Art Appreciation

It boggles my mind to recall that a mere five years ago, I was quite adamant about not wanting to have children when I grew up. Nowadays, I'm constantly fantasizing and making mental notes about how I want to raise my future kids, provided this dream comes true. My babies are going to grow up on Disney movies, Haydn, the Cosby Show, and Lemony Snicket books. I'm going to make sure that they keep up with current events...that they learn and remember how to ride a bike (unlike me), and that they learn and remember how to speak Chinese (also, sadly, unlike me).
Last weekend walking through Central Park, H and I started talking about how certain kids are so much more cultured/sophisticated, because their parents brought them up that way. They just know way more than the average person about things like politics, opera, and history...not because they're smarter, but because they were exposed to those things when their brains were new and fresh and young. While their parents perhaps prioritized this sort of knowledge, our parents--having immigrated and sacrificed everything so that we could grow up in the US--prioritized instilling in us this sort of sacrifice. It's not that they are less cultured; they just couldn't afford to be visiting museums and watching operas with us while learning English and working multiple jobs. I feel like when I have kids, I want to combine these two priorities, so that my children learn the basics of working hard and being obedient etc. but also go out and learn as much as possible about the world, rather than staying indoors doing homework or practicing piano all day.
I keep coming across books in particular that I really want to introduce to my kids when they're fairly young. Books like In Memoriam, which I'd like to read with them, a few poems per night or something...just because literature teaches certain invaluable lessons that one often can't identify on one's own. I think being exposed to this stuff early on gives anyone a head start on life, so to speak. While I'm REALLY thankful I'm learning these things now, I do wonder if I maybe would have made past decisions with more maturity and wisdom, if only I had discovered these books earlier on.

Which brings me to--MIDDLEMARCH! Middlemarch, by George Eliot, is one of the best books I have ever read. (It also happens to be one of the longest books I've ever read, but it's worth every one of its 837 fine-print pages.) Usually when I read something noteworthy, I underline/dog-ear my favorite quotes and post them here. However, with Middlemarch, this doesn't seem like a good idea because a) I dog-eared practically every other page, and b) lumping all the quotes together wouldn't give each one the loving attention and admiration it deserves. So I will write about one or two quotes per entry. I will admit that most of the time, thanks to my inherent narcissism, a quote becomes my favorite simply because I can relate to it so perfectly. Once in a while, a passage will strike a beautiful chord within me and express things I've been longing to say, put into better words than I could ever devise. It's as if the author is teaching me about myself. Thus, while writing about these quotes, I'm also essentially writing about myself.

So after this circumlocutory preamble/ramble, here is my favorite quote #1: Art is an old language...sometimes the chief pleasure one gets out of knowing them is the mere sense of knowing.
I spent a good couple hours at the Metropolitan Museum a few days ago. There was only time to really look at one exhibit, called "the Steins Collect" (http://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2012/steins-collect/). We walked through at least ten rooms full of paintings, reading every single placard next to it. By the end, I was exhausted, but I also felt like I could distinguish a Matisse from a Picasso from a Renoir without much trouble, and that was certainly a significant skill gained. I realized that my sense of satisfaction and happiness from that day at the museum wasn't the appreciation of art itself so much as the appreciation of KNOWING about art. To be honest, I probably spent more time reading placards than actually looking at the paintings they described. My understanding of art is at such an elementary level that I need the placards, the way a cripple needs crutches or a toddler needs training wheels. I can still look at a painting and instinctively feel whether I like it or not, appreciating it blindly (so to speak) without knowing why, but that is much less enjoyable to me...it doesn't feel complete, secure, or memorable. It reminded me of how, oftentimes at concerts, I get the sense that the majority of audiences derive pleasure from simply BEING there and knowing what's going on, rather than being moved by the music itself.
I can understand both sides. I just hope that someday I will know enough about art that I can surpass the mere enjoyment of simply knowing about it.

