end of performative writing / writing for voice

Roy R. Behrens © 2005

Above Exhibition flyer for works by Mary Snyder Behrens (2005).

•••

William H. Gass, interviewed in Tom LeClair and Larry McCaffery, eds., Anything Can Happen: Interviews with Contemporary American Novelists (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1983), p. 158—

I think contemporary fiction is divided between those who are still writing performatively and those who are not. Writing for voice, in which you imagine a performance in the auditory sense going on, is traditional and old-fashioned and dying. The new mode is not performative and not auditory. It's destined for the printed page, and you are really supposed to read it the way they teach you to read in speed reading. You are supposed to crisscross the page with your eye, getting references and gists; you are supposed to see it flowing on the page, and not sound it in the head. If you do sound it, it is so bad you can hardly proceed...By the mouth for the ear: that's the way I'd like to write. I can still admire the other—the way I admire surgeons, broncobusters, and tight ends. As writing, it is that foreign to me.

info online

how do you like your blue-eyed bird, mr. death?

Roy R. Behrens, © digital montage

Above One of my early digital montages (its title and date I can't recall). At the time I was interested in Arts and Crafts designer William Morris (that's Jane Morris leaning leftward), and Buffalo Bill (behind and above the target). One day we discovered that a bird (a starling) had been trapped in our wood stove, where it died and remained somewhat preserved. The feather colors were astonishing, and I decided I should place its body on a flat bed scanner, then use the result in a montage. Perhaps I also had in mind that wonderful e.e. cummings poem about the demise of Buffalo Bill: "How do you like your blue-eyed boy, Mister Death."

•••

Wilhelm Reich, Passion of Youth: An Autobiography. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1988, p. 10—

Once I was playing by the fence and a peasant boy my age [whom he was forbidden to play with] was watching me from a few meters away. Suddenly he grabbed a stone, I presume as a joke, and threw it at me. It hit my forehead and I bled a little. He certainly had not intended to be mean. My mother washed my forehead and told my father [who was the boss of the other boy's father] what had happened. Father became enraged. He summoned the child and the child's father. After referring briefly to the incident, he gave the father a dreadful beating. The peasant endured it quietly, without defending himself. As he walked off with his child, I could see him beating him the whole way home. The boy screamed frightfully. I was very upset, but said nothing and crept away to hide. I was about eight years old.

Behrens, Dreams of Fields (2025)

to catch a green lizard without its tail falling off

Above Roy R. Behrens, book cover design for Joseph Langland, The Sacrifice Poems. Cedar Falls IA: North American Review, 1975.

•••

Lawrence Durrell, quoted in George Plimpton, ed., The Writer's Chapbook (NY: Viking Press, 1989), pp. 107-108—

To write a poem is like trying to catch a lizard without its tail falling off. In India when I was a boy they had great big green lizards there, and if you shouted or shot them their tails would fall off. There was only one boy in the school who could catch lizards intact. No one knew quite how he did it. He had a special soft way of going up to them, and he'd bring them back with their tails on. That strikes me as the best analogy I can give you. To try and catch your poem without its tail falling off.

more info

Rainbow / machine-stitched appliqué and thread

Mary Snyder Behrens © 1986

Above Mary Snyder Behrens, Rainbow Sleeves (1986). Machine-stitched appliqué and thread on found fabric. 19"h x 29"w. Collection of the Racine Art Museum, Racine WI.

•••

H.H. Green, Simple Life of a Commoner, 1911—

But of all the things I saw that day, there was one that so deeply interested me that I have never forgotten its exact appearance. It was a wonder to a boy of my age and would be of considerable interest even now. It was just a common ordinary pocket knife with a bone handle and blades of steel, but it contained 1,851 [because it was made to be shown for the first time at the Crystal Palace Exhibition in London, the first World's Fair, in 1851] of those steel blades, from one to two feet long and proportionally wide and thick, on down of all sorts and sizes till the smallest could not have been more than a quarter of an inch long. They were all open from the handle and stood out in all directions like the quills on a porcupine's back when he is on a war footing. Up to that time that was the greatest sight I had even seen. I have often thought since, if that knife had been lost for a thousand years and then found by some antiquarian, what a time the wiseacres might have had ever the monstrous size of a man, who, in the middle of the nineteenth century carried a pocket knife like that.

