Ecclesiastes & Bierce had it right

Thinking in terms of timeless and traditional today, here is another painting by one of my all-time favorite young ladies, Frances Anne Hopkins. This one is quite unlike the paintings of voyageurs and canoes and Lake Superior that I previously posted. This painting is titled, "Plains Indian Left to Die." I would love to know the story behind this piece. This one also is different in the sense that unless Frances thinks of herself as being among the riders galloping away, she is not to be seen.

The more things change, the more ....

If there is a god, surely he (or she) knows that I have tried to be everything in life that time has allowed me to be, short of being totally irresponsible. If there is not a god, well, then, anyone else who passes this way will know it.

Some people do not believe the varied types of work I have tried or how often I have jumped from one field or location to another just for the pleasure of new experiences, new places and new faces. When I was age thirty, I bragged that I had already done everything in life there was to do in one form or variation. This was not quite true, of course, but close. Permission is granted to use your imagination to fill in some of the blanks.

Just a taste: Before I reached age thirty, I had a master's degree, been married and divorced, become a father, been in the Marine Corps, been a high school teacher, and had newspaper reporting and editing experience under my belt. I had been on wilderness canoe trips that stretched into weeks, "visited" a few foreign lands, dived to below 100 feet with scuba gear and jumped from airplanes. I was about to give up hunting because it had become too easy.

What follows now is part of a comment I wrote a few days ago. I am not certain how many people come around and read comments, but I decided I wanted to print this as a post, as well, to explain my more-or-less provincial view of art. I think my view has been formed mostly as a result of my lifestyle.

My view of many things in the community of art is particularly narrow. This is especially true in visual arts. To a lesser degree in music and in written words, but in those things, too.

This, then, makes me very opinionated, not so much in labeling things as good or bad, but in terms of like or dislike. I generally leave the decision as to whether art is good or bad to the marketplace, but I am not shy about saying what I like or dislike and the reason for that judgment.

In most instances, my preferences in writing tend toward subtlety, finesse and probably the least dramatic language available. My admiration goes toward writers who have the ability to paint pictures with words, and who use words which imply, suggest or insinuate rather than burst, explode or excite. Let the writer propose; allow the reader to interpret.

Whether one likes or dislikes a painting or a song or a book, it is only beneficial to know when reasons are given. In my case, almost anything "traditional" is going to win out over anything exploratory or experimental.

As for possibly liking something someday that is disliked now, I have found that to be happening to me in the sense of the work of some painters. Again, who knows?

In still another comment I made a few days ago, I said this:

I tend to put more credence in the visible (historical fact/archaeological rubble) than in the invisible (psychological theory/mythological memories). I tend to see civilization as William Golding saw it in his "Lord of the Flies" or George Stewart in his "Earth Abides."

Those two sentences reflect the same attitude, the same belief system.

Experience and environment, I think, are the primary elements in molding and forming the individual. My experiences here, upon this sea of blogs, are part of my overall portrait. So far, whether a student, a Marine, a reporter or a participant in blog conversations, life continues to fall under the category of, "the more things change, the more they stay the same."

Ecclesiastes had it right: "The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun."

But, unfortunately, my old friend Ambrose Bierce also had it right: "There is nothing new under the sun, but there are lots of old things we don't know."

Revised last sentences: For me, solutions and answers are to be found in searching the ruins of the known and the wisdom of the past, from reading writers who teach rather than writers who shock, from viewing paintings of beauty instead of splashes of paint, from seeking lyrics of logic while ignoring clever allusions. Many of us hit the ground running, and already had "been there, done that," while others idled away their time and, by that means, some of us have come to the conclusion that the past is the future.

Music Note: Listening to Ratt ....
Specifically, "Point Break"
Some lines from, "Nobody Rides for Free"

In my dreams see I'm on tv
Get back exactly who I wanna be
I'm sick and tired of it getting in my way
I'm sick and tired of everything I seem I know
Nobody rides for free
Nobody rides for free

Don't stop to think cause I know where I stand
I'm on my way no you’re not gonna change my plan
If you can break away and see what I say
You'll understand what I'm trying to be
I'm sick and tired of everyone in my way
Nobody rides for free
Nobody rides for free

You've gotta pay to play
So don't you stand in my way
Cause nobody, nobody rides for free
Now the world’s at stake
The card was drawn
You thought he could swim but I guess you were wrong
You sink to the depths of your misery
Baby the past will set you free
Nobody rides for free
Nobody rides for free

You are what you read, like it or not

Time stops when you read books about the past and, better yet, written in the past. Sorry, but I am biased beyond belief about the quality of books now when compared to then. Some notes regarding a couple of the books in the photograph: Mari Sandoz is a woman I could not agree with philosophically, but is one I would worship for her strength and intelligence. "Old Jules" centers on her father. "Pine Ridge 1890" is nonfiction about the battle at Wounded Knee (I refuse to call it a massacre because of the causalities on both sides), and consists of first-hand newspaper accounts written from the battlefield. Live it, breathe it. The books balancing on top are among those written by O.E. Rolvaag. His novels are about Norwegian immigrants to the U.S. a century and more ago, any one of which is worth a dozen of the typical novels published today. This I do not think, rather, this I know. You are what you read.

