With the Wind

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On Quality

"My father was a man who loved his business [his family-owned, three-generations old shellac company].  When he talked about it I never felt that he regarded it as a venture for making money; it was an art, to be practiced with imagination and only the best materials.  He had a passion for quality and had no patience with the second-rate; he never went into a store looking for a bargain.  He charged more for his product because he made it with the best ingredients, and his company prospered...

Only later did I realize that I took along on my journey another gift from my father: a bone-deep belief that quality is its own reward.  I, too, have never gone into a store looking for a bargain.  Although my mother was the literary one in our family--magpie collector of books, lover of the English language, writer of dazzling letters--it was from the world of business that I absorbed my craftsman's ethic, and over the years, when I found myself endlessly rewriting what I had endlessly rewritten, determined to write better than everybody who was competing for the same space, the inner voice I was hearing was the voice of my father talking about shellac."

- William Zinsser, On Writing Well

In Your Bones, Your Soul

via Pinterest

Brilliant Book Excerpt

It so happened that Lucy, who found daily life rather chaotic, entered a more solid world when she opened the piano.  She was then no longer either deferential or patronizing; no longer either a rebel or a slave.  The kingdom of music is not the kingdom of this world; it will accept those whom breeding and intellect and culture have alike rejected.  The commonplace person begins to play, and shoots into the empyrean without effort, whilst we look up, marvelling how he was escaped us, and thinking how we could worship him and love him, would he but translate his visions into human words, and his experiences into human actions.  Perhaps he cannot; certainly he does not, or does so very seldom.  Lucy has done so never.

She was no dazzling executante; her runs were not at all like strings of pearls, and she struck no more right notes than was suitable for one of her age and situation.  Nor was she the passionate young lady, who performs so tragically on a summer's evening with the window open.  Passion was there, but it could not be easily labelled; it slipped between love and hatred and jealousy, and all the furniture of the pictorial style.  And she was tragical only in the sense that she was great, for she loved to play on the side of Victory.  Victory of what and over what--that is more than the words of daily life can tell us.  But that some sonatas of Beethoven are written tragic no one can gainsay; yet they can triumph or despair as the player decides, and Lucy had decided that they should triumph.

~E. M. Forster, A Room With a View

Symphony

This is perhaps the best quote that I've ever come across: 

"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable; and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly...to listen to stars and buds, to babes and sages, with open heart; await occssions, hurry never...this is my symphony."

-William Henry Channing 



Just thought I'd share it with you, for it revives the bleary eyed and wary (in other words, me right now)--have a restful Sunday.

Quote: Contemplation

 Remember my post from a few months ago that included thoughts on Virginia Woolf's novel, To the Lighthouse?  Well, I'm still currently reading the book, for its complexity of thought--as well as its glorious sentence structure--have me not quite spellbound, but nevertheless intrigued.  (Plus, I am a very slow reader.)  I have found myself rereading paragraphs twice, and then one more time, in order to grasp their entirety: It's almost as if each sentence comprises multiple sentences, such that each sentence serves a deeper, analytical purpose.  Furthermore, the poignant intimacy and painful vulnerability that is woven into certain relationships and/or characters in the novel is pure brilliance--the depths of loneliness and the difficulty of true interaction are heavily explored, built on the stream-of-consciousness perspective.  But I need not say this about V. Woolf, one of the most celebrated literary figures of all time, correct?

A quote from To the Lighthouse:

"All was silence.  Nobody seemed yet to be stirring in the house.  She looked at it there sleeping in the early sunlight with its windows green and blue with the reflected leaves.  The faint thought she was thinking of Mrs. Ramsay seemed in consonance with this quiet house; this smoke; this fine early morning air.  Faint and unreal, it was amazingly pure and exciting.  She hoped nobody would open the window or come out of the house, but that she might be left alone to go on thinking, to go on painting.  She turned to her canvas."

 In my opinion, being lost in early morning thought is a privilege, one that is oftentimes overlooked and taken for granted.  It is a sane act in this increasingly crazy, go-go-go world.  What an indelible treat it is to be able to sit still for even fifteen minutes a day, just observing and thinking--hushing the constant stream of thoughts rushing through your mind like an endless river of anxiety.  To quell anxiety, even if just for a little while, is a day well spent.

