Kusama Infinity Room -- Dallas Museum Exhibit (2017)

Kusama Infinity Room -- Reflections on Immersion Art

(Dallas) Yayoi Kusama’s mirrored room gives the appearance that spotted pumpkins go on forever, in what’s known as an “infinity mirror box.” A small, 12X15X12 foot box at the Dallas Museum of Art contains 62 plastic pumpkins, bright, yellow-orange, and highlighted by black polka-dots.

Surrounded by 45 mirrors (55% on the interior ceiling of the box) a visitor has but 45 seconds to go inside and look at the flowing fields of pumpkins stretching out endlessly into a limitless horizon. Inside the room was stuffy, constricted, and we were shuffled in, and out rapidly—making me feel like a carnival barker hoodwinked me to hurry inside and see the fat lady or the house of horrors.

I wondered if Kusama’s series of infinity rooms are each reflections of her complex mind, or rather small slot machines for paying customers to move through like coins in a casino. A similar exhibit at the Broad Museum in Los Angeles sold 50,000 tickets in less than an hour.

Seeing a photograph doesn’t give the illusion credit; three-dimensionality and the infinitude of the box cannot be captured in a photograph, and weren’t meant to be. The black/orange contrasted well with the polka-dotted pumpkin patch theme; but I didn’t have enough time to think about any deeper meanings.

After taking 20% of the allotted visitation for a smartphone selfie, I could not study the size of the mirrored squares, nor could I look closely at the pumpkins. The infinity effect draws your eyes to how many rows of gourds spread out from your vantage point, away from a closer inspection of each piece of plastic art, or the design of the room. Maybe that is the intention of the artist.

Kusama’s fame (and fortune) make each installment in her series an event. One visits the room in pairs, so I went at the invitation of an art student very close to me. 

The experience as a whole takes longer than 45-seconds, but even the ticketing, reading, waiting in line, and discussion afterward lasts no longer than 30-minutes. We both expressed appreciation for the event, but I didn’t connect with “speed art” the way many do; instead, my taste is more traditional. I enjoy slowly meandering through an exhibit looking at the artist’s nuances, even to the point of envisioning how the art is designed and constructed. I enjoy art like a nice meal, or a fine wine, noting all its flavor, bouquet, and body. Nevertheless, each artist’s intent must be appreciated even if it doesn’t appeal to my own preferences, as is the case with my short immersion into Kusama’s infinity room.

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Reformation Day: 500-years after Wittenberg

After Wittenberg: The Reformation 500-years from Luther

^{1 John 2: 15-17}

^15-17 Don’t love the world’s ways. Don’t love the world’s goods. Love of the world squeezes out love for the Father. Practically everything that goes on in the world—wanting your own way, wanting everything for yourself, wanting to appear important—has nothing to do with the Father. It just isolates you from him. The world and all its wanting, wanting, wanting is on the way out—but whoever does what God wants is set for eternity. [MSG]

¹⁵ Stop loving this evil world and all that it offers you, for when you love these things you show that you do not really love God; ¹⁶ for all these worldly things, these evil desires—the craze for sex, the ambition to buy everything that appeals to you, and the pride that comes from wealth and importance—these are not from God. They are from this evil world itself. ¹⁷ And this world is fading away, and these evil, forbidden things will go with it, but whoever keeps doing the will of God will live forever. [TLB]

¹⁵ Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him, ¹⁶ because all that is in the world (the desire of the flesh and the desire of the eyes and the arrogance produced by material possessions) is not from the Father, but is from the world. ¹⁷ And the world is passing away with all its desires, but the person who does the will of God remains forever. [NET]

¹⁵ Do not love this world nor the things it offers you, for when you love the world, you do not have the love of the Father in you. ¹⁶ For the world offers only a craving for physical pleasure, a craving for everything we see, and pride in our achievements and possessions. These are not from the Father, but are from this world. ¹⁷ And this world is fading away, along with everything that people crave. But anyone who does what pleases God will live forever. [NLT]

