What? An American?! New Artwork/ Quote of the Week 4.17.2011

Things I secretly like that do not involve ancient history, the Middle Ages, or churches (yes, these things do exist): puppies. They are undeniably cute and adorable, and overall very hard to resist. However, apart from the occasional pick-me-up check up on Cute Overload, I really think that pictures of cute things don't have a place in art. Proudly displayed on t-shirts for young children? Sure thing. But great big canvases of fluffy puppies? Not so much.

That being said, I really like the "Blue Dog" paintings by George Rodrigue. Rodrigue, a painter from Louisiana (American alert! American alert!), claims that his inspiration for the first blue dog painting in 1984 was  the spooky Cajun legend of the loup-garou. However, over time the Blue Dog got friendlier looking (no red eyes) and his creator depicted him all over the bayou.

Shade of The Shadows, George Rodrigue. Blue Dog Series. 2011.

You have to admit, Blue Dog is pretty cute. But maybe I'm biased- the Blue Dog looks just like a corgi my family had when I was little. Loved that dog.

There is also a connection between Rodrigue's Blue Dog and the political "Blue Dog Democrats", a group comprised of conservative Democrats in Congress formed in 1995 as a response to the congressional elections. Although some members of the group claim to have coined it themselves (everybody wants to think they started something), the group frequently met in a Louisiana senator's office, in which there were several of Rodrigue's Blue Dog paintings.

And now for a new Quote of the Week!

We all know that art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth, at least the truth that is given us to understand. The artist must know the manner whereby to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies. 

 -Pablo Picasso (1881-1973), Spanish painter and founder of the Cubist movement

Hrm, a very interesting quote. Also slightly confusing, but I'm sure I'll eventually get it if I think about it a while longer... maybe.

Reflections on Disney's Hercules

This post can now be found at the new hosting site (same Liber Lexica, new web address and look) at this address: http://liberlexica.wordpress.com/2011/09/19/reflections-on-disneys-hercules/ !!!

I recently re-watched the Disney movie Hercules (and by the I mean I recently sung along to the entire movie), and noticed some interesting (or not- depends on your definition of "interesting") things.

The first thing I noticed is that Baby Hercules starts the movie off as a blonde, then becomes a ginger when he becomes mortal (following Disney's plot, Hades tries to make Hercules mortal in order to kill him and eventually take over Olympus/the world). Hercules is the only ginger in all of ancient Greece. What are you trying to tell us Disney- that gingers are gods in mortal form? Statistically speaking, its pretty unlikely that Hercules was a ginger (granted, its highly unlikely Hercules actually ever existed at all- sorry to burst any bubbles there).

Second thing: Disney very much Disneyfied the Greek gods, especially Zeus and Hera. The movie portrays them as this 1950s-esque couple with trouble having kids. Then they produce the adorable baby Hercules and all of the gods rejoice on Mount Olympus. Greek myth doesn't exactly work that way though. A quick read of, well, basically anything involving Greek gods will let you know immediately that Zeus and Hera weren't married or in any way monogamous. In fact, Zeus had dozens of illegitimate children running around- some with other gods, some with mortal women. He also had this weird bestiality thing going on (swans and bulls, anyone?).

For another thing, did anyone else notice the 5-lady gospel choir that sings most of the songs in the movie (including three titled, "The Gospel of Truth")? As with ginger Hercules, you have to wonder why. Dear Disney, why is there a 5-lady gospel choir to sing us Hercules' tale? This is Greek myth, and thus predates the Gospels by a long time- and it predates gospel choirs by even longer. Also, why is one of the singing women short and fat when the rest of them are all lithe? Judging pretty hardcore right now Disney.

Also, Megara (clever naming reference to the Greek megaron?) is by far the most sexed-up Disney character ever. Deep voice, big hair, and an almost physically-impossible hip jut, her character is designed to... distract... Hercules. She spends a lot of time in the movie simpering all over the place). Apparently her character is based on the Greek tragic heroine Alcestis, who died to save her husband. She also (very strangely) has some sort of accent- New Jersey maybe? Why Disney? Why? I don't understand! In case you've forgotten (or never knew in the first place), here's what Meg and Hercules look like in the movie:

No big deal that Hercules is wearing the tiniest man-skirt ever. Anyways, there are parts of the movie that I really do like. For instance, the temple of Zeus near the beginning, where Hercules comes to find his way. Excellent job with the temple and giant cult statue. It could have looked more chryselephantine (gold and ivory) for authenticity, though. Great job and good movie regardless. I also approve of all the pottery-type animation (red figure and black figure), which is generally reserved for the songs in the movie.

And That's Why You Always Bring A Map

When traveling, you should always bring a map- you don't want to get lost far from home and end up getting stuck. As a tale of warning, I will tell you the story of a poor, poor traveler who forgot to bring his map:

One day long, long ago, there was someone traveling. He was very far from home (he was from the Norwegian Sea and was visiting South America) and was traveling with some of his buddies. One day on his travels he got very lost, and insisted he knew the way. His friends disagreed and left him sailing in the middle of the Antarctic Ocean all by himself. Because he had no map and no more money left over (and he lost his passport!), he was forced to settle in the Antarctic Ocean for the rest of time.

