June 22nd, 2011 § Comments Off § permalink
My sister, my niece, and I (along with about 16 other people, high school graduates and their keepers) recently spent one day at the Happiest Place on Earth. Yep, I was a senior-trip chaperone (though I think we were really trying to get away with a family trip). My niece’s camera, which had most of our pictures on it, was unfortunately lost at about midnight, when we were all about to drop from exhaustion. I did take a few “scenic” type photos on my own camera.
See the whole set.
May 23rd, 2011 § 1 comment § permalink
One of the first pages in my sketch journal. I need to practice shading, but overall I’m pleased with how it turned out. This tree really was the most brilliant, translucent yellow-green, one of my favorite colors.
My sketch journal is a Daler-Rowney Cachet Linen Watercolor book, full of a good number of sturdy cold-press sheets of watercolor paper. This is apparently a beast that’s going extinct. I buy them whenever I see them, but they’re getting harder to find.
May 16th, 2011 § Comments Off § permalink
(Apologies for the lateness of this post, written for the Classics Circuit Duelling Authors Tour. I had a busy week, and this isn’t even the post I’d planned to write. Maybe another time I can go into class as it pertains to happiness in marriage in Emma, but I hope you enjoy my little musing on Jane Fairfax instead!
I’m not sure it’s necessary to include a spoiler warning on a book almost two hundred years old, but just to be sure, there are spoilers for Emma in this post!)
My favorite character in Jane Austen’s Emma is Emma herself, but I’ve always been intrigued by the character of Jane Fairfax. A foil for Emma, she is everything Emma is not: reserved where Emma is open and sincere, accomplished where Emma is unfocused and distracted, secretive where Emma is straightforward, detached where Emma is meddlesome.
Though she has grown up being acquainted with her, and hearing her letters read by her aunt, Miss Bates, Emma doesn’t like Jane; she finds her reserve off-putting, but Mr. Knightley thinks there is some envy at work: “It was because she saw in her the really accomplished young woman, which she wanted to be thought herself; and though the accusation had been eagerly refuted at the time, there were moments of self-examination in which her conscience could not quite acquit her.”
An orphan, Jane Fairfax was raised by her grandmother and maiden aunt, until a friend of her deceased father, Colonel Campbell, took her in to educate and raise her along with his own daughter.
The plan was that she should be brought up for educating others; the very few hundred pounds which she inherited from her father making independence impossible. To provide for her otherwise was out of Colonel Campbell’s power; for though his income, by pay and appointments, was handsome, his fortune was moderate and must be all his daughter’s; but, by giving her an education, he hoped to be supplying the means of respectable subsistence hereafter.
However, when she finally reached adulthood, the Colonel’s family couldn’t part with her, and so she remained with them until their daughter married Mr. Dixon, a man whose home is Ireland.
When Jane returns to Highbury for the first time in two years, Emma finds her as reserved as ever (“She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so cold, so cautious! There was no getting at her real opinion. Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved.”) Emma tries again to like Jane, but her reserve continues to repell her and make her uncomfortable (it’s often the case that the outgoing interpret the reserved as judgemental and snobbish, when ironically they are the ones passing judgement). The genial Emma sees such reserve as aloofness, coldness, and even perhaps as hiding a secret: Emma imagines a romance between Jane and her friend’s new husband, Mr. Dixon. She unwisely shares this suspicion with Mr. Frank Churchill, and their private joke is the cause of a lot of pain and embarassment to Jane.
But Frank Churchill should know better; he is the cause of her secrecy, a secrecy which more than once she seems on the verge of breaking. On the prospect of Frank Churchill’s father, Mr. Weston, planning a ball, Jane is effervescent with excitement:
[Jane] enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree. It made her animated—open hearted—she voluntarily said;—
“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball. What a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it, I own, with very great pleasure.”
And when Emma discovers Jane making her escape from the strawberry-gathering party at Donwell Abbey, and the overbearing Mrs. Elton, who is determined to find a post for her as a governess with friends (who one may imagine have manners similar to those of “Mrs. E”, though with the way she imagines herself welcome in everybody’s society, it’s just as possible they are decent people she’s pushed herself upon) Jane almost speaks out.
“I am,”—she answered—”I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of fatigue—quick walking will refresh me.—Miss Woodhouse, we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew me, will be to let me have my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary.”
Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all; and entering into her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately, and watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend. Her parting look was grateful—and her parting words, “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of being sometimes alone!”—seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of those who loved her best.
In her brief lapse of reticence, it’s easy to see Jane’s frustrations with her lot. Nowhere can she escape from the obnoxious voice of Mrs. Elton or the perhaps less-unwelcome, but still incessant, voice of her aunt. What is not so easy to deduce from these words, at least for Emma, is the true story, and that is Jane’s engagement to the charming and duplicitous, if harmless, Frank Churchill. He seems to be drawn to her reserve, to find her mysterious, but he causes so much pain to her unnecessarily, and has so much amusement at her expense, one wonders if they can be truly happy together. He does seem to really love her, however, and at the very least, he makes possible her narrow escape from life as a governess: a shadow-life, not quite lady, not quite servant, unable to marry for as long as she is employed, no conversation except with children, and all of that most likely for very little pay.