proof / the curse of whiskey undercuts longevity

Roy R. Behrens © 2011, digital montage (detail)

Robert Kosmicki, quoted in Steven J. Zeitlin, et al., A Celebration of American Family Folklore (New York: Pantheon, 1982), p. 57—

Well, my grandfather came from Poland, and he just died here about a year ago, at the age of ninety-five. I remember one thing he said. He was a very wise man, but he was kind of a boozer all his life... On his birthday or something like that I'd take him a bottle of bourbon. And he told me one day when I brought him a bottle of bourbon for his birthday—! think he was ninety-two at the time—he said that he had given up alcohol, that alcohol had killed two of his brothers and so he thought that it was time for him to quit, because he wasn't old enough to die yet. So I asked him about the brothers it had killed. And he told me it had killed his brothers Colin and Stanley. I checked up on it and found that Colin was ninety-two when he died and Stanley was eighty-nine.

art is rare, sacred and hard work / no short cuts

Mary Snyder Behrens, Drawn Conclusions No. 14, Cleave 2005

Anthony Burgess, But Do Blondes Prefer Gentlemen?: Homage to Qwertyuiop and Other Writings (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1986)—

Art begins with craft, and there is no art until craft has been mastered. You can't create unless you're willing to subordinate the creative impulse to the construction of a form. But the learning of a craft takes time, and we all think we're entitled to short cuts…Art is rare and sacred and hard work, and there ought to be a wall of fire around it.

slow art / deep-running skill and doggedness

Roy R. Behrens (©2011), Barbarian Seville. Digital book montage.

Robert Hughes in "A Bastion Against Cultural Obscenity" [a speech delivered at Burlington House, London] in The Guardian, June 3, 2004—

What we need more of is slow art: art that holds time as a vase holds water: art that grows out of modes of perception and whose skill and doggedness make you think and feel; art that isn't merely sensational, that doesn't get its message across in ten seconds, that isn't falsely iconic, that hooks into something deep-running in our natures. In a word, art that is the very opposite of mass media.

See also "Art, Design and Brain Research: Non-Scientific Thoughts about Neuroesthetics" in Gestalt Theory (Vienna), 2013.

Indian eyes / the role of ocular culture in high art

© Mary Snyder Behrens

Above Mary Snyder Behrens, Title and current location unknown. Machine embroidered wall art / altered Brownie Scout uniform, ©1984.

•••

Ginu Kamani, “Code Switching” in Meri Nana-Ama Danquah, ed., Becoming American: Personal Essays by First Generation Immigrant Women (New York: Hyperion, 2000), p. 99—

Indian lore is full of the magical power of the eyes—justified, in my view, as Indian eyes are truly incomparable. The cultural emphasis on implicit rather than explicit communication, on keeping emotions in check, on placing others before self, and observing duty-bound restrictions on words and action, transforms ocular communication into a high art. In the Vedas, the visual gaze is considered as potent as the transmission of semen between bodies. Westerners are often entranced by the eyes of Indian gurus and holy men, whose gaze casts an enticing spell. Many have felt hypnotized, submitting to a power they cannot fathom.

not funny adults / do you know what happened

Above Roy R. Behrens, acrylic painting [title and whereabouts unknown], 1968.

•••

Deborah Andersen, Dialogue: An Art Journal {March/April 1987), p. 50—

In 1948 when I was six years old, I was selected to appear on Art Linkletter's radio program People Are Funny. The night before the show, my mother worked feverishly getting me ready. On the show I was the first child to be announced. Art Linkletter asked me "Debby, do you know what happened last night?" In my cutest little voice, I responded, "No, what?" There was hysterical laughter. Without saying another word to me, Art Linkletter turned to the next child and asked him the same question. He answered, "President Truman was elected." I have spent the rest of my life trying to figure out what happened.