Once upon a time, men were & so were women

It rather surprised me the other day when people started rattling off the names of their "favorite living" poets. I did not think that many people actually read poetry these days. (Well, I guess I still do not believe many people read poetry; but, instead, a "very select" crowd comes to visit me who actually are seekers and searchers.) Neither did I think there would be many (maybe not even any) who had a favorite living poet.

No one seemed to disagree with me, however, that the predominant form of poetry today seems to be found in musical lyrics.

Reflecting further on this, I realized that I no longer have a favorite living novelist, either. I always have been hard to please, says he, not at all facetiously. Norman Mailer probably qualified as my last living favorite (unless I have forgotten someone still here among us), although 20 years ago he would not have been at the top of my list. Basically, he got there by being the last man standing. Other "more favored" writers were around back then.

Most novelists I read are well established. Many fall under the category of writing "literature" as opposed to "popular" stories. Some few, I think actually fall into both categories. I am more and more into reality the older I become, although science fiction and historical fiction were once among my favorites, and I still dabble with them now.

Five or six years ago, I began concentrating on reading books written during or about the last 50 or so years of the 19th Century and the first 50 years of the 20th Century, with the focal point being those closest to the year 1900. It was as much a research project as a reading exercise. I wanted to know, through books, what it would have been like to live during that time frame. Without a mechanism for time travel, books are all we have to accomplish that sort of a "jump."

Among novels, I read Jack London beyond what I had during college. More (all) of O.E. Rolvaag and most of Ambrose Bierce. I became acquainted with Mari Sandoz and Willa Cather. Reading their novels and others spilled over into reading biographies of the authors, which spilled again into reading travelogues of journeys in America by the likes of Robert Louis Stevenson and Henry M. Stanley.

Most people (then again, maybe not) probably have heard Stanley's famous quote, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" which he made upon locating the Scottish missionary in Africa. Few know (well, I have been wrong before) that he traveled in frontier America in places like Kansas and kept a journal. Will Bill Hickok and General George Custer are a pair of the contemporary gentlemen of whom he wrote while touring America during the magical era of the latter 1860s.

Such was the tip of my reading iceberg. I assume you get my drift. With mountains of material from which to learn how things once were, why spend much time on the popular fiction of today? Especially for a history fanatic like me? I already know today. I am here, and am perfectly capable of doing my own interpretation of now, thank you. Give me what I do not know.

Somehow, I do miss not having a "favorite living" poet and a "favorite living" novelist. It is a most difficult role to play, being he who is hard to please. Still, I am not so sure the blame about not having a favorite rests upon my shoulders alone. It might be the inevitable result of the actual quality of the writers and the publishers of today.

When all is said and done, so what? I am a reader, not a blind follower. This should be the role each of us should play. No matter what I say. No matter what anyone else says. Pick up a scent and get onto the trail. Find your own books, just as you find your own life.

Music Note: Listening to a Christian band, Stryper
Specifically, "To Hell with the Devil" ....
Some lines from "Calling on You:"

Inside of me there is a lonely place
Sometimes I just don't know it's there
But when I'm all alone
That's when I have to face...

The part of me that needs someone
To be by my side that's when I call on...

You, You make my life complete
You give me all I need
You help me through and through
I'm calling on you

I can't explain just what You do to me
My love grows stronger everyday
You give me love, You give me company
And when I have to face the rain
You bring sunshine into my life

Ladies, magic girls & learning to live

Lady when I'm with you I'm smiling
Give me all your love
Your hands build me up when I'm sinking
Touch me and my troubles all fade

Lady from the moment
I saw you standing all alone
You gave all the love that I needed
So shy like a child who had grown

You're my Lady of the morning
Love shines in your eyes
Sparkling, clear and lovely
You're my lady

Some lines from the song: "Lady"
written (and sung) by Dennis DeYoung,
of "Styx," about his wife, Suzanne

Live long and prosper, magic girls ....
I know that only yesterday I said, fair is fair, two photographs for London, two for Paris, two for Rome, but in every contest there must be a winner whether we wish it to be so or not. Therefore, tonight, we have a winner: No one other than a "magic girl" can represent the winner. Rather than say which city is the winner, please look up this young lady's current residency, if you do not already know. Learn, if you would, please, and appreciate.

