![]() Today I felt as if I came out of my last class just beaming. My freshman seminar, Photography and Literature, was absolutely intriguing. Three hours went by as if they were three minutes. Around seven other people are in this seminar with me, the professor is new, and this is the first time that this class has been listed. Somehow, all of these things combined to create a class that is refreshing; it just feels there are little bits of passion or newness, and maybe just a slight hint of something strikingly fresh—like when you get that after-taste of citrus when drinking freshly squeezed, maybe-a-little-too-sour lemonade. I’m not really sure how to describe it, but I loved it. Before class this week, the professor asked us to read Barthes’ Camera Lucida, which is a collection of musings on photography, mostly regarding theory, purpose, and essence in photography as a medium. When I first read this book, I probably only understood an optimistic half of it—this guy is really dense and philosophical, I guess. After discussion in class, I felt a little clearer. We spoke mostly about Barthes’ claim that photography, as a medium in itself, is actually quite useless. He claims that photography is just about the only “art” form in which the medium is nothing without its referent, or object/person. In painting, drawing, sculpting, etc., every stroke, shape and texture is purposeful and is meaningful. In photography, no such equivalent exists. Even the angle of the photograph and other “artistic” methods are only in relation to the referent. The photograph itself is a flat piece of paper. Then, Barthes argues that, in a way, even the referent itself is not meaningful in itself. The picture is merely a record of “what has been,” merely evidence of something that was there. This is where I became interested: The only thing that gives a photograph value is the value it creates in you. In other words, the photo, as a medium, is always contingent, always depending on the relationship it has with the observer, or spectator. Sure, this may be true for all “art,” but other art seems to have so many extraneous factors, so many complications, so many ways that the medium itself has meaning that change this simple relationship set forward by photography: the referent, the observer, and the medium which relies completely on both parties being present. I now realize that this mirrors so much in our own lives, in our daily living. So many times we are focused on how, or we get caught up with the little things that come along with that how. There are a million distractors—things that are pretty, intricate, and so aesthetically pleasing that somehow the two ends of the relationship become less important: in Barthes’ terms, the spectator and the referent, but in our terms, us and our living, our saints, and our Lord. Since when is our living about anything but this pure relationship? Since when is it about how we “paint” it, how we make it look, how nice and intricate our proposed medium is? We have a beautiful relationship because of the relationship, not because we create a medium that looks to be more beautiful than the two ends for which it was made. Our medium is our spirit, our connection to the only end that matters. And for that matter, our spirit is actually contingent on both sides . . . We have to be willing to release our spirit and the Lord receives our spirit (actually, that is all we can offer). A healthy spirit requires a complete subduing and a complete purity; every other part we think will help this medium, this connection is actually just superfluous and clouds the relationship. Looking even further, we see that not only is the means contingent upon the sources, but that the sources are contingent upon the means as well. In this symbiotic relationship lies the beauty that is our spiritual connection; the Lord gave us a singular way to be one with Him, just as the seemingly ordinary piece of paper we call a photograph is the only way we could ever be touched by the referent in the picture. In this thinking, Barthes has it correct. The most beautiful relationship—what makes photography a beautiful medium and what makes our spirit the most beautiful medium—is that which is pure, singular, and completely dependent on each end and the connection between them. Lord, we have a spirit! How beautiful.
