Josh Sternfeld, a New York writer and filmmaker, is currently in pre-production for his second feature film, Meskada, a rural police drama that pits two towns, one struggling, the other well-off, against each other over the death of a child.
Sternfeld has two short films, “Balloons, Streamers” from 1997 and 1999’s “Colin’s Date” under his belt as well as one feature, “Winter Solstice” (2005), which starred Anthony LaPaglia, Aaron Stanford, Allison Janney, Mark Weber and Michelle Monaghan.
Sternfeld was also part of the prestigious Sundance writers workshop.
He took some time out to answer a few questions for Look, Read, Listen.
Your first three films are set in a suburban environment, why did you choose to delve into the rural world for your newest film?
I felt ready to approach a new environment, one that didn't come from my own upbringing. I was excited for the screenwriting challenge that comes from having to do real research, talking and learning from people whose experience of life was different from my own.
You have thus far mined the territory of the quiet family drama, where the plot is driven by character and circumstance rather than by grand action, so how did you translate this into the script for your newest film Meskada? Was it hard to balance the action with the more subtle aspects of character and place?
Balancing the action/ "plot-driven” elements of the story with the more subtle character work was a real challenge; it took many drafts over a couple years (and definitely many missteps) to get to the finished screenplay. More often than not, it meant doing the action and plot work first, then finding ways to bring in character traits and relationships to the scenes.
If I remember correctly you were a fan of 1981’s Ordinary People, what other films and/or filmmakers have inspired you and why?
My filmmaking influences and heroes are pretty diverse. I'm a huge admirer of Stanley Kubrick, mainly because he brought a singular and personal approach to such a wide array of genres. It takes incredible discipline and focus to work that way - something I hope to do someday. I'm also a big fan of Martin Scorsese (like every other director!)...for his boldness, the passion and energy he brings to the screen. Paul Thomas Anderson is another filmmaker I think is pretty fantastic.
What is it about the inner tensions of families that you seem drawn to exploring?
Well, to be honest, I think there's a universal draw to those themes. However, I hope with "Meskada" and in the future, that I'm changing my approach in exploring those tensions - the idea of the "quiet family drama" is not very exciting to me anymore. I would like to continue dramatizing family tensions, but in more provocative stories.
Your first full-length film “Winter Solstice” premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival and garnered favorable reviews. Having tasted some success, has there been an emotional struggle to get your next film into production because of this?
Well, it's has been a longer and more difficult struggle than I would have anticipated four years ago. That being said, I think everyone in the arts would agree that it's a long road, with lots of twists and turns...
Your next project is being made on a shoestring budget, do you feel you will be able to tell the story you intended without the major funding and do you feel that perhaps the struggle could enhance the final product?
For sure, I agree that the budget and spirit of this could make it a better film. Having to be creative and resourceful when you don't have tons of money can be a great thing...but then again, ask me in two months!...
How is pre-production for Meskada going? Who have you lined up as far as actors go and how did the process of casting occur? Did you have anyone in mind for specific roles?
Pre-production is going great; very busy with the locations search, and all the casting decisions. I don't usually write with specific actors in mind...which I guess makes the casting process kind of fun and unpredictable...
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Everything is going to be allright: Guido van der Werve at the Hirschhorn
In Guido van der Werve’s video Nummer Acht, Everything is Going to be Allright, from 2007, we see a small, lone figure walking on a huge expanse of ice with a massive ice breaking ship following close behind. The only sound we hear is the raging wind and shattering ice as the man and ship move forward.
The video follows in the tradition of the early work of such groundbreaking video/performance artists as Vito Acconci and Chris Burden who explored the line between pain, fear and art.
The sense of danger and personal risk connects Nummer Acht to works like Acconci’s Trademark (1970), wherein he bites himself and makes prints from the marks, or Burden’s Shoot—in which he was shot with a rifle in the arm—and Trans-Fixed—in which he was nailed to the back of a VW Bug, from 1971 and 1974, respectively.
But there are two significant differences between the works. While Burden and Acconci close-off the viewer by their acts, using the body in a self-reflective way, Van der Werve’s action is meant to reach out to the world in a gesture that tells us “everything is going to be allright” in a world full of tumult.
The second difference between the works lies in the aesthetics. In Nummer Acht, the image is as important as the act. The video is aesthetically beautiful in the traditional sense.
Acconci and Burden’s early work doesn’t deal with aesthetic issues in the same way as van der Werve’s. The medium is merely meant to document an act and is anti-aesthetical in nature.
Van der Werve, a Dutch artist born in 1977, has worked in several mediums, including painting and performance, and is a classical pianist and chess player, all of which finds its way into his films.
The video is on display until Oct. 11, 2009 at the Hirschhorn Museum in Washington, D.C.
The video follows in the tradition of the early work of such groundbreaking video/performance artists as Vito Acconci and Chris Burden who explored the line between pain, fear and art.
The sense of danger and personal risk connects Nummer Acht to works like Acconci’s Trademark (1970), wherein he bites himself and makes prints from the marks, or Burden’s Shoot—in which he was shot with a rifle in the arm—and Trans-Fixed—in which he was nailed to the back of a VW Bug, from 1971 and 1974, respectively.
But there are two significant differences between the works. While Burden and Acconci close-off the viewer by their acts, using the body in a self-reflective way, Van der Werve’s action is meant to reach out to the world in a gesture that tells us “everything is going to be allright” in a world full of tumult.
The second difference between the works lies in the aesthetics. In Nummer Acht, the image is as important as the act. The video is aesthetically beautiful in the traditional sense.
Acconci and Burden’s early work doesn’t deal with aesthetic issues in the same way as van der Werve’s. The medium is merely meant to document an act and is anti-aesthetical in nature.
Van der Werve, a Dutch artist born in 1977, has worked in several mediums, including painting and performance, and is a classical pianist and chess player, all of which finds its way into his films.
The video is on display until Oct. 11, 2009 at the Hirschhorn Museum in Washington, D.C.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
In defense of architectural kitsch or Why we should preserve giant sized Americana
As a child my family spent many an hour on the highways between Nebraska, where we lived, and Minnesota where my grandfather resided. I remember the miles of cornfields, an endless yellow and green blur, sometimes punctuated by a silo in red and white. Every so often in this landscape of anonymous uniformity a startling, one might say shocking, vision would appear—the roadside tourist trap.
Giant sized Indians, cowboys, corn…and the greatest of them all, Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox towering above the landscape. Actually there were and still are two giant Paul Bunyans in Minnesota, one that talked, in Brainerd and the other, which stood mute, in Bemidji. These roadside attractions represent a quickly disappearing art form that is a link to the best and worst of pre-interstate America—an unbounded desire for the new and weird melded with crass commercialism.
This uniquely American art form that combines art, artifice and advertising on a grand scale can be broken down further into two sub-categories. The first is mimetic architecture, buildings meant to resemble a person animal or object, as in the Brown Derby Restaurant—a building in the shape of, yes you guessed it, a brown derby hat—in Los Angeles. The other category consists of giant sculptures with no utilitarian purpose as in the above-mentioned Paul Bunyans. The common trait of all these works are a sense of the naive that can be compared to the paintings of Grandma Moses, that is, the proportions may not be correct, but the work has undeniable vitality and truthfulness.