My photo is dismal, as usual, in a technical sense, but it is mine, and to stand so close to this "magic girl/lady" requires nothing more than appreciation of the essence of female beauty and artistic talent. We might not have been alone together, but we were close together. Technology is not required, and I will leave that argument to the technocrats among us. No, I am not grouchy, simply questioning priorities, and am sort of sarcastic because it is required of me as a devotee of Ambrose "Bitter" Bierce.

May we all have mentors along the way ....
A few days ago, Etta, in her Depression Marathon blog, wrote about her mentoring experience with a teenage boy. I started following her blog not because I have problems with depression beyond the ordinary, but because I wanted to learn and to better understand how people live with depression and cope with it. I have known four people who were unable to cope. In this particular post about her teenage friend, Etta's words started me to thinking and remembering the differences between being young and being older, between naivety and experience, in my own life.

I was a Marine while I still was 18, and there were some younger than me. My immediate buddies were around the same age as I was, but I sought out men who were 15 or 20 years older than me to associate with as much as possible. Why? Because I knew that they not only had valuable knowledge about the Marine Corps, but also had significant experience about life that I did not. I wanted to learn.

When I went to college, the majority of my friends were in their late 20s and early 30s. Why? Because they were the people in my immediate world who had experience at things I did not. Many were, or had been, married. Some were parents. Many had worked construction or similar jobs before deciding a bachelor's degree could provide them with a better life. I wanted to learn.

When I entered newspaper work, it was the same. Most of the people I hung with were older than I was at that time. They could provide me with knowledge, both about the job and about life. I could learn from hearing about their triumphs and their failures and, through friendship with them, I could save myself from a few missteps and stumbles I otherwise most certainly would have made. I wanted to learn.

While I agree with the notion there is no substitute for experience, I also think there is no better way to get a head start on it than by having a few friends who already have been around the block, and by learning from them as well as from our own travails.

We all are learning every day, and we all have a great many choices about what we spend our time learning and, more importantly, many options whether or not we use what we learn to the benefit of ourselves and, maybe, to the benefit of a few others. Thus spake Fram, and here endith the sermon.

Sorry, I have already been down that road ....
So many times I have read or heard people say that if they could live their lives over, they would not change a thing. I would do exactly the opposite. Everywhere I turned left the first time, I would turn right the second time. Every time I said no before, I would say yes now. This does not imply regret; it suggests curiosity. There is not enough time to do everything, much less to do it twice. Except, maybe, some things, with a few very special people and for a few extraordinary events.

Music Note: Listening to and sort of watching "Styx" ....
Specifically, "Return to Paradise" ....
("Lady" & "Come Sail Away" .... what else?)

There is sarcasm and there is SARCASM ....

Ambrose Bierce in 1866. After the war, before the writing.

Spending an afternoon
with the master of the invective

There are days when I think sarcasm rules the contemporary world. Sarcasm, satire, cynicism, skepticism -- you get the picture. But then, I think of "Bitter Bierce," and I know everyone since him has been nothing more than a pretentious amateur.

The master of invective writing was Ambrose Bierce.

Here is a brief (and probably boring) biography: Bierce was born on June 24, 1842, in Horse Cave, Ohio. He was the 10th of 13 children. The primary influences in his early life were his father, his father's library and an uncle, General Lucius Bierce. He briefly attended the Kentucky Military Institute.

Bierce enlisted in the Ninth Indiana Infantry at the outbreak of the Civil War, just before his 19th birthday. His battle record is remarkable, and includes Philippi, Shiloh, Corinth, Stones River, Chickamauga, Missionary Ridge and Franklin. He suffered a severe head wound at Kennesaw Mountain in 1864, and was hospitalized for months. After the war, he was part of a small military inspection group that, on horseback and by wagon, crossed Nebraska, Wyoming and Montana, and then turned south to California. The places he saw and the people he met on the way could fill a book, but he wrote hardly a word of this incredible journey.

His writing habits changed during the next four decades. Bierce wrote dozens of short stories (perhaps the best known is, "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge," hundreds of essays and a few thousand newspaper columns -- among other things. His most recognizable work probably is, "The Devil's Dictionary." He lived in England for a few years. For a few months, he was manager of a gold mine in the Black Hills of South Dakota. But, he spent most of his adult life living and working in San Francisco.

