LIFE AFTER DEATH

"Images were first made to conjure up the appearances of something that was absent. Gradually it became evident that an image could outlast what it represented; it then showed how something or somebody had once looked—and thus by implication how the subject had been seen by other people." (10)
—Ways of Seeing by John Berger

"One of the reasons Solidarity's graphic artists were able to generate such powerful posters is that they could draw upon the matrix of succinct images with rich, common associations that Polish history had deeded them." (106)
—Everything That Rises: A Book of Convergences by Lawrence Weschler

Molecular cohesion yields to isolated atoms yields to unbound particles, singular, favoring entropic freedom. Movement yields to stasis. The whole that never was disintegrates into components. The sum truly is greater than the whole. It always was, except that control gave the illusion of homogeneity.

The child and I visited the Frye Art Museum to view the exhibit Life After Death: New Leipzig Paintings from the Rubell Family Collection. The exhibit contains the work of seven artists who attended the Leipzig Art Academy in former East Germany. With the exception of one of the seven, all studied at the school after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Most have stayed in Leipzig even after their studies ended.

The paintings are filled with figures that are difficult to relate to, if there are figures at all; architectural that is tearing apart; landscapes that swallow us up; colors that confront; forms that threatens to overtake each paining; and, oftentimes, a nod to Surrealism. There is confusion between foreground and background; a messiness or rawness that invades some of the canvasses; and a sense of playfulness in the midst of existential despair or smallness. All of this was enough to keep the child engaged, in order that I could have time to sufficiently commune with the works.

The work of Neo Rauch was infused with bold, rich colors and strange, confusing, confrontational imagery. The figures that filled his canvasses appear unaware of one another. They are mixtures of eras—sometimes a mixture of the contemporary, the historical, the mythical.

The work of Christoph Ruckhäberle is also filled with figures who are unaware of one another, even though they are in close proximity to one another. Individual figures inhabit their own space, almost oblivious to the influence of the other figures upon them. It is as though planetary bodies are ignoring the effects of gravity. Some of the figures stare out at us, some avoid our gaze, some are completely unaware of even us as viewers—all are really unconcerned with being seen though.

The one piece by Tilo Baumgärtel was also the only large work that was not a painting; it was a 62.5 by 102 inch work of coal on paper. The coal may represent the industrial leanings of capital in East Germany. This work, Die Pause (The Pause), is also the only one of the larger works—because many small sketches and studies by Matthias Weischer were also present—absent color. It is another piece with figures who are somewhat "blind." These two figures, however, are really more part of the piece as a whole; they almost feel as part of the background.

The work of Tim Eitel is primarily of landscapes, mostly sparse or devoid of objects. The figures in the painting are either single or very small groupings, usually two. The figures are often turned away from us or indistinct. A piece of the paintings threatens to swallow up the figures, and sometimes even the landscape—and in the case of Container, a quarter of the painting is devoted to a gray rectangle that threatens even the painting itself. Eitel's works are the ones that really made me feel small and cold and weak—they confronted me with my existential failings.

The work of Martin Kobe consisted of architectural impossibilities. These canvasses were full of rich, bold colors and geometry run amok. Form is thrust to the forefront, such that it overpowers the landscape and the viewer. Windows open onto additional spaces, with windows that open onto additional spaces. Floors open onto another layer of building. Columns and posts support structures that are on the verge of collapse or on the verge of "building themselves."

The work of David Schnell is also primarily of similar landscapes, although it contains architecture that is sometimes possible, sometimes not. As the child observed, the images on his canvasses all feel "broken." These were some of the most visually engaging paintings for me. They made me think of environments I often find myself in and just how those spaces and places are "constructed."

