I'm Kind of in Love

Yes, you did read that title correctly, but no, this is not a Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah's couch sort of moment. Though the object of my affections is indeed a woman, things could never work out between us, seeing as she died in 1842 and spoke no English. Yes, that's right, I refer to Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun, the most famous female painter of the 18th century.

I love her work, and have done so for many years. I wouldn't say I'm her biggest fan (because I'm not an art expert, and I haven't memorized every detail of her life), but I think that we would have gotten along rather well, had we ever met and overcome the language barrier (I'll forgive her for marrying someone else, she can't be blamed for never meeting me). The reason for this sense of shared sensibilities is that Elisabeth (I've decided that she and I are on first-name terms), more than any other painter I've ever seen, paints women as they are, not as most men want to see them. 

A New Philanthropy?

This morning, I was delighted to read that Frank McCourt has agreed to sell the Dodgers. This is wonderful news for Dodgers fans, as McCourt was frankly an awful owner. ESPN even wrote an article declaring this to be a major victory for fans. Now the bidding begins, and I'm curious to see who buys my beloved Dodgers.

To be fair, I haven't followed baseball as much in recent years, mostly because I've been unable to make it out to Dodgers' stadium for a game for about 4 years now. Baseball is, in my opinion, a sport that suffers greatly when not seen live. But that's not the point I want to make.

The Pilgrim Reader

Too many people approach books with an attitude of achievement and arrival. I can't count the number of discussions I've overheard that treat books as if they are the equivalent of running a marathon or summiting some famous peak - "Yeah, I've read Infinite Jest, I thought it was pretty good. "Oh, I haven't read that, but I did make it through Ulysses."


The reason I take issue with this spirit is that it reduces a wonderful art form to a sort of masochistic endeavor. I think that literature is unique among art forms in this dilemma, largely because of the effort that reading requires. With visual art, such as paintings or sculpture, all the activity that is required is to find a museum, pay for admission, and walk around with your eyes open - you can typically see an entire piece in an instant (I said see, not comprehend, calm down, artists). With music, even the avant-garde stuff that is parading as genius nowadays (what, I don't have a bias, what are you talking about), you typically are in a seat in an auditorium, and once you're there, all you need to do is stay seated, and the music will at least hit your ears, even if you don't want to hear it. With performance arts such as opera, dance, and theater, the effort may be slightly more involved in that you have to use both your eyes and ears, but again, typically, you're already in a seat in an auditorium, and unless you try to fight your way out mid-concert, you're going to witness art. With reading, though, you have a page in front of you, and you are the one that dictates the pace - your abilities as a reader impact the performance, and if your attention wanders, you aren't obliged to keep sitting there, staring at the page.