Apples and Oranges

The Apple is a curious fellow. He’s a sweet old fruit who likes to hang in trees, but try to coax him down and he’ll clutch onto the branch with all his might. Come Thanksgiving he loves to befriend the children, treating them each with a kiss and a dollop of fluffy whipped cream. He’s bashful in the open. Take off his thin robe of scarlet or peridot green and he’ll soon flush an embarrassed shade of brown. They say that he met Mr. Newton once upon a time, but that it was a bumpy encounter. Mr. Magritte told him that he had a prettier face than the Son of Man, and apparently Mr. McCartney thought so too. Mr. Jobs even took a byte out of him for his son Mac. But the Apple has a darker side too. He doesn’t like doctors, and every day he tries to keep them away. He punished poor Tantalus by floating just out of reach. He tempted a fair maiden with his sweetness and then told her father about what she’d done to him. A little later dear Apple put another maiden into a deep slumber at the bequest of her evil stepmother. Be wary of the Apple. He looks nice and shiny, but sometimes cruelty worms its way into his heart.

The Orange has a tough exterior, but he’s a softie at heart. When you’re not feeling well, he’ll nurse you back to health. On the outside he provides the zest for life. When he comes knock knocking on your door, he’ll say “Orange you glad it’s me?” But peel back the layers to expose his inner self and he’ll fall into pieces. It happens every time, just like Clockwork. He’s a sucker for Pulp Fiction, and enjoys clubbing at the Tropicana. He’s a protective brother since everyone wants his little sister, Clementine. Sometimes things get Bloody. He’s gets along nicely with Chocolate, but other times he can be a pretty “Annoying Orange”. And in the mornings, after too much Tequila, he sometimes watches the Sunrise.

Who can really tell the better of the two? Both can be sweet and both can be sour. But anyone who gives them a gentle squeeze never fails to raise a glass in appreciation. “Peel me a grape!” what a foolish thought. How do you like them apples and oranges?

A Review for Reviews

I am so tired of reading book and movie reviews that denounce a piece because it fails to hit specific points or use specific methods. I just finished reading a review that criticized a book because it failed to place the main character in more strenuous situations to see what her reactions would be. I might remind this reviewer that reading a novel is hardly the same as examining a scientific article; a character should not be thought of by the reader as a material to be tested. A character is a character, and the beauty of storytelling is the subtlety with which the storyteller describes reality. In other words, you cannot merely cut out the character from his or her world. If the world can be manipulated like a cardboard background, then so can the character.

A story is like an organism. To change one part is to alter everything else as well. It is unfair to say something like “that movie needed more action scenes.” Perhaps it would have been more enjoyable had it shown more action, but it told a specific story that used no more and no less action than what was presented. Any change, however small, ultimately changes the very nature of the story. To say that a character requires more emotional tests asks to not only change the story but to change the character herself. After all, the character is often a reflection of his or her unique experiences. This type of criticism shows a lack of faith in the ability of the author to tell the story that he or she created in the first place!  Not to mention that to separate the character from the plot seems to require a paradox of reality. The reviewer is willing to believe that the story is fictional and can easily be changed, but that the character is somehow immutable, definite and human. Of course, for the latter to be true requires a skilled writer, the kind that probably knew what they were doing when they included more or less dramatic scenes in the first place! Would you tell Leonardo that his angel wings needed more feathers or Piet Mondrian that he needed one more square?

Drawing

When I draw, I prefer to draw portraits. For one thing, straight lines are basically unnecessary, and there’s little to no point perspective. Everything is based upon observation, a simple tool that can be perfected to produce extraordinary results. Some nights I stay home, put on some relatively monotonous music, and draw for hours upon end. I snatch photos from Facebook and old albums, and draw on everything from poster board to Post-it notes.

