tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37401476629437420252024-03-14T13:48:20.341+01:00ThinkShopA selection of articles on history, politics, art and literature.P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.comBlogger216125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-32782976893144930652022-08-11T12:54:00.009+02:002022-08-11T12:54:58.434+02:00How Dutch Historians Unremembered Decolonization<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1f104f; font-family: Lora; font-size: 19px; font-weight: bolder;">Irish historian Paul Doolan claims that for many decades, Dutch historians have inadequately investigated the decolonization of Indonesia (1945-1949). In</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1f104f; font-family: Lora; font-size: 19px; font-weight: bolder;"> </span><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; color: #1f104f; font-family: Lora; font-size: inherit; font-weight: bolder; line-height: inherit;">Collective Memory and the Dutch East Indies</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #1f104f; font-family: Lora; font-size: 19px; font-weight: bolder;">, the result of over ten years of work, he states that historians were not innocent bystanders. “They played a significant role in silencing and unremembering the experience of decolonization in Dutch collective memory.”</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1f104f; font-family: Lora; font-size: 19px; font-weight: bolder;"><a href="https://www.the-low-countries.com/article/how-dutch-historians-unremembered-decolonization">Click here</a> to read this article of mine in the journal <i><a href="https://www.the-low-countries.com/article/how-dutch-historians-unremembered-decolonization">The Low Countries</a></i>, 1st March, 2022.</span></p>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-28601255921013740312022-08-11T12:46:00.005+02:002022-08-11T12:46:52.263+02:00A Fictional War: Dutch propaganda and the Indonesian War of Independence (1945-1949)<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: "Source Serif Pro", serif; font-size: 20.1px;">In December 1949, the Netherlands was forced to hand over sovereignty of its colony, the Dutch East Indies, to the Republic of Indonesia. Their long domination of the Indonesian archipelago had come to a brutal end with the Indonesian War of Independence (1945-1949). Hundreds of thousands of Dutch who had called the former colony home repatriated to the metropole and 150,000 soldiers returned from a war that had proven futile. Their memories were not forgotten, though their compatriots did not care to hear their stories. During the decades that followed, the war faded from Dutch collective memory. Today it frequently makes the news.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: "Source Serif Pro", serif; font-size: 20.1px;"><a href="https://imperialglobalexeter.com/2021/09/29/a-fictional-war-dutch-propaganda-and-the-indonesian-war-of-independence-1945-1949/">Click here</a> to read my full article published at University of Exeter's <i><a href="https://imperialglobalexeter.com/2021/09/29/a-fictional-war-dutch-propaganda-and-the-indonesian-war-of-independence-1945-1949/">Imperial and Global Forum</a>, </i>September 29, 2021.</span></p>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-86630188157777455982022-08-11T12:40:00.000+02:002022-08-11T12:40:04.610+02:00Reservoirs of violence: Beb Vuyk's postcolonial stories <p> The year 1945 marked the end of two occupations in the Kingdom of the
Netherlands. The first occurred with the German surrender in May. The
second came about with the sudden surrender of Japan in August. The
ending of World War Two in Asia left the Dutch East Indies in a volatile and
complex situation. The “liberated” Dutch found themselves surrounded by
hostile nationalist forces loyal to the newly founded Republic of Indonesia.
Years of violence and a full-scale war ensued, with the Dutch reluctantly
ceding sovereignty to the new republic in 1949. This study briefly looks at
the situation that unfolded in late 1945 Indonesia and attempts to explain
why the Dutch found the new situation hard to comprehend and to accept.
I suggest that the short stories of Beb Vuyk offer unique insights into the
reservoir of violence that had been expanding prior to 1945, the shift in
violence between 1945 and 1949 and the violence as it was experienced by
Asians and Europeans alike. Accepting that Vuyk's position within the
colonial complex was that of a colonial before the war, I maintain that Vuyk
challenges colonial narratives by drawing out some of the pathologies
engendered by colonial intimacies. By reclaiming local, native and particular
histories, her stories written between the late 1940s and late 1960s reflect
a variety of experiences and do not privilege the experiences of European
victims over Indonesians. </p><p><a href="https://caans-acaen.ca/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/CJNS40-2-03-pp39-70-Doolan-FINAL.pdf">Click here </a>in order read this article of mine, published in the <i><a href="https://caans-acaen.ca/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/CJNS40-2-03-pp39-70-Doolan-FINAL.pdf">Canadian Journal of Netherlandic Studies</a>, </i>Volume 40, Issue 2, 2020</p>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-18842472250107618232021-09-05T11:18:00.002+02:002021-09-05T11:18:50.797+02:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh006LRQ_Atwf2IETQQWj-XSUom2iu-0oEANYJH5_VNq9cN48zPKIIHhYxtAJ4AXfDYu1uwIxLs89jcWFphGyg9IsbOYeliAF_GVcIgerB2el-pCmljQmPMQM-ZVT_yu0t6AB3PWO72btsv/s1165/Cover.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="771" data-original-width="1165" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh006LRQ_Atwf2IETQQWj-XSUom2iu-0oEANYJH5_VNq9cN48zPKIIHhYxtAJ4AXfDYu1uwIxLs89jcWFphGyg9IsbOYeliAF_GVcIgerB2el-pCmljQmPMQM-ZVT_yu0t6AB3PWO72btsv/w461-h304/Cover.JPG" width="461" /></a></div><br />Here is the cover of my book, due to be published on September 27th, the result of over ten years of work.<p></p>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-86124057739028934662020-12-08T15:06:00.001+01:002020-12-08T15:06:06.776+01:00To Forget or to Remember<p> <span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">The final work of the French philosopher Paul Ricoeur, </span><em style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">History, Memory, Forgetting</em><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> (2008), provides a densely argued defence of the concept of collective memory. In one chapter he considers the short work on historiography by Friedrich Nietzsche, </span><em style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">On the Advantage and Disadvantage of History for Life</em><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> (1874). Ironically, what earned Nietzsche this special attention was Ricoeur’s need to ‘set apart’ Nietzsche’s work because it “contributes nothing to the critical examination of the historical operation.” Ricoeur saw Nietzsche as assaulting remembrance. By contrast, David Rieff, who attacked the concept of collective memory in his 2016 book, </span><em style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">In Praise of Forgetting</em><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">, applauds Nietzsche, and encourages the reader to take up Nietzsche’s moral imperative of ‘active forgetting’. Ricoeur and Rieff are on two different sides when it comes to social memory, but both authors share the view that Nietzsche prioritised forgetting over remembering history. As it turns out, both are wrong. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">More on this in <a href="https://philosophynow.org/issues/137/To_Forget_or_To_Remember">my article in Philosophy Now magazine.</a></span></p>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-22802040383938392942020-12-08T15:02:00.002+01:002020-12-08T15:02:57.228+01:00Beyond Profit<p> <span style="font-family: PT Serif, serif;"><span style="font-size: 19.2px;">The Dutch contribution to the transatlantic slave trade has long been thought to have marginal significance. But this depends on how one characterizes significance. I suggest that the Dutch slave trade was not just significant, but crucial in shaping the transatlantic slave trade. More on this <a href="https://www.historytoday.com/history-matters/beyond-profit">in my article in History Today magazine.</a></span></span></p>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-29413109334596515852019-11-07T20:38:00.001+01:002019-11-07T20:40:33.169+01:00Audrey Amiss - Creating Outside of the Canon<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the popularity of ‘outsider art’ has risen, the art world has made significant strides in considering the voices of marginalised or disenfranchised artists. Audrey Amiss is a striking example of an unknown artist whose immense oeuvre, which was only discovered after her death, is marked by issues of mental health. Amiss’ art allows a bewildering glimpse into the life of a woman wholly preoccupied with artmaking, collecting, and recording. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: baskerville-urw;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.hasta-standrews.com/features/2019/11/6/audrey-amiss-creating-outside-of-the-canon" target="_blank">Read the rest of this article</a>, written by my daughter </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.hasta-standrews.com/features/2019/11/6/audrey-amiss-creating-outside-of-the-canon" target="_blank">Eilís Doolan</a></span>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-41273883566811079972019-05-16T14:11:00.000+02:002019-05-16T14:11:42.604+02:00Pride, Shame, and White Fragility in Dutch Colonial History<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #404040; font-family: pt-serif-1, pt-serif-2, sans-serif; font-size: 20.1px; margin-bottom: 1.5em; padding: 0px;">
The 17<span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-size: 15.075px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">th</span>-century Dutch Republic made significant contributions to our understanding of world geography, the biological and physical sciences, mathematics, economics, international law, and the visual arts. Yet this Golden Age had a dark underbelly – the Dutch participation in colonialism and the transatlantic slave trade. In the <a href="http://www.slavevoyages.org/assessment/estimates" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2590ec; overflow-wrap: break-word;">estimate of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database,</a> of the 12,521,337 Africans transported, 554,336 were brought to the Americas on Dutch ships.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #404040; font-family: pt-serif-1, pt-serif-2, sans-serif; font-size: 20.1px; margin-bottom: 1.5em; padding: 0px;">
Activist historians, many working from outside academia, persist in pushing the hidden history of Dutch slavery to the fore. <a href="https://imperialglobalexeter.com/2019/05/14/pride-shame-and-white-fragility-in-dutch-colonial-history/" target="_blank">Read more...</a></div>
P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-52257570706951960392016-09-03T15:09:00.001+02:002017-04-06T15:21:15.602+02:00Christo: The Floating Piers<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRu_kVvtOONdYGgjc0VFj-23tda8lI05ScFnTIEcc7PrIr8gbMc2AhiIjvNIHoh8soT0a0ulUFGxFfFjUu2SWk6f-wEtsyt7aI2BFTQh7VTm2xd77q7UKVUcjOQG3RYblRET7-QUpbJL5d/s1600/SAM_2682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRu_kVvtOONdYGgjc0VFj-23tda8lI05ScFnTIEcc7PrIr8gbMc2AhiIjvNIHoh8soT0a0ulUFGxFfFjUu2SWk6f-wEtsyt7aI2BFTQh7VTm2xd77q7UKVUcjOQG3RYblRET7-QUpbJL5d/s400/SAM_2682.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christo: The Floating Piers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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This summer
Europeans by the hundreds of thousands headed over the Alps (or should I say
"under the Alps", creeping through the continent's longest traffic
jam, the Gotthard Tunnel) and down to Italy. Well, nothing strange about that -
pale but affluent North Europeans have been doing that on a regular basis since
British aristocrats invented tourism in the 18<sup>th</sup> century by
embarking on The Grand Tour. But this year was different. Many were heading to
a smallish lake in the north of Italy to experience a temporary work of art.