I’ve found that the most exotic of man-made wonders have been built in places with a dearth of natural ones. Middle America could perhaps be considered the roadside attraction epicenter for this reason. Miles of corn, wheat or barren moonscape seems a natural setting for a giant bull, T-Rex, or an aqua-blue whale. But in the America of the 1930s, 40s and 50s, anywhere people passed through or vacationed was fair game and competition often pushed the boundaries of the imagination.
Henry Ford, by mass-producing his Model T and thereby lowering the cost of the automobile, helped usher in the era of roadside tourist traps. The entrepreneurial of spirit could now fleece the passing motorist in a way that P.T. Barnum never has the opportunity to do. If you weren’t lucky enough to own the rights to some natural wonder like a cave or scenic vista you could always build something big enough or strange enough to pique the interest of a passing motorist.
Route 66 was once lined with both categories of giant sized Americana. A few examples survive today, including the Wigwam Motel in Hollbrook, AZ., and an over-sized space man known as the Gemini Giant in Wilmington, IL., but much has been lost.
When President Eisenhower signed the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956 into law, he helped sound the death knell of roadside attractions in America. The law instituted the federal interstate system, connecting the country in a new way, but bypassing most of the tourist traps near smaller highways that no longer saw a large amount of traffic.
All across the country these irreplaceable pieces of America are in danger or are already gone forever. In California, Las Vegas and the Jersey Shore a number of examples of Googie architecture of the 1940s and 50s, which often used mimetic devices, have been torn down and in most cases replaced with designs of modern and post-modern simplicity or ubiquitous boxes lacking any semblance of style.
Giant sized Indians, cowboys, corn…and the greatest of them all, Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox towering above the landscape. Actually there were and still are two giant Paul Bunyans in Minnesota, one that talked, in Brainerd and the other, which stood mute, in Bemidji. These roadside attractions represent a quickly disappearing art form that is a link to the best and worst of pre-interstate America—an unbounded desire for the new and weird melded with crass commercialism.
This uniquely American art form that combines art, artifice and advertising on a grand scale can be broken down further into two sub-categories. The first is mimetic architecture, buildings meant to resemble a person animal or object, as in the Brown Derby Restaurant—a building in the shape of, yes you guessed it, a brown derby hat—in Los Angeles. The other category consists of giant sculptures with no utilitarian purpose as in the above-mentioned Paul Bunyans. The common trait of all these works are a sense of the naive that can be compared to the paintings of Grandma Moses, that is, the proportions may not be correct, but the work has undeniable vitality and truthfulness.
I’ve found that the most exotic of man-made wonders have been built in places with a dearth of natural ones. Middle America could perhaps be considered the roadside attraction epicenter for this reason. Miles of corn, wheat or barren moonscape seems a natural setting for a giant bull, T-Rex, or an aqua-blue whale. But in the America of the 1930s, 40s and 50s, anywhere people passed through or vacationed was fair game and competition often pushed the boundaries of the imagination.
Henry Ford, by mass-producing his Model T and thereby lowering the cost of the automobile, helped usher in the era of roadside tourist traps. The entrepreneurial of spirit could now fleece the passing motorist in a way that P.T. Barnum never has the opportunity to do. If you weren’t lucky enough to own the rights to some natural wonder like a cave or scenic vista you could always build something big enough or strange enough to pique the interest of a passing motorist.
Route 66 was once lined with both categories of giant sized Americana. A few examples survive today, including the Wigwam Motel in Hollbrook, AZ., and an over-sized space man known as the Gemini Giant in Wilmington, IL., but much has been lost.
When President Eisenhower signed the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956 into law, he helped sound the death knell of roadside attractions in America. The law instituted the federal interstate system, connecting the country in a new way, but bypassing most of the tourist traps near smaller highways that no longer saw a large amount of traffic.
All across the country these irreplaceable pieces of America are in danger or are already gone forever. In California, Las Vegas and the Jersey Shore a number of examples of Googie architecture of the 1940s and 50s, which often used mimetic devices, have been torn down and in most cases replaced with designs of modern and post-modern simplicity or ubiquitous boxes lacking any semblance of style.
Monday, March 16, 2009
the Spirit of the Place
Editor’s note:This is the second interview with Stephen Bergman, a novelist, playwright and professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, who writes under the pen name Samuel Shem. This interview focuses on his latest work, The Spirit of the Place, a novel of history, redemption and love that is set in a small city in New York's Hudson Valley. The novel was published in 2008 by the Kent State University Press and has been awarded the National Best Book Award for general fiction.
Look, Read, Listen: There seems to be a palpable sense of history—local, national and personal—that runs through the novel, as well as a conflict between past and present; looking back and remembering as Miranda does or blotting out the past, typified by the desire of Milt and Henry to tear down the Worth Hotel. What is the importance of history in your novel and how do these different types of history relate to one another?
Samuel Shem: When I went to college I was pre-med and majored in psychology I thought that history was a worthless subject to study. Now the main thing I read is history and biography. When I heard about the Hudson Bicentennial in 1985 I started to revisit my hometown—my mother and father still lived there at the time—and I became fascinated by what I had never known. As in the novel, I had been taught, "They caught whales in the river." Imagine my surprise when I realized that this was not so, and when Hudsonians shared this view almost to a man/woman. In THE SPIRIT history is a constant deep theme, both in terms of the actual history of the town and of how this impacted and continues to impact the personal history of all the characters, especially the main character. THE SPIRIT actually is one story from a mammoth book I wrote, and in fact via digressions and documents I carry the history of Hudson and its characters all the way back to the Henry Hudson voyage and a devilish man called von Schoonerstroom who jumps ship and is last seen walking in to the woods with the Indians. Stay tuned.
LRL: As compared to your first novel, 1978’s the House of God, your new work seems to have a different sense of depth and pacing (a slow profound unfolding as opposed to urgency). Could this be due to the subject matter, your writing style or the fact that you are writing as a man 30 years older with all the experience that brings with it…or some combination of all these things?
SS: THE HOUSE was forged in the fire of delayed adolescence and dawning medical and personal wisdom; THE SPIRIT began when I was 40 (like the main character) and had a different tether—to understand some very basic things—love, death, betrayal—about my family and my town. The novel is elemental in that you don't have to be a doc to be captivated by the story and characters, the loves, deaths, and breakages of the town. Of all the spirits of the town.
LRL: The main character of the House of God learns the value of not doing too much for patients, while in the Spirit of the Place, Dr. Rose learns from his mentor the importance of being present with patients and the “old-fashioned” type of medicine that is based on practicality (and perhaps psychology) rather than medical science. Do you feel that these are important lesson for doctors to learn? And if so is it possible for this to be taught or does it have to happen organically as it did with both these characters?