Drawing the face is deeply personal. For me, the eyes are the most important part of the entire drawing, with the possible exception of the eyebrows (see “I Can See It in Your Eyebrows”), and I will only continue with a portrait if the eyes look right. Next comes the arc of the eyebrow, fading into the temple, and the shadow in the crevice next to the nose. Over time you begin to recognize a new, subtler form of beauty, one based on hidden symmetries. Eyes and ears are structurally similar across individuals, so it’s the minute differences, the unique qualities, that you inevitably search for. Only by understanding these qualities can you truly capture a human image. At times I’ve spent nearly 45 minutes with my head inches away from the paper, delicately perfecting the curve of a bottom lip, or the shade of one nostril. By the end, I feel like I’m holding a piece of the person I tried to depict. Perhaps it’s because I give the drawing a part of myself in the process.

After you draw lots of portraits for a number of years, strange things begin to happen. The line between the drawing and the human begins to erase, and while talking to someone, you suddenly find yourself wondering how best to replicate the shadow on their cheekbone. It’s hard not to become fascinated with people’s faces, even when they glare at you for staring at them. The beauty that you first recognize in your drawing or in a photo becomes real, and alive. I’ve recently discovered that it’s not a phenomenon exclusive to portraiture. Common objects can exude a similar attraction, and pleasant landscapes, already attractive in their own right, are something new altogether.

Another lesson learned from drawing is that, while order can be attractive, there is an equally potent beauty in chaos. In fact the very act of drawing creates chaos. It scrapes off material, like graphite, from a compact, ordered state (i.e. the pencil) into a disorganized mess. Sometimes I think about how making art can sometimes be reduced to just the pushing and spreading around of a medium until the pattern (or lack thereof) happens to look nice. Some might argue that I am trivializing the art of drawing. On the contrary, I believe that drawing’s basic nature makes it even more astonishing of a practice. Think about it. An artist has nothing but a smear stick, a flat[ish] surface and their eyes. Yet somehow with such meager materials they are able to create earth and air and even flesh. With such simple tools they can create an entire world. And others who view the work are able to recognize it as something more than just a specific way of spreading a material. Somewhere in the inner workings of the mind, a cluster of neurons pieces together the image into a representation. Suddenly a series of pencil strokes becomes a tree. A patch of shading becomes the night sky. And a series of carefully curved concentric circles becomes a window into someone else’s soul.

Musings on Passion

I’ve always found it difficult to understand how close friends can drift apart so easily in so little time. Friends that I used to be inseparable from now won’t even accept my Facebook requests. I suppose this is all part of the way life works, of growing up. But it also connects, I think, to the ephemeral nature of passion, something that we are simultaneously advised to accept and to ignore.

I would guess that passion in some form is a primary goal for most people, even if they don’t realize it. The most obvious example is lust, or a desire for sexual passion. But there are other, less acknowledged examples that deserve more recognition than they receive. Certain friendships, for one, can be very passionate. I realize that such a statement might sound unusual bordering on disturbing for some people, and I suggest that those readers reevaluate how they define the notion of passion. For the purposes of my argument, I will define passion as a relationship, whether with a person or a concept, that stimulates the mind to an unusually high degree. I would emphasize that this must be an active stimulation, or, in other words, that the mind must be using this stimulation to accomplish something. Therefore, someone could be passionate about molding clay because their mind is stimulated in such a way that they desire to mold clay. On the other hand, while getting a good massage might be very pleasurable, it must also induce a relevant active stimulation to be considered passionate. Simply put, you cannot be passionate about getting a massage just to feel better, but you can be passionate about giving massages, or even comparing massages. (Thus, a sexual relationship can only be passionate if it’s members have active roles, but this is irrelevant for now.)

To get back to my original point, certain friendships can be passionate because they require the full participation of all members. The result is often a feeling of invincibility that can manifest in a number of ways. It can mean liberation from a need to adhere to moral or societal standards. It can be a desire to obtain something radical, such as a crazy accomplishment like stealing something just to see if you get caught. Do you notice a trend among these side effects? As Freud might put it, they all allow the “id” an abnormal level of control. In other words, they promote the mind’s base instincts, which can lead to rewarding and/or dangerous consequences.