Yes, they weren't going to Italy simply to lie on the beach, or go shopping, or
immerse themselves in the Renaissance. They were going in order to walk on
water.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2PgVlzljbdFvKbbc6CkiQWilYLOiqLeFKVxzPrg6hLmTrW3baS8xVvHHGfpFmsus1QPzi_gbKIrEM_um7xSG0scbP2MQf1XDG19wIiHEtUF6CzFZ-0B-Y5FrLfsdvyjk38QJWx5wl0CT/s1600/SAM_2642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2PgVlzljbdFvKbbc6CkiQWilYLOiqLeFKVxzPrg6hLmTrW3baS8xVvHHGfpFmsus1QPzi_gbKIrEM_um7xSG0scbP2MQf1XDG19wIiHEtUF6CzFZ-0B-Y5FrLfsdvyjk38QJWx5wl0CT/s400/SAM_2642.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Christo's
last work of art was <i>The Gates</i>, in
Central Park, New York in 2005. Considering that he isn't getting any younger, (well,
none of us are really) and he is now 81 years old, any new installation of
Christo's might be his last, making it all the more imperative that if you want
to see a work of this iconic artist of the globalized art world, then you had better get down to northern Italy this summer. And I must say, I didn't
think twice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqt09aYDWzCCBl7gEzrYWRmRANrQF-Aq9EpxsdD6yFliktO-mcuo3LJUlTSHJlUFXfhxUas1PYKq_L3NcRVYnBMLcYenw334g6OAR5dg3rMsTiVLv1Dlqd5jZ_YE2kQMol4dRjzmJl6m23/s1600/SAM_2606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqt09aYDWzCCBl7gEzrYWRmRANrQF-Aq9EpxsdD6yFliktO-mcuo3LJUlTSHJlUFXfhxUas1PYKq_L3NcRVYnBMLcYenw334g6OAR5dg3rMsTiVLv1Dlqd5jZ_YE2kQMol4dRjzmJl6m23/s400/SAM_2606.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lining up for an hour in the heat in order to set foot on the Floating Piers</td></tr>
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Most
artists work on paper or canvas or delve their hands in clay or apply their
chisel to stone. For Christo, however, the sub-Alpine landscape of the north
Italian lakes, specifically lake Iseo, was his canvas, so to speak. Imagine
having a map of Lake Iseo and then, with a strong yellow pencil you draw a firm
line across the map, back and forth. That's what Christo did. Except it wasn't
a map of the Lake but Lake Iseo itself upon which he inscribed his shimmering yellow
line; a line that stretched for four and a half kilometers across the lake
to a mountainous island, that skirted the island and then darted across the
lake again, to completely encircle a smaller island and then, via another
route, return to the mountain and finally back to the mainland. His line
consisted of 220, 000 plastic cubes lashed together, secured to the lake floor,
and then covered with 100,000 square meters of dahlia-yellow nylon polymide
fabric. The costs, 15 million dollars, were, as always, entirely paid for by
the artist himself, without any subsidies. In late June <a href="http://www.christojeanneclaude.net/projects/the-floating-piers#.V8rLVfl95D8" target="_blank">The Floating Piers </a>was
unveiled and as with all of his works, the public were invited to experience it
free of charge. Local authorities were expecting 600,000 extra visitors.
Instead, 1.2 million came over a period of 16 days.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UujYWDDa3kCQJ3YVsq1AIUX8mG4wmHv12MHR3xAJRKsU04lL8fnthA8rPvS8Ol9pRQ3p1WeHSStRhB2kXYOtGEM2QH-bJ7BajaynKzqlKVV-FPHzlYE0NS09SjCslItZqlOfu7G02fSF/s1600/SAM_2690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UujYWDDa3kCQJ3YVsq1AIUX8mG4wmHv12MHR3xAJRKsU04lL8fnthA8rPvS8Ol9pRQ3p1WeHSStRhB2kXYOtGEM2QH-bJ7BajaynKzqlKVV-FPHzlYE0NS09SjCslItZqlOfu7G02fSF/s400/SAM_2690.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They came by the thousands</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Unlike a
drawing of a yellow penciled line across a landscape, in this work the viewer
becomes a participant, a performer. You step onto and into the work and by
walking across the piers, by sitting and sunbathing (swimming was forbidden),
by picnicking or by collapsing from dehydration and being whisked away by the
medical emergency service (something we witnessed three times on the scorching
hot day that we visited), you become a performer in a massive, communal artistic
event. Yet, despite the thousands of people who are involved in the construction
of such an installation - the divers, the seamstresses, the lawyers, the
cartographers, truck drivers, boat drivers, helicopter drivers, photographers, construction
workers, engineers, local politicians, notaries, computer scientists, police
authorities, volunteers, medical personnel, plastic factory workers, to name
just a few - despite all of them, this is the work of one man. And, although
all those who weren't collapsing from heat exhaustion or dehydration were
having the time of their lives, as far as I could see, he didn't do it for us.
No, this was the work of one selfish man who had a vision and whose motivation
was, he wanted to see what it looks like. The work was totally useless, with no
reason whatsoever to exist, except that Christo was curious to see what the
colour yellow would look like, at dawn, at sunset, under the blazing sun, drenched
by torrential cloud bursts, empty of all life, supporting tens of thousands of
joyful people engaged in the utterly useless activity of going for a stroll across
the water. Somehow, I suspect that hidden in here is a lesson for us all on how
to live our lives.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmuAy2PKXlvHbxfkxmR-d2LK2UUWuLaE3awCgUC6pI_MkmtRHzXKW9BEVF2goyKdLuifCi0k41LF7uoUGFq0hvPmU0pm71P7lQ4fCvkL6fQi_JSBGQ2V9ZPlfBvifeSyHvXtBU1BI6fHq/s1600/SAM_2678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmuAy2PKXlvHbxfkxmR-d2LK2UUWuLaE3awCgUC6pI_MkmtRHzXKW9BEVF2goyKdLuifCi0k41LF7uoUGFq0hvPmU0pm71P7lQ4fCvkL6fQi_JSBGQ2V9ZPlfBvifeSyHvXtBU1BI6fHq/s400/SAM_2678.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christo viewing his work and receiving the applause of the crowd</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-43483042532193008282016-07-14T17:11:00.000+02:002016-07-14T17:21:24.406+02:00Courbet's The Stone Breakers - Alive and Well in WinterthurThe Advanced Placement course in Art History is unique in that it is based on an in-depth knowledge of<a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2016/02/rewriting-art-history/435426/" target="_blank"> 250 pieces of art from all around the world</a>. Teachers of this course know that two of the 250 works no longer exist. The Bamiyan Buddhas in Afghanistan were infamously destroyed by the Taliban. But the art history textbooks tell us that Gustave Courbet's oil painting <i>The Stone Breakers</i> from 1849, (number 113 in the list of 250) was destroyed and is, consequently, only known from photographs. Fred Kleiner's, <i>Gardner's Art through the Ages</i>, one of the most popular art history textbooks in the world, provides a picture of the work and, in the caption, writes: "Formerly Gemaldegalerie, Dresden (destroyed in 1945)." Alas, the work was a victim of the British incendiary bombing of Dresden on the night of February 13th 1945, a bombing raid immortalized in literature in Kurt Vonnegut Jr.'s <i>Slaughter House Five.</i> It is thus very sad that we can only ever know this work second-hand, so to speak, from photographs like this one:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevZNjKYw4PYCSMJ6RQ51Qo-uus5r48gvCnOcvxlf7x3E7l5Hn60vGq0rIZaZ3us29h3QYYcQ9nYXbmBLmIkSeEeYN2liScX7RYBfIqysSXkP7-RigQ8u8WG-uHrOOIX0mWZMLdSvYv_cD/s1600/1cCSnUyjWYfTypTR4U5mtaWN.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevZNjKYw4PYCSMJ6RQ51Qo-uus5r48gvCnOcvxlf7x3E7l5Hn60vGq0rIZaZ3us29h3QYYcQ9nYXbmBLmIkSeEeYN2liScX7RYBfIqysSXkP7-RigQ8u8WG-uHrOOIX0mWZMLdSvYv_cD/s400/1cCSnUyjWYfTypTR4U5mtaWN.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gustave Courbet, <i>The Stone Breakers</i>, Oil on canvas, 1849</td></tr>
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But hang on a second. Imagine the surprise of an AP Art History teacher or student who visits the marvelous Oscar Reinhart collection, housed in the small museum 'Am Romerholz' in Winterthur, Switzerland, and encounters the following painting:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsMygj9v_AGynKDDHZvGu6QQBO4te18yt07kutU40Ae6HdYcXqJc5-Q8UObE0MhKeFhBD81JtCC13vCOM2G4Dywu4OmFgEH3Fwkhed9ACCK1cqgN4KNGNP1QDztwpuDroWRvJggv2DaLl/s1600/SAM_2769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsMygj9v_AGynKDDHZvGu6QQBO4te18yt07kutU40Ae6HdYcXqJc5-Q8UObE0MhKeFhBD81JtCC13vCOM2G4Dywu4OmFgEH3Fwkhed9ACCK1cqgN4KNGNP1QDztwpuDroWRvJggv2DaLl/s400/SAM_2769.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gustave Courbet, <i>The Stone Breakers</i>, Oil on canvas, c. 1849</td></tr>
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More than likely, they won't believe their eyes. Especially when they read the identifying label, which states: "Gustave Courbet, <i>The Stone Breakers</i>. Oil on canvas, c. 1849.". What's going on? Has the work risen from the grave or, phoenix-like, from the ashes? Or have the wily Swiss secreted the work away all along, (like they have done with great deal of the world's stolen art!). Of course if the surprised connoisseur of 19th century French Realism happens to have a photographic memory, or happens to have a photograph of number 113 in her pocket, or (more likely) has an iPhone and does an internet search and locates an image of the destroyed work, she will see that the two images are not identical.<br />
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Firstly, the painting in Winterthur is darker in colour and the jacket of the old man kneeling down is not red and there is no flash of sky blue in the upper right corner. The attentive viewer will notice that above the men's heads in the work in Winterthur, is a lot of negative space. In the destroyed version, the men are more monumental, the standing youth's head reaches almost to the top of the canvas. The basket to the left of the young man has disappeared in the Swiss version. The wall that the men seem to breaking down is lower in the Winterthur painting than in the Dresden painting and the men's feet are closer to each other. Another difference, but impossible to see, is that the destroyed version was bigger by far, but we don't notice this because we only know it from small photographs.<br />
