Back in the Saddle Again
Good — and unexpected — news! A generous patron has stepped forward to pay the costs of this newsletter for some time to come, so the transmissions will continue as usual for ... some time to come.
Thanks also to those of you who wrote with thoughts and encouragement. I got so many emails I simply cannot reply to them all, but I read them all and am truly grateful. They will help me think through my options. And I’ve also learned a lot about what y’all like in this newsletter. (One major theme: you’d like slightly less frequent newsletters. So I’m going to go for one every ten days or so.) So all that said, let’s get back to business — I already had some stuff in the queue!
One of the many things I love about going to Laity Lodge is the chance to see what new art they have on display. Right now, there are some amazing pieces by Dana Tanamachi, a “Japanese Texan.” Some of her work on display there derives from a wonderful Japanese tradition, the artful manhole cover, often thematically related to the city in which they appear. For instance:
Here are some of Tanamachi’s tributes to that remarkable art form:
Also, take a look at the artwork Tanamchi did for Crossway’s Illuminated Bible:
And here’s a terrific video on the making of that Bible.
In my Confession and Autobiography class we have been reading Edmund Gosse’s elegiac and moving Father and Son — which is also at points very funny. Gosse’s deeply evangelical father is determined that his son should live a life dedicated to the Lord, and consequently exerts strict control over the boy’s reading — but some things slip through the filter, including a collection of works by the so-called Graveyard poets. So when young Gosse attends a party given by a local Baptist family, the Browns....
It was proposed that 'our young friends' should give their elders the treat of repeating any pretty pieces that they knew by heart.... I was then asked by Mrs. Brown's maiden sister, a gushing lady in corkscrew curls, who led the revels, whether I also would not indulge them 'by repeating some sweet stanzas'. No one more ready than I. Without a moment's hesitation, I stood forth, and in a loud voice I began one of my favourite passages from Blair's 'The Grave':
If death were nothing, and nought after death —
If when men died at once they ceased to be, —
Returning to the barren Womb of Nothing
Whence first they sprung, then might the debauchee ...'Thank you, dear, that will do nicely!' interrupted the lady with the curls. 'But that's only the beginning of it,' I cried. 'Yes. dear, but that will quite do! We won't ask you to repeat any more of it,' and I withdrew to the borders of the company in bewilderment. Nor did the Browns or their visitors ever learn what it was the debauchee might have said or done in more favourable circumstances.
A couple of posts from me:
- on the difficulty of ethical evaluation of technology
- on the idea of the church as a technology in need of repair
STATUS BOARD
- Work: So many exams to grade!
- Music: Still deep into a jazz phase, from which I may never emerge. Now I’m obsessed with the magnificent collaboration of Lady Day and Prez.
- Reading: Perhaps this is related to the music I’ve been listening to, but I have recently permitted myself a few of Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe stories. I explained my peculiar affection for them a few years ago, here.
- Food and Drink: Just made what could be the last pesto of the season — but maybe my basil plants will surprise me and put out some more goodness.