•••

RELATED LINKS 

Dazzle Camouflage: What is it and how did it work? /  Nature, Art, and Camouflage / Art, Women's Rights, and Camouflage /  Embedded Figures, Art, and Camouflage / Art, Gestalt, and Camouflage /  Optical science meets visual art /  Disruption versus dazzle / Chicanery and conspicuousness / 

FALSE COLORS: Art, Design and Modern Camouflage

CAMOUPEDIA: A Compendium of Research

on Art, Architecture and Camouflage

SHIP SHAPE: A Dazzle Camouflage Sourcebook

bush whacked / rhymes with porky, no offense

Above Roy R. Behrens, painting titled Homage to Arshile Gorky. © 1967. As an undergraduate art student, I had become greatly interested in Abstract Expressionism, and had written a paper about Gorky's famous painting, The Liver is the Cock's Comb. At the time, I hadn't yet discovered that Gorky had taught a camouflage course for civilians during WWII at the Grand Central School of Art in NYC.

•••

During the 1984 presidential campaign, when Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush were running against Walter Mondale and Geraldine Ferraro, Bush's wife (Barbara Bush) said in response to the question of how she would characterize candidate Ferraro: "I can't say it but it rhymes with 'rich.'" Later, having realized the offensiveness of her quip, Barbara Bush called to apologize, as Ferraro later recalled in her autobiography, Ferraro: My Story. New York: Bantam 1985—

"I just want to apologize to you for what I said," she [Barbara Bush] told me over the phone while I was in the middle of another debate rehearsal. "I certainly didn't mean anything by it."

"Don't worry about it," I said to her. "We all say things at times we don't mean. It's all right."

"Oh," she said breathlessly, "You're such a lady."

All I could think when I hung up was: Thank God for my convent school training.

•••

RELATED LINKS 

Dazzle Camouflage: What is it and how did it work? /  Nature, Art, and Camouflage / Art, Women's Rights, and Camouflage /  Embedded Figures, Art, and Camouflage / Art, Gestalt, and Camouflage /  Optical science meets visual art /  Disruption versus dazzle / Chicanery and conspicuousness / 

FALSE COLORS: Art, Design and Modern Camouflage

CAMOUPEDIA: A Compendium of Research

on Art, Architecture and Camouflage

SHIP SHAPE: A Dazzle Camouflage Sourcebook

an anagram overkill / What's for repas, Eclat?

Nature Poster / Roy R. Behrens © 2019

W.V. Quine, The Time of My Life: An Autobiography (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1985), p. xii—

At Oxford we had an au pair girl named Tecla, and I could not get over the feeling that the name was a garble. I kept trying anagrams. I would say, "Set the table, Tacle." "Bring the treacle, Tecal." "Bring the meat, Cleat." "Take my plate, Clate." "What's for repas, Eclat?" "All set, Alcet?" My wife was afraid Tecla might leave.

the endangered practice of designing posters

Poster / Roy R. Behrens © 2019

Above Roy R. Behrens © 2019, Poster (a collection of twenty-five bird posters). There are few things I enjoy as much as designing posters. I've created scores of them, especially in the past decade. Most often I've designed them (without charge, pro bono) for nonprofit organizations whose causes I want to help to support. But the opportunities have all but disappeared these days. Printed posters seem almost to have come to be an endangered species. Where would we display them? And for what purpose, since it is far easier to post and share the image and notification on various social media sites. Yet (to my mind) there are few things quite as beautiful as an exquisite poster on a wall. Above is what one might regard as a "metaposter," since it is a single poster made up of an arrangement of multiple posters for a local wildlife preservation site (Hartman Reserve Nature Center in Waterloo / Cedar Falls, Iowa). Too bad this practice is now passé.

•••

Wilbert Snow, Codline's Child (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1974), pp. 37-38—

There were no septic tanks and no sewers in our village. Each home had a backhouse that had to be cleaned out once a year. For three years, when I was between ten and thirteen, I did this chore for [a woman neighbor named] Fronie. Each time she gave me five dollars, and five dollars to me then was far more than five hundred would be to me now. In those days no lime was thrown over the dung to make the task easier for the shoveler. Each time I became deathly sick, but I needed the five dollars so desperately that I saw the job through. I have no words to express the horror of those two or three hours each year. I would lie on my stomach and throw up when there was little or nothing to yield. After the job was over, I would go to the Mill Cove for a swim and to Patten Point to smell the fragrance of fir trees and bayberry bushes.

