Creativity Inspiring Creativity

(Post originally published April 22, 2015)

Inspiration (1769)

by Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1732-1806)

It is no secret that artists, poets and writers are continually influencing and being influenced by other creative minds and their work. It has happened for millennia, one new movement after another springs forth from the innovative experiments of the previous generations that came before them, consequently receiving recognition as the latest styles of their age.

Just as in real life, characters in novels experience the same ‘aha!’ moments and find themselves inspiring and inspired by others, but then that is hardly surprising: even fictitious stories for the most part burst forth as imaginative flourishes from the soil of real life occurrences and observations, or the narratives wouldn’t have the ‘ring of reality’ about them, (unless the story is really ‘out there’ in the woolly realm of La-La Land!)


Naturally, my characters in Brushstrokes of a Gadfly experience the same pattern of innovation or they wouldn’t be realistic, especially as many of them are supposed to be artists. Of course, the author undergoes the same process with them as the story develops, the characters and what inspires them can also lead to episodes of philosophical soul-searching in return, a cyclical process of creativity ever renewing itself!

One of those ‘philosophical’ moments occurred this morning. First, I was greeted with some very disturbing news on Sky International from Britain. We, the faceless mass of the public, have been told over and over these last few months or so how well Britain is doing and that the UK economy is steadily growing out of the Great Recession, (God forbid we should actually tell the truth and state we are in a global Great Depression!) Yet, the news just reported this morning (April 22, 2015) that the food banks have received an unprecedented number of people searching for aid like never before. So, who is actually ‘doing better’ in the United Kingdom? Certainly not the average British family! Reading between the lines it is easy to see that only the mega-rich are doing better, while the economic climate is still just as dire if not getting worse for the general populace like never before, but the media keeps lying to everyone about that. To cap that off, in the same news segment there was a disturbing report about the rise of cruelty to animals in Britain, and the national Prevention to Cruelty to Animals charity has received a record number of calls and reports; every thing from woeful neglect to outright torture of innocent creatures that can’t defend themselves. One story was appalling, a dog was locked for months on end amidst her own excrement in a car outside her master’s home. Furthermore, she was expecting a litter of puppies and was obviously undernourished. What a demonic, yes demonic, way to treat man’s best friend. Thankfully, she was spotted and rescued and now has a new loving owner. Is there a link between dire poverty and this ghastly display of cruelty? Are people taking their frustration and stress out on the animal kingdom and their once-beloved pets? This is certainly are a disturbing sign of our times.


While hearing this on the TV, or the ‘telly’ as they say in the UK and Ireland, I was multitasking and conducting some practical research for my next novel, a continuation of Brushstrokes of a Gadfly. One artist that barely received a ‘hello, how are you?’ in the first novel is currently receiving some additional development in the second. (UPDATE: the new novel is finished! Vocation of a Gadfly!) The artist in question is inspired by the opening lines of a poem by William Blake (1757-1827) who was also an artist, and since I had only paraphrased Blake’s lines in the draft so far, I thought I had better go over them again to make sure I quoted them correctly. They belong to Auguries of Innocence, however, I couldn’t stop at the opening verses and continued to read the entire poem to refresh my memory. Immediately Blake’s other lines struck me as markedly relevant to the report I was hearing repeated over and over in the background:

“A dog starved at his master’s gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.”

How apropos. Continuing the poem, it was eerie to see just how accurate Blake had pinpointed the omens of decline both morally, financially and politically that now are so evident in our modern nations, and not just in Britain. ‘Auguries’ is another word for ‘omens’ or ‘future signs’ after all. How mankind interacts with other creatures considered less than itself is a tell-tale sign indeed: if you cannot treat defenceless animals with compassion and kindness, how will you treat your fellow human beings? Demonically I say. I shall give an example:


