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I have an idea for a conceptual art piece. But a digression first…
Today I went to the Princeton Art Museum with my family. Not much new stuff since I last visited, but the Felix Candela exhibit was nice. I was at the help desk at some point and the person there was explaining the museum layout to me: “Upstairs, we have 19th Century impressionists, and behind that the Frank Gehry exhibit, next to that [...] and downstairs there are more archaeological things, like Chinese art.”
“Archaeological”?!?
The downstairs area is a mess. In the Japanese art section, for example, contemporary photographs were placed alongside prints from the Edo era without any apparent significance. Oh, and even an American artist who has a Japanese name got into that mix. The other sections for “archaeological” findings were arranged in a similar hodgepodge fashion.
To bring it all back, this episode reminded me of a conceptual art idea I had, inspired by a concept I saw at the Sydney Biennale. The concept, which ended up not happening, is to rearrange the whole NSW museum: placing the Renaissance paintings in Impressionist galleries, putting Picassos in Aboriginal galleries, and so on.
But why do just that? Here is my idea:
The major art museums of the world should collectively, for a week, do some rearranging. All the “western” art that typically garner most of their attention can be crammed, with disregard, into the small spaces previously reserved for the local underrepresented art. Put Andy Warhol’s Marilyn right next to Raphael’s Madonna. Label the early Renaissance attempts at perspective “folk art” and Friedman’s sculptures “archaeological”. Oh, but keep the name of the gallries–call it “Asian Art” or “Aboriginal Art” or something equally generic. The remaining periodically-divided galleries can then be used to house the local underrepresented art of the appropriate period. If the museum has nothing from that period, then simply leave the gallery empty.
So what do you say, dear museum directors?
Over the break, I saw Juno. I didn’t think it was movie of the year, as Roger Ebert acclaimed, but I liked it. It was decently funny. Being a child of the Dawson’s Creek generation, I liked the overly witty and sarcastic words of the 16-year-old protagonist, played by Ellen Page, who I have a pretty big cinematic crush on. I thought the movie was like Little Miss Sunshine, an overpraised indie darling that is cute nonetheless.
Until I talked to Sara afterwards, that is.
She pointed out that the plot in Juno ignores important issues surrounding unwanted pregnancy. The way this movie deals with abortion and child adoption seems to make it clear that child adoption is, mostly, a happier alternative. Whereas abortion is typically depicted as a traumatic event in movies (though not particularly in Juno) and thus not suited for comedy, carrying a fetus to term and give up that infant apparently is. (See Sara’s post on abortion, which gives some reasons why we should avoid overdramatizing abortion, and comments there.) Juno reinforces this all-too-common attitude that could be bad for women’s reproductive rights. Reflecting on this, I began to see the movie differently, and liked it even less. I suspect my reaction has some connection to the moralism debate in aesthetics. So, this post will try to draw out some points from this cluster of unarticulated thoughts.
Update 01/13/2008: After posting this, I found many other blog posts and newspaper articles that expressed the same sentiment, minus the philosophy mumbo jumbo. The point made in a New York Times op-ed on Juno is particularly apt.
In light of J.K. Rowling’s recent pronouncement that Dumbledore is gay and the subsequent philosophical discussions in the blogosphere (namely at Show-Me the Argument and Reality Apologetics), I thought I would bring up an old post. Back in March, I made a post at Go Grue! summarizing and discussing some issues that came up in Ian Flora’s work on the relationship between canonical fiction and fan fiction. There were really thoughtful comments, too, that one may find relevant to the present discussions about Dumbledore’s sexuality.
I thought the New York Times column could have considered more philosophical implications.
But it is possible that Ms. Rowling may be mistaken about her own character. She may have invented Hogwarts and all the wizards within it, she may have created the most influential fantasy books since J. R. R. Tolkien, and she may have woven her spell over thousands of pages and seven novels, but there seems to be no compelling reason within the books for her after-the-fact assertion. Of course it would not be inconsistent for Dumbledore to be gay, but the books’ accounts certainly don’t make it necessary. The question is distracting, which is why it never really emerges in the books themselves. Ms. Rowling may think of Dumbledore as gay, but there is no reason why anyone else should.
Of course, it is not about what is made necessary, but what kind of considerations you have to keep in mind when you engage with the fiction. Authorial intent is one, but certainly not the only one. However, much more needs to be said than this hasty dismissal.