•••

RELATED LINKS 

Dazzle Camouflage: What is it and how did it work? /  Nature, Art, and Camouflage / Art, Women's Rights, and Camouflage /  Embedded Figures, Art, and Camouflage / Art, Gestalt, and Camouflage /  Optical science meets visual art /  Disruption versus dazzle / Chicanery and conspicuousness / 

FALSE COLORS: Art, Design and Modern Camouflage

CAMOUPEDIA: A Compendium of Research

on Art, Architecture and Camouflage

SHIP SHAPE: A Dazzle Camouflage Sourcebook

the transition from man to gluttonous mongoose

Poster, Roy R. Behrens © 2011

Edmund Gosse [describing the British poet Algernon Charles Swinburne]—

It was important, at meals, to keep the wine or beer or spirits out of Swinburne's reach. If this were not done, as often by host or hostesses not aware of his weakness, he would gradually fix his stare upon the bottle as if he wished to fascinate it, and then, in a moment, flash or pounce upon it, like a mongoose on a snake, drawing it towards him as though it resisted and had be to be struggled with. Then, if no one had the presence of mind to interfere, a tumbler was filled in a moment, and Swinburne had drained it to the last drop, sucking in the liquid with a sort of fiery gluttony, tilting the glass into his shaking lips, and violently opening and shutting his eyelids. It was an extraordinary sight, and one which never failed to fill me with alarm, for after that the Bacchic transition might come at any moment.

I mean the thing you use to rub out mistakes

Altered book montages, Roy R. Behrens © 2004

Bessie Head [South African novelist], "Some Happy Memories of Iowa" in Paul Engle, et al., editor, The World Comes to Iowa (Ames: State University of Iowa Press, 1987), pp. 86-87—

American English isn't the British English that is spoken in southern Africa. I walked into a stationery shop and said to the man behind the counter, "I would like to buy a rubber, please." The man said: "We don't sell them in ones. We sell them in threes." I said: "But I want only one rubber." The man became hostile: "But I told you we only sell them in threes." I said: "All right, I'll take three then." The man walked to the back of the shop and returned with a small packet of prophylactics that he handed to me. He had such a peculiar look in his eyes that I thought he believed I was a prostitute who had suddenly invaded Iowa City. Half fainting with shock I struggled to explain, "I mean the thing you rub mistakes out with." "Oh," he said, "you mean an eraser."

awaiting the shared use of a set of false teeth

Altered book montages, Roy R. Behrens © 2004

Kingsley Amis, Memoirs (New York: Summit Books, 1991), p. 1.—

[My paternal grandfather] was a great teller of jokes, typically without preamble, to trap you into thinking you were hearing about some real event. One of these horrified me so much [as a child] that I have never forgotten it. A Scotsman (I was still so young that I had not heard about Scotsmen being supposed to be mean) took his wife out to dinner. Both order steak. The wife started eating hers at top speed, but the man left his untouched. "Something wrong with the steak, sir?"—" No, no, I'm waiting for my wife's teeth." I had not then heard of false teeth either, and imagined the living teeth being torn from the woman's jaws on the spot and inserted into her husband's.

milkman comes up the walk and pauses to talk

Altered Book Montages / Roy R. Behrens © 2004

Susanah Mayberry, My Amicable Uncle: Recollections About Booth Tarkington (West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 1983), p. 4—

Early one morning during this period he [Booth Tarkington] went for a walk after an unusually long writing session. He met the milkman coming up the walk and stopped to talk: ''You been up all night?" he [the milkman] asked. ''Yes," I answered. "What you been doin'?" he went on. "Working," said I. "Workin'!" said he. "What at?" "Writing," said I. "How long?" said he. "Since yesterday noon," said I. "About sixteen hours." "My God," said he. ''You must have lots of time to waste!"