I suppose not many have heard of one frightening story that was recently reported from Greece a few months ago, a country which is beyond doubt like other countries completely mired in a Great Depression rivalling that of the previous century. In the very birthplace of ‘Western Civilisation’ there are families now living for two and three years without electricity as they cannot afford it. One man who was a caregiver for his elderly mother at home could no longer pay the electricity bill, so the company just came and shut the power off, regardless of the fact the elderly woman was on a life support machine. The workers had their orders so they simply turned it off: the man could only stand by and watch as his mother died. Sounds like the Nazis at the extermination camps who claimed innocence when accused of war crimes because they were ‘only following orders’, doesn’t it? The next frightening part of the story was the man couldn’t call the ambulance and have his mother taken to the hospital as the public health system in Greece is only for those who have a job, (which in their crippled economy are non-existent). If this is the current condition of the country that gave us democracy, I fear for the rest of the democratic world. Just look at the crumbling decay of Detroit and the water management debacle: the last time I heard, the poor who could not afford to pay their water bills were cut off from that service, a basic necessity of life. The situation was becoming critical to the point a UN commission went to investigate just like any other third world country experiencing major humanitarian crises. I do not know if the situation there has been resolved or is still in crisis, but what a humiliating downturn for America that prides itself on being one of the most developed nations in the world.

What times we are living in! The poor and the elderly are not the only victims, all those who cannot speak for themselves or are afraid to speak up are also vulnerable. Let us not forget the children. The cases of scandalizing and cruelty to children are woefully on the increase, and have been for the last sixty years. Talk about the loss of innocence. How can we turn our backs and ignore the outright atrocities that are happening in our era? I promise, no more horror stories in this post, but I could not help but jump up on my soapbox ~ a few of my characters are ‘gadflies’ after all, people who cannot help but shake things up and get people to do a little soul-searching too, so I suppose I’m still on topic. Moving on...

Of course, after reviewing Blake’s poem a few more times, I find it has now provided me with several other ideas to develop in the new novel, you shall have to read Vocation of a Gadfly to see what, where, how, and with which characters. However, for now I shall share with you Blake’s famous poem below underneath one of his artworks, which you might be familiar with thanks to the ‘Hannibal Lecter’ movie, Red Dragon (2002) starring Anthony Hopkins.  What philosophical, soul-searching ideas will Blake’s following verses inspire you with?


 

The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in the Sun (c. 1803)

Auguries of Innocence (1803)
by William Blake

(First published in 1863.)


To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill’d with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro’ all its regions.
A dog starv’d at his master’s gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm’d for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf’s and lion’s howl
Raise from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand’ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus’d breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher’s knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won’t believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever’s fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov’d by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov’d
Shall never by be woman lov’d.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider’s enmity.
He who torments the chafer’s sprite
Weaves a bower of endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to the thy mother’s grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat,
Feed them and thou will grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer’s song
Poison gets from slander’s tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy’s foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist’s jealousy.

The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags
Are toadstools on the miser’s bags.
A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro’ the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Throughout all these human lands
Tools were made, and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return’d to it’s own delight.
The bleat, the bark, the below, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Write revenge in realms of death.
The beggar’s rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heaven’s tear.
The soldier, arm’d with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer’s sun.
The poor man’s farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.
One mite wrung from the lab’rer’s hands
Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands;
Or, it protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mock’s the infant’s faith
Shall be mock’d in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne’er get out.
He who respects the infant’s faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child’s toys and the old man’s reason
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar’s laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to armour’s iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket’s cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile
Make lame philosophy to smile
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne’re believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They’d immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation’s fate.
The harlot’s cry from street to street
Shall weave old England’s winding-sheet.
The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse,
Dance before dead England’s hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

***

 

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Kitchen Philosophy 101

(Post originally published July 6, 2012)

There are times when wisdom cannot be found in the chambers of parliament or the halls of academia but at the unpretentious setting of the kitchen table. How often have the greatest thoughts and ideas come to light during conversations with the family over the evening dinner? The simple everyday experiences become the doorway to new thoughts and inspirations. Of course, the common sense, no-nonsense observations of the older generations who have acquired greater experience at how the world wags are often the essential ingredient to these times of philosophical debate and give balance to the naiveté of the younger members of the family who still have a lot to learn, keeping all safely grounded with their knowledge and humour. Sometimes, the observations of the young ones can surprise the elders, either drawing everyone into deeper reflection or having all and sundry fall out of their seats with laughter.

Our family is no exception. If I may say so, my mother and I are an explosive combination: “Kitchen Philosophy 101” as she has dubbed our little Open Academy of Free Thinking.

