shares many of the same principle elements. In this regard, the shared mythologies might remind us of the similar, but regionally nuanced undercurrent we found dispersed among African communities.

Yama & Kama Yuk It Up

Blog assignment: Watch Kani Yamabushi and Kamabara and compare and contrast the plays in structure, characters, etc. Do any of the “one liners’ remind you of past or present jokes? DUE: Friday June 5 by 9:00 PM

Both plays were difficult to follow. However, a shared theme was how the action in the plays cut through the veneer of enculturation to speak to universal humanity. In both plays, we meet characters who present the social self. However, the driving force for the humour in both performances borrows from this artificial social self where human fallacy fails to reconcile with traditional gender roles. This dichotomy of living up to social expectations while hiding our less glamorous, vulnerable side from the world represents a universal that would appeal to any audience. When we laugh at these characters, we’re also laughing at ourselves because we are guilty of living the same social posturing.

The best one liner was the comment “That was no woman. That was my aunt.” It reminded me of some of the old vaudeville bits, and brings to mind a routine by Don Rickles where he tells the audience about his wife, “I’ve been married 41 years to a Jewish broad" … applause … Rickles responds, "Don’t clap, you never saw her.”

This variety of humour is a rarity in the modern era, but it was the bread and butter of comedy during the golden age of television. The style of humour should remind us of the comedy of a bygone era, and maybe even give us a little nostalgic tap on the shoulder while we pause to smile about those great old favorites like Burns and Allen, W.C. Fields, and Dick Van Dyke. When we consider the cultural difference between the United States and Japan, we might consider the dichotomy between the values of tradition vs. the throw-away culture that defines the United States, and perhaps give a little thought to what this lack of foundation says about our infant nation where so little is sacred.

Laughter

What makes you laugh?

My favorite variety of humour isn't afraid to cross boundaries.
One of my all-time favorites is Rodney Dangerfield.

I used to have a little Alpaca. If you know anything about Alpacas, then you know… they spit. But my alpaca wasn’t a spitter. He would blow a puff of air instead. So once, I went out there to visit with my alpaca and the little guy blew air. I said, “yeah, you think so, huh! If you’re going to do it, do it like you mean it dumbo!” (Then I took a sip of my drink and spit the whole mouthful square in his face.) “That’s how it’s done!!” As I turned to walk away, I heard his spitting noise and a gob of Alpaca spit splattered the back of my head and neck. It was disgusting. But I turned it into a game. Whenever I’d see the alpaca standing in the yard, I’d take a mouthful of water and I’d try to sneak up on him and spit. Once the moment was right, I’d charge in as fast as I could run and I’d spit that mouthful of water on that crazy alpaca. He’s come galloping after me to spit back. He learned the game really well. Whenever he had the chance, he’d do the same thing. He’d stalk me down and then come charging in full speed…and he’d spit and gallop away wagging his victorious little tail. It became a bit of a game, me and my alpaca having spit wars. We were great friends. Face-to-face, we got along just fine. The spitting had somehow become a sort of sneak-attack game. So if there wasn’t a sneak attack to be had, neither of us would bother. Ernie learned that the best sneak attacks were to be had on strangers, because they didn’t know the game. So I took great delight in introducing people to my alpaca. They’d walk up with me and Ernie was as sweet and docile as any animal. But Ernie and I both knew that my little friend was going to get spat on before the day was out. I’d tell my friend, I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back. At the same time, Ernie would harmlessly wander into the yard to graze. But then, as soon as Ernie saw me heading that direction, he’d wink at me and then go bolting towards my little friend with a dive-bomb spit attack. It was great! I’m not sure which part I liked best, my angry little friend covered with green fresh-graze alpaca spit or the frequent terrified scream I’d hear from my friend when the 250-lb. animal came galloping up like he was going to run them over. I always took great delight in mimicking their screams… and reminding the posers in my neighborhood how, “Yeah, you might think you’re Billy badass cool…wearing your official pleather Arthur Fonzarelli jacket and shades, but I’ve seen you curled in the fetal position screaming and crying like a pup. Once you’ve disgraced yourself in this manner, no amount of pleather will restore cool." It happened nearly 30 years ago, but my friend Burriss still talks about his encounter with Ernie. After all these years, I think he’s still a little mad.

You talkin’ to me? Punk!

I spit in your general direction!

Japanese Pedo-fascination

The first thing that comes to mind is Kabooom!!, followed by a series of images and thoughts about the wisdom of dropping bombs on civilians. Beyond that, I think their manufacturing base is a model of cooperation that has kept industry alive and well in Japan while American industries have failed. It's surprising that American industry has continued to ignore Japan's successful cooperative model of industry, preferring to continue with competitive and predatory models.

In the world of art, I don't have much experience with the Japanese culture. My mother used to have an original Hiroshige. Now, whenever I see 'wave' art, I think of Hiroshige because of that art my mother had hanging on a wall.