SS: One review called THE SPIRIT the "perfect bookend to THE HOUSE OF GOD," in that HOUSE was about medical training, and SPIRIT is how to be not only a doctor, but a doctor/person when you get out. HOUSE was trying to cope with the conflict between the received wisdom of the medical system and the call of the human heart, and the response of the characters is to get out of the line of fire—while not yet knowing how to "be with" patients. Starbuck and Orville in THE SPIRIT place the "being with" the patient at the forefront—as he says, "80% of the time the patients who come into the office have no diagnosable physical complaint." The best way to learn how to be with people is to live your life with people who are caring. Late in the novel, Orville hears the words, "don't spread more suffering around." There is a universal journey of human suffering, and if you go through your own suffering with caring others, you will heal. He came as a doctor to heal the town and the town heals him—by its constant working of its crazy, horrifying, tender breakages on his life, and not letting him leave (his mother's "will")
LRL: Forgiveness seems to be a major theme of you newest novel. Is there a connection between Orville’s exposure to Dr. Starbuck’s kind of medicine and his eventual forgiveness of both his mother and Henry?
SS: Starbuck, like Dr. Harold Levine of my growing up years in Hudson, is a gentle wise, forgiving presence. When Orville got in trouble, Starbuck doesn't say much but takes him around to see patients giving birth, or dying, or whatever. Orville learns that happiness is not an individual matter, and that understanding brings love, and love understanding—and forgiveness. Orville doesn't exactly forgive the town bully Schooner, but he connects with him, at the end giving him the lovebird, Starlight.
LRL: Why did you choose the early 1980s as the time in which you set your novel?
SS: Because the Reagan years were a bloodbath in many parts of the world (Central America) that needed to be brought to light, and Reagan was the beginning of the really sophisticated lying that disguised the blood—which of course is nothing compared to the Bush years which saw it accepted that it wasn't necessary to disguise the fact that you are lying. I started the first draft of the novel in 1983 or so, so that was when it was set.
LRL: In both the House of God and the Spirit of the Place, the specter of the political power structure (Nixon, Reagan) becomes another character in these works. What is the importance of political climate as it relates to the settings of your novels?
SS: I am motivated by "Hey wait a second" moments, when you see or do or don't do something in your daily life and you say to yourself, "Hey wait a second why am I doing or not doing that?" and then you just ignore it and move on. HOUSE was in the Nixon impeachment year; MISERY in the early Reagan years, SPIRIT in the Reagan reelection year. The next novel is set in 2003, in the first "Mission Accomplished" horror of the Cheney/Bush regime. I take history very seriously; it takes us more seriously—witness the relief that W.is gone.
LRL: Would you consider your new book to be part of the Magic Realist tradition or to simply contain elements related to it? Or are we as readers to believe that Dr. Rose is not actually being visited by his dead mother?
SS: Marquez is my favorite modern author, so he influenced me, but hasn't everyone seen their dead mother flying around and having talks with her? Orville Rose is the only one who sees his mother. And he notices, near the end of the novel, the "she wouldn't fly in the face of love," i.e., that when he is in love, she does not appear. That's a clue, not an answer.
LRL: In the Spirit of the Place, Columbia, which is based on the city of Hudson, where you grew up, becomes another character in the book. Was it difficult to balance the truthful and fictional elements of the setting and the characters that inhabit it?
Nope easy. In THE HOUSE OF GOD, and MOUNT MISERY, the sequel to it, it was horrendously difficult to write the doctors and patients without getting sued; Hudson was easy. Almost everything I write is virtually true, and one step off real.
LRL: Dr. Rose faced some difficulties growing up Jewish in Columbia. Did you face similar challenges when you were young?
SS: Yes. Enough said.
LRL: What are you working on now?
SS: I just finished the new novel, SPOOK ROCK VENTURE, which is set in "Columbia" again, but 20 years later. Many of the same characters make an appearance—Orville the town doctor with a new sign in Bill's office: "YES SMOKING—NOT REALLY"), and Miranda and Cray and, yes, Mrs. Tarr who, two decades later, is still leading her oxygen tank around town on a leash. It is my first novel without a doctor at the center. It's the great junkyard novel. Stay Tuned. I'm also working on a nonfiction book with Janet Surrey my wife, and coaxing our play, BILL W. AND DR. BOB to productions in the USA and Brazil and Russia and Paris etc. And I'm a third of the way through my most radical novel yet.
Look, Read, Listen: There seems to be a palpable sense of history—local, national and personal—that runs through the novel, as well as a conflict between past and present; looking back and remembering as Miranda does or blotting out the past, typified by the desire of Milt and Henry to tear down the Worth Hotel. What is the importance of history in your novel and how do these different types of history relate to one another?
Samuel Shem: When I went to college I was pre-med and majored in psychology I thought that history was a worthless subject to study. Now the main thing I read is history and biography. When I heard about the Hudson Bicentennial in 1985 I started to revisit my hometown—my mother and father still lived there at the time—and I became fascinated by what I had never known. As in the novel, I had been taught, "They caught whales in the river." Imagine my surprise when I realized that this was not so, and when Hudsonians shared this view almost to a man/woman. In THE SPIRIT history is a constant deep theme, both in terms of the actual history of the town and of how this impacted and continues to impact the personal history of all the characters, especially the main character. THE SPIRIT actually is one story from a mammoth book I wrote, and in fact via digressions and documents I carry the history of Hudson and its characters all the way back to the Henry Hudson voyage and a devilish man called von Schoonerstroom who jumps ship and is last seen walking in to the woods with the Indians. Stay tuned.
LRL: As compared to your first novel, 1978’s the House of God, your new work seems to have a different sense of depth and pacing (a slow profound unfolding as opposed to urgency). Could this be due to the subject matter, your writing style or the fact that you are writing as a man 30 years older with all the experience that brings with it…or some combination of all these things?
SS: THE HOUSE was forged in the fire of delayed adolescence and dawning medical and personal wisdom; THE SPIRIT began when I was 40 (like the main character) and had a different tether—to understand some very basic things—love, death, betrayal—about my family and my town. The novel is elemental in that you don't have to be a doc to be captivated by the story and characters, the loves, deaths, and breakages of the town. Of all the spirits of the town.
LRL: The main character of the House of God learns the value of not doing too much for patients, while in the Spirit of the Place, Dr. Rose learns from his mentor the importance of being present with patients and the “old-fashioned” type of medicine that is based on practicality (and perhaps psychology) rather than medical science. Do you feel that these are important lesson for doctors to learn? And if so is it possible for this to be taught or does it have to happen organically as it did with both these characters?
SS: One review called THE SPIRIT the "perfect bookend to THE HOUSE OF GOD," in that HOUSE was about medical training, and SPIRIT is how to be not only a doctor, but a doctor/person when you get out. HOUSE was trying to cope with the conflict between the received wisdom of the medical system and the call of the human heart, and the response of the characters is to get out of the line of fire—while not yet knowing how to "be with" patients. Starbuck and Orville in THE SPIRIT place the "being with" the patient at the forefront—as he says, "80% of the time the patients who come into the office have no diagnosable physical complaint." The best way to learn how to be with people is to live your life with people who are caring. Late in the novel, Orville hears the words, "don't spread more suffering around." There is a universal journey of human suffering, and if you go through your own suffering with caring others, you will heal. He came as a doctor to heal the town and the town heals him—by its constant working of its crazy, horrifying, tender breakages on his life, and not letting him leave (his mother's "will")
LRL: Forgiveness seems to be a major theme of you newest novel. Is there a connection between Orville’s exposure to Dr. Starbuck’s kind of medicine and his eventual forgiveness of both his mother and Henry?