Tao Te Ching / Bauhaus / Gestalt / Invisible Core

In the past three or four years, I have produced about 18 online video talks, which are indebted to—but not the same—as years and years of classroom slide-embellished talks for courses in graphic design and design history. It is one way to continue to teach, long after having retired from in-person lecturing. The videos have become surprisingly popular, and I suspect that some are being used by university faculty as supplementary teaching resources. The most frequently visited has had thousands of viewers (6000 alone on YouTube, plus those at other sources) which is encouraging, given that I don't admonish viewers to "like and subscribe."The most popular video is a foundations-level overview of the most basic understandings about "how form functions" in design-based art, architecture and graphic design. The title is Art, Design and Gestalt Theory: The Film Version. In referring to it as "the film version," I intended to distinguish it from an academic paper with the same title, that I published twenty-seven years ago (in 1998) in the journal Leonardo (MIT Press).

That print on paper version was (perhaps still is) one of the top-ten most downloaded articles in that magazine's history. The paper and the video address the same subject, but they differ markedly, and I think the film is better. The film is derived from a classroom talk that I nearly always gave on the first day of class in my university-level design studio and foundations courses. It evolved over the years of course. But it seemed to function reliably as a "big picture" overview of what designers, architects and design-based artists might hope to achieve.

At the end of the film, I conclude by saying how lucky I was to have taught during the last 29 years of my teaching career (not 39, as the film narration mistakenly claims) in the Kamerick Art Building at the University of Northern Iowa. As I noticed when I first spoke there, the design of that building is based on recurrent references to a rectangular motif, the shape and proportion (1 by 2) of a domino game piece. That same motif is also fundamental in traditional Japanese architecture, where it occurs in the floor mats or tatami, which measure 3 x 6 feet. I surmised that the Kamerick building pays homage to that, in features both inside and out, an assumption that was verified years later when I spoke to the architect.

Earlier in the film, I allude to the resemblance between Gestalt theory in perceptual psychology, and the Tao Te Ching, which may have been first introduced to me by Weimar Bauhaus Master Potter Marguerite Wildenhain, with whom my friend and teacher Dean Schwarz and I spent a summer studying pottery at Pond Farm (her mountain-top studio, home and school) in Northern California. In her autobiography, titled The Invisible Core: A Potter's Life and Thoughts, she makes explicit references to Lao-tze's famous passage that claims that the essence of a pot is not in the walls, but in the space (or void) within—its "invisible core."

Here is the full passage from Lao-tze:

Thirty spokes meet in the hub, but the empty space between them is the essence of the wheel. Pots are formed from clay, but the empty space within it is the essence of the pot. Walls with windows and doors form the house, but the empty space within it is the essence of the home.

Marguerite Wildenhain was one of many who were struck by that now-famous passage. Another was Frank Lloyd Wright, who was quoted as follows in Bruce Brooks Pfeiffer, ed., Frank Lloyd Wright: His Living Voice (Fresno: California State University Press, 1987), pp. 25-26—

One day in 1912 I got a little book from the Japanese ambassador to America ... It was a charming little book and all you ought to own it. It is called The Book of Tea [by Okakura Kakuzo]. Well, there I read Lao-tze for the first time, and I read that the reality of a building does not consist in the roof and the walls but In the space within to be lived in. Well, there is my thesis.

RELATED LINKS 

Dazzle Camouflage: What is it and how did it work? /  Nature, Art, and Camouflage / Art, Women's Rights, and Camouflage /  Embedded Figures, Art, and Camouflage / Art, Gestalt, and Camouflage /  Optical science meets visual art /  Disruption versus dazzle / Chicanery and conspicuousness /  Under the big top at Sims' circus

a young dog acquires name of Henry Yah-mes

Alvin Langdon Coburn / Max Beerbohm Portrait

Max Beerbohm (in a letter to Lytton Strachey)—

Some time in 1913, at this address, my wife and I acquired a young fox terrier. We debated as to what to call him, and, as Henry James had just been having his seventieth birthday, and as his books have given us more pleasure than those of any other living man, I, rather priggishly perhaps, insisted that the dog should be known as James. But this was a name which Italian peasants, who are the only neighbors we have, of course would not be able to pronounce at all. So we were phonetic and called the name of the dog Yah-mes. And this did very well. By this name he was known far and wide—but not for long; for alas, he died of distemper.