¹⁵ Do not love the world [of sin that opposes God and His precepts], nor the things that are in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. ¹⁶ For all that is in the world—the lust and sensual craving of the flesh and the lust and longing of the eyes and the boastful pride of life [pretentious confidence in one’s resources or in the stability of earthly things]—these do not come from the Father, but are from the world. ¹⁷ The world is passing away, and with it its lusts [the shameful pursuits and ungodly longings]; but the one who does the will of God and carries out His purposes lives forever. [Amplified Bible]

¹⁵ Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them. ¹⁶ For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world. ¹⁷ The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever. [NIV]

¹⁵ Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. ¹⁶ For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world. ¹⁷ And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever. [ESV]

15 Love not ye the world, nor the things in the world; if any one doth love the world, the love of the Father is not in him, 16 because all that [is] in the world -- the desire of the flesh, and the desire of the eyes, and the ostentation of the life -- is not of the Father, but of the world, 17 and the world doth pass away, and the desire of it, and he who is doing the will of God, he doth remain -- to the age. [YLT]

(My thoughts):

Pride, arrogance, ostentation, confidence, isolation, independence, longing, self-reliance, desire, lust, ambition, pretention, worldly pursuits; these things are not from the Father. Loving the world usually begets desires for worldly priorities such as these. It’s like the difference between light and darkness, or white and black. However, those who do what God wants—His will—they are the ones who carry out His desires, and not those of man. Worldly pursuits eventually fade away, Godly works remain with Him forever, they have eternal worth.  These two systems are incompatible. They were incompatible 500-yrs. ago when believers paid the church “indulgences” in order to buy their loved ones out of purgatory. The Reformation started a move away from the worldly system into an age of the Gospel.

Broken people usually give up on the worldly success they once thought was their destiny. Brokenness develops humility and groundedness not usually found in the kinds of ascending, ambitious, successful, worldly “superstars” described in these three verses. The cravings of the flesh (e.g., gluttony, dissipation), the desire for that seen by our eyes (e.g., pornographic images, greed), and our pride in life (e.g., status, class, success) are very natural, as easy as taking in the air we breathe or the food we eat. But these verses are a simple mathematical computation. One does not equal the other. You cannot live in both realms; the Bible tells us. The world and the gospel do not mix.

As a believer it suggests to me another question: “How do I keep all that is going on in the world, and my human reaction to it, from overwhelming me and squeezing the life out of me?” Can I let go of the worry that keeping up with these worldly goals causes me? Will there ever be enough? Matthew 6:25. I believe that in this world which is filled with so much pain, dissension, injustice, violence, and oppression, it is the weak people who can become a source of renewal and salvation, for the world and those who serve them. This is a difficult place better done in community, which is life-giving, but also a place of pain and sacrifice. Many do not want that, but it is a place of truth and growth.

Or deeper, “how do I replace the natural desires of any man, with the willingness to do his good works (which God prepared in advance for us to do), aka, the “Will of God,” instead of pursuing my own priorities? In so many endeavors, like a new job, new relationship, or moving to another town, we don’t know what we don’t know. But in the case of the Bible, these things are clearly told us so that we do know what God wants. This is a blessing. We know what we need to know about the eternal things of God because he shared these with us in His word. He tells us directly that the great commandment is to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and with all your mind.” Matthew 22: 34-46. That is the beginning of all wisdom. (Paul would tell us as we look not to worldly things seen, but to things that are unseen, that the worldly things that are seen are transient; however, things that are unseen are spiritual, and eternal).

Conclusion:
I was fortunate enough to be taught the logic of the Reformation, in that justification (being declared right with God), by faith alone, is an essential point of the gospel. I learned that the real gospel was what Jesus did for me by his work on the cross, that I could not earn or buy for myself. These magnificent truths became clear over a long period of time, by going to church, sitting at the feet of good teaching, and Bible study. Since then it is clear: a church that doesn’t put this doctrine front and center, even if accompanied by good discipleship, music, outreach, and/or fellowship, is not where I want to invest time. Unfortunately, if one rejects justification by faith alone, and seeks after worldly pursuits, they’ve rejected the gospel, and that strategy will fail in the end. Church growth, like our own growth, is dependent on a gospel-centered life. Celebrating the beginning of the Reformation today, is celebrating gospel truth, the triumph of the people’s church not the Pope, and the importance of recognizing what God did for us, and by doing his will.

