calder game
I know I am ripping my post title from Blue Balliett's book (forgive me for the plagiarism (also, forgive me for never reading the book (it is on my list of books to read (but when do I have time to read anymore? (or write for that matter?))))), but today I felt like a Calder something or other. And for those of you who don't know (or care) who he is, let me introduce you to him.
When most people think of Calder, they think of something like this:
It's called a mobile. You probably made one in first grade. Or you probably hung one over your baby's crib, hoping it would give them some sort of intellectual stimulation. In any case, it moves. Though the material of the artwork never changes, the way you view it is always in flux. And because of that, you will never see the same statue twice because the pieces are always in a different position or angle than the last time you saw them (and for the record, I like that fluidity. It's like people - we're always changing. Though I am essentially the same person I was yesterday or the week before that (it's not like I've found myself an entirely new body between now and then), I'm going to be different each time you see me or read me. I suppose you could call me people-art).
Calder did other cool stuff, too. Like freestanding statues:
Or pieces of wire twisted into 3-D doodles (isn't that awesome? He didn't scribble on paper - Calder made objects into his scribblings):
Some days I feel like those goldfish - they look like they should be mobile, but they're not. Just think - the fish on the left has his mouth open wide, trying to reach the bit of grub that is stuck on the bush (or maybe he's just trying to eat the bush - I'm not sure). No matter how hard he tries, he never will reach it. He is stuck, forever in unresolved suspense (John Keats had a great description of this in his "Ode on a Grecian Urn." Though his version involved lovers and not goldfish, it is still great (because we all know that goldfish trump any other sort of heart-rending story of unfulfilled desires)).
I don't know about you, but I would feel much more satisfied if I knew that the fish could reach that bush (what if the other fish is trying to chase and eat him? What if he's about to starve to death? What if the bush is his home and he's trying to reach his family? (If you can't tell, I'm quite stressed for this fish. I'm concerned for him and his well-being, especially since he has to wait an eternity before he will reach the bush. Actually, I take that back. As long as that wire stays in the position in which Calder twisted it, the fish will never reach the bush. And that is quite frustrating).
I suppose I could now enter into a soliloquy about how people have unfulfilled desires and dreams and how at some point or another we all feel like those suspended fish, but I'm not going to. In fact, I am going to avoid fulfilling your expectations by giving you one more Calder picture to contemplate:
Think what you'd like. Do what you will. For now, I'm done with my Calder game.
When most people think of Calder, they think of something like this:
It's called a mobile. You probably made one in first grade. Or you probably hung one over your baby's crib, hoping it would give them some sort of intellectual stimulation. In any case, it moves. Though the material of the artwork never changes, the way you view it is always in flux. And because of that, you will never see the same statue twice because the pieces are always in a different position or angle than the last time you saw them (and for the record, I like that fluidity. It's like people - we're always changing. Though I am essentially the same person I was yesterday or the week before that (it's not like I've found myself an entirely new body between now and then), I'm going to be different each time you see me or read me. I suppose you could call me people-art).
Calder did other cool stuff, too. Like freestanding statues:
Or pieces of wire twisted into 3-D doodles (isn't that awesome? He didn't scribble on paper - Calder made objects into his scribblings):
Some days I feel like those goldfish - they look like they should be mobile, but they're not. Just think - the fish on the left has his mouth open wide, trying to reach the bit of grub that is stuck on the bush (or maybe he's just trying to eat the bush - I'm not sure). No matter how hard he tries, he never will reach it. He is stuck, forever in unresolved suspense (John Keats had a great description of this in his "Ode on a Grecian Urn." Though his version involved lovers and not goldfish, it is still great (because we all know that goldfish trump any other sort of heart-rending story of unfulfilled desires)).
I don't know about you, but I would feel much more satisfied if I knew that the fish could reach that bush (what if the other fish is trying to chase and eat him? What if he's about to starve to death? What if the bush is his home and he's trying to reach his family? (If you can't tell, I'm quite stressed for this fish. I'm concerned for him and his well-being, especially since he has to wait an eternity before he will reach the bush. Actually, I take that back. As long as that wire stays in the position in which Calder twisted it, the fish will never reach the bush. And that is quite frustrating).
I suppose I could now enter into a soliloquy about how people have unfulfilled desires and dreams and how at some point or another we all feel like those suspended fish, but I'm not going to. In fact, I am going to avoid fulfilling your expectations by giving you one more Calder picture to contemplate:
Think what you'd like. Do what you will. For now, I'm done with my Calder game.
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