All entries for Monday 12 June 2006

June 12, 2006

Hair Stories and Fairytales

Writing about web page

Whilst I was putting together my paper, I came accross this wonderful site full of stories, poems, pictures and even tips about hair….

Christina Rossetti and the Power of Hair

Writing about web page

On 27th–28th May I attended a brillant conference at Stirling University entitled 'Fashioning Fiction. I've come home with lots of issues to think about and books to read.

In my paper I considered how Christina Rossetti engaged with the various manifestations of her hair–obsessed culture as she worked with complex Biblical representations which highlighted the incredible power women’s hair could have for good and for evil. I also discussed the way in which she drew on a variety of texts and paintings to acknowledge that, as well as serving as a weapon or a veil for the righteous, angelic woman, hair can also serve as a snare, a web, or a noose for the wicked scheming woman.

I focused primarily on three sonnets:
The World (Composed 27 June 1854, published in Goblin Market, 1862)

By day she wooes me, soft, exceeding fair:
But all night as the moon so changeth she;
Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy
And subtle serpents gliding in her hair.
By day she wooes me to the outer air,
Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety:
But thro' the night, a beast she grins at me,
A very monster void of love and prayer.
By day she stands a lie: by night she stands
In all the naked horror of the truth
With pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands.
Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell
My soul to her, give her my life and youth,
Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell?

From ‘Monna Innominata: A Sonnet Of Sonnets’ (published in A Pageant and Other Poems, 1881)

"I, if I perish, perish"—Esther spake:
And bride of life or death she made her fair
In all the lustre of her perfumed hair
And smiles that kindle longing but to slake.
She put on pomp of loveliness, to take
Her husband thro' his eyes at unaware;
She spread abroad her beauty for a snare,
Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake.
She trapped him with one mesh of silken hair,
She vanquished him by wisdom of her wit,
And built her people's house that it should stand:—–
If I might take my life so in my hand,
And for my love to Love put up my prayer,
And for love's sake by Love be granted it!

Babylon the Great (published in The Face of the Deep, 1892, and Verses, 1893)

Foul is she and ill–favoured, set askew:
Gaze not upon her till thou dream her fair,
Lest she should mesh thee in her wanton hair,
Adept in arts grown old yet ever new.
Her heart lusts not for love, but thro' and thro'
For blood, as spotted panther lusts in lair;
No wine is in her cup, but filth is there
Unutterable, with plagues hid out of view.
Gaze not upon her, for her dancing whirl
Turns giddy the fixed gazer presently:
Gaze not upon her, lest thou be as she
When, at the far end of her long desire,
Her scarlet vest and gold and gem and pearl
And she amid her pomp are set on fire.

Art Objects

4 out of 5 stars

Over the weekend I read Art Objects by Jeanette Winterson and found it so dense with ideas I thought I’d share a few.

The first section of the book offers a living, dynamic, two–way approach to the arts and to artists. Winterson shares with us her love for new art and discuses the fluidity of the exchange of emotion between artist, painting, and owner (herself). Her discussion made me think of Michael Cunningham’s novel, The Hours which charts a moment in the life of an author (Virginia Woolf), reader (Laura Brown), and character (Mrs Dalloway). The triangles of exchange in both cases facilitate a deep exploration of the process of becoming and highlight the importance of the arts in the creation and re–definition of a selfhood. Strong texts, Winterson claims, ‘work along the borders of our minds and alter what already exists.’
It is their prerogative to enter into other realities that enables them to have such a transformative impact on us. Winterson repeatedly reminds us not to fall into the trap of recognising no reality but our own. The fact that people often misquote their favourite texts, she writes, comes from their own desire to find the reality of themselves reflected rather than allow themselves to become lost in the total alien world of the book.

It seems to have been the Victorian ‘realists’ who introduced this criterion of truth to life into their study of the arts and denied art as art. Winterson speaks of the ‘revolution in taste’ and the reaction against Romanticism in the mid to late nineteenth century. She claimed that whilst the male poet suddenly found himself at odds with the poetic tradition he inherited, the Victorian women poets benefited from the collapse of the ‘unmasculine’ Romantic sensibility.