Thesis No. 62, posted by Martin Luther, October 31, 1517:
"The true treasure of the Church, is the most holy Gospel of the glory and the grace of God." 

##

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Environmentalism: A Blogger's Track Record

If you've followed my writing on the "New Rostra" blog, you've read about natural disasters, weather, and the dangers of this beautiful planet we inhabit. I love living here, but it is not safe. The environmentalist dilemma is front and center on this forum. My record has been set here, in many different contexts:

Pardon me for quoting my previous posts on #BlogSpot via the New Rostra, but here they are...

I've detailed the incredibly dangerous lives of storm chasers: http://goo.gl/iKZCTM

There have been musings on running away from threatening storms: http://goo.gl/sAqjpV

Reflections on Hurricane Ike in the Houston area: http://goo.gl/8cTmaa

The disastrous earthquake in Nepal:  http://goo.gl/3jyBjn

Thank you reader, and if you'd like to read these previous posts you'll see that I respect the earth and her power, but I don't pretend to understand that power or predict what will happen next. It's crazy to try to do that...

Many in the environmentalist movement seemingly make fear-mongering a religion, and their know-it-all scientists have twisted statistics and theories in order to scare the public into thinking that we're ruining the habitat, and in a few years with the ice caps melted, the population is doomed to drown or be crushed by famine. [They're not sure how the bad stuff is going to happen, but they're sure that it will happen; which I call, "it's too late" environmentalism]. As an example of vague warning, climate scientists emphasize that climate change didn't proximately cause hurricanes Harvey and Irma; still, they maintain with assurance that climate change exacerbates risks posed by the storms.

This hubris is addressed by the famous thinker Kurt Vonnegut, when he said,

“For me (Kurt Vonnegut), the most paralyzing news was that “Mother Nature” was no conservationist. She needed no help from us in taking the planet apart and putting it back together some different way, not necessarily improving it from the viewpoint of living things. She set fire to forests with lightning bolts. She paved vast tracts of arable land with lava, which could no more support life than big-city parking lots. “Mother Nature” had in the past sent glaciers down from the North Pole to grind up major portions of Asia, Europe, and North America. Nor was there any reason to think that she wouldn't do that again someday. At this very moment she is turning African farms to deserts, and can be expected to heave up tidal waves, hurricanes, or shower down white-hot boulders from outer space, at any time. She has not only exterminated exquisitely evolved species in a twinkling, but drained oceans and drowned cites or continents as well. If people think Nature is their friend, then they sure don't need an enemy.” (end quote)

I could be wrong, but I won't live to see it. After a few hundred more years when I am but dust in the wind, I think the earth will still be doing fine; although her weather patterns may have changed again after few more millennia, who knows?! My opinion won't be relevant, but that doesn't mean that as stewards of this great earth, we should not be careful about how we behave. (Balanced with human reality).

As an historically violent and unpredictable planet, the earth's recurring environmental nightmares are more common than we know: for example, Japan had been hit by tsunamis before 2011: in 1585, 1611, 1677, 1687, 1689, 1700, 1716, 1793, 1868, and 1894. The most destructive tsunami before 2011 was the Meji Sanriku Tsunami of 1896, which killed 22,000 people. Many of Japan's older residents remember the 1933 tsunami, w/ waves as high as 100 feet, killing 3,000 people. These hardy folks are not inclined to complain about weather, even in its extremes; nevertheless, she throws at Japan walls of water, every century. My point is that man didn't visit this tragedy on Japan.