The work of Matthias Weischer was the most intriguing to me and perhaps my favorite of the show. Sketches and studies for larger works were presented, as well as large canvasses. I especially liked his paintings. They tended to be renderings of rather ordinary rooms, such as the living room presented in St. Ludgerus, until you really start to pay attention and investigate. A splash of paint here and there brings a messiness to the expected cleanliness of the canvas surface. A pair of feet next to a couch reveal the outline of a figure waiting to burst through the picture—and upon closer inspection, there is a figure that has almost, but not quite, been completely painted over. These "ghosts" inhabit more than one of his works. Other paintings consist of a large, mostly empty room, with a corridor to the left. The corridor was intriguing enough to the child that she tried to look behind the paintings that contained it to see where it went. (She was also lightly scolded by one of the museum guards, along with her father by implication of momentary parental failure, for touching the wall, in order to better see the "phantom" corridor.)

The "specters" of communism, the Iron Curtain, and the Soviet Union are all present yet absent in these works. Transition, and the tension it brings, is also "addressed" by each of these artists. Perhaps transformation is a better description. Tensions between foreground and background, aesthetics and form, figure and landscape, individual and community, past and present, viewer and viewed are also examined.

Admission to the Frye is always free and the Frye is curating some of the best visual art that western Washington has to offer. I highly recommend a visit to the Frye to you, especially to experience Life After Death.

on THE TAPHANDLE

Mendocino Brewing Company tasting at 99 Bottles

I spent Sunday afternoon trying four ales brewed by Mendocino Brewing Company of Mendocino, California. This was my second visit to 99 bottles of Federal Way, Washington. Since its opening on 20 January 2007, 99 bottles has doubled the selection of labels it carries for purchase. There were quite a few people present for the tasting, with more arriving as I left an hour later, and many people stopping by just to purchase craft beers for home consumption.

The tasting cost one dollar per person, which allowed each participant to taste two ounces each of four different beers. The following were served:

Red Tail Ale, an Amber Ale:
Color is gold tending toward orange. The aroma is of yeast and spices. The flavor has a kick or bite to it and tastes somewhat like a pretzel. I like it but it tastes less like other ambers I have had; it is stonger-bodied, just staying away from harsh and overpowering. Mendocino representative Bill Hemmen claims that is due to the use of two-row malted barley rather than six-row malted barley. It has a drier finish than I am used to finding in an amber.

White Hawk IPA, an India Pale Ale:
I have had this before and was unimpressed due to unbalanced and competing flavors. This was better than my previous bout with it, but still strong and somewhat unbalanced. It poured the color of melted butter and had a thick, lasting head. The flavor was less metallic than last time, but the grapefruit and alcohol flavors that come through are still too strong and "off." A much better experience with White Hawk, however.

Eye of the Hawk, an American Strong Ale:
This is one of Mendocino's bottle-conditioned select ales. It poured a rich yellow. The nose is primarily caramel with slight spiciness and earthiness to complement. The flavor is similar. The finish is rather dry and the mouthfeel is pleasant and tingly. I liked this quite a bit.

Black Hawk Stout, a Dry Stout:
A beautiful black body wrapped in a faint aura of ruby and a thick, dark tan head gave this ale a beautiful appearance. The aroma hints of chocolate and coffee. This is less sweet than many stouts I favor, having a fairly dry finish. The flavor is of chocolate, a light cream, and coffee that is almost espresso but not quite. Overall, a great dry stout.

THE JOYS OF LIFE

Maybe it is easier to notice the ground when you are much closer to it. The child reminds us to look down.

I SPEAK, THEREFORE...

"Language is a virus from outer space."
—William S. Burroughs

"The word, although prevalent in our day, has lost its reasoning value, and has value only as an accessory to images. In turn, the word actually evokes images. But it does not evoke the direct images related to my personal experience. Rather, it calls up images from the newspaper or television."
—Jacques Ellul in The Humiliation of the Word

The language of physical therapists is a language of anatomy, a language of movement: musculature, skeletal structure, flexion, extension, rotation.

The language of pastors is a language of theology: atonement, justification, sanctification, repentance, redemption, resurrection, faith, doubt, forgiveness.

The language of barbers is spoken with scissors and hands.

These are languages of specificity. I am a generalist. It is reflected in my education: a bachelor's degree in Liberal Studies. What is a language generalist to do in a world of languages of specificity? If one does not know the vocabulary for a particular language, then how can one speak?