Opinions

In the present world of Facebook and Twitter and Youtube, one is constantly bombarded by an overwhelming onslaught of opinions, from best friends and complete strangers alike. While self-expression is generally a good thing, it can also be tiresomely circuitous. Have you noticed that in the aftermath of big events publicized by the internet, people's reactions tend to follow a pattern? For example, when Michael Jackson died, there was the tidal outpouring of grief and tributes. After about a month, that got old, and people got irritated with the mourning. Then people got irritated with the people irritated with the mourning. Same with Whitney Houston. First everyone grieved ("RIP Whitney, we will always love you" etc. etc.). Then people criticized the grievers (). Then people criticized the critics of the grievers.
And now with the whole Kony business, it's the same old cycle--popularity, criticism, plus the added bonus of a drunk public humiliation tidbit (which I admit I almost shared).
I hate to say this, but sometimes I get tired of everyone expressing their opinions all the time. When I unconsciously scroll down to video comments on Youtube, I'm constantly appalled at how unnecessarily crude, pointless, or plain stupid they can be. What on EARTH would compel an individual to expend their energy by typing such things, to be seen by the entire world? Obviously some comments are great (I have yet to read a bad comment on TED.com particularly). But in general, it's pretty depressing.
I watched the Kony video a few weeks ago, and it was sad. But a tiny part of me wasn't convinced...maybe it was something in the speaker's voice, or the way they chose to present their claim, or the claim itself...that didn't seem completely genuine. Of course, it's a cause worthy of attention, like most causes in this world. And of course I love Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston and Etta James and other celebrities whose deaths garnered widespread lamentation. But I think that before we publicize our opinions on such things, we should stop and think...is it really worth sharing? Can we get the same satisfaction by just telling ourselves and/or our friends?

I was saying this all to C, and he was like, "Jennifer, if reading other people's comments annoys you, why don't you just stop reading other people's comments?" And I was like, "...oh."
So I've stopped reading my Facebook news feed, at least for now. And I gotta say, it's pretty nice.

Something I've Noticed...

When someone gives me disappointing news, no matter who it is and what it's about, at that moment I become solely preoccupied with acting okay about it. This could be for several reasons: a) I don't want people around me to feel uncomfortable, b) I want to preserve my pride, and c) I want to convince myself that I'm okay. Whatever it is, I've noticed that I don't have an honest reaction until a while later, usually when I'm by myself thinking and/or writing. That's when I finally decide whether I actually AM okay with it or not, and how to deal with it. I wouldn't say this nonchalant facade I assume upon initial disappointment is fake, necessarily...even though it only happens when I am around other people (I don't pretend I'm okay when I get disappointing news by myself). Partially it's an automatic habit, and partially I really DO want to be okay with it, especially if I'm around people who would really worry about me, or if the bad news comes in the form of an apology/confession (e.g. Person: I did something bad yesterday etc. etc. Me: I see, yeah it's fine"). My brain tries to skip carelessly past the issue, which might make things easier in the moment, but certainly makes things harder for me when I am re-confronted with the issue, later and on my own.
Does anyone else do this?

Cheating

These days, my mind is just bursting with thoughts. If I wanted to, I could write at least 20 entries right now, on 20 different topics, and let it all out. But I'll settle for just one...or maybe two.
First of all, cheating. This is a sort of premeditated rant that I've dumped on several poor people already...and lately, it's bugging me more than ever. I have more free time these days, so I've been reading a lot and watching a lot of dramas. And it really seems to me that a LARGE majority of fictional relationships end with one (or both) of the individuals cheating on the other. I am certainly NOT trivializing the pain of being cheated on; thanks to the Lord it has never happened to me, so I can't properly sympathize with the situation. I also simply cannot understand the concept of cheating in the first place--of even considering loving more than one person simultaneously. It's incomprehensible, at least so far in my life. I don't mean to say, "If one of the people cheats, it wasn't real love or a real relationship," because I'm in no position to make that judgement. However! As an observer, I do think I'm in a position to say, please can we have a different story once in a while? From soap operas to great literature, from 90210 and Friends ("We were on a break!") to Wuthering Heights and Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina (what an annoying woman), it's ALWAYS down to someone not being faithful. And as someone who is watching these stories unfold--whether the plot is superbly crafted or cliche/recycled--I'm automatically disappointed and even disinterested when the cheating begins. The characters lose validity, and the story line loses appeal. I was watching "Smash" (a new drama on NBC, it's pretty good) yesterday night, and when people started cheating on each other, I just thought, "Really? This again?" Yes, it's sad, and maybe I'm part of a minority that cannot connect to this sort of experience...but if I EVER abandon music and go into writing, like screenwriting or something, I will try to shed some light on other reasons people break up. Because there are many, and they can be just as heartbreaking, just as memorable, just as powerful--if not more.
A huge percentage of art/entertainment is about love...this being said, creativity is vital. Please, I beg of you...

