Perspicuity

The idea for this cartoon was suggested to me by my son James.

Caption: "Gunfight at the Bach Chorale"

Caption: "Looks like there's a new serif in town!"

References - None (yet)
Merchandise - None (yet)

Merchandise

The paintings represented in this cartoon include Rembrandt van Rijn’s "Slaughtered Ox," Pablo Picasso’s "Study of Lamb," Chaim Soutine’s "Side of Beef," and Francis Bacon’s "Head Surrounded by Side of Beef."

November is Slaughtered Oxen Month. At least it was during late medieval times when it was considered one of the "Labors of the Month." In the 16th and 17th centuries we see numerous Northern European artists (including Bruegal, van Heemskerk, and Teniers the Younger) depicting scenes with carcasses of ox suspended from ceiling beams. (Check out Teniers’s 1642 “Butcher Shop” on display at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.)

In 1655, Rembrandt van Rijn painted "Slaughtered Ox." This painting was different from previous representations of beef. Here the carcass was treated not as a prop, but rather as the focus of the composition. Not only that, but Rembrandt painted the subject with a dramatic vigor not seen before in meat paintings. Additionally, there have been analyses of this painting which make reference to the Crucifixion of Christ.

Financially, the mid 1650s was a very bad year for Rembrandt. He pretty much had to sell everything he owned - including his paintings - to pay off his debts. Many years later, the Louvre Museum in Paris acquired "Slaughtered Ox" at a bargain basement price.

During the 20th century, when modern artists were hanging around in Paris, a number of painters were inspired by Rembrandt’s piece and rendered (so to speak) their own versions. Some of these artists included Picasso, Delacroix, George Segal (not to be confused with the banjo-playing actor), Francis Bacon (not to be confused with the 17th century philosopher, prototypical scientist, man of letters and lord chancellor of England), and Chaim Soutine (not to be confused with the Nabisco cracker).

Art history books love to recall the story of Soutine painting a rotting side of beef in his apartment. Purportedly he paid a young girl to bring him blood from the butcher shop, so that he could freshen up the carcass. His neighbors were constantly calling the police because of the unbearable stench.

The only other job that I can imagine smellier than this, would be that of a sewer worker. The most famous one I can think of is Ed Norton (not to be confused with Edward Norton the young movie star). The sewer working Norton was Ralph Kramden’s neighbor and buddy on the 1950s TV show "The Honeymooners." He was played by Art Carney (not to be confused with Rembrandt’s "Slaughtered Ox").

- November 2001

A labyrinth is a set of twisty passages, all alike. (Or is that a twisty set of passages all alike?)

According to Pliny there were four famous labyrinths of antiquity: 1. The Egyptian (by Petesuchis which had 3000 apartments - half of which were underground), 2. The Lemnian (similar to the Egyptian in style, but with 150 columns), 3. The Italian (an intricate series of chambers which was the tomb of Lars Porsena, King of Etruria), and 4. The Cretan.

According to the famous Greek soap opera, Minos (son of Zeus and Europa, and king of Crete), commissioned Daedalus (an inventive Athenean who personified the skill of mechanical arts) to build him a labyrinth so complex that no one could escape it. In this constuction Minos confines his step-son, the Minotaur (a monster with the head of a bull and body of a man, who was the son of Minos’ wife Pasiphaë and a white bull that Poseidon sent to Crete - but we won’t go there).

After winning the Athenian games, Androgeus (son of Minos) is murdered in Athens. As punishment Minos imposes an obligation on Athens where every nine years they have to send seven young men and seven young women to Crete to be devoured by the Minotaur. Theseus (Athenian hero) offers himself as one of the youths, determined to kill the Minotaur and put an end to this nefarious tribute. As fortune would have it, when he arrives, Ariadne (daughter of Minos) falls in love with him, and with the help of Daedalus (inventive Athenean), provides him with a sword (for killing the Minotaur) and the end of a very long piece of thread (for finding his way out).

During our honeymoon, a few years back, Cori and I found ourselves in a torrential rain storm wandering around a series of low walls which formed the ruins of Knossos, Minos’s palace in Crete. As we traipsed (battling to keep our shoes from being sucked into the deep, red clay puddles), our guide noted that while some scholars doubted the labyrinth ever existed, others believed that it was actually the palace itself which was the famous maze.

In the end, Theseus (Athenian hero) kills the Minotaur (hideous monster), and thanks Ariadne by marrying her and taking her away from Crete. They only get as far as the island of Naxos before Dionysus (the god of wine) convinces him to abandon her while she sleeps. Upon awakening, Ariadne is quite distraught, and (depending on the version) either hangs herself, marries Dionysus, or becomes spokeswoman for Mazola Corn Oil.

- October 2001

Silently she peers into the Room of the Living. There it is'the Great Viewing Cube. All she has to do is stop its emanations and the last of the twelve labors will be completed.

"Arrrrrrg!" Diving onto the cushioned settee she grabs the Cube’s Distant Manipulator from the zombie who views passively. They struggle briefly. His eyes plea for her to stop, but she manages to wrest the controls from his hands. Her thumb glides over the buttons and hovers over its destination. The creature gasps desperately as she presses the button and all life is dissolved from the Cube. The zombie withers from the room.