---

What about those authors who speak for the dispossessed, neglected, or marginalized? I am thinking of two specific authors. The first is Dave Eggers, who spoke for Valentino Achak Deng in What Is the What? The second is William T. Vollmann, who has spoken for a myriad of different people in both his fiction and nonfiction. I have written previously about What Is the What? and its powerful statement about the human condition. Therefore, I now wish to turn my attention to William T. Vollmann.

Vollmann is getting a lot of attention right now because (1) his most recent nonfiction book, Poor People, has just been published; (2) his last novel, Europe Central, won the National Book Award for fiction; and (3) he is a very prolific writer, well versed in the work of those who proceeded him. This means that the professional envy of many other writers clouds their vision when it concerns the work of Vollmann. This also means that the critics are trying to tear him down to size.

Bookmarks magazine wrote the following about Europe Central [as listed on Amazon.com]:

Most critics praised Vollmann’s twelfth novel, paying homage to his ambitious yet capable grasp of the pivotal political and moral issues of the 20th-century. They hail his dazzling prose, sure command of history, innovation, and copious research, and they proclaim that Europe Central is one of his best (if not the best) works. Reviewers cast an indulgent eye on Europe Central’s shortcomings, though almost all bemoan the ponderous length of the novel and Vollmann’s predilection for hammering his main points ad nauseam. The critics agree: What kept Europe Central from being a tour de force was an editor willing to excise the excess.

The problems with the Bookmarks review are the following:

1. The critics obviously didn't agree. Europe Central won the National Book Award. Enough critics must have thought it a great book to have earned it one of the top awards for literature.
2. Just because a book is "long" doesn't mean that it is, by default, "ponderous." That, however, is one of the most common criticisms of Vollmann: he writes long books. Europe Central was an engrossing, engaging novel that kept me turning the pages. Did it take me a while to get through it? Absolutely. Was it ponderous? Absolutely not. (This is also the charge leveled at other contemporary postmodern authors who tend to tackle philosophical and existential issues—Thomas Pynchon, Don Delillo, David Foster Wallace, and Neal Stephenson, for example.
3. Much of Vollmann's work is kaleidoscopic in nature. He doesn't have a "predilection for hammering his main points ad nauseum." He examines the same idea or event from many different angles, with many different voices. The perfect example of this is his collection of short stories The Atlas. Each short story has a "mirror" story in the book, in addition to usually being based upon or echoing a story in one of his other novels or works of nonfiction. He oftentimes creates the same effect in his novels, such as presenting the viewpoints of the indigenous population and the European "invaders" of the New World in the books of the Seven Dreams series.
4. Vollmann writes in the tradition of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. When one is reading Moby Dick, it can feel as though the book contains chapters that are extraneous to the story. That is, until you finish the book. Then the whole of the book is realized. Pieces that perhaps did not seem to fit earlier now do. Most of Vollmann's work, like Moby Dick, is intended to be read again and again. The material also changes as one ages. Life experience affects how one reads a book. I don't read Moby Dick now the same way that I did twenty years ago, and imagine it will also contain richer—and different—meaning for me twenty years from now.

It sickens me that in an MTV, MySpace, YouTube, reality television culture that our attention spans are so short and our tastes so limited that we must be spoonfed. Vollmann does not need an editor to "excise the excess." He needs an intelligent readership. Vollmann, like most serious authors, assumes that his readership is well-versed in literature, history, contemporary politics. Perhaps this is too much to ask of readers today.

I noticed the same problems I found in the Bookmarks review to be present in The New York Times Book Review of Vollmann's Poor People. To be fair, I must admit that I have not yet read this book. I have browsed through it in a bookstore and will be purchasing it soon. From the pieces that I sampled, however, it "feels" and seems to read like many of Vollmann's other works.

