August 2019 – "You Might as Well Read"

Those of you who check out my blog now and again may have noticed that it’s been quite some time since my last post. Three weeks! How can that be? Where has all that time gone? My fall semester classes officially begin tomorrow, but I’ve actually been at it for most of August, frantically working on the second part of a two semester project that I began last spring, on 16th century Italian portraits of children. I’ve spent several months doing research and I’m now at the point where I simply MUST begin writing! I’ve made outlines, collated notes, requested ten more books from the interlibrary loan department, read many interesting art history articles (some even tangentially related to my topic), went to the movies, went shopping for novels on Amazon, made banana bread, went to more movies, bought more novels, made cranberry bread, started this post . . . . . wait! wait! Something’s wrong! I simply must begin writing about Italian Renaissance portraits! Oh well, I think I’ll do this post instead (then check out the movie schedule and catch up on some book blogs).

1231946_o2 — Well, maybe my class rooms don’t look *quite* like this, but the idea’s the same . . .

MISCELLANY PART I: BACK TO SCHOOL READING

Since this is Monday, my post will be a miscellany that’s more of a “mess–allany” than usual! It’s in several parts, so if you get bored (now, honestly, how could that be? Please do realize I am being sarcastic here!) you won’t lose content by scrolling through the dull parts.

Since this is a book blog, I’ll begin with – – – reading! Although I’ve done a tremendous amount of it this month, most of my reading has been very narrowly focused —- of the “I simply must begin writing my paper but first I’ll skim another article” type — which is not to say it’s been dull (if I weren’t the type to find Renaissance Italy interesting, I wouldn’t have used August to read about it!) I am stuffed, positively stuffed, with interesting factoids about the Italian Renaissance! Did you know, for example, that families in 16th century Florence recorded their sons’ births in the family account books but often didn’t bother recording the daughters’? That children of both genders were farmed out to wet nurses almost immediately after birth and only rejoined their biological families around the age of three or so (some even stayed with the nurse until age seven)? That couples who wanted to conceive a son were advised to tie the guy’s left testicle with string and to eat lots of hot food (I’ll spare you the theory behind this)? Did you know that some scholars estimate that half of the children born during this period died before their first birthday, and that half of these survivors died before age thirteen? Although scholars only begin studying the history of “childhood” around 1960 or so, they’ve produced some incredibly interesting and very accessible work since that time on families, marriage, childhood and women’s roles in Renaissance Italy. If you’re up for non-fiction, some of these are definitely worth reading, such as . . .

51UHNVELDDL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_ — Described (accurately) by one reviewer as an “elegant and accessible” survey of ideas about childhood in western culture … but … illustrations *are* in black and white!

51r0eMnXH8L._SX378_BO1,204,203,200_ — Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! Painting, furniture, clothing, interiors, sculpture, musical instruments! And, oh yeah, a highly readable text by one of the English-speaking world’s great Renaissance scholars . . .

As for my own particular Renaissance woman and her depictions of certain Renaissance kids (the topic of my paper and my excuse for all that reading about childhood and family life):

anguissolaselfportraittondo — Sofonisba Anguissola, the first generally acknowledged female artist of the Italian Renaissance (there have *always* been woman artists, they just haven’t been acknowledged). Sofonisba painted this self-portrait when she was about twenty years old.

And — here’s the kids!

l_pl1_371016_fnt_tr_t87iiia-2 — Little Massimiliano Stampa, aged twelve or so and already the ruler of a small town in northern Italy. I just discovered a few days ago that Massimiliano grew up to have ten children himself and ultimately renounced his title to become a monk! His portrait was one of Sofonisba’s first commissions.

1961.84.jpg — Not a great deal is known about this painting, including the identity of the sitters. Most likely they’re siblings from a rich Florentine family whom Sofonisba painted in the 1580s, towards the end of her career.

Portrait_of_a_Boy_at_the_Spanish_Court_by_Sofonisba_Anguissola,_San_Diego_Museum_of_Art.JPG — San Diego’s Museum of Art, where this painting is now located, calls it “Portrait of a Prince at the Spanish Court.” Isn’t he adorable, in his little miniature hunting costume? This was painted around 1562, when Sofonisba was a lady-in-waiting at the court of Philip II of Spain. Again, lots of unknowns; the child’s identity is disputed and at least one major scholar thinks the painting is by someone other than Sofonisba.