Happiness

If happiness is like a bright and wandering bird, appearing one unexpected moment and gone the next, it has been a lovely and faithful companion these past two days. From sitting in a circle singing Bach chorales, to reading Haydn and Mozart and Beethoven quartets into the wee hours of the night; from provoking ridiculously fat squirrels who make angry bird sounds when agitated, to totally surprising myself by buying a ruffly floral mini-skirt at French Connection...life has been good.
I spent today primarily with three fantastic people. With the one in the morning, I admit it took a while for me to recognize what a special girl this is...now that I know, I look forward to every moment we spend together, even if it's just walking home from school. It actually puzzles me when, like a ray of sunshine, I suddenly realize how great someone is. This doesn't happen often, because usually friendship is like cooking--whether it's a slow marinating meat or a five-minute grilled cheese, there is always an observable process. Camaraderie and a close bond don't just appear out of thin air for me. But once in a blue moon, I'll meet someone, think they're okay for four years, and then all of a sudden, see them in a whole different light. It was sort of like that moment when you're in the shower and, like a bolt of lightning, you randomly realize what the last word in your crossword puzzle is, and you're like "YES!!!" That's how I felt when I really became friends with this girl. It was awesome.
The one in the afternoon, I've known for quite a while. Since he's new to Boston, I took him through the usual tour I give visitors--down Newbury, around Boston Common, back up Boylston, and conveniently ending at Legal Seafood (where he, being the usual infuriating sweetheart, refused to let me pay). It was lovely, one of those times spent with old friends who never change...there's never a dull moment with a quirky companion who is basically the embodiment of Weird Jennifer times ten. At one point, he told me he was considering changing majors (from classical performance), and I thought maybe he was interested in jazz or something, but no--what he had in mind was becoming a sushi chef. Ha! So great.
And the one in the evening is my concert-going buddy of three years, and one of those Mark-Zuckerberg-type geniuses who tend to talk faster than I can think, except completely minus the ego. Another example of a totally unique and interesting individual, but in his own subtle and quiet way. It just confirms my suspicion, that the people I gravitate toward tend to be the ones who are truly one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-blue-moon types, but who aren't aware of it, and who don't hit you head-on with their specialness and uniqueness.
As a musician, I tend to meet a lot of eccentric personalities who are Different with a capital D. You know it, they know it, the world knows it, and the minute they walk into a room, it's obvious they're Different and proud of it. That's cool and admirable, but definitely not my type.

On a separate note, tonight I watched a fantastic rendition of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. It's obviously an epic piece that never fails to activate your dopamine neurons and get that blood pumping. Watching it performed at such a high level made me want like CRAZY to play in an orchestra for the rest of my life. With music like this, how can it get any better? It also reminded me of when NEC played it two years ago (see September 2010 entry entitled "What Feels Good"). I went rummaging around Instant Encore to find the live recording. There's no doubt that we rushed, and we certainly don't play with the same flawless beauty or precision as the BSO...but I think we had ten times the energy, and twenty times the fun.
Here's the last movement:
Dreams of a Witch's Sabbath

Is that cheer at the end not worthy of a Red Sox game or a Linsanity buzzer beater? It's so great--not because it shows we were good, but because it shows we made the audience happy. :)

Lady Audley's Secret

Loved this book...

Favorite Quotes:
He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. The one purpose which had slowly grown up in his careless nature until it had become powerful enough to work a change in that very nature, made him what he had never been before--a Christian; conscious of his own weakness; anxious to keep to the strict line of duty; fearful to swerve from the conscientious discharge of the strange task that had been forced upon him; and reliant on a stronger hand than his own to point the way which he was to go.


The snow lay thick and white upon the pleasant country through which he went; and the young barrister had wrapped himself in so many comforters and railway rugs as to appear a perambulating mass of woolen goods rather than a living member of a learned profession.
Haha! Exactly how I feel when I go outside bundled up in countless layers. :)

How fondly we recollect these solitary days of pleasure, and hope for their recurrence, and try to plan the circumstances that made them bright; and arrange, and predestinate, and diplomatise with fate for a renewal of the remembered joy. As if any joy could ever be built up out of such and such constituent parts! As if happiness were not essentially accidental--a bright and wandering bird, utterly irregular in its migration; with us one summer's day, and for ever gone from us the next!


"So he can be in love, after all. That slow lump of torpidity he calls his heart can beat, I suppose, once in a quarter of a century..."
Ouch.

...this pleasant dream floated off into the great storehouse in which the visions of things that never have been and never are to be, are kept locked and guarded by some stern enchanter, who only turns the keys now and then and opens the door of his treasure-house a little way for the brief delight of mankind.