SS: Starbuck, like Dr. Harold Levine of my growing up years in Hudson, is a gentle wise, forgiving presence. When Orville got in trouble, Starbuck doesn't say much but takes him around to see patients giving birth, or dying, or whatever. Orville learns that happiness is not an individual matter, and that understanding brings love, and love understanding—and forgiveness. Orville doesn't exactly forgive the town bully Schooner, but he connects with him, at the end giving him the lovebird, Starlight.
LRL: Why did you choose the early 1980s as the time in which you set your novel?
SS: Because the Reagan years were a bloodbath in many parts of the world (Central America) that needed to be brought to light, and Reagan was the beginning of the really sophisticated lying that disguised the blood—which of course is nothing compared to the Bush years which saw it accepted that it wasn't necessary to disguise the fact that you are lying. I started the first draft of the novel in 1983 or so, so that was when it was set.
LRL: In both the House of God and the Spirit of the Place, the specter of the political power structure (Nixon, Reagan) becomes another character in these works. What is the importance of political climate as it relates to the settings of your novels?
SS: I am motivated by "Hey wait a second" moments, when you see or do or don't do something in your daily life and you say to yourself, "Hey wait a second why am I doing or not doing that?" and then you just ignore it and move on. HOUSE was in the Nixon impeachment year; MISERY in the early Reagan years, SPIRIT in the Reagan reelection year. The next novel is set in 2003, in the first "Mission Accomplished" horror of the Cheney/Bush regime. I take history very seriously; it takes us more seriously—witness the relief that W.is gone.
LRL: Would you consider your new book to be part of the Magic Realist tradition or to simply contain elements related to it? Or are we as readers to believe that Dr. Rose is not actually being visited by his dead mother?
SS: Marquez is my favorite modern author, so he influenced me, but hasn't everyone seen their dead mother flying around and having talks with her? Orville Rose is the only one who sees his mother. And he notices, near the end of the novel, the "she wouldn't fly in the face of love," i.e., that when he is in love, she does not appear. That's a clue, not an answer.
LRL: In the Spirit of the Place, Columbia, which is based on the city of Hudson, where you grew up, becomes another character in the book. Was it difficult to balance the truthful and fictional elements of the setting and the characters that inhabit it?
Nope easy. In THE HOUSE OF GOD, and MOUNT MISERY, the sequel to it, it was horrendously difficult to write the doctors and patients without getting sued; Hudson was easy. Almost everything I write is virtually true, and one step off real.
LRL: Dr. Rose faced some difficulties growing up Jewish in Columbia. Did you face similar challenges when you were young?
SS: Yes. Enough said.
LRL: What are you working on now?
SS: I just finished the new novel, SPOOK ROCK VENTURE, which is set in "Columbia" again, but 20 years later. Many of the same characters make an appearance—Orville the town doctor with a new sign in Bill's office: "YES SMOKING—NOT REALLY"), and Miranda and Cray and, yes, Mrs. Tarr who, two decades later, is still leading her oxygen tank around town on a leash. It is my first novel without a doctor at the center. It's the great junkyard novel. Stay Tuned. I'm also working on a nonfiction book with Janet Surrey my wife, and coaxing our play, BILL W. AND DR. BOB to productions in the USA and Brazil and Russia and Paris etc. And I'm a third of the way through my most radical novel yet.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
A conversation with Samuel Shem
Editor’s Note: This is the first of two interviews with Stephen Bergman, psychiatrist and author who writes under the pen name Samuel Shem. This interview revolves around his first novel, The House of God, while the second will be concerned with his latest work, The Spirit of the Place.
The House of God, which came out in 1978, was Bergman’s first novel and tells the story of Dr. Roy Basch and his internship at the House of God.
Bergman said that his first novel was the hardest to write, but felt it had to be written. He said it came about from a series of “hey wait a second” moments that “make you stop and think. During my internship I had so many of them.”
The House of God was well received by the doctors of his generation but not by the older generation.
"The older generation of doctors hated it,” he said. “My generation loved it.”
The novel has sold more than two million copies and is required reading in medical schools throughout the world.
Bergman was a Rhodes Scholar at Balliol College, Oxford and is a professor at Harvard Medical School. He lives in Newton, MA., and is married to Janet Surrey, with whom he has co-written several works.
Do you consider The House of God a satire, as some critics have labeled it, or a hyper-realistic depiction of your internship year at Beth Israel?
SATIRE, TO ME, IS EXAGGERATION IN THE SERVICE OF POLEMIC. EXAGGERATION? WITH A FEW EXCEPTIONS, THE SITUATIONS IN THE HOUSE ARE AT MOST ONE STEP OFF REALITY. IF THAT'S EXAGGERATION, EVERY WRITER OF FICTION IS AN EXAGGERATOR. EVER SINCE I, A NAIVE YOUTH AT HUDSON HIGH SCHOOL, WON THE NEW YORK STATE AMERICAN LEGION ORATORICAL CONTEST, WITH A SPEECH CALLED 'THE CONSTITUTION, FREEDOM'S WEAPON,' I HAVE BEEN SENSITIVE TO POLEMIC. HOWEVER I HAVE EMBRACED RESISTANCE, WHICH IS DIFFERENT. WHAT IS THE DIFF? POLEMIC IS A BRUTAL VERBAL ASSAULT TO IMPOSE CHANGE, A POWER-OVER TACTIC. RESISTANCE IS A NONVIOLENT GROUP ACTION TO BRING CHANGE. SO CALL THE HOUSE OF GOD A NOVEL OF RESISTANCE USING A ONE-STEP OFF REAL STYLE.
When writing the novel did your training as a psychiatrist find its way into the writing? The ghost of Freud seems to hover nearby, especially in the form of the two policemen.
EARLY ON IN MY 30 YEAR BID AS A SHRINK, I REALIZED THAT FREUD WAS CERTAINLY NOT AN ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OR THEORY OF ANYTHING, OR, TO PUT IT ANOTHER WAY, FREUD WAS AT BEST FARCE. WHAT BETTER HIGHLIGHTING OF THE FREUD FARCE THAN TO HAVE THE POLICEMEN EMBRACE HIM--DEEP DOWN THEY THINK HE'S AN ASSHOLE TOO.
Sex and death seem to be overarching themes of the novel and can be broken down further into the categories of the frenzied, mindless sex typified by the Runt and the intimate, relationship building sex Dr. Basch shares with Berry. Death, it seems, can also be broken down into good death, i.e. dying when its time, naturally, as opposed to the seemingly everlasting death provided by the likes of Jo. When you where writing the novel did this occur organically or was it something you consciously implanted in the work?
ORGANICALLY. IT WAS ALL IN THE REALITY, AND I JUST WROTE IT. BUT ANY GOOD NOVEL IS ABOUT SEX AND DEATH AND REDEMPTION. A NOVELIST NEVER REALLY KNOWS WHAT HIS OR HER WORK IS ABOUT UNTIL SOMEONE READS IT AND TALKS WITH YOU ABOUT IT.
Why did you choose to use Marcel Marceau’s performance as Dr. Bach’s way back into humanity?
BECAUSE I LOVED MARCEL MARCEAU, AND HAD GONE TO A PERFORMANCE OF HIS RECENTLY. AND ALSO, BECAUSE IT WAS EXACTLY RIGHT. WHAT WOULD THE SHAKESPEAREAN POLICEMEN GO TO SEE AND ENJOY? MAMET? NEVER. THEY'D SEE HOW FAKE HIS 'REAL'', WHICH THEY ENCOUNTER EVERY DAY, IS.