As with all academies, we are provided with ample material for study and comment, vis the antics of the world at large brought straight to the table vis the information and entertainment machine in the corner ~ the television. When we are not in the lecture hall preparing lunch or supper, there are plenty of opportunities for fieldwork, vis, the hundred and one observations of daily life as we head out from the walls of our academy to fulfil the tasks necessary to keep a household well-organized, grocery-shopping, bill-paying, all those manifold duties that must be taken care of. Little escapes our scrutiny, and many times we have reached some hard-to-forget conclusions, observations and philosophical questions that leave us meditating or laughing for days on end.

Since I am a writer, everything heard and said can and will be used in a story or blog, therefore, it was time to start a series publishing the work of our honourable academy lest its words of wisdom be lost for all time. Yes, you have guessed it: this new series is entitled “Kitchen Philosophy 101”.

To begin, here are a few examples of our various ponderings of late:

“When all is said and done, we are the sum total of the decisions we have made.” ~ This conclusion was reached after much deliberation on why events in life turn out the way they do. Yes, it all boils down to us at some point or another!

“Will the Almighty God allow mankind to reduce Him to a subatomic particle?” ~ A thought proposed for deliberation on the day the scientists of CERN announced their discovery of the Higgs Boson particle. Look how far the physicists will go to try and prove how the Universe came to be. For what purpose? ´To gain a better understanding of how everything came to be´, is the general answer. Don´t get me wrong, I'm excited about many scientific discoveries, but the travail the physicists are subjecting themselves to is pathetic when viewed from the aspect of Eternity. So, scientists discovered the micro-cosmic glue that keeps subatomic particles together, that is no different than discovering Michaelangelo used paint layer on layer to make his frescoes. One must never set aside the mind behind the masterpiece. Yes, God is a humble and patient God, but the worldly-wise are distracting themselves with work that will not bring them any closer to understanding Him, only the materials He created. Of course, if they do not want to acknowledge that a Creator exists, what a shame, all they are left with then is their cosmic dust and particles, for a limited time only.


“Think before you speak, particularly when you are about to ask a question or give your opinion, your intelligence may be questioned.”  It is mind-boggling some of the questions members of the media ask their guests. In a documentary highlighting the shortage of water and the management of the world's water supplies, a reporter asked a Chilean fish-farmer ´How important is water for your business?´ And this question was put forward as they stood amidst his fish tanks. All he could do was reply with a smile, `It's essential´. I witnessed this, I kid you not! That is no different than asking a corn farmer how important the sun is for their line of work. Another example of comic moments at the Kitchen Academy, CNBC recently requested viewers to Tweet or e-mail what they think of the employment situation in America today. My mother and I just looked at each other and it hit us both at once: “That IS the problem! There IS nothing to think about!”

By now you have probably tumbled to the obvious conclusion: despite everything that is going on around you, going up or down, day by day, it's important we keep our sense of humour. One belly laugh a day adds a year to your life they say.

If you enjoyed this introductory course to Kitchen Philosophy 101, considered yourself enrolled in our College of Common Sense, or the lack thereof. For the students' question and answer session, just leave your comments below for the consideration of the absent-minded professors. Stay tuned for the next lecture. Pot-Walloping Diplomas and Kitchen Mechanic Degrees will be awarded on the completion of the course. Lecture adjourned.

***

 

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Born Genius ~ A Conversation between Father and Son

(Post originally published February 2, 2012)

It is constantly stressed that writing can be learned, developed, mastered; that if you have a talent, it can be made to shine. However, there are writers who were destined for greatness from the beginning, whose star seemed to blaze the minute they appeared on earth similar to Mozart and his musical genius. In the case of writing, I am thinking of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832), German poet, dramatist, scientist and statesman.

(Image: Goethe in the Roman Campagna, by Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein, 1787)

Naturally, we can recognise his great talent with famous works from his adult years such as Faust: Part One, The Sorrows of Young Werther and Egmont A Tragedy in Five Acts to name a few, but like Mozart, he had a unique gift that manifested at an early age. Goethe was passionate about history, languages and art, and I thought I would share a little known scribbling he wrote when about eight years old, the last colloquy from a set of three featuring a conversation with his father about the wax figurines he was shaping, imitating the great artists and their model-making:



“Father: What are you doing there, my son?

Son: Making wax figures.

Father: I thought so. Oh, when will you ever put nuts aside?”

('Nuts': Goethe was playing on a Latin pun with the word 'nuces', which means 'nuts' and 'childish play'.)

Son: Why, I'm not playing with nuts, I'm playing with wax.