In the New York Times review, Vollmann is essentially criticized for the very nature of his book. He is the first to disclose the following, when they apply: (1) he is not an academician; (2) he is oftentimes reliant upon the work of others to use as a "jumping off point," such as Danilo Kis's A Tomb for Boris Davidovich as an inspiration for Europe Central, and, apparently, James Agee's Let Us Now Praise Famous Men as an inspiration for Poor People—although in this case, to work "against" it; (3) that he oftentimes pays those he interviews for his books, usually because they are extremely poor, and because the money does get them to speak. Vollmann has moved among the poor, prostitutes, fighters in the Bosnian conflict, the mujahadeen fighting the Soviet Union in Afghanistan, drug users, and native peoples. He has done this to write about what it means to be human.

William T. Vollmann has not hidden behind the monitor of his computer screen or the distance that many authors afford themselves. He has lived life, fully and in all its messiness. He has examined and questioned what it means to live that life. He has spoken for those who have no voice, or voices that are silenced or muffled by the powers-that-be. In that sense, he roars like a modern prophet, which is probably why he is really criticized as often and as vociferously as he is.

If you are not up to the challenge of being challenged, of spending a fair amount of time reading and digesting a book, then, by all mean, delve into the fantasy realms created by your Playstation or PC or HDTV. But make sure to leave the William T. Vollmann for me.

---

We are worried to speak, for fear that someone else will hear us and mock us. Their laughter paralyzes us.

We are worried to think for ourselves, for fear that we will seem "out of step" with those around us.

Language will break down for each and every one of us. It does. Every moment it fails. It cannot convey our true feelings, our true voice, our true self.

Language spirals inward and collapses. Language spirals outward and scatters.

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on THE TAPHANDLE

Three days of bliss were mine. In honor of Saint Patrick's Day, the wife made Guinness beef stew.

First, I love beef stew. Stew was probably my favorite dish that my mother made when I was growing up. I love the mixture of tender meat, soft root vegetables, and flavored broth. Second, I love Guinness. I love its rich, heavy chocolate flavor. Subsequently, I love this particular stew.

The potatoes, carrots, and parsnips added the perfect texture and flavors to complement the cubed flank steak and Guinness-laden broth. These root vegetables had just enough flavor to hold their own, but not enough to "steal the show." The Guinness gave the broth a slight bitterness, as well as the slightest hint of chocolate and alcohol. All of this made the tender chunks of beef "shine."

I ate this meal of the gods while drinking a Deschutes Jubelale, which has a nice nuttiness to it that went well with the stew. Two days of stew leftovers for lunch meant three full days of beef stew, hence the three days of bliss. Aaaah...

LAWRENCE WESCHLER

Lawrence Weschler won the 2006 National Book Critics Circle Award for Criticism for his book Everything That Rises: A Book of Convergences. If you have never read anything by Weschler then you are really missing out. He sees things that others do not. Then he points them out to those others, oftentimes with tongue firmly planted in cheek.

He is fond of what he calls convergences: juxtapositions, associations, or similarities between oftentimes disparate images or concepts. In a brief essay entitled "Those Wacky Htoo Twins," he compares the Johnny and Luther Htoo, twin twelve-year-old leaders of the Myanmar rebel group God's Army to the cherubs in Raphael's Dresden Sistine Madonna. I looked at the pictures he placed next to one another, read his thoughts on them, and just laughed. There is a resemblance.

In "Branching Out Yet Further," he notices the dendritic patterns common to trees, brains, "family trees," and visual representations of the Internet. In "The Graphics of Solidarity," he examines the logos and posters of Poland's Solidarity movement, placing them within context—political, social, religious. In "Torso as Face, Face as Torso," he walks us through the looking-glass that was the cover of the November 14, 1999 The New York Times Magazine, and how it inverts Rene Magritte's 1934 painting Le Viol.

He shows us how the imagery of Ground Zero in the aftermath of 9/11 really had been "dreamed" prior, as Jean Baudrillard suggests in The Spirit of Terrorism and Slavoj Žižek posits even more strongly in Welcome to the Desert of the Real. When you see the image of downtown Manhattan minus the Twin Towers juxtaposed with an image of Vermeer's View of Delft, painted in 1658—or a worker at the cleanup site presented above an image of Rodin's Adam sculpture—it is then that you realize that 9/11 was both a unique event and something that we have seen throughout history. Warfare is nothing new. Rebuilding after an attack or series of attacks is nothing new.

