Plantation Architecture, part I

I have cynical feelings about restoring Plantation Mansions. Most of them are depressing indeed: in want of funds, with period wallpaper books open to show what they want donations for, and  a dusty mayonnaise jar for you to put those donations in.

Most of these homes are mouldering faster than John Brown's body. In Louisiana along the (Mississippi) River Road, you can see them gradually cut out from under by river water, industrial development, weather, mold, cockroaches, mice, and human neglect. Most of them have elegant proportions that speak past the shabbiness and decay. They represent a type of architecture which will never return.

European Tradition
If this was Europe, we would prize the chateaus where elegance once reigned at high human cost. Europeans don't raze their architecture just because there were dungeons in the basement full of torture implements, or even though rich young lordlings raped servant girls in the pantry or peed on the marquetry table legs in marble halls. During the French Revolution, they chopped off the heads of the Lords in the palace and those who tried to sell luxury goods to those Very Royal. This scared the hell out of the rest of Europe, but not enough to change central government.  Napoleon showed up, and the Royal Pageant went on. So did war--but it was not a war to free the oppressed. It was a war of Kings against an Emperor. Like his forbears in French leadership, Napoleon sought to control all of Europe with a ruling class, not to abolish central rule.

Our Idea
But in this country, we ended slavery through means not strictly class-driven. It was a regional break, and yes an economic break, but not by class: all classes went to war against slave states or to preserve their 'peculiar institution'. Today I'm not delving deeply into the long but true history of how the slave class had to suffer too long, and never got an even break afterward--that's for another time. But this is where some cynicism lies when it comes to preserving Plantation Architecture.

The American ideal of equality for all, plus a disdain for losing, makes a full-out federal preservation protection of plantation items seem ludicrous. Why would the United States of America revere the homes of its lost oppressor class? Yet those who don't grow up in the South never quite figure out that shabby plantation homes recollect war depredations (Sherman's torch) or reparations (carpetbaggers). Each failing site signifies that an entire economic class was decimated, that they were taxed and driven out of business, that they gave their all (gallantly) and lost. So in the South, preservation of the "highest achievement" is complicated by the fact that their best wasn't good enough. It was too long on grandeur, too short on foundries. Too cruel to sustain, but it propped elegance. A shabby Southern plantation denotes high ambivalence due to unresolved injury and the memory of historical outrage. Pick the injury and the outrage depending on who you are.

Therefore, any restoration of plantation architecture seemingly speaks to a lack of ambivalence: that the North should have left the South alone, and onward to that slavery somehow was acceptable. Onlookers who wish the Confederate flag to disappear distrust the motives of plantation preservation. .In this country, such preservation is a political statement. But I think the statement could  and should be be more complex.

Yes, these plantation homes describe the high living of careless  and cruel rich white people. Maybe some were "good to their slaves". They turned the cruelty over to subcontractors: foremen, patrollers, estate agents, so they could accord themselves this luxury of kind treatment on the face-to-face or escape altogether. And we do this now whenever we buy goods produced by slave labor elsewhere. These homes have the capability of throwing present sins into our faces, too. The ambivalence may be about a present international economy as well.

These homes also describe, just as the Egyptian pyramids do, or Versailles, or any Gothic chapel, the workmanship and artisan craft of the working class. Plantation sites don't just describe a place where whipping posts were used--but a place where black artisans designed and built sugar refineries, timber mills, environmentally suitable homes, levees that held back swamps, defensive avenues of fire, forest fire abatement, and strong buildings for storage and their own, far-lesser habitations. Most of these artisans are not recorded in history, just as the masons of palaces and cathedrals and pyramids are not. Most of them were never remunerated and hardly recognized.

And Just Maybe . . .
Maybe historical preservation can bring out that an enslaved people contributed mightily to American historical infrastructure. That without the unnamed architects of the sugar refinery, the unnamed engineers of the levees, and the faithful work undertaken, we would not be who we are and what we are today.  I think when we preserve mansions and slave quarters, we should preserve technological works as well--less glamorous, far more important. Then we could see that despite every attempt to stifle personality, capital aggregation, and justifiable pride in the slave, their contributions remain. Our very map would be different along the Eastern seaboard and the Southern coastline were it not for these unnamed souls.

We could find a way to honor slaves at these sites as well as deplore their situation. We could advance our understanding of history and the human spirit--gifted and superior, even in slavery. Something past Gone With the Wind, King Tut, European Lords and Medieval Popes. Something that reconciles this historical ambivalence by refusing to bury any part of it. Something that gives shape to current national aspirations.

Still, though I believe this could be achieved, I remain cynical. I wonder, when the last plantation house in the South collapses, will we be done fixing the scars by then? On the other hand, I remember that forgetting history is like being blind to a warning. We have long been blind to the achievements of the unknown laborer, whether we espouse their cause en masse or not. So I do not know the answer.