Father: Ignoramus, can it be that you don't know the meaning of 'nuts' in this connection?

Son: Now I remember. But see how well I have learned in a short time to model wax.

Father: To spoil wax, you mean.

Son: I beg your pardon. Am I not creating rather clever things?

Father: Yes indeed. Show me some of your malformations.

Son: Among other animals I have made, with special success, a cat with a long moustache, and a city mouse and a field mouse to illustrate one of Horace's satires, (i.e., an ancient Roman satirist), translated by Drollinger into pure German doggerel.

Father: I like this reminiscence better than the beasts themselves. But have you made nothing else which shows your alleged art more advantageously?

Son: Yes, indeed, here is a whale, with mouth wide open as if to swallow us, and two chamois, which Emperor Maximilian was so found of hunting that he is said to have been unable to find his way out of the declivitous rocks till an angel in human form showed him the path.

Father: Why, you apply your scraps of history so aptly that one must pardon your misshapen figures. And is that all?

Son: By no means; for all my models the ones to be especially admired are: the crocodile shedding false tears, the monstrous war elephant of the ancients, the lizard, friend of man, the croaking frog announcing spring, all of which lack nothing but life.

Father: Nonsense! Who would be able to recognise them without the labels?

Son: Alas! Is not every man the best interpreter of his own works?

Father: This statement is quite true, but not apropos.

Son: Pardon my ignorance and deign to look at this sleighing party. There are just a dozen in it, all different, partly creeping and partly flying creatures, of which the swan, the stag, the walrus, and the dragon seem to be the most natural.

Father: You may think so, if you like, but it is perfectly apparent that you make no real distinction between beautiful and ugly.

Son: Dear father, will you be so kind as to teach me the difference?

Father: Certainly, but everything in season. Your power of observation must first be more mature.
Son: Oh fiddlesticks! Why will you postpone it? Tell me about it today rather than tomorrow and I will listen to you while I play.

Father: I have already said it cannot be done now—some other time. Put aside your childish nonsense now and go to your work.

Son: I will. Good bye.”

 ***

Amazing when you think an eight year old wrote this piece on aesthetics ~ Playdoh time rendered into a miniature work of art!

(Excerpt from “The Life Of Goethe: Albert Bielschowsky)

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Brushstrokes of a Gadfly ~ Book Review

(Post originally published December 20, 2011)

A big thank you to Randall Radic for the following review published on Blogcritics.org.
What a wonderful Christmas gift!

(Following review published December 19, 2011.)

"According to Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary, a gadfly is “an insect that goads or stings cattle, as a horsefly. A person who annoys or irritates others.” Supposedly, the Greek philosopher Socrates was a gadfly because he irritated others by causing them to analyze their thought processes. Inevitably, analysis revealed errors of not only reasoning but conclusions – mental boo boos. Rather than rejoicing over their newfound enlightenment, people became upset. People don’t like being told they are wrong or stupid or illogical. So they began avoiding Socrates like the plague, along with talking about him behind his back, saying nasty things about him. But Socrates didn’t care. He considered it his duty to be an irritant, a gadfly. So he kept doing it. In the end, he annoyed so many people so much that they decided to do something about it. It wasn’t pleasant.

Jesus was a gadfly too.

So is the protagonist of Brushstrokes of a Gadfly, a wonderful, walloping novel by E.A. Bucchianeri. Katherine Walsingham is the star of Brushstrokes. She is beautiful, talented, intelligent, sensual, and comes from an affluent, well-bred family in New York City. Kat’s only flaw is that she enjoys stirring the pot. She doesn’t believe in going along to get along. Thus, she utilizes her art to cause viewers to re-evaluate their conclusions about religion, cultural traditions, nuclear power, women’s rights, government corruption, and the true definition of freedom. Naturally, Kat receives lots of attention, while at the same time annoying lots of people, people who prefer the status quo to remain stationary.

The pedantry of Katherine is obvious, as she tries to set the world to rights. What’s funny is that while Kat is busy being a gadfly, the pedantry of Life wiggles in and disrupts Kat’s vision for her future. Determined to eschew romantic entanglements because of their destabilizing effects, Kat unexpectedly finds herself falling in love with one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. Because of a peculiar combination of circumstances – Kat’s reluctance, her paramour’s family, and gossip – the romance appears headed for disappointment.