Sometimes, however, it takes another set of eyes to point out even the simplest of concepts to us. Sometimes, it takes another to remove the scales from our own eyes. Weschler does that in Everything That Rises, just as he has done in previous collections of criticism, such as Vermeer in Bosnia: Selected Writings. Congratulations to Lawrence Weschler for his award. It is well deserved.

BOB & LARRY 2

After listening to various Bob and Larry (Veggie Tales) CDs, the child asked to listen to David Byrne. I questioned this.

The child insisted: "I want to listen to David Byrne." I happily complied.

For the past few days, I had been listening to David Byrne's Look into the Eyeball, as well as some of the greatest hits of the Talking Heads. It seems that the child enjoys the instrumentation and rhythm of many of these songs.

The score, for those keeping count, is: Bob and Larry, one; The Cure and David Byrne, two!

THE JOYS OF LIFE

Some of the child's photography. The two pictures on the left are the same statue from different vantage points. The two pictures on the right are decorative kale from two different vantage points—planted and uprooted.

on THE TAPHANDLE

Belhaven Scottish Ale, a Bitter by Belhaven Breweries

16.9 ounce bottle. This ale pours the color of thickened honey. A nice, thick white head of frothy foam lingers. There is a grassy aroma, with a hint of floral perfume, and a slightly roasted scent.

It had a light, nutty flavor. Perhaps it was even a lightly buttered bread flavor. Medium body. A decent beer.

It accompanied the wife's barbecued ribs, which were spectacular. These ribs would have boosted the score of most beers, and they did indeed help improve this Scottish Ale.

on THE TAPHANDLE

Powerhouse India Pale Ale, an India Pale Ale by Powerhouse Restaurant & Brewery

On tap. Sixteen ounces of joy in a shaker glass. The IPA served to me was golden-orange in color and somewhat hazy. The generous white head had staying power and contributed to the good lacing. The aroma was mostly grapefruit. The flavor was also mostly grapefruit, with some grassiness and a wee hint of lemon zest. The mouthfeel was a touch thinner than I expected, but, all in all, good on the palate. The flavor lasted, and then some.

This is a great beer to have with the Powerhouse's Overload Pizza. The Overload is a meat lover's pizza, with lots of pepperoni and sausage. The tanginess of the pizza sauce plays nicely against the bitter of the IPA. I'll do it again, hopefully soon.

THE JOYS OF LIFE

The child got a "toddler tough" digital camera. Above are some samples of her initial work.

BOB & LARRY SEMANTICS

The child is fascinated with Bob (the tomato) and Larry (the cucumber) from Veggie Tales. She wants to hear them sing songs all of the time. I used to find Bob and Larry entertaining. Not so, now that I have to hear them every day. And, someone bestowed some additional Veggie Tales compact disks upon us.

A few days ago, I happened to be flipping through the television channels, unable to concentrate on anything I was trying to read. I came upon Korn "unplugged" on MTV. For one song, they invited The Cure to sing a "combination" of The Cure's "In Between Days" and a Korn song of which I am unfamiliar. It was interesting and resparked interest in The Cure for me.

Yesterday, on a trip to the library, the child and I picked up two albums by The Cure—The Head on the Door and Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. When we arrived home, the child informed me that she wanted to listen to Bob and Larry. So I put The Head on the Door into the CD player. "In Between Days" began and the child said, "That's not right. I want Bob and Larry." I informed her that this was indeed Bob and Larry—Bob (Robert Smith on vocals) and Larry (Laurence Tolhurst), along with a few other band members. She seemed satisfied and I think I created a new Cure fan.

PATTERNS

I like geometry. I like symmetry. I like pattern. I like order. I like these various brickworks from building walls in Puyallup.

ASH WEDNESDAY DAYS

"Yesterday I got so old, it made we want to die. Yesterday I got so old, it made we want to cry."
—from "In Between Days"
by The Cure




These are Ash Wednesday days. Mortality is everywhere apparent. Limitation. Death.

