Ο ρεαλισμός, όμως στην τέχνη σήμερα περιττεύει*

The writer of my favourite Greek book informs me that art does not need realism anymore. I never understood the intensity of intellectual disagreement between realists and surrealists or magic realists (whatever Matesis is). Are they simply two different artistic movements or are they truly two different ways of perceiving the world? I guess the question boils down to the role of art, and whether art is really a lens through which we have to see our world, whether it ultimately reflects our deepest convictions.

Realism for me is like an understated, clean suit. If you want to make an entrance to a party, you wouldn't necessarily choose it, but it is good when the statement you want to make is all about subtlety. Magic realism on the other hand, can be compared to an extravagant hat: your whole ensemble is grey and understated and your hat makes a statement by itself. It is good but somewhat predictable and forced. I think well-educated and intellectually competent people can see the point in a work of art, even when it is not exaggerated. Perhaps this is too harsh of a criticism to a movement I once adored, and perhaps the analogy is unsuccessful. Perhaps art cannot be compared to a fashion statement. Perhaps magic realism just gives the artist the freedom to express him/herself more clearly, without the boundaries of realism. Perhaps realism and by extension reality itself is extremely constraining and the only way to break free is to write about millions of ants that eat up a poor soul.


*Today though, realism in art, is superfluous. (Pavlos Matesis)

Insane in the brain

'The true story of a 17th century Hungarian Countess who bathed in the blood of girls... Descended from one of the most ancient aristocratic families of Europe, Erzsébet Báthory bore the psychotic aberrations of centuries of intermarriage. From adolescence she indulged in sadistic lesbian fantasies, where only the spilling of a woman's blood could satisfy her urges. By middle age, she had regressed to a mirror-fixated state of pathalogical necro-sadism involving witchcraft, torture, blood-drinking, cannibalism and, inevitably wholescale slaughter. (...) The Bloody Countess is Valentine Penrose's disturbing case history of a female psychopath which has an unequalled power to evoke the decadent melancholy of doomed, delinquent aristocracy in a dark age of superstition.' - from Amazon.co.uk

My reading for the next weeks is this book, nicely purchased in Lisbon's annual Book Fair, under an annual scorching sun. The most awful crimes of humanity happen in the brain, Oscar Wilde wrote, and if you're a healthy person, that's where they'll stay. If you're mentally ill, as this countess probably was, you practice what you preach and go around being a criminal. It'll be interesting to know how one is a female criminal in 17th century Hungary. There are so many interesting things to learn in this world indeed!

Anyway, I'm reading this book and I'm wondering why normal, balanced human beings have the tendency to stop and look every time there's an accident on the road. We hate evil but it attracts us as well.

As for me, I just take an interest in mental illness and crime. If I can learn about it while reading a well written, well researched book about something that is not very discussed as it is, which is female crime, then it's even better. This so-called bloody Countess is also described as having been a female Dracula, which is a character that has provided excuses for all sorts of psychiatric or psychological theories and diseases anyway (homossexuality, sifilis, incest, repressed sexual desire, you name it, Dracula embodies it). I don't know why these things interest me, but they just do. I guess it's because of the Oscar Wilde sentence, and also because, in reality and in all probability, mental health doesn't actually exist.

The past and the reiteration

As Youkali wrote in a previous post, April is the cruelest month. Spring in general, "sometimes, the renovation of life is an awful spectacle to watch. "

For me the most difficult thing is reiteration: remembering what I did this time last year, which clothes I liked to wear, which roads I took when coming back home, which TV shows I watched. It seems that my life, is in an endless loop: I still laugh when watching Friends, I am still trying to diet, I am still applying for jobs, I still don't know where I will be in a couple of months.

It is scary, and it is liberating, uncertainty. Reiteration though is plain scary. You feel still, you feel that you have not moved one inch from last year, you feel trapped in this awful circle of life, of season-changing, of sameness. It looks like a vicious circle, although common belief maintains that it is rejuvenating. After winter comes spring, they say, and is this supposed to make me feel better, that it is like that all the time? Maybe that's why autumn is better, because autumn is death, plain and simple, leaves are falling from the trees, leaves that will never be reborn, at least not the same ones. Maybe that's the way to think about it, that this is fake reiteration. Nothing comes back to life really, it just looks like it does. It is just things that look awfully like the previous ones, so you get confused.

Nietzsche was right all along. How the hell did it take me so long to figure it out?!

Nietzsche said that the Superman, who the Nazis so viciously twisted to their own purposes, is the one who proves his loyalty to Earth. He accepts life just as it is, no Heaven above us - only sky, like another nice man said. Even for atheists, this has to be tough. Loyalty to Earth?! You mean no consolation prizes in the end? No happiness guaranteed? The possibility of it all going wrong and still have to accept that this is all we have? Yes, actually. That's exactly it.