Once the truth comes out, and Emma is in on Jane’s secret, she begins to see Jane Fairfax in a new light, and at the end of the book it looks like Jane could be the good friend Emma was looking for in Harriet Smith, the good friend she could have been all along, if circumstances had been different, or if Emma had been patient enough to look through the reserve for the real Jane Fairfax.
May 6th, 2011 § 1 comment § permalink
I spent some time working on value scales outside. It was good to practice setting up my watercolor easel and taking it down, and learning to get the right values on the paper.
Making a value scale is harder than it sounds! I wasn’t really happy with any of the ones I made, so I’m going to keep practicing. I used Winsor & Newton Payne’s Grey, which is an indigo-like color.
I won’t be able to drag this around with me on outdoor painting excursions. I hope to find out how other people carry water in their plein air kits.
My paint box again, this time full of the colors I’ve chosen. They’re Winsor Lemon, Indian Yellow, Quinacridone Red, Permanent Rose, Winsor Violet (to be swapped out with Mineral Violet, which contains a more lightfast pigment), Cobalt Blue, French Ultramarine, Viridian, Sap Green, Raw Sienna, Burnt Sienna, and Payne’s Grey.
Practice makes perfect!
Thanks to Jonathan for the impromptu photography.
April 21st, 2011 § Comments Off § permalink
Whenever I take those “Which Jane Austen Character are you?” quizzes online, I almost always get Marianne Dashwood as a result. In spite of that, I’ve always identified most with Emma. I’m not sure why; I’m not into matchmaking and I probably mind my own business a bit too much. I do think I see a lot of my own flaws in Emma; I’m not sure it’s a good thing that I like her more because of it.
Whatever the reason, Emma is my favorite Austen character, and when I was recently reading Emma, I smiled when I read this passage:
Emma wished to go to work directly, and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various attempts at portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that they might decide together on the best size for Harriet. Her many beginnings were displayed. Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, crayon, and water-colours had been all tried in turn. She had always wanted to do every thing, and had made more progress both in drawing and music than many might have done with so little labour as she would ever submit to. She played and sang;—and drew in almost every style; but steadiness had always been wanting; and in nothing had she approached the degree of excellence which she would have been glad to command, and ought not to have failed of. She was not much deceived as to her own skill either as an artist or a musician, but she was not unwilling to have others deceived, or sorry to know her reputation for accomplishment often higher than it deserved.
I’m afraid it sounds just like me. I’ve always had a lot of inspiration but not much patience for practice. In fact, apart from writing, I didn’t even realize that I could practice at art and improve until a few years ago; before then, when my projects didn’t turn out I just gave up. I guess I thought that I had a little talent, but only enough to be frustrated.
On the other hand, like Emma, there has always been the element of distraction keeping me back. I do want to do everything, to try every sort of creative pursuit. It makes progress difficult when you never stick with anything for more than a few months. Writing has held my interest over time, but everything else gets tossed aside and picked up again every so often. It’s not that I stop enjoying what I was doing before… it’s just that I want to do everything.
April 12th, 2011 § 2 comments § permalink
The little enamelled paint box for my outdoor painting kit arrived! It’s small than an Altoids tin, and will hold twelve half-pans.
And here it is opened. The colors are Rublev watercolors from Natural Pigments. These are historical pigments that result in more subdued colors, so I’ll probably save them for the future when I want to experiment. For now I’m going to replace them with more brilliant Winsor & Newton paints.
Other than putting together my paint kit and working little by little on my painting and drawing skills, I’ve been trying to adjust to a new work schedule. It’s going all right so far, but I’m struggling to find time to read, blog, write and do social networking stuff like Twitter. Unfortunately that means I’ve been even more scarce than usual (which I admit is pretty scarce to begin with). I should be getting it all ironed out before long.
March 29th, 2011 § Comments Off § permalink
For a month and a half now I haven’t read any fiction. Mostly, I’ve been reading how-to-art books, and while these are fascinating they aren’t really what you might call “escapist literature”, and they’re more likely to make me get up and do something rather than help me relax.
Frankly, after the stress of the past couple of weeks, I need to check out for a bit. The best way to do this is with a teen novel, which are usually quick to read, and even the darkest tend not to suffocate. So last night, I started Matched by Ally Condie, a utopian novel with a nifty premise: In the Society, everything is perfectly planned, including your future marriage. At age seventeen, you are “Matched” with your perfect mate, but when Cassia views the microcard to learn about her Match, a glitch flashes the wrong face on the screen. It must be a mistake, but the Society never makes mistakes, does it? I’m looking forward to taking a break with this one, because I love “bad utopia” (a utopian society gone bad, not to be confused with dystopia) and arranged marriage plots.
What else am I reading right now? I’m still working through these how-to-art books:
I have a bunch of other books I’m itching to get to, mostly folk tales and Japanese culture-related stuff. But it’s a dreary day today, grey and chilly, so other than working, I’m just planning to curl up with Matched and a lot of tea.