His buddies, incidentally made it back home to the Norwegian Sea. You might know them as the Shetland Islands (of Shetland Pony fame). The poor guy who got stuck in the Antarctic Ocean is known as South Shetland Islands (he's in denial). Luckily, he wasn't completed abandoned- the UK still claims both regular Shetlands Islands and the unfortunate South Shetland Islands. Just how far away is he from his pals? Pretty much exactly on the other side of the planet- so far that even Google Maps wouldn't calculate it for me (although that might have had something to do with the giant oceans in the way). To give you an idea of how close South Shetlands island are to Antarctica, here's a handy map:

As I'm sure you already figured out, the red dot is our friend South Shetlands. His jerk buddies who left him alone in the Antarctic are all the way up between England and Norway (opposite side of the planet).

The moral of the story here is a) don't travel with people who leave you alone in the Antarctic and b)don't travel without a map, or you will definitely turn into an island- a frigid island that people only visit to do research on ice cores.

Yeah, There's No Way I'm Saying That

Sometimes you can mispronounce things with grace and dignity (really, no one expects you to speak every language, and thus, when pronouncing things in foreign languages, people usually give you leeway). However, a great majority of the time, you just kind of look stupid when you mispronounce things (sorry Aunt Ginny for using the s-word). Occasionally, like when reading passages of Homer's Iliad or Hesiod's Works and Days (a more frequent occurrence for me than you'd think), you just have to acknowledge with grace that there's no way you are going to be able to pronounce that strange, strange word and just move on. You probably don't read ancient Greek stuff out loud very much (or maybe you do, in which case, I'm sorry for making assumptions), but I can think of lots of times in normal people's live where you come across something unpronounceable.

For instance, I was looking at my handy-dandy world map this morning (no, but really, my shower curtain has a map of the world, so I really was just looking at a map of the world leisurely this morning) and noticed a number of unpronounceable cities that I'm pretty sure I couldn't manage with any grace. For instance, Mongolia's bustling tourist metropolis of Dalandzadagad or the Russian isle of Severnaya Zemlya. I tried saying them, but it just kind of sounds like I've gotten a stutter (for the Mongolian one) or that I'm swallowing my tongue (for the Russian one). You might argue that you won't be visiting Mongolia or Russia anytime soon, but difficult to pronounce place names don't stop inside our borders. Take for instance the lovely town of Puyallup, where locals will look at you funny if you pronounce it wrong ( it's Pew-al-up, in case you were wondering). Another example is Pennsylvania's Schuylkill River. Unless you live here, you probably won't know how to pronounce it (and if you live here and can pronounce it, you probably don't remember how to spell it).

There's a whole world of mispronunciations out there waiting to make you seem silly. If you're willing to just power through and pronounce whatever it is completely wrong, more power to you (this is my mom's preferred method- hi mom). But if you're like me and are terribly afraid of looking dumb, then my best advice is just to keep quiet until you hear someone else say it. Or you can just completely avoid saying the name altogether (this is what pronouns and such were invented for).

Turns Out Japan Wasn't Isolationist After All: Faxecura Rocuyemon

Okay okay, someone is going to point out that Japan wasn't even claiming to be isolationist during this period, and I willingly acknowledge that ahead of time. Regardless, do you really already know about Spanish-Japanese relations in the early 1600s? If you did, then I'm really impressed. If you didn't, there's really no harm there, since I'm about to tell you about it.

Today I'll be writing about Faxecura Rocuyemon, also known as Hasekura Tsunenaga, who was a samurai and retainer for the daimyo Date Masamune. He was also the leader of the Japanese Embassy to Europe that happened over 200 years before the First Official Embassy to Europe in 1862. Not only did Hasekura travel to Spain and Europe, but he also managed to sail all the way to the New World (New Spain in particular). Here's a pretty handy map of his travels:

Unfortunately for Hasekura, he didn't pick the best time to represent Japanese interests abroad. First off, at this point, official Japanese policy (via the Shogun) was beginning to get rather anti-Catholic (a religion which is fairly popular in 17th century Spain, especially among the rulers). This ticked off the Spanish crown and they refused to sign any treaties with Japan. Thinking he could smooth things over with the Spanish and other Europeans, Hasekura converted to Catholicism, which is when he got the snazzy name of Francisco Felipe Faxicura (you'll note the various spellings- back then spelling was a free-for-all and no one really minded if the same word was spelled 80 different ways). He made a big impression on people with his frequent prayers are devotion to faith, but unfortunately did not manage to convince anyone to sign a treaty with Japan. When he finally returned back home to Japan from his perilous cross-planet journey, he immediately fell ill and died.

As I mentioned before, Japan was becoming increasingly anti-Catholic. After Hasekura's death in 1621, his son and a bunch of households servants were accused of being Christians and subsequently hanged. The Hasekura family had all its privileges revoked (ahhh, feudalism) and all their heretical Christian objects were taken away by the government (crosses, bibles, that sort of thing).

