When All Stars Align...

There are times when things seem to stand still, and whether you push or shove, cry or scream, nothing happens, as if you are pushing a 10-ton rock. Unless you are defeated by life, you still need to endure it and push forward no matter what, but your mind still wander to the dark places once in a while; the fear, desperation, and hopelessness.

Even in your darkest hours, you know you need to fight and try to push forward, believing that there comes a time when things will fall into places, and bad time will end somehow. You also tell yourself that nothing will happen unless you try, so you keep on trying, without any results or positive outlook.

It may sound superstitious, even fatalistic, but I do believe in cycle of luck. There are times when things just happen, when things are easy, when periods are shiny and bright, that arrive after those dark times. Whether it is affected by the constellations or birth charts, these cycles are the fact of life, and in the past two years that I count as one of my darkest years, I blindly believed in the time to come, "when all starts align", according to the horoscopes, when I could finally get out of the bad cycle.

The great news is, I am finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I can feel the weights on my shoulders lifted little by little over the past few weeks, and for the first time in few years, I am starting to feel hopeful, to the point that I could look forward to the future, believing that "the best is yet to come".

Thoughts on Memory

If I were to name one thing that I am good at, I would say that I have very good memory of experiences and surroundings. I'm not particularly good at remembering numeral data, logical arguments, or names, but I have impeccable memory of senses; things that I've seen, smelled, tasted, touched, or heard. Like Proust, I could recollect the memory of a place or time through one of the senses, such as the time when I stepped into the house of my friend's in Germany for the first time that reconnected me to the memory of my aunt's house in northern Japan that I haven't visited for over 20 years. At that time, it was the smell of the house that brought me back the memory, as both houses smelled (every house has distinct smell) oddly similar. My memory tends to be visual, like flashbacks or short movies, and even if I am unable to recall names or places, I could visualize the faces, colors and surroundings. My memory goes as far back as 1 and 1/2 years old, and I still surprise my parents for odd things that I remember that have long disappeared from their memories.

Recently, I had two occasions to re-consider the meaning of memory; what makes one person to have better memory than the others, and how memory could be elusive, fickle, and even selective.

The first occasion was a visit of my friend from NY and conversations I had with him on things that we remembered from our shared past. We were very close in our twenties, spent almost every weekend hanging out and shared every secret, hope and fear. He is a highly intelligent and incredibly smart person with the IQ far surpassing mine, but he claims that he is forgetful, and does not remember many things as I do. I used to agree, having had many small arguments with him on silly things such as the places that we've been that he insisted that he had never been (and of course we had, sometimes in multiple occasions), and not taking pills on time when he should have when sick. However, when we discussed our shared past experiences, I realized that he actually remembered tidbits of things that I have forgotten, and the types of memory he kept was quite different from mine. If my memory was connected with senses and feelings, his is wired with conversation and names. I was still better at recalling memories, but I did not find the memory capacity vastly different between us.

This made me think that there are no real difference in memory capacity from one person to another, but how we remember things could be dependent on our character. As a logical person with strong aptitude for words, my friend's memory seems to be wired with words and logical arguments constructed through words (and no wonder his is a lawyer), whereas my strength lies in senses and visualization.

The other thing that I realized is that those with good memory tend to have more"trigger points" that search, recall, or reconnect the labyrinth of our memory. Our mind is like internet, vast and expanding, and like "search", our mind could be indexed and recalled. However, unlike search engines that are programmed with logic and algorithm, our minds are not indexed with programs and our trigger points depend on individual strengths. Perhaps those with good memory have an ability to index their memory with better "tagging" or trigger points, like myself who tag them with 5 senses whereas my friend who tag with one.

Another occasion that makes me think of memory came few weeks ago, when I received a message from my old friend through social networking site inquiring the last names of few friends we both knew in college. I realized then that not only had I forgotten their last names, but there is not a single trace of their existence in my mind, or more surprisingly, the period.

There exists a period of two years that I consider "lost years" or to be more accurate "the discarded years", that I only wished to forget that I existed in certain place and surroundings. It seems I have succeeded in erasing my memory from the period and moved on, knowing that the memory would only makes me miserable for being a failure (in my eyes).

I realized then that I have blank indexes that are blackened and erased by myself, and the memory that could not be pulled out unless forced (such as hypnotize). It is strange that I have many bad memories that I rather forget or erase but couldn't, but have succeeded in doing so for this particular period. How did I succeed in erasing the period, and are we capable of selecting memory that we rather forget and discard from our mind? Or was my mind so full that I discarded the memories of the years that I considered unworthy of remembering and put them away, just as Dumbledore has done so in Harry Potter? Only, he had Pensieve to retrieve the memory, while I have nothing but my unreliable mind.