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But, of course there is one other, very obvious difference - they are reversed images of each other. Could it be that every text book has gotten it wrong and the photographs in books reversed the negative, providing us with a mirror image of the real work? It wouldn't be the first time this has happened? But no. If you look carefully you will see that Courbet signed the Dresden painting in the bottom left corner, and his signature reads the right way around. Most mysteriously, in the Winterthur painting he has signed it in the bottom right hand corner.<br />
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So why two versions of this painting, with the exception of some minor details, almost identical except for size and reversal? It is that latter contrast that is the real mystery. The fact is, no one knows. Perhaps the smaller painting was a sketch - but why the reversal? In the annotated catalogue of the Oscar Reinhart Am Romerholz collection we find the following suggestion: "The smaller picture, less highly finished and showing the scene in reverse, is perhaps later in date and may have been painted as the basis of a print, which would explain why it reproduces the motif as a mirror-image". Perhaps. I suppose it is a good explanation. Only problem is, I don't know of any 19th century print of this work. Such a piece of material evidence would certainly be needed to satisfy that explanation.<br />
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So, it remains a bit of a mystery as to why Courbet painted this scene twice, one big version and one smaller. But for me personally, the bigger mystery is why does the art history world ignore the version in Winterthur? Could it be that the authors of the textbooks, like Fred Kleiner, are unaware of its existence? The Khan Academy has helpfully and generously produced a series of posts that provide background on every one of the 250 in the AP Art History course. But they seem to be unaware that a second version of this work is still in existence. Don't take my word for it, you can <a href="https://www.khanacademy.org/humanities/becoming-modern/avant-garde-france/realism/a/courbet-the-stonebreakers" target="_blank">access their post here.</a><br />
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The oil painting <i>The Stone Breakers</i> in Dresden must have been an overwhelming, monumental work. Alas, it was destroyed. But it is not the case that we must make do with only small, paper reproductions in our textbooks. Teachers and students of art history should be aware that a very real oil painting of <i>The Stone Breakers</i> by Gustave Courbet is alive and well and living in the Oscar Reinhart Collection 'Am Romerholz' in Winterthur, Switzerland. I saw it there myself just yesterday.<br />
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<br />P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-89087059686258256052016-04-02T15:59:00.001+02:002016-04-07T14:21:29.651+02:00H. Craig Hanna at Luxembourg National Museum of History and Art<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">During a
recent trip to Luxembourg City I stumbled across the work of Paris based
American artist H. Craig Hanna. And what a happy day that was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCW9jje04987Of4R-91Ful6WkQOcfCZp9KVp9NGBfT6D_QyaBcFRb3Mzjv7rtTAiT46AI8r1XDNqBViI5uDd62ICSxmcyrtnQ2fYQiYoKp5dGTgMJnrAOBHDJSVU2LXsqrGL4w4taqsZNM/s1600/SAM_2346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCW9jje04987Of4R-91Ful6WkQOcfCZp9KVp9NGBfT6D_QyaBcFRb3Mzjv7rtTAiT46AI8r1XDNqBViI5uDd62ICSxmcyrtnQ2fYQiYoKp5dGTgMJnrAOBHDJSVU2LXsqrGL4w4taqsZNM/s400/SAM_2346.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">H. Craig Hanna, Mother and Child, 1913</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US">The exhibition is Hanna's <a href="http://www.mnha.lu/en/Upcoming/H-Craig-Hanna" target="_blank">first ever museum show</a> (let there be many
more!) and the centerpiece, "Arrangement of Dancers", recently purchased by the museum, is his
first work to be sold to a museum. I hope many others will add his
work to their collections, though that might be demanding too much courage from contemporary museum directors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82zxyDpdeDTNxwY30RlIw7dY4VEwt6yMjd_i_URyb65Zrtd2w84raAEsToJ3esrKGgsruUAtK6BSeXB3V7PCJQxtSXeahw7lLdUnJdN2ViKr8Zs1YZ_XIm7umB8KpObW55ObdCtP4dg-x/s1600/large+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82zxyDpdeDTNxwY30RlIw7dY4VEwt6yMjd_i_URyb65Zrtd2w84raAEsToJ3esrKGgsruUAtK6BSeXB3V7PCJQxtSXeahw7lLdUnJdN2ViKr8Zs1YZ_XIm7umB8KpObW55ObdCtP4dg-x/s400/large+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">H. Craig Hanna, Arrangement of Dancers</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US">Although experimenting with new media, like painting with ink on perspex, Hanna clearly stands in the European tradition of art. He has studied the greats, learned technique through imitation, before experimenting and creating his own style. </span>Obviously Hanna has been inspired by the great works of the western history of art - works from people like Titian and Velazquez, but also more modern painters like Sargent and Whistler. His works reveal a meticulous attention to composition and colour. Subjects are overwhelmingly portraits, nudes and occasionally landscapes. What they all have in common is that they strive to achieve beauty.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CheNJBsFqEz45rdPc5pagyqb8h3Kg1_tKQ66KsrDPV4qkzEd6XQ0bn7KJJwNkZ9C0_LIJfD6_9wH6YEAvjMt5zkwj402UWhyZiwkZ3MCj3ORqdmK2UZEyoeFm8Q3lWJOIlLishjg7ITk/s1600/SAM_2349.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CheNJBsFqEz45rdPc5pagyqb8h3Kg1_tKQ66KsrDPV4qkzEd6XQ0bn7KJJwNkZ9C0_LIJfD6_9wH6YEAvjMt5zkwj402UWhyZiwkZ3MCj3ORqdmK2UZEyoeFm8Q3lWJOIlLishjg7ITk/s320/SAM_2349.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">All of which means that </span>Hanna is
certainly painting against the grain. Indeed he is way out of step with the
times; he's even got talent. And talent, as a former pupil of mine, now a student in one of Europe's leading
art schools, was told by her tutor, artistic talent is not only valueless, worse, it is
a distinct disadvantage. Let's face it, the works of Ai Wei-Wei and Tracey Emin
don't demand a lot of craft, but this is what museum directors want to see in
their collections. At the big art fairs that control the supply and distribution
of artworks, like <a href="https://www.artbasel.com/" target="_blank">Art Basel </a>and <a href="http://frieze.com/fairs/frieze-new-york" target="_blank">Frieze</a>, artistic skill counts for naught, less
than naught. Needless to say, Hanna has never been allowed to exhibit his works
at any of these mega-exhibitions.</div>
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My daughter
went down to the Venice Biennale a few months ago, equipped with her sketchbook
and journal. Together with her teacher and fellow pupils from her International
Baccalaureate Higher Level Art class, they wanted to study, write about and
perhaps sketch works from the world's leading artists today. She loved
Venice of course, but came back with her sketchbook empty and a fairly
depressing opinion regarding contemporary art. I'm not surprised. Luckily she also attended Hanna's exhibition. Though critical of some of his pieces ("a bit too like Japanese animation"), all in all, she was inspired.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">It's not that I'm against any artist who exhibits at one of the globally marketed shows. I love the work of <a href="http://www.pauldoolan.com/search/label/Berlinde%20de%20Bruyckere" target="_blank">Berlinde de Bruyckere</a> and the work of <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3740147662943742025#editor/target=post;postID=3663917103137988727;onPublishedMenu=posts;onClosedMenu=posts;postNum=1;src=postname" target="_blank">Anselm Kiefer</a>, to name just two. But there is an awful lot of bullshit out there. And a lot of bullshitters too. And there is a lot that lies in-between. Artists who have some interesting things to say, but who receive an amount of attention that is exaggerated, especially when one considers figurative artists like H. Craig Hanna, who receive too little attention.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Take one of
the stars of the <a href="http://www.labiennale.org/en/calendar/art.html?back=true" target="_blank">Venice Biennale 2015</a> for instance, Samson Kambalu. His contribution to this
prestigious exhibition was 400 footballs that are plastered with texts from the
Bible. They look like this:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7XJSidkw4EZ4dLIU0L0c98gfA1CZAN64Dc724RA3Qgg_ZiGSZ__2knDtYqNEbFttuWxSxbtlQDiOUCCG9cFRa_zBeshfrMtC-ySw_Ykhke6CV_0L0IUy2sbXgmyjzPgmgzrMsGZSh9vx/s1600/CGVAmjuWwAA_lv4.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7XJSidkw4EZ4dLIU0L0c98gfA1CZAN64Dc724RA3Qgg_ZiGSZ__2knDtYqNEbFttuWxSxbtlQDiOUCCG9cFRa_zBeshfrMtC-ySw_Ykhke6CV_0L0IUy2sbXgmyjzPgmgzrMsGZSh9vx/s400/CGVAmjuWwAA_lv4.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Now, obviously Mr. Kambalu didn't write the Bible, nor did he make the plastic balls. He may not have even gone to the trouble to print the texts or do the
sticky work of gluing them to the balls. Maybe he has 'assistants' to do that. Hey, in fact you can make one yourself - just watch his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUMjBo8exUg" target="_blank">DIY video</a>.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">In other words, Samson Kambalu simply came up with an idea, (or maybe somebody else did). In fact he came up with the
idea over 15 years ago, and he has been flogging it ever since at leading
exhibitions all around the world, in between giving TED Talks and guest
lectures at places like Oxford University's Ruskin School of Art (one wonders
what Ruskin would think). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The question is: is it a good idea that he had? Is it a shitty idea?
