Vif Gazing at the Sky

Vif at 9 months scaled 12 pounds, as curious as ever. 

Folly of Ranking

I fail to understand today’s rampant preoccupation with ranking -- the tallest building, the best film of the year, the best leading actress, the best college, the top student in the graduating class, the largest profit making company, the fastest runner, the highest jumper, the top ten artists of the century, the biggest box-office, the most expensive necklace ever, and on and on, that fill the pages of the Census and the Guinness Book of Records.  Naming the first in ranking makes sense in some cases when it is quantitatively measured: the fastest swimmer (who may not be the most elegant), the oldest person in the world (who may not be the wisest), the tallest building (which may not be the best), the wealthiest individual (who is unlikely to be the happiest), the largest profit making company (which is not necessarily the most successful), etc.  Ranking colleges is a particularly blatant folly (though tempting it is to say the dumbest), since colleges differ in their strengths and weaknesses no less than in their “personality” as do works of art and, as indeed do all of us individually.

Diarist's Diary

I keep a diary; I have been writing diaries over several decades.  As I write daily entries, I had this thought.  Whatever actually had occurred but was left unrecorded in the diary,  deliberately, negligently, or totally inadvertently — an event, an experience, or a thought -- can only be understood by the readers, other than the diarist herself or himself, as never happened, unless it could be deduced otherwise from other writings -- letters, memos, news reports, someone else’s writings, or whatever.  A diarist can conceal but also fabricate; but what is the point of keeping a diary unless it commits itself to actuality, at least as best as its author possibly could.

Dentists Dontists

Having examined a pimple in my gum, my dentist sent me to a periodontist, who, having taken a rotating X-ray image, referred me to an endodontist for diagnosis, who advised a canal root treatment, and this made me think that I had skipped an orthodontist and a prosthodontist, and I further wondered if I’d be then sent to a condodontist, and to a recondontist, and after that to an esoteriodontist, though eventually, long after my death, I would be in the hands of a paleodontist.

28 years ago

Swarthmore College, Art Department, 1985

from left: Randy Exon, T. Kaori Kitao, Teresa Klingler, Joyce Nagata, Brian Meunier, Constance Hungerford, Michael Cothren, and Saehyang Chung (Photo for Halcyon by Joan Differding '85)

Donata Guerra,'74, commented on 11 March, 2011: "I did not major in Art History, but the Introductory class has impacted my life in more ways than I can imagine. Of course, T. Katori Kitao attending Italian language group dinners was beyond delightful!"

Chris Burden's Stunts

I spent three and a half hours at the New Museum to study the art of Chris Burden, best known for his series of life-threatening performance art between 1971 and 1977, which included, most notoriously, Shoot, in which he had his arm shot with a rifle and Trans-Fixed for which he lay on the back of a VW Beetle with nails hammered into his hands. 

These works survive only on film or video accompanied by the artist’s own comments. Watching them and listening to his words made me wonder about the nature of the performance art in general and as practiced, in particular, by Burden.  Performance implies spectators for whom the act is performed; this is true as well of art at large inasmuch as an artist makes something in part for his own satisfaction but also with  potential viewers in mind for whom the work is meant to be displayed. 

So, what effect did Burden have in mind to make on his spectators in his performing art?  His explanations, enunciated in retrospect, perhaps inevitably say more about his own experience in doing them than their effect on others. Still, we can assume that self-expression was his primary motivation of these works, and he presumed that his anxiety and fear and high emotion in the daring acts would automatically rub off on the spectators.  They certainly do.  Shock is indeed what we take away from watching his acts whether in person or on film; and shock is the aesthetic effect we enjoy in the daring circus acts like those on the high wire.  It is drama of intense emotion inherent in any daring action, as Eisenstein understood it.  But Burden’s acts fell short of circus acts; these displayed extraordinary refinement achieved by rigorous training. 

It is curious that, among his later works, massive pieces like Porsche with Meteorite, Big Wheel and the bridges demonstrate the law of equilibrium in striking contrast to the performance works that by pushing the physical capacity of the artist to the outer limits communicated a dangerous suspension.  Or else, as in Tale of Two Cities and All the Submarines, beautiful as it is visually, these toyland works, if political in intent, are so literal and explicit and embarrassingly superficial.  They may have gained in physical weight or visual intricacy but lost whatever power, superficial as it was, in his performance art.  

Vif's Progress 9 Months

My rambunctious kitty, Vif, adopted on 17 September, reached 9 months two days after Christmas.  He grew rapidly and gained over five pounds in three months from 6.4 lbs. to 11.8 lbs., a pound each in the first week, then another in the next two weeks, and still another in the next three weeks, and a pound every four weeks after that. As I observed from his large paws, I suspect he will be a huge tomcat.  He is nonetheless still slender and sleek.  As vivacious as ever, he is nevertheless making a good progress learning some discipline. 