liver in one hand a whiskey tumbler in the other

Montage © Roy R. Behrens

Anthony Powell, Messengers of Day (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1978), p. 101—

He planned a practical illustration of the harm alcohol can do. He came into Helgate's sitting room holding a tumbler of neat whiskey in one hand, a piece of liver in the other. Dropping the liver dramatically into the whiskey, he paused for a moment while the meat shrivelled up. "That: he exclaimed, "is what is happening to your liver all the time you drink as you do." Heygate, who was undoubtedly startled by this action, reported himself as replying: "What a shameful waste of liver and whiskey."

language in which faith intertwines with desire

Montage © Roy R. Behrens

Francine du Plessix Gray, in George Plimpton, ed., The Writer’s Chapbook—

We must all struggle against all that is curious, already-seen, fatigued, shopworn. I battle against what my admirable colleague William Gass calls "pissless prose," prose that lacks the muscle, the physicality, the gait of a good horse, for pissless prose is bodiless and has no soul. Of course this holds equally true for fiction as for essays, reporting, a letter to a friend, a book review, a decent contribution to art criticism—in sum I search for language in which faith intertwines with desire, faith that we can recapture, with erotic accuracy, that treasured memory or vision which is the object of our desire. I'm keen on the word "voluptuous," a word too seldom heard in this society founded on puritanical principles. I think back to a phrase of Julia Kristeva's, the most interesting feminist thinker of our time, who speaks of "the voluptuousness of family life." I would apply the same phrase to the prose I most admire, prose I can caress and nuture and linger on, diction which is nourished by the deep intimacy of familiar detail, and yet is constantly renewed by the force of the writer's love and fidelity to language.

Edison 's clever gadgets / his turnstile watergate

Montage © Roy R. Behrens

Edmund Fuller, 2500 Anecdotes for All Occasions (New York: Crown , 1943)—

[Thomas] Edison was very proud. He enjoyed showing visitors around his property, pointing out the various laborsaving devices. At one point it was necessary to pass through a turnstile in order to take the main path back to the house. Considerable effort was needed to move the turnstile. A guest asked Edison why it was that, with all the other clever gadgets around, he had such a heavy turnstile. Edison replied , "Well, you see, everyone who pushes the turnstile around pumps eight gallons of water into the tank on my roof."

Arthur Koestler / not in his most admirable state

Koestler on creativity

Sidney Hook, Out of Step: An Unquiet Life in the 20th Century. New York: Harper and Row, 1987, pp. 441-444—

The outstanding personality at the Berlin congress was undoubtedly Arthur Koestler. He was in his element — masterful in expression, keen in give and take, and unwontedly eloquent. Tireless in energy, he had an excellent sense for practical detail. And most surprising to me, he was disciplined and cooperative. There was, however, one aspect of his behavior, not relevant to the proceedings of the Congress, that I found so painful that I could hardly bear to be in the same room with him when he let himself go. This was his rude and cruel treatment of his wife, who though obviously hurt by his remarks seemed to dote on him all the more. It must have been the country bumpkin in me that prompted me to say to him, when we were taking private farewells of each other the last night before our departure: "Well, Arthur, you really excelled yourself at our meetings. We couldn't have succeeded so well without you. I admired everything you did — except the way you spoke to your wife." He cast a startled look at me but said nothing.

The next morning, while I was having coffee early in the breakfast room of the Hotel am Steinplaz, Koestler waved to me from the other end of the room and then approached as I finished. Taking me under the arm, he walked me toward the waiting bus and solemnly said: "Sidney, as a friend, I want to tell you something important. Whatever you do, don't drink! As soon as you get too much liquor in you, you say the most terrible things." He obviously assumed that I must have been drunk the night before to say such a horrendous thing to him. In truth I was stone sober.

the professor cannot meet with his asses today

Digital Montage [detail] / Roy R. Behrens

Ralph Oesper [referring to the 19th century Scottish physicist Sir William Thomson] in The Human Side of Scientists (Cincinnati, OH: University of Cincinnati Press, 1975), p. 181—