About two thirds of the way through the novel, and probably the internship year, Dr. Basch aligns himself with Pinkus, and by extension, the slurpers. It is obviously a coping mechanism as was the other methods employed by the terns. Did this actually happen to you in some form? And if not can you explain how it found its way into the book.
I NEVER BOUGHT INTO THE PINCUS OR SLURPER WORLD. I SEEM TO HAVE A HIGH DEGREE OF SUSPICION FOR FALSITY--THUS MY TORMENT WITH THE PATHETIC LIAR--AS-PRESIDENT GEORGE BUSH--AND MY DESCRIPTIONS ARE INFORMED BY THAT ALERTNESS. AGAIN, THEY WERE THERE IN REALITY, AND I TOOK THEM ONE STEP OFF. (THERE IS IN FACT NOW AT THE BETH ISRAEL HOSPITAL CARDIAC UNIT A 'PINCUS' AWARD, FOR A CHARACTER MOST LIKE HIM IN REALITY)
Who are some of the writers, (besides the Russians, I know they have been important to you) and others, who have inspired you. Did you read Catch-22, for instance, before writing The House of God? I know the two novels have been compared to one another, but in my opinion, they only relate in the sense of the inanity of both systems faced by yourself and Heller.
I NEVER READ CATCH-22 UNTIL AFTER THE HOUSE OF GOD WAS PUBLISHED. I LOVED IT IN PART, NOT AS A WHOLE. THE LITERARY TECHNIQUE WAS TOO LITERARY, AND AS YOU CAN SEE, I BELIEVE IN STORY, NOT SITUATION. ALSO, HE GOT AT LEAST 2 STEPS OFF THE REAL, IF NOT 3. MY HEROES ARE--IN ADDITION TO THE RUSSIANS ABOVE ALL TOLSTOY--SHAKESPEARE, MARQUEZ, FAULKNER, ORWELL--ESPECIALLY 1984--EDUARDO GALEANO (THE MEMORY OF FIRE TRILOGY), AND THEN SPECIFIC BOOKS: TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, THE JUNGLE, THE QUIET AMERICAN, UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, USA (DOS PASSOS), THE TIN DRUM, THE PRESIDENT (MIGUEL ANGEL ASTURIAS), NERUDA, WALLACE STEVENS, MARY OLIVER. I WOULD CALL ALL OF THEM WRITERS OF RESISTANCE OR NOVELS OF RESISTANCE.
Do you feel that before and during the time you were an intern that it was possible for there to be internal medicine MDs who retained a sense of humanity? Or did they all end up as slurpers?
YES, MEDICINE HAS CHANGED, PARTLY BECAUSE OF THE HOUSE OF GOD, AND THE HOURS THAT PERMIT MORE SLEEP. YES, LOTS OF DOCS RETAIN THEIR HUMANITY. THE LIFE CYCLE IS THAT THEY GO INTO MED SCHOOL WITH IDEALS, THEY GET THEM BEATEN OUT OF THEM IN THE SECOND TWO YEARS OF MEDICAL SCHOOL AND THEN GET HAMMERED TO A PULP IN THEIR SPECIALTY AND SUBSPECIALTY TRAINING, AND THOSE WHO SURVIVE AND GET THROUGH THEIR MID-LIFE CRISIS TURN INTO WONDERFUL DOCTORS, LIKE HUDSON'S OWN DR. BILL STARBUCK IN MY NEW NOVEL, THE SPIRIT OF THE PLACE.
Another important element in the novel is Nixon’s downfall. It seems Nixon and the Leggo are linked, at least in the mind of Dr. Basch. After Dr. Basch’s return to humanity he seems to be able to see the Leggo as a person and not merely as a representative of the old-guard establishment. Do you feel there is any relationship to this scene and the nation’s possible sense of catharsis at Nixon’s finally leaving office after the Watergate hearings?
THERE WAS NO CATHARSIS WHEN NIXON LEFT, BECAUSE GERALD FORD PREVENTED IT WITH A PARDON (IN THE SAME WAY THAT WE RISK MORE TROUBLE IF THE CHENEY/BUSH/RUMSFELD/RICE CRIMINALS GET OFF SCOTT FREE). YOU CAN'T LOOK AHEAD UNLESS YOU LOOK BEHIND--AMERICA'S SINGLE GREATEST PROBLEM IS A BLINDNESS TO HISTORY, WITNESS THE UPCOMING 'SURGE' IN AFGHANISTAN, OR THE RECENT NO-SUPERVISION BAILOUT OF THE RICH. NIXON'S DOWNFALL AND LEGGO'S PRESIDENCY OF THE RESIDENCY ARE THE SAME POWER OVER MODEL. THE ONLY MODEL THAT WORKS, LONG TERM, IS A POWER-WITH MODEL. THE DIFFICULTY IN A HIERARCHICAL SYSTEM IS TO KEEP YOUR SENSE OF MUTUALITY AND COMPASSION, WHICH ROY ARRIVES AT AFTER HE'S GONE. THE LEGGO IS A LOST SOUL AND WILL DIE THAT WAY. HIS KIDS WILL HATE HIM..
France, as described in the novel, seems to be a place that drenches the senses and helps Dr. Basch recuperate after the year in the House of God. Why France? What about that country, and the part of France they go to, has the ability to help him, at least in part, to focus on the body/spirit as opposed to the body/anatomy?
AFTER MY INTERNSHIP I WENT DIRECTLY INTO MY PSYCHIATRY TRAINING, BUT I WENT TO THE DORDOGNE AS SOON AS I COULD WITH MY THEN GIRLFRIEND, NOW MY WIFE. IT WAS, AND IS, LIKE ANY NATURAL SIMPLE PLACE, A HEALING SPIRITUAL ARENA.
When you wrote the novel it was a time before television was inundated with doctor dramas such as ER and Gray’s Anatomy. Do you feel that The House of God may have helped spawn or at least laid the groundwork for this? What do you think of these types of shows?
THE HOUSE OF GOD WAS RIPPED OFF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ABOUT 1980 WITH A SHOW CALL SAINT ELSEWHERE (A TERM I USE IN THE NOVEL) AND I THOUGHT OF SUING THEM BUT DIDN'T. SINCE THEN IT HAS BEEN RIPPED OFF FOR 30 YEARS. I HAVE NEVER WATCHED A SINGLE EPISODE OF ANY OF THESE SHOWS--TO ME THEY'RE WITLESS, BRUTAL, AND CRUDE. OUR DAUGHTER IS IN LOVE WITH HOUSE, SO I TRIED TO WATCH THAT, BUT LASTED ONLY ABOUT 9 MINUTES AND HAVE NEVER WATCHED ANOTHER EPISODE. THERE IS ONE PURPOSE FOR THIS STUFF, TO MAKE MONEY, AND THEY DO THAT VERY WELL BECAUSE PEOPLE WILL GO FOR THE VULGAR AND THE PHONY. MIND YOU, I DON'T HATE ALL SIT-COMS. OUR DAUGHTER LOVES RERUNS OF FRIENDS, AND I LOVE THOSE GUYS. THEY'RE REAL EVEN IF THE PLOTS ARE SOMETIMES NOT.