How to Become A Knight 101 - Warwick Castle

Medieval Fortress

Courtyard

View from the wall

Having read the threads on travel websites on Warwick Castle, I was not sure what to expect from the place. The reputation of the castle was divided; some find the place tacky and tasteless a la Madame Tussauds' Style (the castle is managed by the same operator), while the others find it entertaining and great for a day out. My verdict? I found it a great place for a family to visit during summer, especially if you are with the boys between ages 5 to 12.

I cannot deny that there are tacky and non-authentic feel to the castle, especially with displays and interiors, but where it lacks in authenticity, it tells the stories of those who lived during the medieval period, high and low, and it offers a great introduction for children into social history. I especially liked the exhibit called "The Kingmaker" where one could walk through the preparation of medieval battle with mannequins of children taking part in the preparation.

The most entertaining (and even educational) aspects of the castle are their live demonstrations including weapon/sword fights, jousting, and falconry. These 30-minutes demonstrations really transform what are written on paper into reality, even with cheap polyester costumes and stunts. I never imagined the size and speed of the horses in jousting, nor the size of the beaks of the falcons until I saw the demonstrations.

Most of the demonstrations are related to medieval battles and warfare (after all, castles were built for defense, not for show), and the place seems to bring out the Knighthood in boys. They proudly carry toy swords and shields, encourage English Knights to win over invaders during jousting, and beg parents to spend additional bobs for archery lessons on the ground.


Jousting Demonstration


With so many family enjoying the day out at the castle, one may feel a bit lonely visiting alone, but there are lots to do and to be entertained, and if the weather is nice (as most of the demonstrations are held outdoor), this may be the best family place to go during summer. I will definitely bring my nephews and godchild, if they ever visited me in the future...it will be fun to see them play the knights for a day.

Tudor Life

Falstaff & the Bard Lady Macbeth & RSC


I recently visited Stratford-upon-Avon to see Harold Pinter's play, "The Homecoming", and to visit the famous Shakespeare's town that I never get around to visit until now. From London, it takes 2 and half hours to get there by train, so I decided to make a weekend break, visiting Warwick Castle on the way back. In this entry, I will cover my trip to Stratford-upon-Avon.

Stratford-upon-Avon is a beautiful small town, with well-preserved historic buildings nestled around the Avon river. Because it is the birthplace of Shakespeare, everything about the town is associated with him, from the Royal Shakespeare Company, to the houses of his birth and death. The custodian of the houses, Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, has done excellent job preserving them, as well as excavating the lost sites and collecting Tudor furniture. There are other Tudor houses in town that are independent of the Trust, such as the site of "Tudor World" where they host a Tudor-themed museum (and Lantern Ghost Tour which I will mention later) and old pubs that have been operating before the time of Shakespeare. The town is steeped with social history of non-ruling class Tudor Britain and as I learned more about them, I felt closer to the smallfolks of the time.


The oldest pub


Below are some of the highlights of the trip:

Ann Hathaway's Cottage
Of all the houses (except for Mary Arden's Farm that I was unable to visit) managed by the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, this was my favorite. The cottage is located about half mile away from the center of town, and can be reached by a passageway built between residential houses. The place is less crowded than other Shakespeare houses, and the Trust provides knowledgeable guides who offer 30 minutes talk on the life of Hathaway family and Tudor farmers. I really enjoyed the guide's talk, as she explained the lives of relatively wealthy farmers such as the Hathaways:

• The house was originally built with just one room, with a hearth in the middle of the room with no chimney, where the kitchen is currently located. Other rooms and fireplaces were built over generations. Over 10 people lived in one room at the beginning.
  
• 4-poster beds and Roofed bed had clear functions; they were to keep out the mice and critters crawling into beds as they dropped from the thatched roof with no plaster covering.
  
• Tudors cleaned their chimneys by tying the legs of chickens and dropping them head down. The birds flap their wings (usually to death) and if they were lucky enough to survive, they lived as long as they lay the eggs.
  
• The 'First Bed' was usually placed in the room where guests were hosted. It was one way to display their wealth. The 'Second Bed' was for the head of the household and his wife (and family) to sleep in. Shakespeare left his Second Bed to his wife, and this was most likely handed down for generation as household treasure by the Hathaways.
  
• Child mortality rate was low; only 1 in 5 survived.
• All households were mandated to keep the fire on hearth 24/7. Husbands had right to whip their wives if the fire went out, and they were advised to do so during the day so as not to disturb the neighbors!
  