This, to me, is unfiltered, unobtrusive beauty in its truest form.

Books

Came across the shop, theartofobservation, via the Etsy front page today--this print spoke to me, since I treasure old books, particularly ex-library copies and textbooks of the hardcover variety, and enjoy a meaningful quote: 

Quote

Hi, you may have noticed that my Etsy shop is on vacation until 7/20, without actually being in full vacation mode (where my entire shop would be temporarily closed).  This is my thinking: since my month-long Christmas in July Sale is in full swing, it truly wouldn't be fair to temporarily close up shop for a week and have the sale last for only three weeks.  Since there are only four full weeks this month.  You know?

 In the meantime, away from computer, I go, but not before I conclude this post with a quote that has deeply resonated with me about the intricacies of creation and interpretation, how one could never truly stand for the other:

"Works of art are complex events; their true complexity is revealed in criticism and its attempt to circumscribe the boundaries of art.  Criticism idealizes representation and consequently distances the viewer from actuality.  This is evident in the way marginalized discourse has been used to reduce complex experiences to overarching themes that relieve us of the responsibility of having to deal with the works themselves."

-Charles Gaines, from The Theater of Refusal: Black Art and Mainstream Criticism

If you are wondering what those bare-looking stalks are in the photo, they from are my Thumbelina Leigh Lavender plant.  Without the identifiably aromatic lavender buds!  Oh, the lengths I will go to for an interesting photo.

To be Social, or Not to be Social

I used to pretend to be social--I spoke loudly, went to well-attended events, and psyched myself up enough to engage in high-octane conversation.  But the constant "on" left me exhausted in the end.  Exhausted and anxious--a bad high that came crashing down after a few hours of mania.  In those situations, I found myself doing mindless tasks, rather than keeping up with the organic flow of conversation: staring off into space, vision blurring, dishes washing.  Strange behavior?

By nature, I am an introvert.  As a child, I chose writing, reading, and drawing as favorite past-times, rather than interacting with others.  I've been typecast as shy and quiet for the majority of my life.  What a stereotype.  When has introversion not been regarded as a negative character trait?  It's been a long time coming, but I eventually learned that introversion is not necessarily a bad thing.  (It helps when your husband is just as introverted/more introverted as you are.)  You can't change who you are, so embrace your unique qualities.  Uniqueness breeds new ways of thinking, of being.  If everyone was an extrovert, the world would be an altogether exhausting, emotionally and physically draining place.  Sometimes we all need peace and quiet, hence the popular, zen-like phrase, "peace and quiet."

Contrary to the introversion myth, there are varying degrees of introversion.  For example, I do quite well with one-on-one conversations.  However, when more than a few people decide to join in the conversation, I freeze a bit--my palms sweat, fear sets in.  Also, I've learned that I can't be tied down with meaningless conversation.  If the conversation sways in this direction, I get frustrated and borderline irritated, feeling like I am wasting my time.  Hey, maybe I'm just a curmudgeon at heart.

      "A curmudgeon's reputation for malevolence is undeserved. They're neither warped nor evil at heart. They don't hate mankind, just mankind's absurdities. They're just as sensitive and soft-hearted as the next guy, but they hide their vulnerability beneath a crust of misanthropy. They ease the pain by turning hurt into humor.  . . . . .   They attack maudlinism because it devalues genuine sentiment.   . . . . .   Nature, having failed to equip them with a serviceable denial mechanism, has endowed them with astute perception and sly wit. 

      Curmudgeons are mockers and debunkers whose bitterness is a symptom rather than a disease. They can't compromise their standards and can't manage the suspension of disbelief necessary for feigned cheerfulness. Their awareness is a curse. 

      Perhaps curmudgeons have gotten a bad rap in the same way that the messenger is blamed for the message: They have the temerity to comment on the human condition without apology. They not only refuse to applaud mediocrity, they howl it down with morose glee. Their versions of the truth unsettle us, and we hold it against them, even though they soften it with humor."   

 - JON WINOKUR, from here.