The women poet, unlike the majority of the women novelists, accepted her mantle of Otherness gracefully. She would lead the mind to higher things. She would direct mental energies towards emotional and spiritual contemplation. LEL, Felicia Hemans, Christina Rossetti, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, each accepted the distinction of the poet as poet. The particular struggle of Tennyson, how to be sensitive in an age that disliked sensitivity in men, was clearly not a problem for a woman. (p.30)

Winterson suggests the freedom the Victorian women found which enabled her to work her own form within the authority of tradition, cleared the ground for the contribution of women to Modernism. The primary focus ‘Art Objects’ is on the Modernists and their approach to depicting the reality of life in their own terms. Modernism, she argues, was an attempt to return to an idea of art as a conscious place, ‘a place outside of both rhetoric and cliché.’ Winterson clearly admires the poets who write a ‘living language’ in a pitch beyond everyday speech. Hence, her appreciation of TS Eliot becomes only too apparent.

Moving on, Winterson discusses the Autobiography of Alice B, published by Gertrude Stein in 1934. Since attending the post–graduate seminar session on ‘Life Writing’ I’ve been thinking about the complexities inherent in the construction of any piece of autobiographical writing. I was therefore interested to read about the criticisms directed at Stein following the publication of her so called ‘memoirs.’ Instead of re–making biography into fiction as Woolf had done in Orlando (1925), Stein, Winterson claims, ‘re–defined autobiography as the ultimate Trojan horse.’

We are supposed to know where we are with biography and autobiography, they are the literary equivalents of the portrait and self–portrait. One is the representation of someone else’s life, and the other is the representation of your own. We shouldn’t have to worry about form and experiment, and we can rest assured that the writer (or the painter) is sticking to the facts. We can feel safe with facts.
Suppose there was a writer who looked despairingly at her readers and who thought: ‘They are suspicious, they are conservative. They long for new experiences and deep emotions yet they fear both. They only feel comfortable with what they know and they believe that art is the mirror of life; someone else’s or their own. How to smuggle into their homes what they would normally kill at the gate?’
bq. Bring on the Trojan horse. In the belly of the biography stash the Word. The Word that is both form and substance. The moving word uncaught. Woolf smuggled across the borders of complacency the most outrageous contraband; lesbianism, cross–dressing, female power. More than that, she smuggled her language alive past the checkpoints of propriety. (49–50)

The most uncanny aspect in Stein’s work seems to be the fact that she herself became the fiction and allowed a ‘plasticity’ to self that was threatening and emotive. Are real people fictions? Winterson asks in response to Stein. Well, we understand ourselves through stories but often apply a strict self–censorship that refuses to allow us to enter the imaginative space where we can appreciate art for the Other that it is. Once we understand ourselves as fictions, Winterson suggests, we are freed into a new kind of imagination and are able to understand ourselves as fully as we can. In a chapter based on Woolf’s Orlando, Winterson claims that art enlarges and enables us to see ourselves through metaphor. Metaphor is transformation. It is she writes, ‘the burning bush that both shelters and makes visible our profounder longings.’ (66)

Along with the metaphor of the burning bush, I was struck by Winterson’s insistent use of Biblical imagery in order to discuss art in a variety of ways:
‘Art is my rod and staff, my resting place and shield.’ (p. 20)
‘Art is excess. The fiery furnace, the freezing lake.’ (p. 94)
‘Like Adam we name our beasts.’ (p. 113)
‘Against this golden calf in the wilderness where all come to buy and sell, the honest currency of art offers quite a different rate of exchange.’ (p. 139)
In my thesis, I consider the appropriation of Biblical imagery by the Victorians. Interestingly, Winterson’s appropriation could be seen to highlight the central argument of her book. She speaks of the need for a new, living language that is rooted in the past. Like Christina Rossetti, by using the Biblical images and instances in a new way (albeit a very different way!) she achieves what she claims all good art should contain– a fresh approach to reality and tradition. For Winterson, art is the Word. It heals, transforms, links the past to the present and the future and creates a new space in which to exist and escape from the ‘problems of gravity’.

To conclude, Art Objects reveals an exciting realm where the triangle of communication between artist, product and viewer can be transformative if only we allow it to.

June 2006

Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su
May |  Today  | Jul
         1 2 3 4
5 6 7 8 9 10 11
12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29 30      

Search this blog



Most recent comments

  • I really love Wheatfield with Crows too. For me, it suggested uncertainty over how one sees the worl… by on this entry
  • Wow this conference website is really cool! by on this entry
  • I have seen Macbeth a few times over the last thirty odd years, but never have I seen a production t… by Pete on this entry
  • I must admit that, whilst I have been to the RSC to see things, and whilst I have read through Macbe… by Martin Eyles on this entry
  • Thank you for that Dawn. I will certainly keep an eye out for updates on your weblog and details of … by on this entry

Blog archive

Not signed in
Sign in

Powered by BlogBuilder