• Second to the child birth, cooking was the most hazardous task for women.
• It costs 75,000 pounds to re-thatch the roof!
• Tudor houses do not have corridors. One room is connected to another, with or without doors, and every space had purpose. No privacy!

Ann Hathaway's Cottage


Ghost Tour at the Tudor World
The Tudor World, which is located in the middle of Stratford and used to be a barn that are converted to the house over generations, is a museum that showcase the social lives of Tudor smallfolks. It also claims to be the "most haunted house in Britain", and during the night, they organize Ghost Tours in the museum, guided by just one lantern held by a guide. As someone who could be easily spooked, I booked the earliest tour starting at 6:00PM, while there are still daylights outside. The guide was a chirpy young lady, and thanks to her, I was able to complete the tour. Inside the building, it was pitch dark, and a lantern was not bright enough to let me see beyond the length of an arm. As Tudor World displays mannequins, some of them gory, it was eery to go through room to room in the darkness, even without the stories of ghosts and spirits said to inhibit the building. There were some rooms that were markedly chilly, and overall, it was one of the spookiest tours I've participated. The experience was unique and I don't regret taking it, but it is not what I like to go back to in the future. One thing I learned from the guide of this tour: ghosts are those who relive their experiences but not to bother the living, while the spirits are those who retain their wills and could communicate with the living.

The Royal Shakespeare Company
The RSC recently completed the refurbishment of their building, and the result was an astonishing building with two theater spaces with perfect mixture of tradition and modern convenience. The theater space retains Tudor-style seating encircling the stage, with surprisingly comfortable bench-like seats. For the Pinter's play, the production has effectively used the vertical space (meaning, stairs and first and second floors landings behind the stage) to create additional acting space, as well as walkway areas attached to the central stage. The entrance to the building is a marvel, with tall glasses bringing in the lights, but the building retains Victorian construction in the back. For any theater-lovers, this is the 'must-go' place, and the most appropriate homage to the famous Bard.

Unfortunately, the weather at Stratford during my visit was a typical British weather...unsettled with cloud, sun and rain. Perhaps most fitting to the very British playwright.

Carousel - Kensington Garden

What is it about the carousel that continues to fascinate me?

It was my favorite thing as a child to see people getting on/off the horses and carts, go round and round, and on/off again. The carousel never goes anywhere, staying where they are, with blurry vision of shining metals, mirrors and colorful paints. The dreamlike vision fascinated me incessantly.

Old, classic carousels made of sturdy woods with tired-looking paints are my favorites, as dramatic transformation of fading beauty to otherworldly vision is much more pronounced once the carousel starts moving. I despise the horses/carts made of plastics, with their forced cheekiness and cold shines.

As much as I wanted to get on the carousel, I always find myself disappointed once I am on it. The blurry jewellery box is no more, and all you see is the reality; of some grandparents waving to their grandchildren, sulking toddlers waiting in line, and blurry vision of other rides and passers-by.

This is how I learned that something in life are better seen from outside than inside, and cruel reality awaits once the anticipation is replaced by 'now' and 'past'.

London Riot (and Cat on a Leash)

London is Burning...literally.

I went to bed soundly last night with the background of police car sirens and choppers above the sky, but still believing that I am miles away from danger, and will not be touched by the violence.

This morning, I woke up with cloudless sky, rays of sunrise reflected on the buildings across the street, and gentle whispers of tree leaves of summer green.

On the way to the early morning visit to the gym, I encountered a fat white cat on a leash. I had two cats in the past, both of them sweet but resistant to anything that bind them, so was quite astounded to find this cat wondering around with the owner as if he/she was a dog.

As I looked up the tall trees in our resident garden, there was a #3 shaped Aluminum-foiled blue balloon stuck just too high for anyone to reach, swaying left and right.

All calm and beautiful summer morning, though in actuality, London is anything but.

Until last night, I blindly believed that none of these rioting would affect me, as they were happening across the Thames in the south or up north in Tottenham. I expected no more surprises than what I usually find in my neighborhood, like cat on a leash or #3 blue balloon. That sense of safety is no longer here with me, as the rioters are closing in. There is a report of a restaurant just few blocks away being sacked by the rioters, and bus being torched across the park. Some of the street signs are taken off the polls, and neighborhood shops were vandalized and robbed.

The world still looks peaceful on the surface, but there are underlying threats, and for the first time in London, I am afraid.

It is bad enough that the world's economy is crumbling out of control, but this riot disquiets me for its immediacy. I feel like there is no safe place to hide, and the rioters could torch my building anytime without warning, just because they can. What's more, there seems to be no reasonable cause for violence. They are not crying out for propaganda or protests but simply acting up, may be just for fun.