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The idea of the American Dream is embedded within the Declaration of Independence, a crucial document within American history that prescribes each citizen the right to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” These inalienable rights grant citizens the freedom to pursue prosperity, happiness, and success through hard work and perseverance. As defined by James Truslow Adams in 1931, the American Dream is the fulfillment of this ability to achieve both external and internal gratification from a life in the United States. Whether it is upward social mobility or uplift, America is regarded as a place where equality in opportunity and society is exercised as the moral and political basis of the nation. While the existence of the American Dream seemed promising and even achievable in America’s history, many modern-day scholars tell a different story. With multiple financial crises looming over America’s shoulders over the last couple decades, the dream seems to be all but a myth. Specifically, 1980s America marked a period in time when the United States was facing huge uncertainties regarding its relationship with the Soviet Union conflict as well as a severe economic recession. With more than 10% of Americans unemployed, the early 80s was identified as the largest recession since the Great Depression. The American Dream seemed lost within the rubble of post-war America. Art provides a unique glimpse within history through cultural, social, and political perspectives and, in this case, a unique view on the American Dream and its continuation in modern America. It serves as a projection of opinions and thoughts onto a canvas, photograph, or other medium of expression, directing viewers and audiences to sustain political thought. Lozowick writes: “A composition is most effective when its elements are used in a double function: associative, establishing contact with concrete objects of the real word and aesthetic, serving to create plastic values” (Lozowick 19) Here, Lozowick identifies art’s dual function; that is, art maintains a certain contact with the real world while serving and sustaining an imaginative purpose—having a creative and social value. Art, thus, serves to use such identifications with the real world as a means to make an argument about reality through an aestheticized production. Art and the associated discourses are then inextricably linked to one another as integral pieces of history that can be unraveled to expose truths that may be hidden within cultural works. Eric Fischl puts Lozowick’s idea of a double function to work in his 1986 oil painting “The Black Sea.” In this painting, Fischl explores the ambiguities behind the American Dream. While on the surface Fischl’s work seems to glorify the existence of leisure, extravagance, and freedom, a patriotic representation of post-war America and a supportive claim for the existence of the American Dream, upon closer inspection, it actually provides a more cynical picture on America, concluding that the American Dream only exists in the realm of fantasy and that the identity of America is nothing more than a façade that covers it’s true “nakedness” or materiality. The title of Fischl’s painting, “The Black Sea,” provides a first look at Fischl’s argument. Here, the adjective “black” can be seen as both literal and metaphorical. In its most literal sense, the Black Sea is a body of water north of the Mediterranean Sea bordered by many European countries and modern-day Russia. It received its name due to its violent tendencies to swallow sailors in its dark stormy waters. Metaphorically, the color black is usually associated with death, scars, and forms of emptiness. It is a color of darkness and death, both key ideas associated with its literal identification. The title starkly differs from the painting’s picturesque portrayal of leisure. The irony involved in the discrepancy between the actual depiction in the painting and its title emphasize that America and the American Dream is in fact blackened, scarred, and more extremely, all but dead. The violent storm of the Cold War and economic crisis has all but swept away any life that attempts to sustain itself within the frame of the painting. The violent nature indicated by the painting’s title also resonates with Fischl’s unique style of presentation. Fischl focuses less on the detail of his subject matter but rather on the overall composition of his piece. In his painting, the people’s facial expressions and the miscellaneous leisurely items are obscured and unclear. While the subjects are not completely emotionless and are clear enough to associate with real world objects, viewers struggle to determine Fischl’s artistic meaning with a merely direct confrontation of his work. Fischl, thus, invites viewers to read into the ambiguity of these faces and objects. Its unclear quality and the aforementioned title place this painting within the context of Cold War America, highlighting the confusing and often chaotic times that defined that period. Even more extremely, Fischl’s brush stroke may be viewed as a purposeful effort to obscure his subjects—an explicit act by the author to blur the identities of his subjects. This reading, alongside the idea of blackness, proffers a similar conclusion that the idea of the American Dream is in fact separated from the identities of the subjects within the painting. That is, the hazy style of painting points to the inability for the individuals to fulfill the American Dream. In addition to the presentation of his painting, the composition and construction of his painting also adds another level of complication to Fischl’s message. His painting is in actuality two individual pieces that overlap over one another. His art, then, is more than just a two-dimensional piece of work; the canvas extends into the viewer’s space, providing motion and a sense of time through space. This effect brings the subjects within his work to life and directly juxtaposes his painting with another closely related industry of art: film. His painting is thus a storyboard and can be read as a record of time, a chronological capture of motion that heightens his claim that the American Dream may have disappeared through time. When analyzing the subject matter of Fischl’s work, however, these images and their metaphorical reincarnation yield a disconcerting response in the viewers. Fischl paints a picture of a naked man and woman at the beach, seemingly tanning their bodies as they enjoy a water and soda. The man is seen stroking the woman’s body as she lies on what looks to be a