One day, because of an engagement elsewhere, he posted the following notice on the door of his lecture room: "Professor Thomson will not meet his classes today." The young men decided to play a joke on their beloved teacher, and one of them carefully erased the "c" so that the note read: "Professor Thomson will not meet his lasses today." They then left. The class gathered the next day and anticipated that the professor would make some suitable remark about the altered notice. He came slightly late, but obviously he had already seen what they had left. The notice of the day before had been changed once again, and this time by the professor himself. It now read: "Professor Thomson will not meet his asses today."

Postscript: This reminds me of those rare occasions when, as a university professor, I was too ill to teach. Sometimes (oh, surely not always!) I would post the following note on my classroom door: Class has been cancelled. Professor Behrens is il[sic] today.

Einstein's visitors / a conspiratorial bowl of soup

Digital Montage [detail] / Roy R. Behrens

Lancelot Law Whyte (recalling a visit to Albert Einstein's home), quoted in G.J. Whitrow, Einstein: The Man and His Achievement (New York: Dover, 1973)—

After we had been talking for about twenty minutes the maid came in with a huge bowl of soup. I wondered what was happening and I thought that this was probably a signal for me to leave. But when the girl left the room Einstein said to me in a conspiratorial whisper, "That's a trick. If I am bored talking to somebody, when the maid comes in I don't push the bowl of soup away and the girl takes whomever I am with away and I am free." Einstein pushed the bowl away, and so I was quite happy and much flattered and more at my ease for the rest of the talk.

pungently pointed puns best punished promptly

Anon / visual pun

Puns, pungently pointed and perpetrated promptly are productive of a proruption of a pretty proportion of piquant pleasure; but puns protracted and in every person's premises, should be punishable by a propulsion of the perpetrator from the punning premises.

Boston Evening Transcript (6 August 1832), quoted by C.G. Loomis in "Traditional American Wordplay, Wellerisms, or Yankeeisms" in Western Folklore 8 (1949), p. 2.

BALLAST Quarterly Review / all issues online

At the moment I am preparing an online class session on the experience of founding a magazine in 1985. The magazine was BALLAST Quarterly Review, which I began in Milwaukee, while teaching at the university there. In 2002, a substantially different account of how that magazine began was published in an essay / interview titled How BALLAST Began, which can still be found online. 

The magazine's publication continued for 21 years. It was chosen by Milwaukee Magazine as one of "the best things in Milwaukee" and was also featured prominently in the Whole Earth Catalog, Communication Arts, AIGA Journal, and other publications.

Elsewhere, I have said that BALLAST was an online commonplace book. For those who may not know the term "commonplace book," it is a notebook or scrapbook of sorts in which someone collects interesting information (bits that trigger a double take) that he or she has run across. I had initially posted such findings (both text and image items) on a bulletin board in the hallway outside my office at the university. It became popular, as students who were passing by would check for the newest additions. With BALLAST I began to post such things not in the hallway but in a self-published quarterly mailing.

Throughout the life of the magazine, this forced me to keep reading, in search of flotsam and jetsam to include. In time, I also published essays and a multitude of book and film reviews, all of which were then republished in the journal Leonardo (MIT). But at least half of the pleasure derived from the inclusion of visual components that my students and I or others produced, or from historic sources. All issues of the magazine have since been scanned for reposting on the internet by the ScholarWorks division of the Rod Library at the University of Northern Iowa. Anyone can now search, read online, or download (free of charge) all issues of BALLAST as printable pdfs.

Simultaneous contrast / its role in art and design

In a popular online video talk, there is an overview of the function and importance of simultaneous contrast in art and design.

Its relevance to color theory was popularized by the teachings of Johannes Itten at the Bauhaus, and by Josef Albers (also from the Bauhaus) while he was teacher at Yale.

Its significance, as I try to show, is far greater than in the teachings of Itten and Albers. It had been researched and written about much earlier, in the nineteenth century, by the French scientist Michel Eugene Chevreul, who was the person who gave it the name.

RELATED LINKS

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