Tomorrow, a plantation architecture that should be preserved . . . . or at least I think so . . . .

A Book for Poets

I offer this book to poetry writers--

Lewis Turco, The Book of Forms: A Handbook of Poetics. University Press of New England. Available.
Mine is I think a second edition: "The New Book of Forms" but there's a third edition out.

Professor Turco has gathered Norse, Welsh, Anglo-Saxon, Japanese, medieval, modern, archaic forms--as many forms as possible--the complaint, the Blues Stanza, the rondeau, free verse, tanka et cetera. The forms don't all rhyme; they don't all count syllables. Since it's a handbook, it doesn't give you subjects or "ways to be inspired" or even pep talks. I sometimes use it to help me pick a form for the poems I write, or help me remember which sonnet is the English and which the Italianate.

I would never sit down and say, "It's time to write a Welsh englyn today!" (except for practice, maybe).
I look through the book, and see if my verse ideas fits  a form that might further it. Then I try to give my words that form. If the form makes the soul of the poem disappear, then I don't pursue that form any longer.

Other poets I know don't need this book. They have their method of building worked out, their voice, their way of invoking the soul. And their poems are meaningful and lovely to read or hear.

But I recommend it more than any book for writing poetry I've ever seen. It never tells you what to do; it only tells you what you Can do. It describes where others have been before and found a way to pump up the volume.

----also soliciting other recommendations . . . .

Fats Waller: Lulu's On The Town!!! (1935)

For all of you going out tonight, be sure and dress like you're running into Lulu somewhere. And that means sharp, baby. Totally for effect.
But most of all, don't drink and drive. Lulu wants you to get where you're going. All Right Now! Fats!

Street Art: Happy Birds!

Something for you kids at heart, for those missing warm days and sunny walks, for those nursing colds and blahs and driving through snow:

This fence hides some construction--this time of a play area for kids in a skyscraper. And talk about advance billing. Somebody knew how to spread their wings over art, graffiti, and kids all at once. Love it. Something happy and sloppy and detailed at the same time.

I keep wondering if this bird has a halo.

Two more detail shots after the jump.

Love it. Have a great day, everybody!

The Dish and Spoon Just Carrying On Like Trash

This is just a silly thing, but I have pictures.  My sister is a scrap-book expert. Every year I get a custom book of photos from her, all done up in grey paper with burgundy trim, or cream paper with sage insets, with pictures from the year. She also makes dynamite cards. It's amazing.

So when she came to town, I was anxious that we check museum exhibits and tourist attractions she might like. Thanks to the Smithsonian, I had a plan!

We went to look at a display of ancient-to-modern pop-up books. Did you know that learned astronomers used pop-up books????? They could study orbits just by sliding a tab. Illustrations by Renaissance Artists of note. I didn't take a picture of it--it was too old and valuable for the Smiths to let us. But it's true: the first pop-up book readers were studying Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo. They had to read Latin.

After awhile, the lofty standard of the pop-up book dwindled. Now anyone can own one on astronomy. I just don't know what the world is coming to. All that scientific advance, and here's what we're teaching:

And if that's not bad enough, here's a bunch of bunnies. I think it's a plot to keep children from being afraid of Animal Farm. The next thing you know, your children will grow fur and live in communes. And take a look at that cow on the right. He's clearly plotting something. And from above, you can already see he's won the Space Race. Keep an eye out, you all. It's a sign.

Here are two pages from one of my favorites. This is for you car enthusiasts out there: the Gas Station!

Well, we loved this exhibit. It takes a long time and much effort to make a pop-up book. I wish I had one for calculus back in the day. On the other hand, that probably wouldn't even have reconciled me to calculus.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

Awesome Sculptural Clothing from Broken Porcelain

Amzing Glass Art by Dale Chihully

John Lee Hooker

As you might now, I love the blues. I don't know why it's taken me so long to look for them this summer!
But both of these are a bit meditative blues. Longer passages, less 'hooks'. They build on you, the way Baroque music might, but with a totally different mood and instrumentation.

Hobo Blues from 1967

And Tupelo, Mississippi, also known as Black Water Blues, performed in 1993.

Norman Rockwell: The Runaway (1958)

There are snobs out there who say Norman Rockwell was merely an illustrator. That is bull. There is always a lot of emotional content in his paintings. Perhaps the modern art critic wants something with a little more death and destruction in it. But in art history, this shows up in many paintings as the historical record of times, clothes, kings, and verities that are no more. Here, too. 

In the eternal verities, the urge to rebel is universal, the call to obey as well. And where is the time flying part of this message? In the faces, but also in the contrast between human and institution. The straight lines and clean, nearly untouched whites of the background--things already set, like stone. Only law, order, rebellion, youth and age , guilt and innocence, fear and epiphany belong to the humans. 