Is it a good work of art or is it a piece of crap? Well, there isn't really any
criteria to judge, is there? We can certainly agree that it involves no skill,
no craft and nothing that looks like what used to be termed "artistic
talent". All we can say is, it is the type of thing that lots of Kambalu's
fellow graduates at Chelsea College of Design aspire to. And the artworld loves
it. In the little promotional video clip of the Venice Biennale, Mr.
Kumbalu mentions that he was inspired by Michelangelo's Last Judgement. I'm not making it up, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8RWvaCBhqs" target="_blank">he says it himself.</a> On
yeah, I'm sure he was inspired by Michelangelo, but I wonder for how long did Kambalu sit before Michelangelo's work, how long did he study it before it provided him with inspiration? Somehow, I suspect that Hanna and not Kumbalu has been more deeply inspired by Michelangelo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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So, I guess, in this centenary of the <a href="http://www.pauldoolan.com/2010/05/dada-is-born-part-one.html" target="_blank">birth of Dadaism</a>, what it boils down to is answering the question - What is art? I favour the burning warehouse theory.
Imagine a warehouse is burning down. You are ordered to run inside the burning
warehouse and save the artwork or artworks inside. You have no idea what is
inside, but you know you must run in as quick as possible and run out
immediately with the art. You run in and you spot, in one corner, a work that
you've never seen before, let's say Hanna's "Arrangement of Dancers". In the other corner
you see a work that you've never seen before, let's say one of Kambalu's "Holy Balls". Now be quick, the fire is burning: with which one will you run out of the
warehouse?<br />
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<span lang="EN-US">The exhibition "<a href="http://www.mnha.lu/en/Upcoming/H-Craig-Hanna" target="_blank">H. Craig Hanna: Paintings and Drawings"</a> runs until late May.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYhBh0bko9f70OMS560vQ1qMzj9bVePiVO3iuGUlCHBvWJcJF_gW7ASGXtO_cbQ20sxkdZSQL4U3IpLIZbpMuuh4D-moBJJx4YV35iFjCFIj_pv0E48mOakHr3bNpn0Al4TsYZJEj3c2Y/s1600/SAM_2345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYhBh0bko9f70OMS560vQ1qMzj9bVePiVO3iuGUlCHBvWJcJF_gW7ASGXtO_cbQ20sxkdZSQL4U3IpLIZbpMuuh4D-moBJJx4YV35iFjCFIj_pv0E48mOakHr3bNpn0Al4TsYZJEj3c2Y/s320/SAM_2345.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">H. Craig Hanna, Laurence with blue glove, 2012</td></tr>
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P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-52140193927363104572015-11-01T17:44:00.000+01:002015-11-01T19:38:03.068+01:00Roman Portraiture<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Some, with
slight exaggeration, claim that we live in the century of the selfie (though who
can assume that the selfie will last the century?) This selfie, of three world
leaders, made the news a short while ago (do you remember who the female is?) </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif0MK-HUMjuTL1M3muuO9BCdXxzflsZ6Uq8SDUb6WYmju11-lOyn45i3kE6S43T7GbJDeotjxPB7P9e6PyKJh4asteRqvPqNlAp7Y0f6-5SbpBMElXXVtLePJXfXwylNcVblgY67pM88mU/s1600/Obama-Selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif0MK-HUMjuTL1M3muuO9BCdXxzflsZ6Uq8SDUb6WYmju11-lOyn45i3kE6S43T7GbJDeotjxPB7P9e6PyKJh4asteRqvPqNlAp7Y0f6-5SbpBMElXXVtLePJXfXwylNcVblgY67pM88mU/s320/Obama-Selfie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Maybe not such a polite thing for our trusted leaders to be doing, considering
that they were attending a memorial service, but hey, if you had attended the
Nelson Mandela memorial service, wouldn't you have taken a selfie too? (I seem
to have gotten into a bad habit of ending each sentence with a question, so I'm
going to stop that now.)</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">So, what is
this obsession that we have with our own faces? (Oh, there I go again!) We can
certainly trace it back to the Renaissance, with the birth of the modern
portrait, when even the artists like Michelangelo and Botticelli start slipping
their own faces into their paintings. By the time we reach Rembrandt the
self-portrait has come well and truly into its own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">But the
history of the selfie goes back much longer than this, to a tradition in the
Roman Republic, when a citizen could celebrate their position in society by
means of sculpted portraiture. The old patricians of Rome, when burying their
dead, had the habit of organizing a funerary parade in which they would carry
the wax busts of their ancestors. It was a way of proving and displaying their long,
proud lineage. So the portrait was of great importance and every upper class
Roman family would keep a collection of marble likenesses of their male
ancestors in a cupboard at home, much like we keep family photo albums. (Sorry
for another question, but do people still keep family albums or is that
unspeakably previous century?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The funny thing about portraits from the ancient Roman Republic, is that they didn't attempt to beautify their subjects. They didn't even try to hide their age, as we do in our culture that worships youth. On the contrary, Roman Republican portraiture magnified the aging process if anything. Images of the great and powerful would be displayed on pedestals in public places, examples for all to emulate. Take this <i>Head of a Roman Patrician</i> from around 75 BCE for instance.</div>
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The subject is certainly no spring chicken. So, would he have been pleased to see himself being depicted like this, wrinkles and all. The fact is, he would have been delighted. For the truth of the matter is, hyper-realistic portraits, like this one, embodied the ideal of the hard working, serious upper-class citizen. This man might have been privileged and well off, but, his portrait tells us, he has worked his socks off for the good of his family and, equally important, for the welfare of the state. No partying or super yacht cruises for him. Instead, he would have us believe, he has dedicated his life to the high-minded fulfilling of his civic duty. In other words, the portrait reflects two characteristics that were greatly valued by the Romans of this time - seriousness or<i> gravitas</i> and virtue. He wears his wrinkles proudly and each one bespeaks his gravitas and virtue. A bit like the serfs of the corporate world today who complain of how hard they work and who wear their stress as a banner of pride.<br />
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Inge Lyse Hanson of John Cabot University in Rome has argued (in a lecture that I attended in July 2015) that these Roman Republic portraits must be seen as being in opposition to the Greek values of the Hellenistic world where, for instance, Alexander the Great was portrayed as a youth. Greek sculpture depicted leaders as being young, smooth-skinned, turned to the side with their gaze to the distance; Roman patrician sculpture, on the other hand, showed their leaders to be old, wrinkled, looking straight ahead and staring at the viewer. Furthermore, she insists that these busts were earned, that each statue represents an award set up in a public space by the grateful citizenry.</div>
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Art historians refer to this style as Verism. Which might, verily, give you the impression that these portraits reflect reality. But that is not the case. This is art, after all, not reality. These are idealized images, representations of ideas Today we photoshop or airbrush out our blemishes and wrinkles, but in those days they added them in. The times have changed. But they already changed soon after the collapse of the Roman republic and the rise of the Roman Empire.</div>
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Take a look at this image, from the Vatican Museum, for instance, from the 1st century CE. The blemishes and wrinkles are gone.</div>
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Or even better, look at this portrait of Emperor Augustus, from Primaporta, now in the Vatican Museum. Every town in the empire had its official portraits of the emperor, but unlike the veristic portraits of the Republic, the image was one of idealized youth. Augustus would rule for decades to come, but in his portraits he never grew older. He had, literally, invented a new never changing time to go with his new office of Emperor, a time in which he never ages in any portraits, just like the queen of England never ages in any British postage stamps.<br />
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Instead, his carefully cultivated public image remained that of the Greek ideal, clearly based on the famous classical statue, <i>Doryphoros</i> by Polykeitos:<br />
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At Augustus' feet we find a small cupid, riding a dolphin. The presence of cupid indicates that Augustus is a God, hence his perfect looks and eternal youth.<br />
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One obvious difference between Augustus of Primaporta and <i>Doryphoros</i> is (you've probably noticed) <i>Doryphoros</i> is nude, while Augustus is wearing body armour. In fact there are portraits of Augustus that are semi-nude or entirely nude, after all, when you have the perfect, idealized, youthful body, why not show it off? It is just that in this particular incarnation the Emperor is portrayed as the warrior who has defeated his enemies Mark Anthony and Cleopatra, thereby ensuring the safety and security of all the citizens. In fact his cuirlass or breastplate depict a diplomatic victory that he achieved over the Parthians.<br />
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<span lang="EN-US"> So, in short, portraits always project an image. Sometimes, as in these Roman portraits, the image that is being projected could be labeled as propaganda. What of our own leaders today? They certainly don't have themselves depicted in the nude, nor do they openly confess to being divine.But would they dare to partake in the sort of role play that the ancient Romans did, dressing up as warriors and so on? Surely we are far too sophisticated to be taken in by democratic leaders who don battle gear. Like this one for instance, who dresses as a warrior and, like Augustus, stretches his arm out towards his troops, a contemporary Primaporta image.</span></div>
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Or let us not forget the following warrior leader, who, though having never set foot on a battlefield, still sported a military codpiece. What are these guys trying to prove?<br />
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P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-59129057785542832512015-09-12T12:41:00.000+02:002015-09-12T12:41:07.092+02:00Men Blessed by Daughters<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">American
blues singer <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5XdPbnjucs" target="_blank">Greg Brown has a song</a> that has the refrain "I'm a man that’s rich