Like I wrote before, an interesting thing about people being so hung up on football is that their dreams of glory seem to have a realistic chance during the match only to be confronted with the harsh reality after the game is over. The realization that shit does, indeed and royally, happen is awful. And the realization that there is nothing beyond that is even worse. But, at some point or, that's what you have to do. Accept it. Try for happiness in the cold world we live in and relish in the glimpses of bliss you ocasionally have.

Of course this is hard. In the words of Brad Pitt in the great Fight Club, 'our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off. '

Indeed we are. For example, right now I'm so pissed off that I could join a terrorist association. I'm so pissed off that I would like to tell Nietzsche and his Superman to piss off themselves. But the man (Nietzsche) is right. Accept your life as it is, acknowledge that it is all you have and make the most of it. Don't look for excuses. We can't all be Brangelina and we just have to find a way to deal with that and be happy about that fact. But it is tought. And it does piss one off. And it makes you ask someone, anyone, possibly God, 'what do you mean I don't get my cake and eat it after all this work?'. Well, you don't. But perhaps you can have a slice of the cake, and perhaps the cake is really, really good. I'm still waiting, I hope I get my slice, I hope my slice is less bitter than it is now and I hope I'll love it. Trying to be a Superwoman by remaining optimistic.

And with this piece of poor wisdom I shall depart.

So, goodnight. And good luck.

The modernization of China

Smoke on the water _ version zen
Uploaded by buzzleclair-leblog

My friend MS sent this to me and it is great. As he says, it gets better by the second.

I know I have better things to write about (the first gay marriages in Greece amidst chaos from the conservative, family-preserving right wing idiots) but I couldn't resist posting this. On the topic of gay marriages in Greece, the Ellinofreneia guys said the best thing ever:
Η Μύκονος πέθανε, ζήτω η Τήλος!!!

Portugal olé, Portugal olé, Portugal olé

I know I shouldn't pollute this intellectual, beautiful blog with football, but this little boy here is my pride and joy. People in this country have the perpetual problem of complaining when everything is wrong and complaining even more when something is right. If we didn't have good football players, we would moan about the fact that we're a bunch of losers ; when we do have good players, like the little boy above, we complain about the fact that he makes too much money and that he can't speak properly. I would like to say the following about these attacks:
1) yes, he makes too much money. He should give some to charity. No disagreement here
2) he's a football player. He's not an academic. He's a poor boy from Madeira who is truly tallented at playing football. That's how we made his way in the world. We should be worrying instead about academics (and yes, journalists) who make grammar mistakes. These days, all you have to do is buy any Portuguese newspaper to encounter that sad reality. And, while we're at it, we should worry about all the other poor boys from Madeira (and they are a lot for such a small, holier-than-thou, bourgeois little island) who need proper help and cannot play excellent football.
Football can say a lot about a country, I truly believe so. My people wave flags during world cups and Euros and sing the national anthem and worship footballers like gods during matches only to go right back to hate their country when the match is over. Invisibility is a hard load to carry and when confronted with it, after the Euro is over or after losing the game, you have no other choice but to look life in the face, with no hymns of glory to crown it or embellish it. Sometimes it is not a pretty picture. But not accepting it does most definitely make you a loser.
My final thought: you go, Cristiano.

L' Orient

All my recent intellectual stimulation seems to come from "the East": I am reading Naguib Mahfouz's Cairo trilogy, my friend is from Tunisia, I saw Persepolis, I listen to Souad Massi, I am going to Istanbul and I really want to go to Morocco. I am often going through phases where I am obsessed with a certain geographical region and read a lot on that and in general get inspired. Some time ago I was reading only Latin American writers (Marquez, Sepuldeva, Sabato, Fuentes and later Borges) and was listening to bossa nova (Bebel Gilberto, Adriana Calcanhotto, Elis Regina and Tom Jobim) all the time. Now it's the time of the East and it's proving to be a very interesting time. The best thing about it is that I feel I am getting a glimpse of their culture and their oh-so-hated religion. Islam, I think, is so badly portrayed these days. People all over the world think that Muslims are all fundamentalists, crazy fanatics and uncultured people. From what I know and read, I strongly disagree.

Persepolis deserves a specific mention. It's not as great as I expected but it was very good nonetheless. I had read the books beforehand so I really knew what to expect. The way Marjane Satrapi's graphic novels have been adapted for the screen is visually stunning, such surrealism, such wit. The first part is really moving, and deep down I got affected not because I understand living under an oppressive regime so well, but because I know what it feels to have this love/hate relationship with your home-country.