foam pad covered with a towel. The woman dons a fancy pair of sunglasses and is seen beside a single black high heel. On the right side, the same naked woman is seen lying on the beach with nothing but her sunglasses, staring back at herself and the man beside her. At first glance, this painting seems to showcase the American Dream at its finest. Nudity, here, is a liberating act of freedom and the fancy heels, glasses, and pads clearly place the woman and man within the context of leisure. Upon closer inspection, however, viewers are forced to consider the implications of the woman on the right. Her gaze can be interpreted in two ways. First, her gaze can be one of remembrance. That is, the two paintings are composed in chronological order, indicating that the woman somehow loses and is stripped of everything that makes her activity one of leisure. This reading matches Fischl’s compositional style and presentation of his painting. The subject is naked and alone, scorching and burning from the sun’s hot rays. This image, thus, highlights the effect of downward social mobility. Several questions come to light when forming this conclusion: Who is the man beside her? What kind of relations do they have? Fischl gives us clues that, although ambiguous, give room for multiple interpretations. He does, however, point to a more erotic and dark reading. That is, the man may have indeed raped the woman and taken her belongings. Society, especially in a time of economic and political turmoil, grants no room for this woman to fulfill the American Dream and rapes individuals unto they are forced to give up everything they have. While this is only one reading, an alternative reading may suggest that her gaze is indeed one of longing. The composition separates herself from the picturesque ideal of the American Dream; the woman was and will never be that woman in the left painting because she and the man himself are only a figment of her imagination. Although she desires such a life of affection, leisure, and money, this life only exists in her fantasies. Regardless of the viewer’s interpretation, the conclusion seems to be the same: Fischl concludes that in a society marred by an uncertain political and economic climate, individuals are unable to achieve the American Dream. “The Black Sea” is a cultural reflection of a point in United States history filled with many questions regarding the future. Fischl remarks on the absence of social mobility during this time and highlights the prevalence of immorality through his nude figures. The lack of clarity, both politically and socially, of the United States can be seen through not only the painting’s title, but also its presentation, composition, and subject matter. The painting, however, offers an additional clue that may dispel the American Dream and its existence altogether. That is, even in the left fantastical image, the woman is still incomplete; she is not seen with clothes and only has one heel. Perhaps, Fischl is claiming that the American Dream, from its beginnings, was never a reality and was always a work of the imagination, a myth that is swallowed up by “The Black Sea.” Works Cited Fischl, Eric. The Black Sea. 1986. Oil. Princeton Museum of Art, Princeton University. Lozowick, Louis. "The Americanization of Art." Machine-Age Exposition Catalogue. N.p.: n.p., 1927. 18-19. Print. People often call the United States a “melting pot” of different cultures, a social construction made up of the mixing and intermingling of various traditions. This term, coined in 1908 by Jewish immigrant Israel Zangwill, indicates the changing racial and social state of the United States during that time period. With women fighting for rights alongside African Americans and the newly emigrated Chinese, many traditional and conservative values of America were disputed and challenged. As new laws were created and enforced to accommodate these changing values, America slowly changed, transforming into what may be now referenced as an externalization[1] of Zangwill’s “melting pot.” Ethnicity, change, and differences became celebrated qualities that defined America as a booming society with mixed races and liberal ideologies. More importantly, individual cultural agency was established, giving each culture a sense of self-consciousness and place in American society. This idea of identity or “self-consciousness” stems from W.E.B. Du Bois 1903 book The Souls of Black Folk. In his book, Du Bois argues that African Americans have no self-consciousness and instead, must utilize his or her gift of double-consciousness in order to find peace, freedom, and identity in a world of contempt and hate. He writes: The Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world,—a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world. It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tap of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity (9). Here, Du Bois highlights the “peculiar sensation” of watching the blatant destruction of African origin, tradition, and culture. This double-consciousness or second-sight, however, is a tool—a gift. Although these people seemingly lack true self-consciousness, Du Bois claims that through the lens of others, the African American people can find identity. Perhaps, even more extreme, with the current racial state, Du Bois believed that it was through this ulterior lens that identity can then be constructed. Du Bois concludes with an argument to preserve the “America” and the “Africa” in African American, matching Zangwill’s now colloquial term the “melting pot.” Du Bois writes, “He simply wishes to make it possible for a man to be both a Negro and an American…” (9). Du Bois’s argument, however, is challenged when extended beyond that of just one singular culture and identity. The 1958 song “Grant Avenue, USA” is a prime example of a modern confrontation of Du Bois’s claim. While this song, originally from the musical “Flower Drum Song,” seems to celebrate the American melting pot, it actually articulates a case against Du Bois’s idea of double-consciousness by creating a false illusion of Asian American identity, marking Chinese culture as a foreign spectacle rather than an integral part of America. Written and composed by Rodgers and Hammerstein, an American musical theatre writing team, this song was written as a part of a musical to be performed at large venues like Broadway. Interestingly, the song’s title is “Grant Avenue, USA,” clearly placing the musical in a relatively Chinese context. Thus, Du Bois would see this song as a form of double-consciousness in which Asians could view the portrayal of their