in daughters." A friend gave me a copy when my third daughter was born. I
was reminded of this recently when I was in Berlin for the weekend.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Although I
was at a conference all day long, it turned out that the Saturday night was The Long Night of
the Museums, so I headed down to Museum Island. The atmosphere was relaxed, with Berliners of all ages dancing on the banks of the Spree while hundreds sat in deckchairs drinking wine and beer as the Berlin Chamber
Orchestra played a free concert outside the Museum of Ancient Art. I enjoyed the ambiance, but I was on a quest, and so I joined the line for the Egyptian Collection in the Neues Museum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Having ascended the stairs to the second floor, I stopped to examine the old columns of the museum that
still bear the scars of World War Two bombings. English architect <a href="http://www.pauldoolan.com/2011/02/david-chipperfield-in-zurich.html" target="_blank">DavidChipperfield </a>recently renovated the building, (it had been so damaged by Allied bombing that it remained closed until 2009) but preserved the damaged old
columns, now integrated into the new facility. It seemed somehow appropriate that these vestiges of the Nazi period are now embedded within a museum of ancient history</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classical columns still bear smoke damage.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Column damaged by Allied bombing</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US">The collection from the Amarna period of Egyptian history includes a number of stunning masterpieces. Most people crowd into the dark room that hosts the famous
bust of Nefertiti. She sits in a glass case alone in the centre of the room. People stand in a circle and gaze reverentially at her beauty.A hushed silence reigns, broken only by the harsh outbursts of a guard "No photos!". This is art that is put on a pedestal, metaphorically as well as literally. I have an uneasy feeling that I've joined with a number of strangers in some fetishistic activity, a confirmation that the museum has replaced the church in contemporary European life. The object of our adulation might be three and a half thousand years old, but she
looks like she belongs in a fashion magazine, or at least could be strolling
the streets of Berlin. Being a bust though, obviously that would be
difficult. But dare I say it, and I don't mean this as an insult to anyone, living or dead, but it strikes me that Nefertiti might be the best looking person in Berlin.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">However, on this night I wasn't interested
in Nefertiti alone. I was looking for her and her husband, a man like me, blessed with
daughters. And there, in a little alcove, almost hidden away, I found what I
was looking for, a relief depicting the Pharaoh Akhenaton and his wife Nefertiti with three of their five daughters. It is a scene of such unbelievable poignancy, that on this night, alone in Berlin, far from my three daughters and their mother, I feel a connection with this portrayal of simple domesticity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Egyptian
art has a certain timeless quality, not least because its stiff portraits
followed a formula that remained the same for thousands of years. But this
small stele, probably made as a household shrine, with is curvilineal forms, is
anything but stiff and doesn't strike me as being formal at all. This is a
glimpse of an intimate scene of familial love drenched in the rays of the sun god. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The pharaoh, Akhenaton, sits on
the left, raising his youngest daughter to his lips, as he gazes downward in an expression of
fatherly love. See how his left hand protects her head while his right hand, with its long slender fingers, tenderly supports her thigh.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">His wife, Nefertiti sits on the right, with a second daughter
leaning against her shoulder. The child's right hand might be pointing at the sun, but I like to believe that it is brushing her mother's cheek, while her left arm drapes casually over her mother's shoulder. The third, older, daughter sits on her mother's lap,
pointing towards her dad with her right hand, while her left hand rests in her mother's hand and her face is turned upwards towards her mother. "Look mum", she might be saying, "daddy is kissing the baby". </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">This might be one of the greatest works of art ever made, but is a scene that, on this beautiful late summer evening, I find it easy to relate to. I think it speaks to all men blessed with daughters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-88747757917827162962015-08-24T20:58:00.003+02:002015-08-24T21:04:56.162+02:00Caravaggio in Dublin, Triumph of the Soulless<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-US">Having once been in Malta and <a href="http://www.pauldoolan.com/2010/11/its-300-p.html" target="_blank">failing to see that island's sole Caravaggio painting</a>, I was determined not to make the same mistake when recently visiting the island of Ireland. <i>The Taking of Christ</i> can be found
in Dublin's delightful National Gallery of Ireland - delightful because of the courtesy of the museum
staff, the fine collection of art, the lack of crowds and the fact that it is
free of charge. So, perfectly reasonable to drop in, in pursuit of a glimpse of
a single work.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><i>The Taking of Christ</i> is the latest Caravaggio to be discovered. H</span>alf the art history world (admittedly, a small, select world) had been wondering for years where could Caravaggio's <i>The Taking of Christ</i> be? For a half-dozen or so passionate academics (not an oxymoron by the way)) the hunt for the missing Caravaggio was the equivalent of the hunt for Osama bin Laden. And it was eventually found in, of all places, Dirty Old Dublin Town. It had been hanging for years in the dining hall of the Jesuit order in Dublin without the Men in Black quite knowing that
they had a treasure from the master himself. They believed that the painting that greeted them every morning while they eat their simple porridge was a copy of Caravaggio's missing masterpiece. In the early 1990s it was discovered that what they had thought was a copy, was actually the real thing! Now it hangs proudly, all cleaned up,
spic and span, in the National Gallery.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_819OFQfpQR5LuQjy8PQc-6q_O-UqpQgccHjyQrUgnQE2YXmydJ81Zb3U_E7EMWZeQ5nlf_Fz4tmiaFVBYusXkYgiVb2_zs3_Jst-kM9M3VEtM_DUVQhDBCX5owvSfWJ3D_3GeaOQES7/s1600/SAM_1740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_819OFQfpQR5LuQjy8PQc-6q_O-UqpQgccHjyQrUgnQE2YXmydJ81Zb3U_E7EMWZeQ5nlf_Fz4tmiaFVBYusXkYgiVb2_zs3_Jst-kM9M3VEtM_DUVQhDBCX5owvSfWJ3D_3GeaOQES7/s400/SAM_1740.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Let's skip
the fact that Caravaggio, between wild nights of debauchery, regular fighting and murder was an incomparable master of his craft, possessing a knowledge of light and shadow that puts him almost on a par with
Rembrandt. All that is a given. But there are a couple of quirky things about
this work that I must say I love. Firstly, there is the centre of the piece. It
is the chap's armed shoulder. In a painting that depicts the arrest of Jesus Christ,
Caravaggio dares to make the exact centre of the picture the luminous orb that
is the soldier's metal shoulder. He has literally given us the cold shoulder. What a dare-devil. And incredible that it works. We are drawn towards the reflective surface, half expecting to see our own image staring back at us.And where does the mysterious light that illuminates the long metal arm come from? Certainly not from the rain-swollen Dublin sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Then there
is the face of the guards. We only catch a glimpse of of the first one. But it could be
your Dad. For some strange reason his nose is eerily 21st century. And the chap to his right looks like he could be standing on the terraces cheering for St.
Patrick's Athletic. His beard is red-tinged, making him very at home in Dublin. He is just a bearded, working-class lad, doing his
job. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US">I also love how Caravaggio has inserted himself into the painting. He is
in the top right, holding the lantern. Yes, holding the lantern that throws a bit more light
upon the scene, but not to help out the soldiers in their filthy work, those obedient, brutal
footmen of the establishment. No, he is holding up the lantern in
order to lighten up the scene, so we can enjoy it. That's right. The artist is someone
who holds up the light so that we can see. As Matisse wrote, happiness comes from "illuminating the fog that surrounds us." Look at his eager face; he doesn't want to miss a second of the scene that he is illuminating, the scene that he is painting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">One more
thing that I love about this picture, and maybe it is purely personal, but it
so very obviously reminds me of <i>Star Wars,</i> or any mythic-science-fiction-fantasy
in which freedom is threatened by the mindless robots that serve the conformity of the machine.
For that is what the armor does to the guards arresting Jesus. There is a third guard hidden behind Caravaggio; we can only see his helmet and one staring eye. The faceless eye of surveillance. That's what armor
does to all us, doesn't it? Maybe in the weekend we cheer our children's football team, or sink a few pints with the lads. Maybe we're good
fathers, loving husbands. But let us clamber into our shiny, squeaky uniforms and we become exactly what is needed in order for the soulless to triumph. Such are the ideas that seeing this Caravaggio puts into my head. I dare you: <a href="http://www.pauldoolan.com/2013/02/medusa-in-zurich.html" target="_blank">see Caravaggio</a>
and tremble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-82982946120295072252015-08-23T15:40:00.002+02:002022-03-27T14:27:59.160+02:00Zurich's Kunsthaus Could be the Receiver of Stolen Jewish Art.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xaVD-diu-j6GmsbV70tX_g5nM4eV-oiie9JkaUZnNhYSXY_uy31Xahaz3gd2KSvk7GD_7gC7KB44t2BGWbiG9WImuInepybOcQwfMASDSXrtKJNV5cHn2_5cRWHS_JEXut_MT6jYt355/s1600/469px-Edouard_Manet_035.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xaVD-diu-j6GmsbV70tX_g5nM4eV-oiie9JkaUZnNhYSXY_uy31Xahaz3gd2KSvk7GD_7gC7KB44t2BGWbiG9WImuInepybOcQwfMASDSXrtKJNV5cHn2_5cRWHS_JEXut_MT6jYt355/s320/469px-Edouard_Manet_035.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manet, La Sultana (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US">Sometime ago
I wrote about the new extension planned for Zurich's Kunsthaus, designed by the British architect David Chipperfield. The extension will house the impressive Bürhle
collection, part of which was last exhibited a few years ago at the Kunsthaus.
The collection will, when opened to the public in 2020, torpedo Zurich's
Kunsthaus into the top tier for public collections of French Impressionism. In
fact, Zurich will be second only to Paris.