I've always been fascinated by Geisha. When I was younger, they had a reputation for being exotic prostitutes. However, the myth doesn't match what I've read. Instead, I've read that they are entertainers and about the enormous amount of hard work required to earn the right to be a geisha. I've always been fascinated by origins. The geisha had to emerge from some cultural phenomenon.

When I think of Japan, the first idea that forms is the idea of 'tradition'. I have this idea that Japan is a very traditional culture. Those traditional values have waned in the face of modernity, but they still provide a foundation. Most of what I see about Japan comes though media channels. I have to be honest, some of it is a bit weird.

Some of it reminds me of that weird period in the 80's when Americans were experimenting with fashion, following the strange ebbs and flows of a then-new visual phenomenon called MTv. Remember Boy George and A Flock of Seagulls!! We had weird hair and parachute pants. Japan is experimenting with cicada shells.

It appears Japan is experiencing their own period of experimentation. I occasionally see images that show new Japanese fads. There was a contact-lens fad where girls were wearing oversized contact lenses in order to mimic wide-anime-pupils. I also remember a fad where girls were dressing themselves life-sized human dolls, also wearing big black doll-eye contact lenses. There is also a comic-style art called Lolicon (Lolita complex) that sexualizes children. And finally, I recall an article I once read where girls' panties were being sold in vending machines to capitalize on sexual fetish. And I suppose what people do in their own privacy is 'private' for a reason.

A trend that is geared toward objectifying women, and particularly one that naturalizes pedophilia grants cultural permission for the exploitation of minors and suggests that just beneath the surface there are deep and disturbing fissures running through Japanese culture. I think those deepening fissures might be caused by incongruities between tradition and post-modernism.

Hotel Rwanda

The photographer Jack tells Paul, “They'll say Oh, my God, that's horrible. And then they'll go on eating their dinners.”

The film showed a very human side that we never see when mainstream media covers a story... any story, unless of course they're doing a story about some tragedy on American soil.

We tend to sympathize with Paul because he is not presented as a Hutu or Tutsi or African or even a “nigger” (even though we are told he is Hutu). We don't see a label. What we see is a man, a human being with a family that he loves, a man with hopes and dreams and fears and anxieties, just like the rest of us. So the character creates a dichotomy. We see the human and we feel enraged and even a little bit ashamed that the world did nothing while innocent families were slaughtered. We keep gnashing our teeth (towards both the UN, and the US), wondering…what the hell is wrong in the world when people stop caring!

Meanwhile, is it really our job to provide police protection for every human tragedy around the globe? Do we even have the resources for that? So when we look at the practicality of whether the West can, or should police the globe, the real question is *what* exactly are we policing when we favor one area over another? The movie feels like we are faced with the question of racism. We see black faces in contrast to a very white western complexion that goes about eating their dinner.

I don't think the film should have presented a racial sway, because I don't think race was what motivated global ambivalence. The real issue was economic. I say global ambivalence was the result of resourcism...which I think is *worse* than racism because it marginalizes all human life down to the value of regional resources. Somehow, I think if Rwanda had the oil resources of Saudi Arabia, nobody would have cared about skin color.

I feel it’s impossible to point to a single "justifiable reason" for genocide. I try to stay away from race issues, even though the storyline in Hotel Rwanda is compelling and feels very racial. I don't stay away from racism because of political incorrectness. I stay away from the issue because I think the color of money is more important than the color of skin. It's hard to divide the issue of wealth and race, however. After all, if the country has brown skin, they probably don't have money - which speaks to the point of racism when we think in terms of whether or not the West really did bring *civilization* or did they instead, bring "just enough" civilization to exploit the brown people. Maybe I'm making the mistake of trying to separate race from money.

Those girls dancing by the pool provide a little clue. The dichotomy I see is the schism between the market economy and the value we place on Community. The turmoil throughout much of the world is the result of colonialism where the resources which supported community survival were absorbed into the market economy while these Communities were themselves excluded and displaced by it. So, we see these girls dancing and their dance reconnects them to that Community, a soothing dance in the face of an uncertain (and likely frighteningly fatal) future.

Art and Genocide

Ellen,

In your article, What is Art it made sense that you started with "everything (including whistling. aerobic dancing, children's scribbling, interior decorating, TV programs) as art.

You later mentioned Plato's discourse on beauty (kalon), poetry (poeisis), and image making (mimesis) which I thought was an important distinction in regards to our desire to label "art." The act of labeling objectifies the item being labeled. You declined to pursue this notion in terms of objectification, but the act of labeling is problematic. It creates unnatural boundaries. Your essay then goes on to explore how creativity refuses to conform to unnatural boundaries. Art refuses to be objectified and owned, always dodging our best attempts to compartmentalize and force it to wear that label.

On page 44 you comment that "the only conclusion is that art, diverse and inexhaustible, will remain ultimately beyond explanation." Although I agree with your sentiment, I think this sentiment extends even further, to all attempts at affixing labels, and is not unique to the realm of art. The labeling problem was addressed extensively by Roland Barthes, who wrote, "language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire." The use of language mutes the experience of "being."