March 21st, 2011 § 2 comments § permalink
Watercolor of Yreka hospital, painted on a cloudy day in my watercolor journal. It turned out much too pumpkin-y; I think I need to make a color wheel soon for practice.
March 14th, 2011 § 2 comments § permalink
(As you can see if you’re here, this blog has moved to it’s new location at fairyrevel.com. Please update your bookmarks and newsfeeds. I’m excited to be at a domain that better reflects my creative spirit! I’ll be going through and cleaning out old links and other artifacts from the old location.)
Right now I’m sitting near a window on an overcast day, looking at a grey, melancholy sky, but my heart is an ocean away. Thinking of the destruction and suffering taking place in Japan, a place that for many years has been my heart’s desire, I’m hardly aware of what’s going on around me here. I’m working on things that need to be done, going ahead with my plans for the future, but I feel like my own life here has stopped, that I’m over there, but unable to reach out to help or to do any good. I keep thinking of familiar faces, wondering whether they or their families are okay, and of the lives and livelihoods lost in the earthquake and tsunami.
I don’t have the words yet to say too much about it, but I couldn’t let such a thing pass without making some kind of comment. Let it suffice to say that I am constantly watching the news, constantly praying, and still planning, with even more fervor, to get to Japan as soon as I possibly can.
If you are able, please donate to the Japan Earthquake and Tsunami Relief Fund at GlobalGiving.
January 26th, 2011 § 12 comments § permalink
“Any of these major epics exerts enormous demands on the reader — demands of attention, of involvement, and of imagination. The effort to read them is very great indeed.” – How to Read a Book by Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren
Since it took me over a year of reading in fits and starts to get through The Iliad, I was somewhat apprehensive about The Odyssey. The Iliad is a good book, but epic poetry, I’ve discovered, is not for the faint of heart; it’s vast in scope, heavy in subject matter, and often, especially in the case of The Iliad, weirdly repetitive — intended for oral recitation, in sections, epic poems were enjoyed by their original audiences in a far different manner than how we take them in today.
That said, The Odyssey was a much more enjoyable read for me than The Iliad. First of all, the characters go somewhere, and there is much less bickering, and no pouting Achilleus. The translation I read, by Richmond Lattimore, was easy to follow, but the language was suited to the epic subject matter (I was even able to scribble down some new words to look up.) That’s not to say that The Iliad was a worse book; I just found it a lot more difficult.
The premise of The Odyssey is known to most people, even those who haven’t read the book, since most everybody has skivved off reading it in favor of the SparkNotes version, at school. Odysseus, on his journey back from the Trojan War, suffers many troubles and obstacles, only to to find his house in Ithaca taken over by suitors seeking his own wife’s hand in marriage.
That’s the simple version. In reality, the structure of the book is well-built and complex. I was surprised to find that the better part of Odysseus’s journey is told in flashback, and that his story is surrounded by a framing device: before we are introduced to Odysseus, we meet his son, Telemachos, who grows more frustrated by the day at the suitors who waste his father’s property in feasting and entertainment, who dally with the serving girls, and try to force his mother, Penelope, to choose one of them against her will. With the assistance of Pallas Athene, goddess of war, wisdom and etc., Telemachos goes on a journey to learn whether anyone knows whether his father is dead or alive. Seeing an advantageous opportunity, the suitors send out a ship to lie in wait for him, and we leave Telemachos in a cliffhanger — could this be the first cliffhanger ever written?
I was surprised at the sophistication of the storytelling in The Odyssey; it employs numerous narrative devices that add to the excitement for the reader, and the pacing is just right for each part of the story. Homer knows when to linger over a matter, and when to skip another. Whereas in The Iliad, the battle scenes dragged on and on, the events in The Odyssey flow briskly along (in spite of a propensity on everybody’s part for speeches in response to just about everything).
Maybe it was because there was a greater feminine presence in the story, but I liked all the characters, both male and female, better than when I read The Iliad, though as in The Iliad, I found the often prideful and sometimes downright dumb behavior of Odysseus and his companions perplexing — for instance, when Odysseus, angry over the murder of some of his friends, shouts at the Cyclops, who throws a huge rock at their boat, sending it back to shore to where the Cyclops is, they get away once more… and then Odysseus does it again. The pre-Christian tendency to lack mercy also bothered me, but paganism was a tough path, after all. So many interesting themes and questions emerge through the course of the story — the treatment of the female characters in the ancient world and their varying responses to it, the contrasting potrayals of hospitality (or lack thereof, in the case of the Cyclops) — but I think the theme that stands out the most and which seems to be the main theme of the story is the question of suffering. In other words, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Homer’s answer seems to be, “Because the gods hate you.” Like I said, paganism was a tough path. The interesting thing, however, was Athene’s protection and provision all through the journey of Odysseus, perhaps as a representative of grace.
Really, I’m still processing it. I don’t think it’s the sort of book that you could fully grasp in one reading, or even multiple readings. Though it was fairly difficult to get through, I’m glad I read it, and happy to have it on my bookshelf, and I’m sure I’ll return to it for further exploration.
Charise is a writer and reader, novice watercolor painter, and lover of traditional culture and history. You know, just your average curious, free-spirited chickadee.