But tomorrow a book will be published from which the fallout is sure to complicate
matters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">During the
past few decades most major art museums have been forced to audit their
collections, or at least give an impression they are doing so, in order to
ascertain whether they hold any art that was wrongfully taken from Jewish
owners during the era of Nazi rule in Europe. This can be in the form of art that was simply robbed by the Nazis, or
art that was bought by an innovative collector at knock-down prices because the
unfortunate Jewish owners, fleeing from the Nazis, were being forced to sell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">A couple of
years ago the world was intrigued by the Cornelius Gurlitt story, when over
1,000 formerly Jewish owned works of art were discovered in an apartment in
Munich. Gurlitt has since died and, for some strange reason, he <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2014/nov/24/cornelius-gurlitts-haunted-treasure-trove-art-needs-to-be-seen" target="_blank">bequeathed his collection to an art museum in Bern</a>. This was a nice windfall for the museum,
but brought rather a lot of unwanted attention - was Switzerland simply going
to accept a gift, even when the gift is stained with Jewish blood?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLN6ppL9lZanbSeTgqO5kInvwdifmmm1TDW8Ni-Yblsn_bnC_5vfIvMIDENaNCHgy3cG9JIgXEyozhm65In1CxaTD_rAuXCHKBiTpC5C7VW_z9FaOTGN-rNbur1e1NI-Elp2MrrALMntg6/s1600/Paul_C%25C3%25A9zanne_-_Paysage_%2528sur_1879%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLN6ppL9lZanbSeTgqO5kInvwdifmmm1TDW8Ni-Yblsn_bnC_5vfIvMIDENaNCHgy3cG9JIgXEyozhm65In1CxaTD_rAuXCHKBiTpC5C7VW_z9FaOTGN-rNbur1e1NI-Elp2MrrALMntg6/s320/Paul_C%25C3%25A9zanne_-_Paysage_%2528sur_1879%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cezanne, Paysage (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US">The new book
that will appear in bookstores tomorrow, <i>Schwarzbuch
Bührle</i> [Blackbook Bührle] makes the argument that the Kunsthaus might be
the receiver of stolen goods via the controversial Bürhle collection. The fact
that the industrialist Bürhle supplied Nazi Germany with weapons is already
somewhat embarrassing, but now the Kunsthaus will have to deal with this added complication. The grave accusations will certainly lead to further public discussion as
co-editor and one of the authors of the book is Guido Magnaguagno, who happens
to have once been Vice-Director of the Kunsthaus. The opinions of this esteemed
art historian and museum leader will be taken seriously. Indeed the pending
appearance of his book has already made front page news in Switzerland this
weekend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">In the new
book Magnaguagno lists 12 works that are particularly suspicious because of
the so called gaps in provenance, works from Cezanne, Courbet, Manet, Utrillo,
Monet, Van Gogh, Modigliani, Kalf, Braque and Corot. No doubt we will hear a
lot more about this before the new extension opens in 2020.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55h5Awma7QeuFdXrxFyR_CdcelWVAKrTJL5AC9hZ9DBEI3QVDTr5T3fwzrOWSsRuXZ76gInH-NmlHkk3MPfWjw5BYP1CSSumM99H3pIhQ3RDXh9hH5obCvtAvOVGJeSv1RYUMxC4RQ8N8/s1600/Mohnfeld_vetheuil_hi.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55h5Awma7QeuFdXrxFyR_CdcelWVAKrTJL5AC9hZ9DBEI3QVDTr5T3fwzrOWSsRuXZ76gInH-NmlHkk3MPfWjw5BYP1CSSumM99H3pIhQ3RDXh9hH5obCvtAvOVGJeSv1RYUMxC4RQ8N8/s400/Mohnfeld_vetheuil_hi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monet, Poppy-fields at Vetheuil (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)</td></tr>
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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-24092236823168730972015-08-09T15:03:00.000+02:002015-08-09T15:07:08.941+02:00On Late Rembrandt at the National Gallery and the Rijksmuseum<span id="goog_937529124"></span><span id="goog_937529125"></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vSBmyx5eQCiN3zn8hJNA7Jv07MzX2JQ-lpIFsUdCwPU8gsCdhxcYIAqrVCXa6F7deDO_FdNErZKKyz5S5AKYoq9iTmcy4En3Yc-c2oEK0Fv4yrGN8087cxS7jfpMUDVHiYrYJzsHPGVf/s1600/SAM_0107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vSBmyx5eQCiN3zn8hJNA7Jv07MzX2JQ-lpIFsUdCwPU8gsCdhxcYIAqrVCXa6F7deDO_FdNErZKKyz5S5AKYoq9iTmcy4En3Yc-c2oEK0Fv4yrGN8087cxS7jfpMUDVHiYrYJzsHPGVf/s320/SAM_0107.JPG" width="240" /></a>In the spring I spent a few days in Amsterdam and happily went along to the newly renovated Rijksmuseum. This was my first visit to the museum in many years. Although it had been closed for a few years for renovation, a part of its collection had still been available to the public at Schipol International Airport. This was an excellent example of Dutch innovative thinking - what other international airport offered for contemplation the works of masters like Vermeer and Hals to passengers in transit?<br />
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I was impressed by the renovation, especially the new entrance hall, which reminded me of a scaled down version of the entrance to the Louvre in Paris and even the British Museum in London. But the main point of my visit was the exhibition "Late Rembrandt", which had already been shown in London's National Gallery in 2014-1015. Now, however, the artist's late works were all coming home. to the city in which he had lived and worked.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN9TCtJkt0hZ5RAPll5wUuTJ8s9AVYgXaOm2ESGwVBqWNHXPURtiD-YkR_YEqPscBGTqzSHLxpIvsOkbizHisG5cZZ3qJnyjP84jCAs8HQquKqdqyJK4OnMF_P1EU__aERCZAchtltcRaw/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN9TCtJkt0hZ5RAPll5wUuTJ8s9AVYgXaOm2ESGwVBqWNHXPURtiD-YkR_YEqPscBGTqzSHLxpIvsOkbizHisG5cZZ3qJnyjP84jCAs8HQquKqdqyJK4OnMF_P1EU__aERCZAchtltcRaw/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jewish Bride</td></tr>
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Surprisingly, this was the first exhibition ever dedicated exclusively to Rembrandt's late works. I particularly enjoyed seeing two of my favourite paintings. "<i>The Jewish Bride</i>" and <i>Bathsheba with King David's Letter</i>.<br />
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The so called<i> The Jewish Bride </i>is properly known as <i>Portrait of a Couple as Isaac and Rebecca. </i>Vincent van Gogh told a friend that he would gladly give ten years of his life just to be able to sit in front of this painting for two weeks. Let's be grateful that he didn't, for a van Gogh dead ten years younger would have cheated the world out of a great number of his masterpieces. But we can all understand his sentiment. The moving embrace and the loving yet sad expressions on the faces make this one of the world's most intimate paintings.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwLCeZ-uVgukJm5CinjZhZxgZGWM295IEoZdiOKqx_z7AMw35vm8GOuZ20_JKpRZ1Knop7uqrT95JLZoouXUreXug5YWeYOQBZDPT1uHeUbKOKwZl2PNQqm_6Zpp4pXj4SBvQmLONvc-p/s1600/SAM_0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwLCeZ-uVgukJm5CinjZhZxgZGWM295IEoZdiOKqx_z7AMw35vm8GOuZ20_JKpRZ1Knop7uqrT95JLZoouXUreXug5YWeYOQBZDPT1uHeUbKOKwZl2PNQqm_6Zpp4pXj4SBvQmLONvc-p/s400/SAM_0093.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tender embrace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But seeing it in the flesh, so to speak, what struck me most was the complexity of the texture of the painter. It is no wonder that Rembrandt was considered a revolutionary. The jewelry sparkles and seems to reflect the light on the room. The paint is caked onto the canvas. And I use the term caked deliberately - I was tempted to lick it! Rembrandt layered the paint on thickly using his palette knife, or probably multiple knives. Look at this sleeve for instance. You can almost reach out and tug it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSdlfKj_M0iFt4t9jYvUR5ava7Ziw7BnSPhG4iHzY76EKMSc8hGVXdK3FXNYXIKTNCf4jN8l5twhkJaDUZbctGWyt7VRLEwGC0D4MTmmeSUQVIoj7DnfAVmK1lBzQaPI1cxC4m2s3YyPSp/s1600/SAM_0095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSdlfKj_M0iFt4t9jYvUR5ava7Ziw7BnSPhG4iHzY76EKMSc8hGVXdK3FXNYXIKTNCf4jN8l5twhkJaDUZbctGWyt7VRLEwGC0D4MTmmeSUQVIoj7DnfAVmK1lBzQaPI1cxC4m2s3YyPSp/s400/SAM_0095.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A close up of his sleeve - you feel like you could tug it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8-AVATV26cvHZxPIOGXKn5ocmotA2_dxu4MxS5TabYF1D9Ywa0xCjMx1nFhZ7w4DBC0jsMRGGpDma1DAyZaT2MC5bar87uDwqTlL56Yl4voqU3QBIy2-k1Pn924_LO4wct1Z14xlg5VzE/s1600/SAM_0094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8-AVATV26cvHZxPIOGXKn5ocmotA2_dxu4MxS5TabYF1D9Ywa0xCjMx1nFhZ7w4DBC0jsMRGGpDma1DAyZaT2MC5bar87uDwqTlL56Yl4voqU3QBIy2-k1Pn924_LO4wct1Z14xlg5VzE/s400/SAM_0094.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close up of her dress, layered on with a knife</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The other painting of Rembrandt that I love is <i>Bathsheba with King David's Letter</i>. It rivals T<i>he Jewish Bride</i> for its tenderness. The force of this painting is extraordinary in the way that it makes the invisible visible.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSK6Mfdb1HmbX87ZlRoGpF0fDQLj-jdh91I9U6dDhND196qnEHCLi8acNdpgxpRrWI4pJvSUry3m1cHsYx3Vea7utDPeYpjjmQGY6wvgsPCcKl54-GY_l1b2EBdI0CQ31jI8VWDYwyoyI7/s1600/Bathsheba_at_Her_Bath.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSK6Mfdb1HmbX87ZlRoGpF0fDQLj-jdh91I9U6dDhND196qnEHCLi8acNdpgxpRrWI4pJvSUry3m1cHsYx3Vea7utDPeYpjjmQGY6wvgsPCcKl54-GY_l1b2EBdI0CQ31jI8VWDYwyoyI7/s200/Bathsheba_at_Her_Bath.png" width="200" /></a></div>
It is the inner emotional turmoil of the mind that is the subject of the work - should Bathsheba agree to the king's demands outlined in his letter that she holds in her hand, or should she remain faithful to her husband. Recently X-radiography has revealed that originally Rembrandt had painted her with a shocked expression on her uplifted head. But in a stroke of genius he changed this. Instead, the picture is almost entirely motionless, she is profiled against a dark background, her white body illuminated by light. Our eyes travel upward, from the servant at her feet, to the letter in her hand, along her nude body and arrive at her face, exquisitely rendered, lost in contemplation. It is, I would venture, one of the most beautiful faces in western art.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49byvg5jHPLtNNyA2MspuMIGXcs4oRzx5CHd2A-tc28tFz5iE79Bnm66xUtRcVDtnqu4mRFh5sZUhbdoTy-ndh3TZbKhhKify4nu6JKtzZpY2xwtwaLFrKupUwCjorroV0uQLAZmOcl7n/s1600/SAM_0100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49byvg5jHPLtNNyA2MspuMIGXcs4oRzx5CHd2A-tc28tFz5iE79Bnm66xUtRcVDtnqu4mRFh5sZUhbdoTy-ndh3TZbKhhKify4nu6JKtzZpY2xwtwaLFrKupUwCjorroV0uQLAZmOcl7n/s400/SAM_0100.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the most beautiful faces in western art</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Late Rembrandt brought together many exceptional works by one of the most exceptional artists. That said, not everyone was impressed. This young lady for instance. While she might share the beauty of Bathsheba's face, her expression does not reflect an inner moral dilemma, just plain irritation. She is clearly thinking, when is my dad going to be done and we can get out of here.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nmrT-ANHblUBHz_vM-oz2Zn09sKQINZVnGR84Pf0h9aI8gp37w_OYN3fZkFDr0jZHx8g3Ttbs2d6ptF9yvLXUM1aa0JeNpEvyunDTzeNhUrg9FR12JTcEGHh9SzTxcJ1q8_W7dN1tUBY/s1600/SAM_0099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nmrT-ANHblUBHz_vM-oz2Zn09sKQINZVnGR84Pf0h9aI8gp37w_OYN3fZkFDr0jZHx8g3Ttbs2d6ptF9yvLXUM1aa0JeNpEvyunDTzeNhUrg9FR12JTcEGHh9SzTxcJ1q8_W7dN1tUBY/s400/SAM_0099.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-77503771863548584142015-06-26T12:57:00.001+02:002015-06-26T12:57:08.407+02:00One Hundred Days by Lukas Barfuss<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Hundred-Days-Lukas-Barfuss/dp/184708480X">Lukas Barfüss, </a><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Hundred-Days-Lukas-Barfuss/dp/184708480X">One Hundred Days</a> </i>(Granta Books, 2013)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMKH5p5q2mH8yL-2GdxmnlLUeNVHpnn4bzu1oXHsZVtDuaSKWahEEaugW6e9SxuL869AfGmbSYAw-LrBw2Rbzd2uW3EwT5AZINlfRGbxJXeal_BUvc3k0Rib0JrHrr0wPYQJ83JBORSmO/s1600/51-I3Smv%252BpL._SL160_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMKH5p5q2mH8yL-2GdxmnlLUeNVHpnn4bzu1oXHsZVtDuaSKWahEEaugW6e9SxuL869AfGmbSYAw-LrBw2Rbzd2uW3EwT5AZINlfRGbxJXeal_BUvc3k0Rib0JrHrr0wPYQJ83JBORSmO/s320/51-I3Smv%252BpL._SL160_.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE">I’m sure you’ll agree, translators are the