In attempting to label art, you are reaching for a sort of fundamental truth, a philosophical theory of everything. Have you forgotten that Dadaism was an art movement devoted to thumbing its nose at the idea of a formal approach to art? Have you forgotten that around the same time Dadaists were busy throwing art labelers out with the bathwater, Russian formalists were busy trying to stuff literature into stocks and chains.

They were trying to tame literature, the same way you are trying to tame and control creativity by stuffing it into a dank, stuffy little compartment called ART. When you quote Thompson, "that only by viewing [art] can its full significance and power be appreciated, I think Thompson makes a good point. Art and artifacts do act as cultural signifiers, formed by the raw material... institutions and customs, myth and ritual...into a complex and unified whole." I think you would have done well to explore this further, the notion of enculturation as raw material = the art/artifacts as cultural signifiers.

In Chapter 3, you begin to solidify this connection. When you comment that "making and using art objects affects the system of social relations," it makes sense that if art is made from the raw material of enculturation, then art becomes a cultural totem. Your article continues to explore the use of art in terms of building cultural cohesion. When you mention that "art can help the individual adapt to an often uncomfortable and indifferent world," you are speaking to how art can re-establish one's sense of belonging and sense of community. A good example of this connection is how soldiers frequently carry pictures or objects. Warfare is ugly and horrific. Most soldiers carry items with them that help them feel connected.

Where Chapter 3 explores the idea of What Is Art For?, you declined to discuss the absence of art. The spread of colonialism is enhanced by the destruction of communal cohesion. In producer areas around the globe, the lack of art is a disturbing void that feels like death. This hollow feeling that saturates a place is cultural genocide. It is a practice as old as recorded history.

Empire requires people and resources to exploit. Genocide performs a very real function. It dissolves community and creates a favorable environment in which to exploit human labor. The familiar view of genocide is shock-journalism where piles of dead bodies jar our noble sensibilities. The version of genocide we never see is a version called cultural genocide. Communities are not wholesale murdered in cold blood.

Instead, their cultural identity is systematically destroyed. Crops are burned and the means of sustenance are destroyed. "Food is power; those who regulate its production, distribution, and consumption can control others" (Jeremy MacClancy, Consuming Culture). Desperate populations, left with no means to sustain themselves or their families are then exploited to fill a role as migrant laborers. As a result, families and communities are shattered. These shattered communities share one haunting feature, a lack of arts and artifacts. The feeling is indescribably creepy. This void is a common feature among dead and dying cultures. In fact, when we see an artistic void, we should be appalled, because this void represents a dramatic loss of community and cultural cohesion. It represents cultural genocide.

While discussing what art is for, and researching the diverse cultural manifestation of art and artifacts, I think you should add a chapter dedicated to how art is an important marker inexorably linked to cultural well-being. Sad to say, but the cup of coffee you drank this morning was harvested by some of these same displaced indigenous migrant workers.

Letter to Ellen

Letter to Ellen Dissanayake

I enjoyed reading your art articles. I thought you did a great job with the writing. I have a few thoughts however. Although I found your examples valid, your many examples were confusing. Just throwing tribal names out there, like “the people of Alor and of Tikopie in the South Seas,” may steer our attention towards how the perspective of peoples around the world are shaped by enculturation, but these reference lose value beyond that point because most of your readers are not anthropologists and would not be familiar with the numerous tribal peoples you mention.

The other problem that came to mind was your over-use of quotes from outside sources. Your many references remind me of a quote by Groucho Marx where he says, “copying a whole book is called plagiarism. But copying from a bunch of different people is called research.” I have a problem with this Ellen. When I researched a little more about who you are, I felt a bit cheated. You didn’t author “What is Art” and “What Art Does for People”. You pieced it together from the talent of others. And I feel cheated because I have read some of your other work, the material and the ideas that are yours, and I wonder why you felt the need to qualify your ideas by shoring it up by quoting everyone under the sun. What are you bringing to the table?

I think writing is art. In the future, think about your pen and paper as a blank canvas. Most of us would be highly offended if we were standing at an easel with our pigment and brushes, completely absorbed, pouring heart and soul into the process, and some jerkoff came along, rubbed his chin, and had the audacity to pick up a brush and help himself by adding to your canvas. This would be an incredible violation, a sort of rape. I’m saying that your overuse of outside sources is a violation. You are voluntarily allowing strangers to enter your sacred creativity to rape you. The more I think about it, the more appalling. You would be furious if someone defaced your artwork. Keep your work yours kiddo. You don’t have to subjugate yourself to the authority of others. It’s your work. It is an extension of you. You are the authority!

In your article Homo Aestheticus you assert that art is adaptive and necessary for the survival of the human species.

You even go so far as to insert ART into Maslowe’s Hierarchy of needs

Where it falls somewhere between Basic (survival) and Safety (comfort) needs.

Art may have the ability to gel cultural cohesion, but I think your insertion

Of art into Maslow’s hierarchy is a bit far reaching.