The properties rioters are mindlessly torching, vandalizing, and robbing are the fruition of long years of hard work for many. Those property owners are just like me, who enjoy their peaceful existence (with may be a small surprises like a cat on a leash). The realization that I could just as easily loose everything as any of these property owners horrifies me, especially for no cause, no agenda, no reason.

London is Burning...and the fire needs to be extinguished, now.

The Bohemians

With my increasing interests in the artistic communities of Europe (especially Britain) from late 19th century to early 20th century, I recently finished reading a book, "Among the Bohemians" written by Virginia Nicholson, a niece of Virginia Woolf. As suggested by the subtitle, "Experiments in Living," the book describes how Bohemians were truly the cultural revolutionaries in living, not just in pursuit of art, but by resisting every aspect of life and moral.

According to Nicholson, the first rule of the Bohemians was to discard all conventions...and this really meant ALL conventions, for the sake of art; money, status, jobs, properties, food, and even, education and hygiene. Nicholson's chapter on hygiene was especially interesting; prior to the invention of flushing toilets, reliable boilers, and washing machines, keeping oneself clean required enormous efforts, and those with little money hired a maid or two to keep themselves clean. Not having a maid meant giving up the middle class convention, morally important for the cultural revolutionaries, but this could lead to no one volunteering to sit next to you during summer. The exotic furnishings could also mean convention, with chaise longue functioning as a sofa and a bed in a studio and resident model scratching their legs for bites from bedbugs.

Bohemianism really meant simplifying life, and so the short hair and loose gypsy attires of Bohemian women meant keeping life less fussy. Women's liberation and fascination for exotic cultures also played pivotal roles in the way Bohemians dressed and lived, but there is no denying that they also helped unloading the weights of daily domestic chores (and Bohemian men seem to be less inclined in fair-sharing of chores.)

Victorian and Edwardian eras were the time of obsessive morals and decencies, with hidden codes for everything...how many times one needs to change a day, which of their children will be educated by governess and which will be sent to proper schools, how many plates need to be served during dinner with which drink to be served and when...and so on. Resisting the codes and living out of convention really meant revolution and experiment.

Until I read this book, I thought of Bohemians as addicts' culture, with lots of boozes and drugs, and while some of the artists were known drunks, I was surprised to find that this was not the culture of addicts, but those who enjoyed simple pleasures of life. They enjoyed cooking, experimented in Italian and French cuisines (and garlic!) and drank cheap but delicious wines with friends. Some even led their lives closer to nature than the city life, as represented by Charleston, the house of Duncan Grant and Vanessa Bell.

The Bohemians were really the first of the cultural revolutionaries in the modern era. The cultural "modern" era started when the vast number of society became "middle class", which only happened in the 1800's. Majority of the Bohemians were of this class, and they were the first to question their own restrictions imposed on living.

I now wonder if Bohemian culture was really a "sub-culture," as so-called mainstream cultures and conventions of Victorians and Edwardians look more strange and inhumane to me. Perhaps the fact that my questioning this shows how far we came along, with the change in cultural convention altered by cultural revolutionaries.

Many of the Bohemians did not make it as the world-renowned artists...but collectively, they were the force in change, and we cannot deny that we are the beneficiaries of their legacy. Bohemian's "Experiments in Living" is the testament of how subculture led the way in changing the mainstream culture and lives.

"Among the Bohemians" by Virginia Nicholson

The Real Aesthetic House

The weather continues to be summer-like in London, so off I went to the Leighton House, following up on "The Cult of Beauty" exhibition at V&A...and what a hidden treasure this house is! The interior is so otherworldly, I almost felt as if I time-traveled as I stepped into the house.

At the hallway, I was greeted by a stuffed peacock, the symbol of aesthetic movement, and deep, deep blue tiles, with floor covered with Roman mosaics guiding me through to the famous Arabic Room. This Room, completed with a fountain, is covered with tiles and glasses topped with golden domed ceiling. The room could have been a disaster with visual overload, as every inch is covered by colors and shapes, but somehow it retains a tranquility of exquisite sanctuary, centered by a fountain trickling soothing water.

The entire house was carefully and meticulously decorated, save for Leighton's bedroom, including absolutely stunning studio with huge windows and beautifully appointed garden. Still, the real wow-factor of the house is the entrance and the Arabic Room.