Humor plays a huge role in the novel. I know that in my own line of work as a crime reporter, humor seems to help temper the ugliness of death. Was that true for yourself and your fellow interns?
EARLY ON IN WRITING THE NOVEL, I HAD A TOUCH OF THE MUSE ON MY SHOULDER: "THIS STUFF IS SO HORRIFIC THAT FOR ANYONE TO READ IT IT HAS TO RIDE ON HUMOR" AND THAT'S WHAT I DID. AND THAT'S WHAT WE DID IN THE INTERNSHIP--HUMOR AND SEX.
The House of God, which came out in 1978, was Bergman’s first novel and tells the story of Dr. Roy Basch and his internship at the House of God.
Bergman said that his first novel was the hardest to write, but felt it had to be written. He said it came about from a series of “hey wait a second” moments that “make you stop and think. During my internship I had so many of them.”
The House of God was well received by the doctors of his generation but not by the older generation.
"The older generation of doctors hated it,” he said. “My generation loved it.”
The novel has sold more than two million copies and is required reading in medical schools throughout the world.
Bergman was a Rhodes Scholar at Balliol College, Oxford and is a professor at Harvard Medical School. He lives in Newton, MA., and is married to Janet Surrey, with whom he has co-written several works.
Do you consider The House of God a satire, as some critics have labeled it, or a hyper-realistic depiction of your internship year at Beth Israel?
SATIRE, TO ME, IS EXAGGERATION IN THE SERVICE OF POLEMIC. EXAGGERATION? WITH A FEW EXCEPTIONS, THE SITUATIONS IN THE HOUSE ARE AT MOST ONE STEP OFF REALITY. IF THAT'S EXAGGERATION, EVERY WRITER OF FICTION IS AN EXAGGERATOR. EVER SINCE I, A NAIVE YOUTH AT HUDSON HIGH SCHOOL, WON THE NEW YORK STATE AMERICAN LEGION ORATORICAL CONTEST, WITH A SPEECH CALLED 'THE CONSTITUTION, FREEDOM'S WEAPON,' I HAVE BEEN SENSITIVE TO POLEMIC. HOWEVER I HAVE EMBRACED RESISTANCE, WHICH IS DIFFERENT. WHAT IS THE DIFF? POLEMIC IS A BRUTAL VERBAL ASSAULT TO IMPOSE CHANGE, A POWER-OVER TACTIC. RESISTANCE IS A NONVIOLENT GROUP ACTION TO BRING CHANGE. SO CALL THE HOUSE OF GOD A NOVEL OF RESISTANCE USING A ONE-STEP OFF REAL STYLE.
When writing the novel did your training as a psychiatrist find its way into the writing? The ghost of Freud seems to hover nearby, especially in the form of the two policemen.
EARLY ON IN MY 30 YEAR BID AS A SHRINK, I REALIZED THAT FREUD WAS CERTAINLY NOT AN ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OR THEORY OF ANYTHING, OR, TO PUT IT ANOTHER WAY, FREUD WAS AT BEST FARCE. WHAT BETTER HIGHLIGHTING OF THE FREUD FARCE THAN TO HAVE THE POLICEMEN EMBRACE HIM--DEEP DOWN THEY THINK HE'S AN ASSHOLE TOO.
Sex and death seem to be overarching themes of the novel and can be broken down further into the categories of the frenzied, mindless sex typified by the Runt and the intimate, relationship building sex Dr. Basch shares with Berry. Death, it seems, can also be broken down into good death, i.e. dying when its time, naturally, as opposed to the seemingly everlasting death provided by the likes of Jo. When you where writing the novel did this occur organically or was it something you consciously implanted in the work?
ORGANICALLY. IT WAS ALL IN THE REALITY, AND I JUST WROTE IT. BUT ANY GOOD NOVEL IS ABOUT SEX AND DEATH AND REDEMPTION. A NOVELIST NEVER REALLY KNOWS WHAT HIS OR HER WORK IS ABOUT UNTIL SOMEONE READS IT AND TALKS WITH YOU ABOUT IT.
Why did you choose to use Marcel Marceau’s performance as Dr. Bach’s way back into humanity?
BECAUSE I LOVED MARCEL MARCEAU, AND HAD GONE TO A PERFORMANCE OF HIS RECENTLY. AND ALSO, BECAUSE IT WAS EXACTLY RIGHT. WHAT WOULD THE SHAKESPEAREAN POLICEMEN GO TO SEE AND ENJOY? MAMET? NEVER. THEY'D SEE HOW FAKE HIS 'REAL'', WHICH THEY ENCOUNTER EVERY DAY, IS.
About two thirds of the way through the novel, and probably the internship year, Dr. Basch aligns himself with Pinkus, and by extension, the slurpers. It is obviously a coping mechanism as was the other methods employed by the terns. Did this actually happen to you in some form? And if not can you explain how it found its way into the book.
I NEVER BOUGHT INTO THE PINCUS OR SLURPER WORLD. I SEEM TO HAVE A HIGH DEGREE OF SUSPICION FOR FALSITY--THUS MY TORMENT WITH THE PATHETIC LIAR--AS-PRESIDENT GEORGE BUSH--AND MY DESCRIPTIONS ARE INFORMED BY THAT ALERTNESS. AGAIN, THEY WERE THERE IN REALITY, AND I TOOK THEM ONE STEP OFF. (THERE IS IN FACT NOW AT THE BETH ISRAEL HOSPITAL CARDIAC UNIT A 'PINCUS' AWARD, FOR A CHARACTER MOST LIKE HIM IN REALITY)
Who are some of the writers, (besides the Russians, I know they have been important to you) and others, who have inspired you. Did you read Catch-22, for instance, before writing The House of God? I know the two novels have been compared to one another, but in my opinion, they only relate in the sense of the inanity of both systems faced by yourself and Heller.
I NEVER READ CATCH-22 UNTIL AFTER THE HOUSE OF GOD WAS PUBLISHED. I LOVED IT IN PART, NOT AS A WHOLE. THE LITERARY TECHNIQUE WAS TOO LITERARY, AND AS YOU CAN SEE, I BELIEVE IN STORY, NOT SITUATION. ALSO, HE GOT AT LEAST 2 STEPS OFF THE REAL, IF NOT 3. MY HEROES ARE--IN ADDITION TO THE RUSSIANS ABOVE ALL TOLSTOY--SHAKESPEARE, MARQUEZ, FAULKNER, ORWELL--ESPECIALLY 1984--EDUARDO GALEANO (THE MEMORY OF FIRE TRILOGY), AND THEN SPECIFIC BOOKS: TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, THE JUNGLE, THE QUIET AMERICAN, UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, USA (DOS PASSOS), THE TIN DRUM, THE PRESIDENT (MIGUEL ANGEL ASTURIAS), NERUDA, WALLACE STEVENS, MARY OLIVER. I WOULD CALL ALL OF THEM WRITERS OF RESISTANCE OR NOVELS OF RESISTANCE.
Do you feel that before and during the time you were an intern that it was possible for there to be internal medicine MDs who retained a sense of humanity? Or did they all end up as slurpers?