Whether or not Life and Love find a way won’t be discussed. You’ll have to read the book to find out.

Essentially, Brushstrokes is a high literary romance novel. Imagine Roberto Bolano meets Nicholas Sparks: erudite and gracious with a saccharine undertone of romance and the unpredictability of life. In other words, it’s exaggerated, quaint, absurd, funny, touching, and very much like reality.

E.A. Bucchianeri guides the reader through all the twists and turns of the story with remarkable aplomb, utilizing what the reviewer calls “an informed literary style.” Translation: easy to read, yet without all the dreary flatness that inhabits most ‘high literary’ novels. The story sparkles with various subplots and unique characters – stories within the story – that provide diversion and respite from the primary thread of romantic tension. The reviewer’s favorite is Kat’s grandfather, who, having avoided the psychological pitfalls of great wealth, speaks from his heart, which he wears on his sleeve.

Brushstrokes of a Gadfly is a big book, weighing in at a couple of pounds and 1040 pages. Just looking at it makes a potential reader pause and consider. However, any doubts may be set aside. After the first two pages, you’ll be pleased with your purchase. It’s long, but it has everything you’re looking for: humor, love, human interrelations, good writing, a plot that moves along, and emotional catharsis."






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Philosophy is Dead?

(Post originally published Septmber 5, 2010)

Reading a little more about Hawking's latest theory that the Universe did not need a God to set the Big Bang in motion as presented in his new book “The Grand Design”, (see my previous post), he has also dared to make the bold statement in the introductory sections that “Philosophy is Dead”.

According to Hawking, the importance of presenting the theory why or how the universe came into being was reserved for the philosophers, but that field of enquiry is now “dead” as it has not kept up with modern developments in the world of science, especially in the field of physics. So now, philosophers are redundant as scientists have become now the sole leaders in the quest for knowledge.

I think Hawking has misunderstood a very important concept: “Philosophy” comes from the Greek “philosophia” = “love of wisdom”. “Science” comes from the Latin “scientia”= “to know”.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, “science” is defined as: “the intellectual and practical activity encompassing the systematic study of the structure and behaviour of the physical and natural world through observation and experiment.”

“Philosophy” is defined as: “the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence, especially when considered as an academic discipline.”

When you consider these definitions, scientists basically collect new data about our world and the universe, while philosophers study the nature of the new knowledge presented, obviously to find the wisdom in it.

It was always the job of scientists to present us with new knowledge, but philosophers too will always exist to find the truth in the information the scientists present and if it follows sound, logical principles. Hence the reason why philosophers cannot keep up with physicists like Hawking who claim that the “Law of Gravity” is useful evidence that there need not be a God for the Universe to exist or the Big Bang to occur, and that everything occurred via “Spontaneous Creation” with no need to have a Creator present. Where is the “wisdom” in Hawking's statements? As I mentioned in a previous post, there had to be a great Authority at work to create the Law of Gravity--Nothing begets Nothing. The very existence of mathematical equations used by scientists displays that a Great Mind is at work since everything discovered concerning the workings of the cosmos can be explained by numbers. They had to be created by Someone, and the fact that numbers have no end displays this Being is indeed infinite.

Hawking in earlier writings claims the triumph of human reasoning will come when man can find the 'perfect theory' of why or how the universe came into being. That will never happen for the simple reason man cannot discover how God or the Great Being created matter, or the Big Bang, from nothing. It was done by the power of His Will, and no physical evidence of this Great Act of creation can be discovered, especially as we still haven't found the physical boundaries to the universe, with all our knowledge.

Let's take a quick look at the Bible for a moment, since Hawking says philosophy, the “love of wisdom”, is dead and foolishness is alive and kicking:

“And he said to man: Behold the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom: and to depart from evil, is understanding.” (Job 28:28)   Hawking does not fear or believe in a traditional God, so he is definitely lacking in wisdom.

“The fool said in his heart: There is no God.” (Psalm 52:1) (Self explanatory.)

 

“As a house that is destroyed, so is wisdom to a fool: and the knowledge of the unwise is as words without sense.” (Ecclesiasticus 21:21) This explains why Hawking's comments do not make sense to me.

“Every man is become a fool for knowledge, every artist is confounded in his graven idol: for what he hath cast is false, and there is no spirit in them.” (Jeremias 10:14) Has Hawking become a 'fool' for knowledge? Certainly seems that way.

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