She smiles as she picks up the bound treasure from the end table and opens it to the first page. She has earned her reward. This is a victory of which even Nike would be proud.

"It was the best of times." She closes her eyes for a moment and reminds herself that she has won'beaten each of her rivals, the Quotidian Distractants, who vie over her free time. She reads on. "It was the worst of times." Her mind drifts back over the day’s battles. The first seven labors were against the Quotidian Distractants’ most persistent member, Jobligation, wielder of Tedium, the element of exhaustion. But she is strong and tenacious, and ultimately wins each battle through persistence and patience.

"It was the age of wisdom." Returning to camp, she found the Three Witches of Repast: Pla-Nor, Coo-Kur, and Klee-Nupper lying in wait. She has a long history with these hags and is quite familiar with their ways of wearing her down. Facing them requires wit, sweat, and determination. Descending into her laboratory'equipped with frost safe, heat box, water flow tube, and counter-space'she conjured her flawless concoctions. After a brief respite of engorgement, she proceeds. Displaying no signs of weakness she clears and sanitizes all vestiges of the spells. The Three Witches retreat, defeated for another day.

"It was the age of foolishness." Next she recalls the disheartening labor of Requiting the Bills. It was a great shifting of accounts; pushing funds down over here, conjuring them into existence over there'constantly hoping to somehow avoid the Wrath of the Overdraft. She presses on.

"It was the epoch of belief." Now with the final defeat of the Viewing Cube, she has arrived, exhausted, but savoring the priceless jewels that are her reward: a few moments to herself and a soft, leather-bound book. She reads on. "It was the epoch of incredulity."

Creeeeeak. She stops. It is the door behind her. Without looking she knows it is the Prime Distractant'against whom she is powerless. She gently closes the book in resignation, smiles at her own defeat, and listens:

"Mommy, I can’t get to sleep."

- September 2001

I recently decided to read some of my old journals. I chanced upon this undated entry of me in my more pensive moments. I figure that I must have been four or five when I wrote this.



"Today Mom took me to some fancy shop in town. She told me to touch nothing. I didn’t see nothing. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what nothing was. But, not wanting to be disobedient, I decided to touch everything, in hopes that I might chance upon it. Nothing doing. Mom apparently does not subscribe to a heuristic, discover as you explore approach to learning. It seems I am expected to have an a priori knowledge of nothing.

"But I don’t know nothing!

"When I got home I decided to look it up. Our family dictionary only says that nothing is something that does not exist. Hmmm. Dad recently told me that monsters don’t exist. Does that mean that a monster is nothing? Or that nothing is a monster? Well, it certainly is true that since a monster does not exist, then nothing is a monster - but I don’t feel any closer to nothing.

"Nothing to fear. Whenever I find myself utterly confused, I always turn to my good friend Jean-Paul Sartre for a simple, clear elucidation: 'Nothingness does not itself have Being, yet it is supported by Being. It comes into the world by the For-itself and is the recoil from fullness of self-contained Being which allows consciousness to exist as such.’ Ok, so nothing could be clearer.

"Let’s try Dad’s library....

"Literature offers little. No useful definitions, only vague characteristics. This is what I’ve found so far: It is the significance of a tale told by an idiot. It succeeds just like success. It is gained when it is ventured. It comes of itself. It’s what you ain’t heard yet. It is even finer than to be in Caroliner in the morning.

"I have to stop now. It’s night-night time. And after a full day of looking, I now have plenty of nothing, and that should be plenty for me."

A milliner makes or sells ladies hats. The name probably comes from the obsolete word Milaner, for a native of Milan. Its usage dates back to 1530, when the British were getting some of their finer fashions from Milan. I got this information from the Oxford English Dictionary. We’ll have to take their word for it. They are word experts after all.

Expert. Where does this word come from? Obviously, it involves the roots ex for 'not' and pert for 'impudently bold.' Does this mean that the experts at the OED were once bold about words, but are no longer? If so, then why should I take advice from weak-kneed meaning-mongers?

I can come up with my own etymologies, thank you very much.

For example, I notice that the OED includes the word ner, which they define as an archaic use of the word nor. I suggest that milli-ner meant a thousandth (milli-) of a ner, as in "Neither this chicken, milli-ner that duck." In other words: "It’s definitely not the chicken, but there is a thousand to one chance that it might not be the duck either." Not a very strong statement.

In fact, people who frequently used milli-ner in their speech (I propose) came to be known for their lack of boldness, lack of pert, lack of enthusiastic flair or élan. A person who wanted to sell fashionable ladies' hats might have done well to have such a personality - especially when dealing with wealthy, upper class clients who would required you to be agreeable to the point of obsequiessence. Hence, they were dubbed Milliners.

Okay, my theory isn’t perfect. I’m still trying to work out why this word was ascribed to hat sellers as opposed to some other weak-kneed folk, like, say etymologists. Perhaps these word experts have more gumption than I gave them credit for. I’ll have to test this out the next time I meet one. I’ll walk up to him, humbly take my hat in my hand, point to his spirit and ask, "Is that your fine élan, sir?"

- April 2001