YES, MEDICINE HAS CHANGED, PARTLY BECAUSE OF THE HOUSE OF GOD, AND THE HOURS THAT PERMIT MORE SLEEP. YES, LOTS OF DOCS RETAIN THEIR HUMANITY. THE LIFE CYCLE IS THAT THEY GO INTO MED SCHOOL WITH IDEALS, THEY GET THEM BEATEN OUT OF THEM IN THE SECOND TWO YEARS OF MEDICAL SCHOOL AND THEN GET HAMMERED TO A PULP IN THEIR SPECIALTY AND SUBSPECIALTY TRAINING, AND THOSE WHO SURVIVE AND GET THROUGH THEIR MID-LIFE CRISIS TURN INTO WONDERFUL DOCTORS, LIKE HUDSON'S OWN DR. BILL STARBUCK IN MY NEW NOVEL, THE SPIRIT OF THE PLACE.
Another important element in the novel is Nixon’s downfall. It seems Nixon and the Leggo are linked, at least in the mind of Dr. Basch. After Dr. Basch’s return to humanity he seems to be able to see the Leggo as a person and not merely as a representative of the old-guard establishment. Do you feel there is any relationship to this scene and the nation’s possible sense of catharsis at Nixon’s finally leaving office after the Watergate hearings?
THERE WAS NO CATHARSIS WHEN NIXON LEFT, BECAUSE GERALD FORD PREVENTED IT WITH A PARDON (IN THE SAME WAY THAT WE RISK MORE TROUBLE IF THE CHENEY/BUSH/RUMSFELD/RICE CRIMINALS GET OFF SCOTT FREE). YOU CAN'T LOOK AHEAD UNLESS YOU LOOK BEHIND--AMERICA'S SINGLE GREATEST PROBLEM IS A BLINDNESS TO HISTORY, WITNESS THE UPCOMING 'SURGE' IN AFGHANISTAN, OR THE RECENT NO-SUPERVISION BAILOUT OF THE RICH. NIXON'S DOWNFALL AND LEGGO'S PRESIDENCY OF THE RESIDENCY ARE THE SAME POWER OVER MODEL. THE ONLY MODEL THAT WORKS, LONG TERM, IS A POWER-WITH MODEL. THE DIFFICULTY IN A HIERARCHICAL SYSTEM IS TO KEEP YOUR SENSE OF MUTUALITY AND COMPASSION, WHICH ROY ARRIVES AT AFTER HE'S GONE. THE LEGGO IS A LOST SOUL AND WILL DIE THAT WAY. HIS KIDS WILL HATE HIM..
France, as described in the novel, seems to be a place that drenches the senses and helps Dr. Basch recuperate after the year in the House of God. Why France? What about that country, and the part of France they go to, has the ability to help him, at least in part, to focus on the body/spirit as opposed to the body/anatomy?
AFTER MY INTERNSHIP I WENT DIRECTLY INTO MY PSYCHIATRY TRAINING, BUT I WENT TO THE DORDOGNE AS SOON AS I COULD WITH MY THEN GIRLFRIEND, NOW MY WIFE. IT WAS, AND IS, LIKE ANY NATURAL SIMPLE PLACE, A HEALING SPIRITUAL ARENA.
When you wrote the novel it was a time before television was inundated with doctor dramas such as ER and Gray’s Anatomy. Do you feel that The House of God may have helped spawn or at least laid the groundwork for this? What do you think of these types of shows?
THE HOUSE OF GOD WAS RIPPED OFF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ABOUT 1980 WITH A SHOW CALL SAINT ELSEWHERE (A TERM I USE IN THE NOVEL) AND I THOUGHT OF SUING THEM BUT DIDN'T. SINCE THEN IT HAS BEEN RIPPED OFF FOR 30 YEARS. I HAVE NEVER WATCHED A SINGLE EPISODE OF ANY OF THESE SHOWS--TO ME THEY'RE WITLESS, BRUTAL, AND CRUDE. OUR DAUGHTER IS IN LOVE WITH HOUSE, SO I TRIED TO WATCH THAT, BUT LASTED ONLY ABOUT 9 MINUTES AND HAVE NEVER WATCHED ANOTHER EPISODE. THERE IS ONE PURPOSE FOR THIS STUFF, TO MAKE MONEY, AND THEY DO THAT VERY WELL BECAUSE PEOPLE WILL GO FOR THE VULGAR AND THE PHONY. MIND YOU, I DON'T HATE ALL SIT-COMS. OUR DAUGHTER LOVES RERUNS OF FRIENDS, AND I LOVE THOSE GUYS. THEY'RE REAL EVEN IF THE PLOTS ARE SOMETIMES NOT.
Humor plays a huge role in the novel. I know that in my own line of work as a crime reporter, humor seems to help temper the ugliness of death. Was that true for yourself and your fellow interns?
EARLY ON IN WRITING THE NOVEL, I HAD A TOUCH OF THE MUSE ON MY SHOULDER: "THIS STUFF IS SO HORRIFIC THAT FOR ANYONE TO READ IT IT HAS TO RIDE ON HUMOR" AND THAT'S WHAT I DID. AND THAT'S WHAT WE DID IN THE INTERNSHIP--HUMOR AND SEX.
Friday, December 12, 2008
A brilliant sunset: art and the atmosphere
The first time I saw the paintings of Frederic Church I was struck by the brilliant, almost garish colors in such compositions as his Twilight in the Wilderness from 1860. I had always assumed Church, along with the other Hudson River School painters, were exaggerating for effect, much like the German Expressionists had.
But when my wife and I moved from Brooklyn to Catskill, a small town in New York's Hudson Valley, I realized I was wrong. One day, just after we had moved up, I was driving from the east side of the Hudson River, just outside of the city of Hudson, heading back across the Rip Van Winkle Bridge to Catskill when I nearly drove off the road. The sky looked like it was on fire. It was an explosion of alizarin crimson, eggplant purple, lemon yellow and a hundred shades of orange, with a deep electric blue peaking through in places. The usually brown Hudson River reflected the sky, mellowing the colors and complimenting the scene.
A few months later, my wife and a I were eating at a riverfront restaurant in Athens, on the west side of the Hudson, when we witnessed a similar scene. Just across the river in Columbia County, the tree-covered hills suddenly turned from a dull green to a riot of reds and oranges just as the sun began to set. The shift was so sudden it didn't seem real.
The quality of light and atmospheric fireworks of the Hudson Valley drew a loose affiliation of 19th century landscape painters that would become known as the Hudson River School to the area and ushered in the (arguably) most important contribution to world culture by 19th century America. The attraction to the the land was so great that the two leading painters of the school—Church and Thomas Cole—permanently settled in the area.
The connection between the atmospheric peculiarities of a place in relation to the output of a painter working there is vital to understanding any given piece of art.
One can't look at the paintings of Henri Matisse that were produced in the south of France without understanding that he went there specifically for the light. His time spent there transformed his canvases, altering his palette for the rest of his life. In 1917 he permanently settled near Nice.
The relationship between palette and place extends beyond figurative painting. The later work of Willem De Kooning—one of the great 20th century masters—is a good example. When he left Manhattan in 1963 and moved out to East Hampton, at the end of Long Island, his colors lightened. The forms, as if bathed in light, lost the hard linear quality of his earlier work.