There's a ton of other interesting facts about him (including the fact that there are a lot of people running around in the Americas today with some version of the last name Japon (as in Hasekura de Japon). If you are still interested, I suggest you check out his Wikipedia site.

New Artwork/ Quote of the Week 4.10.2011

I really did mean to write a Saturday blog yesterday, but I somehow forgot. It a losing battle on the weekends to get things done sometimes, sorry guys. However, I will make it up to you today with a new artwork and quote of the week!

This week's artwork isn't modern, and it isn't medieval. We're taking it back this week- all the way back (okay, not 24,000 BC Venus of Willendorf "all the way back", but ancient Greece "pretty far back"). Thinking about it, I probably could have picked a more ancient artwork from ancient Greece, but whatever- I like the Geometric Period. And it's still pretty far back in time for most people- this week's artwork is from 760-750 BC. This wee's piece is the fairly recognizable Dipylon Vase:

Dipylon Vase, Dipylon Master. 760-750 BC. Dipylon Cemetery, Athens, Greece.

Clearly archaeologists are not good at thinking of creative names (at least in this instance- sorry archaeologists!) Anyways, this is a gigantic Geometric krater (that's the pottery shape for you non-classicists!) that was used in the 8th century BC as a grave marker. On it, interestingly, are burial and mourning-type scenes, and a lot of geometric designs (it was a big thing at the time- you know, being the Geometric Period and everything). Many regard this as the height of the geometric Period because the entire surface of the krater is covered in elaborate designs. Vases/kraters like these served to mark the graves of wealthy and illustrious individuals in Athens for a short span of about 20 years.

Since we've gone ancient for the Artwork of the Week, I though we might pay our respects to the ancients in the quote this week, too:

"The praise of ancient authors proceeds not from the reverence of the dead, but from the competition and mutual envy of the living."

 -Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679), British Philosopher

Very clever indeed, Mr. Hobbes. I think this is his secret was of telling us that he is jealous of people like Aristotle, Plato, and Sophocles (among others). It's okay, Hobbes, we're all jealous of them. (Unless you are Stephen Hawking, in which case you know you are smarter than everyone else, even the "ancient authors".)

Three Easy Ways to Live in A Castle

Since the aristocracy is notoriously difficult for people to break into (especially pesky Americans), I've come up with some other ways for you to land yourself a spot at a castle. For this to work, you need to be one of these things:

1) Indigent (poor, homeless, etc.)
2) An Allied soldier/prisoner of war
3) Insane (err, mentally unstable?)

Now, I promise to explain, so hold your horses. These are all ways to be a resident of one castle in particular, Colditz Castle (doesn't that sound dreadful) in Saxony, Germany. Despite its dreary name, Colditz has a long (and illustrious? notorious?) history. The first Colditz Castle was built in 1158 for Thimo I with the permission of Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa (kingpin of the Third Crusade, and possessor of one of the most BA names ever). In 1404 the castle was sold to the Wettin dynasty and became part of Saxony. Since I know everyone loves cool names as much as I do, I'll let you know that during the 15th century, Colditz Castle was home to Frederick the Wise and Johann the Gentle, both Electors of Saxony.

Legend has it that in 1504, a servant named Clemens accidentally set the castle, church, and much of the town of Colditz on fire (I can't imagine that ended well for him). The castle's 16th century owners took that opportunity to do a lot of renovations to the castle and its design, changing and adding things in the Renaissance style (it even had a zoo!). In 1694, Augustus the Strong (the English should take a naming lesson from the Saxons) ordered a huge expansion of the castle, roughly doubling its size.

From 1803-1829 the Electors of Saxony (props to them for keeping hold of the castle for so many centuries) used the castle as a workhouse which provided food for the poor, the ill, and people under arrest. After that, the castle changed purposes again. From 1829 until 1924, Colditz served as a sanitarium (mostly reserved for wealthy people and the nobility).

At this point in history, things got a little crazy for Germany. The Nazis rose to power and took personal control over castles like Colditz. Being the generally nasty characters they were, the Nazis decided to use the castle as a prison for "undesirables" (which to them is, you know, pretty much everyone). When WWII got real, they started using the castle as a prisoner of war camp for captured Allied soldiers. This camp was reserved for particular tough cases: the people who landed in Colditz were either habitual escapees or trouble-makers from other camps (which does make them seem cooler, doesn't it?). Oflag IV-C, as the obsessively organized Nazis called Colditz, was designated as a high-security prison that the Germans thought pretty much impossible to escape from (owing to its geographic position). However, Colditz had one of the highest records of successful escape attempts for prisoners (possible because its prisoners were already the escapee-type). Today, you can still visit and see some of the tunnels they dug in order to escape.

In 1945, the Soviets captured Colditz and it subsequently because part of East Germany. The East Germans used the camp as a prison for thieves and non-communists (not really much a change from the Nazis). Later on, they used it as a nursing home for the elderly (maybe because the non-communists got old?)

The castle recently underwent refurbishment and has been put into use as a museum, youth hostel, and hotel. This means that if you wanted to, you could stay there yourself for a night...in a castle!