What really astounded me was the attention to details for every single item in this house. Everything, from staircase to fireplace, is carefully planned and decorated with the engineering ingenuity. The fireplace in the reception room represents this excessive attention to details; it is placed under the window with side-way chimney (and no sign of chimney inside), so the garden view from the window will not be obstructed...considering how most of the Georgian/Victorian/Edwardian houses are built with the fireplaces as centerpiece with huge chimneys protruding the walls, the placement of this fireplace represents the 'idea outside the box' and careful planning prior to the construction of the building.

The house also showcases the extent of power British Empire once held. The accessibility and influx of art and decorative ideas of the Middle East are prevalent, with many pieces delivered or modeled after the region, from plates to tiles to window coverings to wallpapers.

Leighton, as a painter, may not have been as well-known as some of his contemporaries, but this house is truly his masterpiece. His wealth (mostly from his family) and standing in the art world (as the head of Royal Academy) must have been quite extraordinary. According to his biography he had no family and there was a rumor of him being a homosexual or having a passionate affair with lower-class woman with illegitimate children, but none are confirmed. I cannot guess, nor do I care about his sexuality, but I found a small pencil drawing of a young woman in the Silk Room quite intriguing...it was drawn in such care and...love? The untitled drawing made me wonder if she was someone close to his heart or the idealized version of the woman he sought after. A romantic notion for an incredibly romantic house.

The Cult of Beauty

There's something about the era between 1850 to 1914 Europe that attracts and haunts me. My favorite artists and writers are mostly from this era, many of them associated with Symbolism, Pre-Raphaelite and/or Bloomsbury groups.

So it was a delightful surprise to bump into an exhibition called "The Cult of Beauty" at V&A Museum yesterday. I actually went to see Yoji Yamamoto's show that has been exhibited for a while, but the show on aesthetic movement between 1860 - 1900 with Rossetti and Burne-Jones and rest of the clans is more closer to my heart, and I spent good one and half hour going through the exhibition...until I was kicked out at closing time.

I don't know what fascinates me to the movement and the era; it was a time of great change with nostalgic view of the past, and that juxtaposition may be the attraction. It was, after all, a post-industrial era with the emergence of new middle class and influx of new and exotic culture from imperial expansion in the middle east and the newly accessible culture of Japan (the influence of far east was profound for symbolist such as Whistler.) It was also the time of socio-econmic changes, with alternation with the existing and stubborn class system and sexual politics (to some extent,) with suffragettes starting to march down the streets.

The culture that exists for "art for art-sake" and "beauty for beauty-sake" is intoxicating and decadent; everything is created for the sake of beauty, and that included furniture, clothing, book cover, wallpapers, jewels, utensils and even exhibit space (Whistler's exhibit space consisted of tatami floor and grey wall to maximize the effect of his works!)

It was also interesting to compare aesthetic movement from the past, which is filled with decorative and exaggerated symbolism (peacock, sunflower, lilies) to modern aesthetic style of Yoji Yamamoto who apparently started his career with the belief that "white means lack of all colors and black means concentration of all colors" thus using black as his main palette with no frills. In fact, I found Yoji Yamamoto's designs very Japanese, not as interpretation of Japan/Far East experimented by the western aesthetic of the past, but something ingrained in him, especially his use of fabrics. There are elements of kimono in his works, flowing or coarse, and as successful as he is in the western fashion world, I still find his clothes the extension of Japanese tradition. On a side-note, I really liked his unconventional way of breaking pre-existing rules...my favorite was the video of the catwalk with Charlotte Rampling and Viviene Westwood wearing his menswear in his menswear collection.

I really need to go back to the "Cult of Beauty" exhibit before it ends in July, and also try to get more understanding of this movement by visiting Leighton house, which is supposedly a representation of this movement.

Coincidentally, I'm now reading Alan Hollinghurst's "The Folding Star," a novel set in a town in Belgium about the obsession of the protagonist with the beauty of a boy and a symbolist painter modeled after Fernand Khnopff. With the novel like "The Swimming-Pool Library" and "In Line of Beauty," I find Hollinghurst the descendent of aesthetic writers, with modern and gay twists...the reason why I find it coincidental that I am reading his novel while bumping into the "Cult of Beauty" exhibition.

Talking about coincidence...here's another one...I saw Claire Foy, the actress who played Erin in Channel 4's drama, "The Promise" on the way back from the museum. She was riding the Barkley bike, and I noticed her because I was startled by her piercing blue eyes. She really looked as beautiful as she looked on TV, and even with her petite stature, very recognizable with her stunning eyes. Had she lived in the era of Symbolism, I'm sure she would have been the muse of one of those painters.

A day of delightful coincidences with beauty...