nicest people in the world, (teachers excepted of course). Just think about it,
some poor, asocial sucker, with the loneliest job in the world, has spent the
past year or so locked up in a room writing a book. Along comes the translator and, in return for
a pittance, sits for the best part of half a year or so locked up in a room and
miraculously turns the foreign words into something you can understand, thereby
allowing you to break out of the narrow-minded parochialism that comes with
being an English speaker and actually hear what other people (the majority) are
saying in other languages. So three cheers for Tess Lewis (whoever she is), for
translating the novel <i>One Hundred Days</i>
by the young Swiss author Lukas Barfüss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE">In this contemporary version of Conrad’s <i>Heart of Darkness</i>, steamy sex and
genocidal murder make for a potent mix, told in deceptively simple, taut prose.
The protagonist is a naïve chap by the name of David Hohl. He has always been
moved to fight against injustice. Had he gone to Zurich International School he
would have won the ZIS Cares Award. So he gets a job in economic development
and his first post is in the sleepy African backwater of Rwanda. But, the
surface is deceptive and Rwanda is about to explode into the 1994 well planned
genocide of Tutsis. In the one hundred days of the title the Hutus slaughter
nearly 800,000 people. Because he is obsessed with a beautiful, but racist Hutu
woman, David Hohl refuses to be evacuated, and instead stays and witnesses the
slaughter. No wonder his name is Hohl (which means hollow).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE">Barfüss reveals the hypocrisy that lies at
the root of Swiss development work. His book is a meditation on how a strong
sense of virtue can gently lead to passive participation in the most horrifying
cruelty. Most of all, his book works as a metaphoric warning against being
sucked into any organisation that comes to see efficiency as an end in itself -
surely a lesson for us all. Peaceful, well organised Rwanda was sometimes
called the Switzerland of Africa. Barfüss sees that you can reverse this,
seeing Switzerland as the Rwanda of Europe. He reminds us that Switzerland is a
well-oiled machine that runs smoothly, where order, routine, discipline and
respect for institutions holds sway, but adds: “These characteristics are not
impediments to mass murder, but necessary conditions. Evil loves nothing more
than the proper implementation of a plan, and in that domain, you have to
admit, we are world champions.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE">This book has garnered Barfüss a number of literary
prizes, as well as nominations for the biggest book prizes in Germany and
Switzerland. He is, of course, almost unheard of in the insular, provincial
English speaking world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-79094899643402051022015-06-23T15:51:00.000+02:002015-06-23T15:51:44.376+02:00The creoleness of Betawi CultureYou can read my review of <em>Creole Identity in Postcolonial Indonesia</em> by Jacqueline Knorr in <em>The Newsletter</em> of the <a href="http://www.iias.nl/sites/default/files/IIAS_NL71_42.pdf">International Institute of Asian Studies by clicking here.</a>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-64139309535717668812015-05-25T16:50:00.000+02:002015-08-09T15:35:38.626+02:00Maria Dermout and "unremembering" lost timeIt has been nine months since I last wrote in this blog, basically because I needed to focus my energy somewhere else - researching the cultural legacy of decolonization in the Netherlands.<br />
<br />
<br />
This, I am happy to say, has resulted in an article of mine appearing in the <a href="http://www.caans-acaen.ca/Journal/current.html">Canadian Journal Of Netherlandic Studies.</a> Nevermind that it is the 2013 edition of the journal - it only appeared last week.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.caans-acaen.ca/Journal/issues_online/Volume_34_Issue_2_2013/CJNS34-2pp1-28Doolan.pdf">My article</a> provides an analysis of two Dutch novels. In
the early 1950s <em>Only
yesterday</em> (Nog pas gisteren) and <em>The ten thousand things</em> (De tienduizend
dingen), appeared from a new writer, Maria Dermoût. <a href="http://www.caans-acaen.ca/Journal/issues_online/Volume_34_Issue_2_2013/CJNS34-2pp1-28Doolan.pdf">In this essay</a> I argue
that both of these works helped to shape a collective memory of the
recent colonial past and that with the loss of place, the <em>Indisch</em> community
was threatened by a potential loss of identity, but that literature was able
to provide the memory of a sense of place, and collective memory could
be retained. I argue that this memory
took on a nostalgic form, helping to shape a collective identity based
partially on a melancholy sense of common loss. But dwelling on nostalgic
loss did nothing to help explain the loss of the colony, and thereby
inadvertently contributed to a general unremembering, or refusal to
remember, the painful final years of decolonization. A post-colonial analysis of her
novels reveals that they were written from the viewpoint of colonial
privilege and that, as such, they silenced alternative narratives and
thereby further contributed to unremembering the painful process of
decolonization. I conclude that Dermoût’s work helped to create a
mnemonic community based on nostalgic remembering, but by trivialising
or ignoring Indonesian nationalist aspirations, her work inadvertently
served to unremember the reality of decolonization. I hope you'll <a href="http://www.caans-acaen.ca/Journal/issues_online/Volume_34_Issue_2_2013/CJNS34-2pp1-28Doolan.pdf">go to this link and read my entire article</a>, or <a href="https://www.academia.edu/12494297/Maria_Dermo%C3%BBt_and_unremembering_lost_time" target="_blank">download this version</a><a href="file:///C:/Users/pdoolan/Downloads/CJNS34-2pp1-28Doolan%20(1).pdf">.</a> I would love to hear back from you.P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-49269393320946325342014-05-22T16:11:00.003+02:002014-05-23T11:09:32.417+02:00French Revolution Jokes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtS7doTDe75yjoo1U387BmhtM9H-K0iHodB70vLncxuAncfEFxc1TgZOe_UWOP6Xtym3ePsURd0agxuo4AcBMkCNeiXPGuw6CgqlBjdb_8qrwSRb-B8IgxrR9hpePpMIFWQCHdRjsAErC3/s1600/french_revolution.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtS7doTDe75yjoo1U387BmhtM9H-K0iHodB70vLncxuAncfEFxc1TgZOe_UWOP6Xtym3ePsURd0agxuo4AcBMkCNeiXPGuw6CgqlBjdb_8qrwSRb-B8IgxrR9hpePpMIFWQCHdRjsAErC3/s1600/french_revolution.gif" height="320" width="218" /></a></div>
<br />
Just revising the French Revolution with my class this morning and we decided to make up some French Revolution jokes. Here is the best of the bunch. (Imagine what the worst are like!)<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">What did Robespierre’s mistress say to him on their first night
together?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">“Disrobe Pierre.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Who was the heaviest revolutionary?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Dan-ton.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Why were the Jacobins so ambitious?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">They wanted to get a head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Which Declaration was a bitterist one to swallow?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">The Pill-nitz Declaration!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">What was the weather like during the French Revolution?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Storm and Terrorble Reign<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">When does March come after September?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">During the Women’s March on Versailles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">What was the most popular game during the revolution?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Head-over-heels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Which revolutionary was a real nuisance?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Tom Paine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Who was the most popular general among the working class?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">General Maximum<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">During which oath did the participants make an awful racket?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">The Tennis Court Oath<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Which club formed the loudest group of revolutionaries?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">The Giron-dins<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Why was one revolutionary club never serious? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Because they were always Feuillants around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-IE">Which writer was always depressed?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Marquis de SadeP. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-4901236047646455902014-04-18T13:01:00.000+02:002014-04-18T13:01:23.094+02:00Article in SpanishProfessor Anaclet Pons of the University of Valencia in Spain has translated <a href="http://imperialglobalexeter.com/2014/04/07/dutch-imperial-past-returns-to-haunt-the-netherlands/#_ftnref5">my recent article</a> on the history of decolonization in the Dutch East Indies, which first appeared at University of Exeter's <a href="http://imperialglobalexeter.com/">Centre for Imperial and Global History</a>. You can read the<a href="http://clionauta.hypotheses.org/14208"> post in Spanish here.</a>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-65403804052865534282014-04-07T11:09:00.001+02:002019-05-16T14:14:36.766+02:00Imperial Past Returns to Haunt the Netherlands<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In
July 2012 a Dutch national newspaper, <i>de