The body count of American corpses in Iraq continues to climb. They fill the mobile military hospitals of Baghdad, just as the bodies of dead Iraqi insurgents, innocents, and civilians litter its streets. My grandfather is dying of terminal cancer. My mother is suffering with Parkinson's disease. There is an ever-present, chronic pain in my back and legs that never abates. God is present in that burning.

The burning is always there. My perception of it ebbs and flows. When I am ill, compromised, it makes its presence known. My lower back aches, the rear of my upper thighs burn, as though sciatica. When I feel well, it becomes dull, background noise, white noise. Yet, still present.

The burning informs the deterioration of my mental state, my emotions. The psychological pain fuels the physical discomfort. It circles round and round, until something changes, and then dissipates for a short time. Then, it spirals down again.

---

My glasses break. I go to have them repaired and they suggest that I also have my eyes checked. It is only a few months before I need to visit anyway. My vision has further decayed. One “click” up on my left eye; two “clicks” up on my right eye, the weaker of the two, which interests me because I think of the right side of my body as stronger, more dominant. A new prescription: new lenses to compensate for the dependence of my eyes on eyeglasses; new frames since the old ones are irreparably damaged.

---

On Ash Wednesday, I knelt next to my wife and daughter at the altar rail of our church's sanctuary. The pastor approached my daughter first. He dipped his finger into the mixture of oil and ashes. He placed his finger on my daughter's forehead, traced the imaged of a cross, and spoke these words: “From dust you have come, and to dust you shall return.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt so small, insignificant. I longed for my own youth, childhood. I saw the death of my daughter marked upon her brow. I saw my own death, my end. Then, a cross of ash was placed upon my own forehead. I fought against the tears, the loss, and yet they came. Next, the wife received the mark: “From dust you have come, and to dust you shall return.”

The universe loomed large. Stars burned, consumed themselves. Galaxies collapsed. God became ever so small, finite. I knew that God was present in the burning of my legs. Only, at that moment, I couldn't feel them.

on THE TAPHANDLE

Gale Force IPA, an India Pale Ale by Scuttlebutt Brewing Company

12 ounce bottle. An okay IPA. Somewhat bland. Bitter like grapefruit. The flavor and aroma differ from one another—flavor favoring grapefruit, the aroma leaning more toward orange—but it's not bad.

Somewhat hazy orange in color. The head didn't hang around for very long.

This is nothing to write home about, but I wouldn't turn it down if offered a bottle.

on THE TAPHANDLE

Hop Ottin' IPA, an India Pale Ale by Anderson Valley Brewing Company

IPA fest continues at The Work Table. It got off to a slow start due to the cares and concerns of the world, but is now in full force. India Pale Ales are being enjoyed at home and abroad.

12 ounce bottle. Hop Ottin' IPA shines like a newly minted penny on the pour. The pint glass is capped with a full, thick, and frothy white head that lasts. Lacing is excellent. The nose is strong of citrus, grapefruit and/or orange, with a hint of raspberry.

The flavor is weighted heavily toward grapefruit hoppiness, nice and bitter. There is a great mouthfeel on each draught, followed by a long finish of flavor that just keeps going.

This IPA and Dogfish Head's 90 Minute Double IPA are two of the highlights of IPA fest so far. I hope there is more goodness to come!

on THE TAPHANDLE

White Hawk Original India Pale Ale by Mendocino Brewing Company

12 ounce bottle. Ugh! This IPA poured the color of melted butter, with a full, frothy, white head that stuck around for quite awhile. It smelled of grass and flowers and citrus—much more orange than grapefruit. Then I tasted it and everything changed.

The flavor was overly alcoholic, almost unpleasantly so. The finish was strongly of alcohol and it just continued. The flavor, once I recovered from the initial shock, was really three separate flavors that were competing with one another, none of them preferable over the others. The first was the harsh alcohol flavor. The second was bitter and metallic, similar to what licking a penny tastes like. The third was overly acidic grapefruit, with little orange component, which was a complete contrast to its nose. There was no good flavor on which to redeem this even a little bit.

Not recommended.