This is a dynamite picture. It has everything in it except a Female. The composition--three heads forming a triangle, show justice, mercy, laughter, stability, and even sadness. I love Norman Rockwell. 

The Little Dome (1931)

I found a new Memorial--the "little dome". It's a World War I monument to DC residents who died in the First World War. It seems to need a lot of expensive repair and I loved it just as it was. The cicadas were all strumming as loudly as possible in the trees nearby, and the sun was in the golden part of its trip to the sea. I could have been in Attic Greece or 1920's America, so peaceful yet alive was the spot.

The architect was Frederick Brooke, with two assistant architects, Horace W. Peaslee and Nathan G. Wyeth.

 

The first inscription reads: "This memorial was erected through the voluntary subscriptions of the people of Washington. It was dedicated on Armistice Day in Nineteen Hundred and Thirty One by Herbert Hoover President of the United States. Within this corner Stone the Names of the Twenty Six Thousand Washingtonians who when the United States Entered the World War Answered the Call to Arms and Served In the Army Navy Marine Corps and Coast Guard."

The second inscription reads: "The Names of the Men and Women from the District of Columbia who gave their Lives in the World War are here Inscribed as a perpetual Record of Their Patriotic Service to Their Country--Those Who Fell and Those Who Survived Have Given to This and to Future Generations and Example of High Idealism Courageous Sacrifice and Gallant Achievement."

These inspiring words are at odds with every World War poet I've ever read. Nevertheless, the "Little Dome" honors them, and gave focus to Washingtonians still grieving the war and its losses.

They are considering expanding this local monument into a national monument. I hope they don't ruin its beautiful simplicity.

Lovely, yes?

The Lincoln Memorial (1916) and Lincoln's Statue (1920)

To be honest, much of the beauty of the Lincoln Memorial has nothing to do with Lincoln at all.

The architect of that monument, Henry Bacon, created a Doric temple with proportions that invite both majesty and contemplation. Inside and on the portico, one has air, space, light and dark. Beyond the portico, a flat rectangular pool stretches long, inviting stillness but also water birds, tourists, green grass.

The seated statue of Lincoln was completed by Daniel Chester French in 1920. Originally commissioned as a statue ten foot high, it was thought the statue would be dwarfed by its grand space. The statue stands 19 feet high. In it, Lincoln sits in a tailed coat and pantaloons, no Greek robes or other aggrandizing regalia. He is as, perhaps, he was: only larger than life. The statue reinforces the contemplative nature of the space.

One can read trouble, patience, resignation on Lincoln's face according to one's mood or primary take on our 16th president. We can contemplate the nature of individual sacrifice. But all around his image, the classical puts his virtues in the context of the widest and best traditions of Western scholarship: restraint in decoration, faultless attention to proportion, the call of history, the lure of philosophy, inevitability of death, and yet a lack of decay.  That lack of decay says that time may pass, but eternal verities continue.

Small wonder that Marian Anderson sang here for Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt after the Daughters of the American Revolution disdained to have her; that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., gave his "I Have a Dream" speech here; that others have sought to invoke Lincoln in their politics upon his portico. For it is not just Lincoln, it is art; it is design; it is a splendid work of monumental art.

Wikipedia has more on the Memorial. Also the National Park Service runs a Web site with good information.
Photos: Windy City Art; Three by Ann T. Hathaway; last by I love Oregon dotcom;

I leave you with Marian Anderson, the great coloratura soprano, at the Lincoln Memorial in 1939.
I hope you enjoy. Have a great weekend, everyone!

Book Illustrations: Gustave Dore

Gustave Dore (1832-1883) was a successful and brilliant engraver, draftsman, sculptor and painter. He is best known these days for his book illustrations. Masterpieces. Today I am amazed by the areas of light and dark that draw you in. Usually I am in awe of the line work.

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza by Gustave Dore. Beautiful!  Then the Ancient Mariner, who killed the albatross from foolishness and brought bad luck to all in his path.

And then Puss in Boots, scammer extraordinaire, with the Marquis of Carabas.

I just learned in Wikipedia that Dore collaborated on a book about London, published in 1872. I guess no one ever liked reality:

The book, London: A Pilgrimage, with 180 engravings, was published in 1872. It enjoyed commercial success, but the work was disliked by many contemporary critics. Some critics were concerned with the fact that Doré appeared to focus on poverty that existed in London. Doré was accused by the Art Journal of "inventing rather than copying." 

So here is "Third Class Passengers at the Station."

And then, here is the Prince discovering Cinderella after all. He seems a bit dumb-looking, but then he was a guy who tried a shoe on every woman on the planet. Maybe he should have been a shoe salesman.

So with this far-reaching talent and range of images, I wish you all a good weekend.