MISCELLANY PART II: AUGUST MOVIES

Does anyone besides me like movies? Although I’m really not addicted (honestly, I can go weeks and weeks without a hit), in times of stress they’re my go-to drug of choice, especially when combined with potato chips! Like most sane people, I generally watch movies at home, but when piles and piles of (unread) Renaissance art books are staring at me, I resort to a conveniently located local theater, which specializes in current art house, repertory and foreign films (fortunately, it also has a great bonus program, which has come in really useful this month). In August I hit the jackpot, so to speak — my local guys were celebrating the 1970s, one of my favorite periods for “old” American movies.

I did go current, however, at least at the beginning, by kicking off August with Quentin Tarantino’s latest, “Once Upon A Time in Hollywood.” Has anyone else seen it? If so, I’d like to hear your thoughts, particularly as I’m not a Tarantino fan (I generally think he’s a bit over-rated, and his movies normally are far too bloody for me). In a sense, I liked this one despite myself, but it was good! (although it is pretty violent). Anyway, August movie month had what I considered an auspicious beginning:

I followed this current release with lots and lots of repertory, seeing, in no particular order:

“You Only Live Twice” (1975): Didn’t date well and don’t bother, unless you really, really want to see Sean Connery masquerading as a Japanese fisherman, complete with skin makeup (don’t ask). I didn’t and left halfway through, as life is short.

“The French Connection” (1971): I wasn’t a fan when I first saw this, oh so many years past, but it’s held up surprisingly well.

“The Thomas Crown Affair” (1968): A heist movie totally devoid of suspense; even Steve McQueen couldn’t save it. High point was Faye Dunaway in a lavender hat (she was lovely).

“Chinatown” (1975): One of the all time greats; saw this one twice! Who could forget that closing scene?

“Nashville” (1975): I love Altman’s movies and this is one of his best. Surprisingly (and depressingly) still relevant to our sad political times.

“McCabe and Mrs. Miller” (1971): another Altman (told you I love his movies). Saw it twice this month, once solo and once with Mr. Janakay (it was necessary for his cultural development!).

“Diary of a Mad Housewife” (1970): Carrie Snodgress won a Golden Globe (and was nominated for an Oscar) for her work in this comedy-drama. She is good (makes you wonder what her career might have been had she never met Neil Young) and, despite being a bit of a period piece, the movie still works.

“The Last Picture Show” (1971): How could I have forgotten how great this was? Cloris Leachman deserved three oscars!

Does my list include anyone else’s favorites? Or not-favorites, as the case may be? Any recommendations? (I still have lots of Renaissance art to get through, so movie going in the near future is a distinct possibility.) Has anyone seen “The Farewell”? If so, please share your opinion, as I’m dying to see whether Awkwafina lives up to her reviews!

MISCELLANY PART III: FUN READ

Humanity has perished, victim of a zombie plague; all that’s left are the animals. The tale is (mostly) narrated by S.T., a formerly domesticated crow who’s spent his life with his beloved Big Jim, a junk-food eating, beer-drinking redneck, and Dennis, a slobbery but good natured bloodhound. Aside from being hysterically funny (yes, it is!), there’s a lot going on in this deceptively simple little story. Take my word for it, this is NOT just another post-apocalypse zombie novel (and if you don’t believe me, check it out on NPR).

51yagNHv-1L._SX329_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg

MISCELLANY PART IV: THE 1619 PROJECT

You may or may be aware that in August 1619 a ship carrying more than 20 enslaved Africans landed in the British colony of Virginia. The unfortunates aboard were sold to the colonists and “American” history (at least, of the United States variety) was off and running. To mark the 400th anniversary of this momentous event the New York Times compiled its 1619 Project, which explores the history of slavery (a history that was certainly never taught in any school I attended) and the way in which it’s affected every aspect of life in these sort-of-United States. The Project uses historical objects from the National Museum of African American History and Culture as a starting point for its scholarly essays and journalistic pieces, and interspaces its factual material with poems and short stories by noted black artists. Not to be missed; here’s the link to get started.

A photo from the 1619 Project, showing prisoners from the Ferguson prison (for young men ages 17 to 21) in Huntsville, Texas. This is 1968 and they’re still picking cotton.

MISCELLANY PART V: CONCLUSION

Did I mention that I have a paper to write on “Changing Concepts of Renaissance Childhood: Three Portraits by Sofonisba Anguissola”? (note: title is subject to change) Clearly, it’s time to call in someone who’ll keep me focused . . .

