Wednesday, May 27, 2009 | 10:34 PM

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Wednesday, July 12, 2006 | 1:23 AM

Exodus Revisited: Is the Promised Land Better?

In lieu of my recent trip to Europe for GE credits, the program I went with required that I read certain texts to acquire the units. Dickens' The Old Curiosity Shop was among the books I choose to read.

Despite great uncertainty regarding my affinity for his writing style while I read his works, I inevitably conclude that I enjoyed the experience and wouldn't mind exploring more of Dickens' mind again: an experience only paralleled, I think, by a rigorous workout.

The Old Curiosity Shop lives up to its title. It follows a little girl named Nell on her travels from London out into the country. Inasmuch as the book is not yet complete, my knowledge of her adventures is also incomplete. She escorts her elderly grandfather, her last remaining relative besides her wayward and selfish brother Trent, from the city and frets about his condition continuously. Dickens portrays Nell in a almost angelic way employing her innocence and lack of guile as a foil for his commentary on England's society and culture. He utilizes her especially in cities and people from the upper class. The contrast Dickens draws between their life in the city and their hopes for the country are interesting:

Then came a turnpike; then fields again with trees and haystacks, then a hill; and on top of that the traveller might stop, and - looking back at old Saint Paul's looming through smoke, its cross peeping above the cloud (if the day were clear) and glittering in the sun; and casting his eyes upon the Babel out of which it grew until he traced it down to the furthest outposts of the invading army of bricks and mortar whose station lay for the present nearly at his feet - might at feel at last that he was clear of London....

The freshness of the day, the singing of the birds, the beauty of the waving grass, the deep green leaves, the wild flowers, and the thousand exquisite scents and sounds that floated in the air - deep joys to most of us, but most of all to those whose life is in a crowd or who live solitarily in great cities as in the bucket of a human well - sunk into their breasts and made them very glad....

'Dear grandfather,' she said, 'only that this place is prettier and a great deal better than the real one, if that in the book is like it, I feel as if we were both Christian [Pilgrim's Progress], and laid down on this grass all the cares and troubles we brought with us; never to take them up again.'

'No - never to return - never to return,' replied the old man, waving his hand towards the city. 'Thou and I are free of it now, Nell. They shall never lure us back....'

'I shall never feel ill again, now that we are once away,' was his reply. 'Let us be stirring, Nell. We must be further away - a long, long way further. We are too near to stop, and be at rest. Come!'

As is common in good books, many scenes contain multiple layers of meaning. In this dialogue, the grandfather is anxious to leave not only the city but his habit and addiction to gambling which the city symbolizes to him. In fact, Dickens commonly uses big cities in this way symbolically. This is conveyed exquisitely in the first paragraph of the quote above. Dickens repeatedly uses the imagery of the countryside to symbolize freedom and the natural and proper order of things in contrast to the reek of corruption which is the urban press of humanity.

Although Dickens portrays this idea more poignantly than most, I find that it is not uncommon, especially among my friends. We more or less despise "the invading army of bricks and mortar" and seek solace in what glimpses and excursions into the country we may find. We discuss the glories of nature with a wistful rapture and drop the word "hyperreality" with a condemning distain in reference to cities. We think the busyness and noise of cities tends to inhibit the proper way of life and thus develop this attitude.

Recently I had an interesting conversation with a newly-met friend named Laura. She, Jane, and I were driving through LA to visit the Getty Museum. Because of the speed at which the metropolis passed by our windows we had the opportunity to observe several peculiarities. These comments sparked a discussion about our general opinions of LA. Laura spoke about her old preoccupation with exploring the city and the delight she received in discovering ethnic enclaves in different areas. Apparently she has a heart for missions and grew up wanting to be a missionary. As we continued talking, I realized that Laura did not view cities the same way that I did. She did not see them as a bane, or necessary evil to modern life but merely as a different culture, on equal standing with all others.

This surprised me. I grew up on the edge of a fairly large city, ergo I attained a sort of high middle ground between the two extremes: the best of both worlds. Consequently, I have never felt completely comfortable in either world and repeatedly struggle with which lifestyle I prefer. Honestly I prefer the one my parents raised me in, like many others I guess. Nonetheless, Laura's perspective made me rethink my mental, if not comprehensive, prejudice that leans in favor of a rural lifestyle.

Both country and cities have pros and cons. In cities you often experience efficiency at the expense of leisure, and in the country you often find leisure at the expense of efficiency. You have more freedom to live as you please in rural areas but cities contain the greater power and influence. The list goes on...

I think my parents chose correctly when they refrained from picking a side.

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Tuesday, May 09, 2006 | 12:51 AM

Ansel, Legacy, and Lecture

Tonight I attended a lecture on Ansel Adams and Brett Weston and their respective legacies. The lecture was sponsored by the Torrey Honors Institute and given by Thel Rountree. Overall, the lecture did not intrigue me significantly: I basically went for the credit and the pictures. It might have helped if I was an art or film major, and I was considering doing this for my life and/or occupation. Nonetheless, I gained a greater appreciation of the art of photography, both its difficulty and its rewards, and the beauty of nature. The constant reality of a concrete landscape here in LA made this a poignant reminder of the contrast between, as my friend Peter would say, nature and the hyperreality in which we are accustomed to existing.

For completeness' sake: the legacies of Ansel and Brett contrast. Ansel donated all his prints and negatives to the University of Arizona upon his death while Brett destroyed most of them in a fit of egotistic vanity and frustration at the futility of his life. Both were extremely talented individuals, and saw beauty in amazing and unobserved ways, yet one was comfortable in his own skin and content with his role in life, willing to help and contribute to the lives of others. Contrarily the other's legacy was disrupted by his selfishness and pride.

Now it is time for pictures:

Ansel Adams







Aspens, Northern New Mexico, 1958

Brett Weston

Oregon Dune and Trees, 1962


Mono Lake, 1960


Sculpted Leaf, 1979


Bank of America Building, 1975


Broken Window, 1978


Dune, Oceano, 1984

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