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Wednesday, May 6, 2015

A Modest Proposal to Change the Name of the Renaissance Fair

Let’s begin at the source: the OED:

Renaissance – the revival of European art and literature under the influence of classical models in the 14th to 16th Centuries.

First Impressions – Barbarians, Maid Marions, Rastafarians, Popes and puppets, tea and crumpets, trumpets, dunces, morris dancers, bird fanciers, fancy pantsers, necromancers, bust enhancers, oriental spices, exorbitant prices, mead, lager, sac, and ales, Princes of Wales, braided horse tails, horsemen, chessmen, talismen, henchmen, Monty Python Frenchmen, (I fart in your general direction!). wenches in bunches, whole trenches of stenches, particularly from the elephant rides – yes, elephant rides. And not only elephants but camels and llamas. Jousting, axe throwing, hammer throwing, poison dart blowing, witch dunkin’, bumpkin dunkin’, and shoot the punkin.

Is this the Renaissance?  Nonsense.

It was my impression that the Renaissance was a revival of Greek, like Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes, and Socrates, but the only Greek I heard was feta cheese and gyros, with a teeny bit of tahini. If you don’t like that, there’s sushi and sashimi, burgers and weanies, chili beanies, bologna, spumoni, Rice-a-Roni, the San Francisco treat (It could happen.), and everybody’s favorite, American turkey legs at 8 bucks a pop. What you won’t see is good old 15th century food like gruel, bulgur, millet, sheep’s head, boiled brains, pig’s feet , peas porridge cold or peas porridge hot.

Is this the Renaissance?   NOT.

How about art?  You bet your arse there’s art. There are drip candles, belts and sandals, scrimshawed axe handles, walking sticks, canes, capes, dunce caps, leather cups, leather thongs, hand-blown bongs and pipes, hand-thrown pots, hand sewn tights, home grown plants, head bands, lamp stands, and flaminco fans.

Titian, da Vinci,and Donatello?  Hello???!!!  No!!!

Then, there are the costumes, which are mostly barbarians: Huns, Vikings, Ostrogoths, Visigoths, just plain Goths, Tartars, Gauls, Picts and Scots, in kilts and no shorts (don’t ask me how I know that.), Franks, Angles, mostly obtuse, Saxons, and Vandals.  They’re all wearing Birkenstock sandals and wielding horrendous weapons like axes and maces, which might pose a danger except for the fact that they have one hand on their cell phones and the other on a tankard of ale (Bud Lite or Milwaukee’s Best, at 8 bucks a pop).

Next, there are the fantasizers: wizards, dragon slayers, soothe sayers, mayors of Munchkin City (it could happen), nymphs, gnomes, trolls, hobbits, knights in chain mails with holy grails.

Let’s not forget the royalty, some in jeans with only a crown, some in gowns and full regalia. All the kings are Henry the eighth, boisterous and corpulent,  and all the queens are his wives, all six of them, and they all have their heads. There are princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, earls and earlesses, knights and knightesses, etc. etc. If you’re looking for nobles oblige, don’t try to cut in front of them in the line for ye ol ale stand or it might get your tongue cut out or a week in the stocks.

There’s that victim of the Black Death.  Yes, there’s only one, and, believe me, nobody touches him.

And, of course, there’s the clergy: Bishops in mitres, epistle writers, Nuns and priests, nun’s priests a la Chaucer, abbots and abbesses, monks and prioresses, mendicants, penitents, flagellants, acolytes, transvestites (There’s something about men wanting to wear nun’s habits that’s really disturbing). The only thing that seems historically correct is that there’s more than one pope.  Lastly there are catechists, heretics, and Grand Inquisitors like Torquemada.

Is this the Renaissance?   Nada que ver!   It’s the Renaissance Fair.

Let’s review our definition:  Renaissance – the revival of European art and literature under the influence of classical models in the 14th to 16th Centuries.

The only thing from that definition I could find at the Renaissance Fair was “under the influence”.


"Houses in a Railroad Village"

                          Acrylic on paper        16x12              c  2015  Brett Busang

It's not you


Please listen to this

It's a little difficult to say,
But I just wanted you to know:

It's not you.
It's me.

I need to take some time
To straighten out my own mind;
To sort things out.

It's not you.

It's me.
It's not the way you dress --
At one time so artistic, so eccentric.
Nor is it the jokes you tell,
And tell again.

And again, and again...

It's not you, it's me.

It's not the noises you make at night.
It's not that, at all.

I'm sorry.
It's just me, it's not you.
It's not you at all.

It's also not the person I met recently
Who pleases me in ways you cannot even imagine.

Nor is it your lack of imagination.

No, it's me.
I can be so demanding and critical --
That's why I need some space.

Yes, I know you called the other day.
My phone has been disconnected
along with my email, and social media.
I'm moving to another city,
and I don't have a forwarding address, yet.

I'll let you know
I'll call you sometime.
We'll have lunch – sometime.
We'll be friends.

Just remember:
it's not you.
It's me.

Feel better now?


Goodbye


--Ellis Burruss
Brunswick, MD


Monday, May 4, 2015

What if... an essay seed

What if the whole job of the artist was to make the one who perceives the artifact ask a question? What if I said the best art is the art that makes me ask the most interesting questions?

Margaret Ronk says her poetry is always in the interrogative mode, whether there is a question mark at the end of the line or not. I concur, but I think it important that there not be a question mark. As reader I don't want to answer a question she has framed. Bachelard said, "Make the reader's eyes leave the page." For me, that is the moment of the question. I wish I could remember which artist said he wanted a painting of a house to make him wonder what the people were like who lived there. I can compare paintings of two  houses based on the quality and intensity of that question alone. Purely subjective. Yes, but that's the seed of a different essay.

Here's a poem I read today that made my eyes leave the page.

 First the Message Kills           Hans Favery

First the message kills
the receiver, then
it kills the sender.
It does not matter
in what language.

I stand up, throw
the balcony doors open
and take a breath.

The gulls circling
above the snowless street
I will not entice
with gestures of feeding.

I light a cigarette;
return to my post,
and take a breath.

There is nothing to dream.
Everything is possible.
Little matters.


(rwd 5/2015)