He-who-must-be-Obeyed says “follow my example and get back to work!”

P.S. The old-timey school room shown at the beginning of my post is an 1871 painting by Winslow Homer, called, appropriately, “The Old School Room.” You can see it at the St. Louis Art Museum in St. Louis, Missouri.

As I’m sure everyone is aware by now, the great Toni Morrison died yesterday at the age of 88. She was the first (and only) African American woman to win the Nobel Prize in Literature and the first American to do so since John Steinbeck. More than the prizes, she was an utterly transforming voice in contemporary literature.

I’m not going to pretend to recap her incredible accomplishments, as the media is already doing so. If you’re interested in getting the details of her extraordinary career, check out these pieces in The New York Times and Washington Post. I’m writing this little piece because I feel I owe it to a writer who transformed my view of the world.

I grew up as a white Southerner under a system that is best described as apartheid: “Whites only” drinking fountains; “White” and “Colored” restrooms; and restaurants and diners that legally refused to serve Black Americans simply because they were Black, to mention only a few things. I attended public schools that Black children could not attend. I did not sit in a classroom with an African American student until I was sixteen, when one incredibly brave kid exercised her legal right to attend an all White school and dared, actually dared, to enroll in a Latin class intended to prepare my home town’s elite White kids for admission to the local, and still segregated, state university (our governor, a soul mate and harbinger of the current occupant of the White House, was busily fomenting racial hatred and division by blocking the admission of Black students to its hallowed halls) The American history I had been taught was that the Civil War was a tragic misunderstanding over states’ rights; that slavery, while “regrettable,” wasn’t really that bad; that the Ku Klux Klan’s tactics may have been a little extreme, but its violence was an understandable response of Confederate veterans deprived of their citizenship; and that Reconstruction’s insistence on Black participation in the political process was an unmitigated evil.

Although I grew up in a system that privileged all Whites over all African Americans, unlike many White southerners I never deluded myself that all Whites were equal; I could see for myself that kids descended from the landed gentry and former plantation owners were treated with much more respect and consideration than kids from poor backgrounds. My South wasn’t the Tara Plantation or cotillion balls of Gone With the Wind; it was the hardscrabble south of Norma Rae, of generations of coal miners and sharecroppers and “poor White trash,” of people who died young from malnutrition and overwork, of incredibly bright men and women who could barely read and write because the South they lived in saw no need for them to be educated. My own mother picked cotton when she was a child (from “can’t see to can’t see” — daylight to dusk, for you non-Southerners) and I grew up hearing tales of how frightened she was of the overseer who would ride his horse around the fields and how often she and the others were cheated when the cotton was weighed at the end of the day. I also knew that for a portion of her adult life my mother was “legally” barred from voting because she was unable to pay the poll tax that kept so many poor Whites, as well as African Americans, from participating in elections.

My family were survivors against the odds — we weren’t intended to flourish, or to survive beyond a subsidence level, but we did. My blind spot (one of many, I’m afraid) was that I equated my own family’s experience with that of African Americans. We were both poor, both denied education (poor white kids couldn’t afford to buy the textbooks they needed to learn, faced ridicule from their classmates and were expected to leave school young) and both were cheated economically and politically. I thought the South’s poor Whites and Blacks were essentially in the same boat. Toni Morrison and her books about the Black experience in America made me realize how foolish was my belief, that White people, even very poor White people, always had it better simply because they were white. This truth came home to me when, many years ago (but not soon enough) I read Morrison’s Beloved, her story of Sethe, the slave woman, who kills her own child because being dead is better than being a slave.

Reading Beloved was one of those experiences that don’t come very often in a lifetime, when you’re one person before you read a book and just a little bit different afterwards, that what you have read has shifted your view of your world in a significant way. My family picked cotton and so did Morrison’s characters, but my mother and grandmother weren’t deprived of knowing each other and they weren’t sold on an auction block; they (or more realistically me) could move into the world of privilege simply because of the color of their skin in a way that African Americans of their (and my) generation could not. Although it was painful to realize that I was a part of the system that created these horrors, just as much as the arrogant rich kid sitting next to me in that high school Latin class, I wouldn’t trade that insight for my master’s degree, or my law degree or for anything else I have. Thank you Toni Morrison.

"You Might as Well Read"

Monday Miscellany: Back to School, Movies, Books & History (not in that order)

Toni Morrison: 1931-2019