culture through an American lens. The title has significance in and of itself. Grant Avenue is the home of San Francisco’s Chinatown, a city center for Chinese commerce. Rebuilt in 1906 following a disastrous San Francisco earthquake, Grant Avenue, originally called Dupont Avenue, was renamed. Thus, Grant Avenue represents a remade America, a newly constructed business district that embraces and even idolizes the appearance of foreign culture. This idolization, however, is not positive by any means. While on the forefront this title depicts the idealized melting pot of America, one that overcomes adversity, it is in fact a reflection of the ability to erase the historical discrimination of the Chinese in order to establish a new order. Grant Avenue’s one-way street also has a cynical nature; the United States is on this set path, one that triumphs over hardships by forgetting the past and paving a new road over the old. It doesn’t look back nor does it want to. This song, even by its title, represents only a mirage of cultural acceptance and in reality, shows how the idea of double-consciousness can be destructive rather than beneficial, asking listeners to mask rather than remember the atrocities of American discrimination toward the Chinese. The song begins with trumpets blaring to an upbeat instrumental. In the background, there is a muted snare, tapping to an offbeat rhythm with various woodwind and brass instruments accompanying the singer. Together, the instruments create a jazzy and joyful atmosphere, moving the music forward without stagnation. The music breaks the fourth wall between listeners and the instrumentalists, inviting listeners to tap and snap along to the rhythm. As the song continues, stringed instruments gradually enter the melody with light pizzicato, growing and intertwining with the woodwinds and brass to form a full, unified orchestral ensemble. These instrumental characteristics are undeniably American yet seem relatively out of place, even grossly disturbing, when placed within the historical context of 1960s America. During this period in time, America continued to struggle with racial discrimination, prejudice, and violence. While the instrumentalization of this song seems celebratory of Asian culture, it actually creates a false mirage for Asian identity. In fact, within the music itself, it is impossible to distinguish any foreign culture or influence; no Asian instruments were used. The song’s carefree and American sound only overshadows any form of Asian agency. Ironically, while this song attempts to celebrate Asian culture, it actually works to destroy any formation of Asian identity. The combination of the string ensemble with the woodwinds and brass can be read as the ultimate completion of the song’s message regarding Grant Avenue and Chinatown. On the surface, this message is positive, highlighting the mixture of two unlike cultures. Upon closer analysis, however, the complete ensemble merely indicates a purely Western conception of Chinese identity, a false illusion of unification between American and Asian culture; all instruments were Western and characterized Western styles of music. This song, thus, does not commemorate America’s “melting pot” or Asian American agency, but actually assimilation into American culture under the false pretense of a merely nominal Asian culture. While the music is undeniably Western, the lyrics may present a different story in regards to this song’s ultimate representation. The lyrics reference some relatively colloquial foods and traditional Chinese items such as shark fin soup, bean cake fish, tea, and jade. Some may argue that through the introduction of these Chinese traditions, the song allows for awareness and self-consciousness for the Chinese in America. While this argument seems valid, upon closer inspection, the lyrics actually point to an even more pessimistic reading. First, the song uses the second person, speaking directly to the listeners, telling them they can ride up Grant Avenue in a trolley and eat Chinese dishes. The use of the second person, when put in context, is in fact identifying Chinatown as a foreign spectacle; it neither embraces nor positively portrays Chinatown. Instead, this song addresses the white audience that, more or less, would have occupied the Broadway stands during that period in time. The song further supports this idea: “The girl who serves you all your food is another tasty dish!” In this part of the song, the Chinese woman is recognized as an object of consumption. This means that the Chinese people are in fact merely a spectacle and a form of entertainment, viewed as objects rather than individuals. This song does nothing to subvert conservative and traditional American prejudices and instead further exacerbates and exposes the inadequacy of Americans to fully embrace Chinese culture, creating a spectacle which is actually an illusion of identity. Du Bois argues that through the lens of others, one is able to find identity and agency that incorporates the best of both cultures. While his claim may stand for African Americans, “Grant Avenue, USA” actually refutes this claim in regard to Asian culture. Although on the surface the song introduces a mixture of two cultures and even celebrates this through upbeat, happy music, it actually showcases the inability of America to unreservedly recognize the true identity of another culture. The gift of double-consciousness may in fact not be a gift at all, but rather a curse for the Asian American people; they can only see the world’s perspective and society’s construction of their culture and cannot achieve true identity in the midst of a racist nation. Even when listening to a pop culture song like “Grant Avenue, USA,” Asians are again reminded of their lack of agency; that is, the only way to survive in racist America is through the formation of an American-constructed, assimilated identity rooted in the confounds of Grant Avenue, USA. Works Cited Broadway. Grant Avenue, USA. Rodgers & Hammerstein, 1958. MP3. Du Bois, W.E.B. The Soul of Black Folk. N.p.: Quiet Vision Pub, 2008. Print. [1] Here, I use the word “externalization” as a way to reference the modern racial state as a fulfillment of Zangwill’s idea of America as a “melting pot.” While this term was coined in the early 20th century, it can be argued that at that time, it was not yet a reality. This argument continues in the present-day, as many disagree with the idea of America as a true “melting pot” of cultures. |
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September 2014
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