In the fall of 1913, Bierce paid a final visit to a number of his old Civil War battlefields. His plan was to enter Mexico, find Pancho Villa and witness first-hand the Mexican revolution. He passed over the Mexican border in late autumn, and wrote one last letter on December 26. Bierce then disappeared. He was 71 years of age. Despite the many rumors and hypotheses concerning his death, nothing substantial is known about his final living days on earth.

Some biographies of Bierce's life include: "Alone in Bad Company," by Roy Morris, Jr. (1995); "Bitter Bierce," by C. Hartley Grattan (1929); and "Portrait of Ambrose Bierce," by Adolphe de Castro (1929). One of the more entertaining (if not accurate) accounts about the disappearance of Bierce is a work of fiction entitled, "Old Gringo," by Carlos Fuentes. A very well done movie of that novel was made with Gregory Peck as Bierce. Jane Fonda and Jimmy Smits had supporting roles.

Now, why am I writing about Bierce? I have no idea, other than to say that for the past few days I've really been thinking about sarcasm, satire, cynicism and skepticism, and it's relevance to contemporary society and, once again, "Bitter Bierce" is the all-time master of the invective. Maybe someone will read this commentary and become interested enough in Bierce to read some of his short stories. He wrote a number of them I would consider classics.

He is such a fascinating and perplexing character that I would include him on my list of the three people from history (from "before my time") who I would most like to interview. All right. To be honest, by interview I mean to spend an afternoon with him, asking him questions and listening to him talk about his life, while we both proceed to get drunk. Guy thing; reporter thing; truth-teller thing.

From "The Devil's Dictionary," by Ambrose Bierce:

ABSURDITY, n. A statement or belief manifestly inconsistent with one's own opinion.

ELOQUENCE, n. The art of orally persuading fools that white is the color that it appears to be. It includes the gift of making any color appear white.

CYNIC, n. A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be. Hence the custom among the Scythians of plucking out a cynic's eyes to improve his vision.

CONSERVATIVE, n. A statesman who is enamored of existing evils, as distinguished from the Liberal, who wishes to replace them with others.

Music Note: None; currently sort of watching "Somewhere in Time" on television ....

Wolves in the wild, Ambrose Bierce & other obscurities ....

Super Bowl. When?

Two weeks between the last playoff games in professional football and the Super Bowl is too long to wait. I've already lost interest. It's the same for me every year. Get on with it, while I'm still a little bit excited. I've already forgotten who's playing in the Super Bowl this year. Two weeks is too, too, too long.

Time to join the Republicans?

Little more than a week into the presidency of Barack Obama, I am moving away from being politically independent toward becoming a card-carrying Republican. (Well, maybe not card carrying.) Obama is not the only reason. In fact, Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi are just as much the cause. I believe their spending plans, if approved, will bankrupt the nation. I wonder how many first-time voters in 2008 who danced in the streets upon Obama's election will still be dancing a year or two from now. Living in the streets is a more likely possibility.

Ambrose Bierce & San Francisco

One of my favorite writers, Ambrose Bierce, spent much of his life living and working in San Francisco. I do not think there has been another like "Bitter Bierce," before or since, and do think it would be fascinating if he were alive today and issuing his edicts. Having been a Civil War veteran, having seen severe combat, having been seriously wounded and having produced some of the finest short stories written about "The War," I wonder how he would react to the anti-military climate present in today's San Francisco. It puzzles me how some people fail to distinguish that there is a distinct difference between being anti-war and being anti-military.

Wolves in the wild, a true story ....

While wandering these endless blogs, I paused to read a "young lady's" list of "likes and dislikes." One of her listed "likes" was, "Wolves in the wild." My often dazed mind recalled that I have encountered wolves in the wild on two occasions. The first took place while I was bear hunting. I do not believe he ever saw me, but almost certainly he sensed my presence, and eventually trotted off his own way. The distance between us was a measured 17 yards. The second time was while I was hiking on a deer trail along a high bank skirting a lake shore. I saw a wolf prowling the shoreline, about 12-15 feet below me. As I watched the wolf hunt, on this occasion, I was the one who sensed still another presence. I turned to look behind me. Not more than six feet away stood yet another wolf. His eyes were fixed upon my own. I had not heard his approach. Contrary to common sense, I kept continual eye contact with him. We looked at each other, probably for a minute, maybe, two. Then, with what almost seemed to be a shrug, the wolf dropped his gaze, moved past me and continued his march along the trail. He passed so closely I could have touched him with my hand. Draw a moral from that, if you would ....

Today is No. 10

Today, I file my tenth consecutive post on this blog. I am still not certain why I do it, or why anyone does it.

Music Note: Currently listening to Heart ....
I think I’m in love all over again ....