I was recently discussing this subject with an attorney I know, who said he wished that his art professors in college would have explained this to him, since it seems to be a large part of the picture (literally).
But when my wife and I moved from Brooklyn to Catskill, a small town in New York's Hudson Valley, I realized I was wrong. One day, just after we had moved up, I was driving from the east side of the Hudson River, just outside of the city of Hudson, heading back across the Rip Van Winkle Bridge to Catskill when I nearly drove off the road. The sky looked like it was on fire. It was an explosion of alizarin crimson, eggplant purple, lemon yellow and a hundred shades of orange, with a deep electric blue peaking through in places. The usually brown Hudson River reflected the sky, mellowing the colors and complimenting the scene.
A few months later, my wife and a I were eating at a riverfront restaurant in Athens, on the west side of the Hudson, when we witnessed a similar scene. Just across the river in Columbia County, the tree-covered hills suddenly turned from a dull green to a riot of reds and oranges just as the sun began to set. The shift was so sudden it didn't seem real.
The quality of light and atmospheric fireworks of the Hudson Valley drew a loose affiliation of 19th century landscape painters that would become known as the Hudson River School to the area and ushered in the (arguably) most important contribution to world culture by 19th century America. The attraction to the the land was so great that the two leading painters of the school—Church and Thomas Cole—permanently settled in the area.
The connection between the atmospheric peculiarities of a place in relation to the output of a painter working there is vital to understanding any given piece of art.
One can't look at the paintings of Henri Matisse that were produced in the south of France without understanding that he went there specifically for the light. His time spent there transformed his canvases, altering his palette for the rest of his life. In 1917 he permanently settled near Nice.
The relationship between palette and place extends beyond figurative painting. The later work of Willem De Kooning—one of the great 20th century masters—is a good example. When he left Manhattan in 1963 and moved out to East Hampton, at the end of Long Island, his colors lightened. The forms, as if bathed in light, lost the hard linear quality of his earlier work.
I was recently discussing this subject with an attorney I know, who said he wished that his art professors in college would have explained this to him, since it seems to be a large part of the picture (literally).
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Severing the tie that binds: art, politics and the real world
I'm not a fan of politically motivated art. I feel that as artists we should dig deeper and strive to produce work that deals with humanity's common threads as opposed to surface issues. Great art is often made about intensely personal subject matter, but what makes it great is its ability to go beyond the merely personal to touch upon a universal truth.
The question I've been pondering is whether political art can ever be truly great as well as whether an artist with aberrant political ideologies should be black-balled from the pantheon of great art.
When dealing with groundbreaking artistic work that has underlying racist or propagandistic elements the artistic merit cannot be stripped away from the content.
D.W. Griffith’s (1875-1948) film “Birth of a Nation,” from 1915, is considered by many to be a masterpiece.
The film is a plaudit to the founding of the Ku Klux Klan and presents a skewed history of the post-Civil War Reconstruction era.
The film was the first blockbuster and is credited with both innovating and solidifying cinematic language.
At best, it can be considered in a historical/sociological context, specifically for its ability to propagate a racist world-view and its effect on the public as well as later Hollywood productions.
Early Soviet era cinema and the films of Leni Riefenstahl made for the Nazi Party are other works that must fall into this category.
I’m focusing on film because of its unique potential as a tool for propaganda. No other art form works in the way that film does because it so closely mimics reality, easily persuading the public that its perspective is a common one.
There is no denying that The Battleship Potemkin (1925) by Segei Eisenstein or Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will (1934) have influenced later filmmakers, but we should not consider these films as true art but as dogma in the guise of art. The medium and the message are intertwined in these films making it impossible to untangle the two.
I feel there is a difference in the case of artists whose personal beliefs may be shocking or repulsive to most, but whose work doesn't reflect their personal beliefs.
The German Expressionist Emil Nolde (1867-1956) was a Nazi sympathizer and brilliant artist. His work exhibits vigorous brushwork, intense coloration and an exuberance not unlike Vincent Van Gogh's paintings.
Nolde's Nazi affiliations began early, in the 1920's, and lasted well into the 1940's, even after Adolph Hitler’s government banned his work. He publicly made anti-Semitic statements and considered Expressionism as a purely Germanic style.
Nolde's politics and personal beliefs should (obviously) be questioned, but the fact remains that his art has no relation to his politics.
The poet Ezra Pound (1885-1972) and his output follow along these lines as well. Pound's writing is arguably the foundation of the modernist tradition, influencing a generation of later writers.
He moved to Italy in 1924 and later became a propagandist for Benito Mussolini's fascist government. He was also an anti-Semite who spoke publicly against Jews.
But, like Nolde, his work doesn't reflect these views.
I believe that the art and the artist should be considered separately from one another, unless of course, the work reflects their vitriolic personal views or a political agenda, in which case the baby should be thrown out with the bathwater.
The question I've been pondering is whether political art can ever be truly great as well as whether an artist with aberrant political ideologies should be black-balled from the pantheon of great art.
When dealing with groundbreaking artistic work that has underlying racist or propagandistic elements the artistic merit cannot be stripped away from the content.
D.W. Griffith’s (1875-1948) film “Birth of a Nation,” from 1915, is considered by many to be a masterpiece.
The film is a plaudit to the founding of the Ku Klux Klan and presents a skewed history of the post-Civil War Reconstruction era.
The film was the first blockbuster and is credited with both innovating and solidifying cinematic language.
At best, it can be considered in a historical/sociological context, specifically for its ability to propagate a racist world-view and its effect on the public as well as later Hollywood productions.
Early Soviet era cinema and the films of Leni Riefenstahl made for the Nazi Party are other works that must fall into this category.
I’m focusing on film because of its unique potential as a tool for propaganda. No other art form works in the way that film does because it so closely mimics reality, easily persuading the public that its perspective is a common one.
There is no denying that The Battleship Potemkin (1925) by Segei Eisenstein or Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will (1934) have influenced later filmmakers, but we should not consider these films as true art but as dogma in the guise of art. The medium and the message are intertwined in these films making it impossible to untangle the two.
I feel there is a difference in the case of artists whose personal beliefs may be shocking or repulsive to most, but whose work doesn't reflect their personal beliefs.
The German Expressionist Emil Nolde (1867-1956) was a Nazi sympathizer and brilliant artist. His work exhibits vigorous brushwork, intense coloration and an exuberance not unlike Vincent Van Gogh's paintings.
Nolde's Nazi affiliations began early, in the 1920's, and lasted well into the 1940's, even after Adolph Hitler’s government banned his work. He publicly made anti-Semitic statements and considered Expressionism as a purely Germanic style.
Nolde's politics and personal beliefs should (obviously) be questioned, but the fact remains that his art has no relation to his politics.
The poet Ezra Pound (1885-1972) and his output follow along these lines as well. Pound's writing is arguably the foundation of the modernist tradition, influencing a generation of later writers.
He moved to Italy in 1924 and later became a propagandist for Benito Mussolini's fascist government. He was also an anti-Semite who spoke publicly against Jews.
But, like Nolde, his work doesn't reflect these views.
I believe that the art and the artist should be considered separately from one another, unless of course, the work reflects their vitriolic personal views or a political agenda, in which case the baby should be thrown out with the bathwater.
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