He now sleeps all night on my bed peacefully.  He couldn’t think of my bed as nothing other than a playground in the beginning.  Jumping around was fine, but he would rush toward my head and try to grab it between his paws; so, I had to close the bedroom door and keep him out all night for the run of October.  But, then, one night the door was not shut tight and he pushed it open, ran up on the bed, and came close to my face.  But, remarkably, with a sharp “No!” twice or three times, he retreated and lay down near the foot of the bed.  After that he would try to bite my arms or feet only as a ritual and settle down and sleep.

Now, he habitually gets on my bed when I tuck in, and, with little fuss, lies down and goes to sleep.  He gets active, usually at 7:00, a bit too early for me to rise, and tries to nibble my feet and scratch the beach towel spread over the bed cover to protect it.  I stop him and bring him to lie flat on my chest to be petted and stroked, and he now enjoys that, and, then, he lets me sleep again for a while. This has now become a well-set routine.  

While I dish out his food into his dish on the kitchen counter, he used to get impatient and nip at the soft part of my calf; now, he nudges his head against it as cats are supposed to do. 

He used to gnaw on the cardboard magazine holder on the floor across the table while I had my breakfast,  He demolished a half of one.  But, from about the middle of December, he started to be less and less enthusiastic and by the end of the month, he would go for the jaw exercise only occasionally and quit after a few bites.  Now, he sleeps through my breakfast on the chair at kitty corner from me.  His urge to chase my feet to grab and bite, though not suppressed, has subsided considerably.  Bite and scratch marks on my limbs are slowly fading and I am getting fewer new nicks.

He learned to spend much of the day, if I am home, napping in the washbasin, his favorite nook, or, more frequently of late, on the sofa, and I can work at my computer at ease.  He sleeps through even when I am on the phone or visiting a friend on Skype; for a while he used to climb up on me to interfere.  He also learned to play by himself so that I now spend a lot less time playing with him.  

In the evening, however, he is more active and continues to disturb me when I sit at the computer.  Long ago, he stopped getting on the computer table and saunter on the keyboard, playing havoc on the documents if I had them open; I still put it away together with the track pad, when I’m not using the computer, but the precaution seems no longer called for.  I stopped his getting behind the computer table by filling the space with cardboard boxes to obstruct his entry.  But he still tries to push and squeeze in; I’d chase him away but he insistently comes back and tries.  He learned the word No early on, and obeys on my bed at night and most of the daytime as when he tries to get up on the dining table or the kitchen counter or the sink. But when he is intent on annoying me, it has no effect; clapping or slapping a rolled magazine on my palm barely scares him either, but he learned to run away when I shake a pepper mill on him.  He persistently comes back twice or three times, and, failing to get my attention, he would then reach up to my elbow to nibble it or else my feet, usually bare.  I would then yield and play with him or else put him away in the bathroom closing the door behind him; when he is let out after a while he is calm and lies down near my chair or gets on the sofa and sleeps.  In the last week or so, surprisingly, after being chased away a few times, he plays by himself for a while with the toy mouse, a wide twisties tied up as a bow, a grocery bag, and other playthings that I keep scattered on the floor.  Occasionally, I take hime, sit down myself on the sofa, and pet him on my lap, trying to teach him that play is not the only way of getting my attention.  I hope he gets the idea that his is like the petting he gets on the bed.  But he has a short patience sitting on my lap; he wiggles out after a short while and gets more jumpy than ever.  

Most heartening, he hasn’t broken anything after a series of accidents earlier.  Two days after his arrival, he knocked off a comport, a Bizen ware by J. B. Blunk, from the window sill to the desktop; it did not break because the fall was short and this is exceptionally hard pottery. The following day he kicked off an enamel dish from the top of the 3-1/2 ft. bookshelf, which gave it a chip on the rim. Two days later, from the same bookshelf, he tried to climb on the table fan, which ended on the floor; the casing came apart but the fan was not damaged.  A week after that, he knocked off a Korean ceramic bowl from the window sill; this broke into eight pieces. The worst came five weeks later, on 4 November, when he got up on the same bookshelf and apparently thought he could conquer the bronze statuette of a dancer, Lorenzl’s Art Deco “Knee to Toe”; with a loud crash it fell on the floor and I found it with its welded arm broken off — a very serious damage.  He still climbs up places but moves with more control and has not wrought any serious destruction.  His climbing urge is also more easily curbed.

Vif is surely learning.  By the time he is one-year old, I expect him to be still a bit more grown up.