For a moment, let’s narrow our idea of passion to only contain person to person relationships. The human species is well-known to posses instincts that support the construction of communities. Cooperation and ambition both factor into these instincts, and both are critical in understanding passionate human relationships. Cooperation ensures that the group is stronger than the individual, a tactic proven successful numerous times by mother nature. Ambition drives the individual, or in some cases a small group, to seek power, often in ways that are less than admirable. When paired with the blind courage discussed in the previous paragraph, one is left with a volatile combination.

So why, then, are passionate human relationships often unsustainable? Many couples that begin very passionate relationships later complain that a certain spark has been extinguished. And as I mentioned at the beginning of this essay, passionate friendships can only last for a limited interval of time. Part of the problem may lie in the purpose of passion: achievement of a specific goal. In a mainly sexual relationship, the objective is pretty clear: sex. In friendships, the objective can be harder to determine. Perhaps a relationship arises because both members are experiencing a hostile environment, and use each other as protection, whether social or otherwise. This type of relationship accounts for many short-lived friendships and infamous summer girl/boyfriends. Once the environment changes, there may be no need for the relationship to continue. Or perhaps a passionate relationship is built upon a shared passion. As long as both members retain this shared passion, the relationship will likely continue. On the other hand, all it takes is for one member to cease caring about the shared passion to end the relationship. To strengthen such a relationship, both members need to find other shared passions to tie themselves together.

An important question inevitably arises: what about relationships in which the members are passionate about each other? In other words, what about love? Before you confirm such a relationship’s existence, think deeper about the relationships you know or have been in that may be classified in this third category. Again, these need not be sexual relationships. (Although, in truth sexual attraction is an accomplished illusionist when it comes to imitating love.) In other cases, attraction may be based on many similarities; you sometimes get along best with people most like you. One could argue that this is true passion for a person, since a person could be seen as an amalgam of their passions. Fair enough. But personally I believe people are more than just their interests. While said interests may help one understand who a person is, I would argue that these interests are merely shadows on the wall of Plato’s cave. They do not constitute the actual soul of the person. Therefore, neither feeling passionate about someone because of each shared passion, nor even just because they share so many passions with you, is the same as being passionate about the person. Sorry.

It has been said that there are three types of love: love between friends, love between family, and romantic love. I would say that while all three are capable of yielding passion for a person, love between a family often has the best chance of doing so, particularly when concerning parents/guardians and their children. In nearly any other case, the relationship must start from scratch. Friends and romantic interests must be earned through any number of factors. Not so with parents/guardians and their children. In children there is an innate trust for the parent, and in the parent there is an innate protectiveness for the child. Both instincts are much stronger foundations then something as trivial as a shared passion, and last much longer than sexual passion. Why? Because while shared passions and sexual passions work towards a future goal, trust has already achieved its goal, and protectiveness can never truly accomplish its goal. (The latter is not entirely true, but good enough for the purposes of this argument.) The foundation for a relationship is critical. Long term relationships that are not family related often require years to fully develop. This is because it takes years to accumulate enough shared passions to build a strong enough base. After all, according to our definition from above, memories can themselves be passionate. Collect enough strong memories, and any relationship is bound to last.

So what’s the moral of the story? For one thing, I would question the whole concept of “love at first sight.” But my original question asked why close friends can drift apart so easily in so little time. The answer, it would seem, is that the base just wasn’t strong enough. Perhaps it was the circumstances under which the friendship was formed, or perhaps there just wasn’t enough time for the friendship to fully develop. Whatever the case, take a look at your current relationships, and assess the foundations. It may help you see which ones will last…and which will not.

Admittedly it can be a little disappointing to realize that doomed relationships are out of your control. But you may find a bit of solace in the fact that passions with anything other than people [or animals] only end when you say they do. The only other partner will never walk away from you, and in some ways this can lead to more rewarding relationships on the whole.