Volkskrant</i>, published two photos on its front page showing Dutch soldiers brutally
shooting dead unarmed victims in a mass grave. The images were shocking to a
nation that prides itself as being upright and humanitarian. Never mind that the photos were nearly 70
years old. Found in a rubbish tip, they were, in fact, the first ever photos to
be published of Dutch soldiers killing Indonesians during a war of
decolonization that is still euphemistically referred to as “Police
Actions.” </span><br />
<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-IE" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To read the rest of my article <a href="http://imperialglobalexeter.com/2014/04/07/dutch-imperial-past-returns-to-haunt-the-netherlands/">click here</a> to visit the <a href="http://imperialglobalexeter.com/2014/04/07/dutch-imperial-past-returns-to-haunt-the-netherlands/">Centre for Imperial and Global History at the University of Exeter.</a></span>P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-33176924103136720042014-03-13T15:01:00.000+01:002014-03-13T15:01:38.151+01:00Sri Lankan War CrimesThis month the United Nations Human Rights Council is meeting in Geneva. One of the items on the agenda is the investigation of possible war crimes carried out by Sri Lankan authorities against the civilian Tamil population in 2009. The government of Sri Lanka has so far refused to allow an independent investigation to take place. Some of my students made this short video, which they've sent to the UN, asking for an impartial investigation into possible war crimes to be carried out.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/YroHDXJYxZY" width="560"></iframe>)P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-88831303196301807392014-03-12T20:45:00.004+01:002014-03-12T20:45:57.993+01:00Ranjan Ghosh - A Lover's Quarrel with the Past: Romance, Representation, Reading.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9BNXcNA_z-rPZG9ihJkRH7U-yKxEZjozEtvoBngJrIIOOeqniwupw21ulHu4wRqQ6KhJ3xTGw4vMNUATVOXi7O7vYw-zMCS-ayzfE8r4jE0h76QaA2QKJ1gCFlGBuX-bLFAacFkSJcEy/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9BNXcNA_z-rPZG9ihJkRH7U-yKxEZjozEtvoBngJrIIOOeqniwupw21ulHu4wRqQ6KhJ3xTGw4vMNUATVOXi7O7vYw-zMCS-ayzfE8r4jE0h76QaA2QKJ1gCFlGBuX-bLFAacFkSJcEy/s1600/download.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
The International Institute for Asian Studies has just this week published my review of Ranjan Ghosh's <i>A Lover's Quarrel with the Past: Romance, Representation, Reading</i>. It is an intriguing, provocative and sometimes irritating work, written in dissent and flavoured with indignation, analyzing how myth-makers have come to dominate Hindu collective memory. <a href="http://www.iias.nl/sites/default/files/IIAS_NL67_19.pdf">You can read my review right here.</a><br />
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I hope you enjoy it.P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3740147662943742025.post-71842022270600177072014-01-22T21:06:00.000+01:002014-01-22T21:06:10.268+01:00Amputated Memories<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-c4I6szO2az28YZtHOslODfORXZIOU1wq4ot37XmdqMTd8_aZyx35l-p7cXJMYMmCVdXzc-7FRASOsKK6_yn0X1gp4lXZGa7gr6p-UyvQX96CKWDgdbSm6lpIQdYI6rYzE5nbpOPW4zy/s1600/imagesCAAGCB3N.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-c4I6szO2az28YZtHOslODfORXZIOU1wq4ot37XmdqMTd8_aZyx35l-p7cXJMYMmCVdXzc-7FRASOsKK6_yn0X1gp4lXZGa7gr6p-UyvQX96CKWDgdbSm6lpIQdYI6rYzE5nbpOPW4zy/s1600/imagesCAAGCB3N.jpg" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-IE">Places bear <a href="http://www.pauldoolan.com/2013/03/in-1946-winston-churchill-gave-speech.html">traces of memory</a> for those who
inhabit them. In the absence of place, these memories remain beyond
recollection. Aleida Assmann [<i>Cultural Memory and Western Civilization</i>,
Cambridge University Press, 2011] writes: “Even if places themselves have no
innate faculty of memory, they are of prime importance for the construction of
cultural memory. Not only do they stabilize and authenticate the latter by
giving it a concrete setting, but they also embody continuity”.<span style="color: red;"> </span> Removed from places
that could stabilize their collective memory, the exiled, the trafficked, the economic
migrants and entire groups fleeing from conflict, face a discontinuity that is
difficult to bridge. Their new homes, their new streets and cities are not
conducive to remembering. At the most, descendants of uprooted communities create
substitute spaces - places of commemoration. But commemoration replaces what is
being remembered, it marks the end of continuity. Commemoration marks absence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE">Anthroplogist Paul Connerton [ <i>How Modernity Forgets</i>, Cambridge University
Press, 2009] brilliantly argues that “the locus [of memory] is more important
than the memorial.” The memorial is a
deliberate work, born out of a fear of forgetting. It calls out for attention to its explicit
message. A simple, inattentive glance at a memorial is not enough. Otherwise,
as Connerton, summarizing Robert Musil, says: “nothing is more invisible than a
memorial”. Likewise, memorials conceal
as well as trigger memory, especially war memorials which “conceal the past as
much as they cause us to remember it.”
This is because of the partiality of their representation of the past.
After all, “their image is designed specifically to deny acts of violence and
aggression. They conceal the way they died: the blood, the bits of body flying
through the air, the stinking corpses lying unburied for months, all are
omitted.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE">Connerton argues that, on the other hand,
the house and the city street both provide powerful loci of memory. The house is a “memory device” or an
“aide-memoire”, a medium of representation and, as such, can be read
effectively as a mnemonic system.” The
house, or home, is a mnemonic structure that has a certain
taken-for-grantedness until a house-moving or, worse, a fire or war deprives
one of one’s house. Even the furnishings within the home “remind us of the
shared history and the body” , while on a larger scale the city street forms,
over time, “a web of contacts and memories that eventually lead to a web of
public trust.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwyq64SsoBkhsfHdR3AA3gwKza3SW4jReEJsxMU_7ct5yfDCmzOiHorwxPm-ONw0qOmkzmWwH_PvcLffZIb-GB-IMxBA3TZs0UfjM9dUc_om7XlvhrBVhgNcKZo7fKfTnNpoL6HbR4lw_d/s1600/My+Father's+Chair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwyq64SsoBkhsfHdR3AA3gwKza3SW4jReEJsxMU_7ct5yfDCmzOiHorwxPm-ONw0qOmkzmWwH_PvcLffZIb-GB-IMxBA3TZs0UfjM9dUc_om7XlvhrBVhgNcKZo7fKfTnNpoL6HbR4lw_d/s1600/My+Father's+Chair.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My father's chair</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-IE"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE">Allow me two personal examples. Firstly: at
the age of 18 I left the house that I had lived in since shortly after birth.
At the same time I left my family, my city and my country, never to return for
any extended period of time. Over the decades that passed I have infrequently
returned. At each visit I am confronted by an old armchair in the kitchen, made
by my father with his own hands. When I sit on this armchair, even now, despite
its imperfections and discomfort (or perhaps because of these) I am transported
back to the times when, as a teenager, I sat there with Misty, my cat, on my
lap and rooted behind a cushion and under a cushion to find the lose pages of
newspapers that my father had stuck here. This memory comes to me with
immediate force, like a Proustian involuntary memory, and it brings to me the
almost physical presence of my father, who died nearly thirty years ago in that
very room. Such is the power of the house and its furnishings as a locus of
memory. Walter Benjamin [<i>Illuminations</i>, Random House, 20111] would describe the room as having an aura – “If we designate
as aura the associations which, at home in the <i>memoire involuntaire</i>, tend to
cluster around the object of a perception”.
In this particular case, the aura is made stronger because my father
made the old armchair (it is why it is so uncomfortable!) and it therefore
bears what Benjamin calls
“traces”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IE">Secondly: aged 18, I worked for some time
in southern France, together with labourers who were Irish, Arab, Chinese and
Latin American. Months later I moved to
Paris. One day I was approaching a green newspaper kiosk on Boulevard Saint
Michel, at the point where the broad avenue crests the hill at the large
intersection outside the Jardin de Luxembourg, when I happened to run into a
Venezuelan who I had worked with down south. We stopped and chatted amicably
for ten minutes of so. Now, whenever I am in Paris, which is at least once a
year, and I happen to walk by this intersection (the Luxembourg Gardens are
obviously still there, the cafes and shops have perhaps changed, but the
intersection seems to be as it was then, even the green newspaper kiosk still
remains) I recall running into my Venezuelan acquaintance. Most importantly,
the memory is almost physical – I can almost feel what I felt then, aged 18 –
and it invariably stimulates scores of other memories of happy encounters I had
on the streets of Paris during the late 1970s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-IE">These two examples demonstrate the
remarkable importance of the role of place in personal memory. Memory is not
simply triggered by place, it is triggered by place because that which is
remembered happened in place, was emplaced. We say that events take place. In
fact events take place in place. The event takes place within a topography that
is sensed, that has become meaningful and that is appropriated by ones identity
– not only the event has been lived but the place too has been lived.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-IE"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE">Therefore, to lose the place can be
catastrophic, for one’s memory and one’s self-identity. To be unable to return,
as is the case often with political refugees, can provoke profound sadness.
Connerton formulates this well: “As I know my way around the limbs of my body,
as a pianist knows her way around her piano, as I know my way around my own
house, so I know my way around the paths, landmarks and districts of my city”
and to lose one’s way around one’s limbs “is tearfully distressing, an aching
catastrophe” but so too, to lose one’s way around one’s house or city “would be
a defamiliariztion that would shake my very being.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE">How greater the catastrophe therefore, for
memory, when an entire social or ethnic group, through forced trans-location,
lose their houses and their cities, the primary loci of their memories, and
instead, find themselves transported to a new, alien world that knows nothing of
their former homes and towns and, furthermore, demonstrates only a profound
disinterest in their past, their experiences and their memories. Such people's memories have been amputated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
P. M. Doolanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16673509230835222713noreply@blogger.com6