Kathryn Schulz wrote in the New Yorker, in 2015: 

"The “ghost forest” is a grove of western red cedars on the banks of the Copalis River, near the Washington coast. The cedars are spread out across a low salt marsh on a wide northern bend in the river, long dead but still standing. Leafless, branchless, barkless, they are reduced to their trunks and worn to a smooth silver-gray, as if they had always carried their own tombstones inside them. 

What killed the trees in the ghost forest was saltwater. It had long been assumed that they died slowly, as the sea level around them gradually rose and submerged their roots. But, by 1987, it was discovered through studying soil layers in the ghost forest, evidence of sudden land subsidence along the Washington coast. The death of the cedars was not due to long exposure to saltwater; instead, the trees died quickly, when the ground beneath them plummeted. Scientists followed this lead to discover circumstantially, and through Japanese history that a massive earthquake happened there, and spread a tsunami to Japan, across the ocean. 

At approximately 9pm on January 26, 1700, a magnitude-9.0 earthquake struck the Pacific Northwest, causing sudden land subsidence, drowning coastal forests, and, out in the ocean, lifting up a wave half the length of a continent. It took roughly fifteen minutes for the Eastern half of that wave to strike the Northwest coast. It took ten hours for the other half to cross the ocean. It reached Japan on January 27, 1700: by the local calendar, the eighth day of the twelfth month of the twelfth year of Genroku. In Japan it was labeled in history, the “orphan” because no one in Japan felt the earth shake prior to its arrival." (emphasis, and paraphrasing are mine)

If we need to panic, there are more immediate needs of our attention as a species than the environment; if I were to categorize things to which humans can actually affect change. There are numerous examples, but trying to wrangle mother nature is a waste of our time and resources.

In a previous post about petroleum's impact on the world economy, if you weigh that impact against the environmentalist view, the decision is forced: to lean on the side of humanity flourishing, or to limit carbon-based fuels to developing countries when they need it most:

http://goo.gl/H2uWPQ
"The need for abundant fuel is just as acute in 2017 (e.g., more than one billion people lack access to electricity and modern cooking fuels, and 75 million new cars are sold each year, globally). There is an incredibly strong correlation between the use of fossil fuels and life expectancy, and between fossil fuel use and income; one can observe the recent history of China and India as examples. Human “flourishing” requires resources, and abundant energy (points made by Alex J. Epstein in his book “The Moral Case for Fossil Fuels,” 2014)."

https://books.google.com/books?id=_ld9AwAAQBAJ&lpg=PP1&dq=Alex%20Epstein&pg=PP1#v=onepage&q=Alex%20Epstein&f=false

If you would like to discuss the environment with me, please give me a Tweet @markpills

Disclaimer: views expressed in this blog or anywhere on social media sites are my own personal opinions and express my individual perceptions. They do not represent the policies, positions, or viewpoints of my employer.

(Fair use of copyrighted work shown herein is not an infringement of copyright law, see 17 U.S.C. §107) 

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Dirty Laundry (1982) Don Henley Predicts the Future

Dirty Laundry: Don Henley Predicts the Future on 1982 Solo Album, "I can't stand still" (released 10/12/1982)

(Houston) I've written about Texas artists before, but one of the largest stars in Texas music history is Don Henley, who wrote a prescient piece for his first solo album in 1982 about TV news: "Dirty Laundry," appearing on I Can't Stand Still. Henley comments on the nature of the news "infotainment" industry before that was even a word; before the internet, reality TV, or social media.

Similar themes run through much of his work with the Eagles, or on his own, as an activist singer/songwriter: loss of innocence, the cost of being in the public spotlight, naivete of victims' perspectives, perils of fame, exploitation of tragedy, illusion versus reality, in-authenticity, corruption in news media, and the reality of #FakeNews (before much of this was part of today's lexicon).

When did Don Henley first read The Catcher in the Rye? 

Was it in 1961 or 1962 at the height of Kennedy’s "Camelot" presidency, during his first or second year of high school? How did young Don Henley relate to young Holden Caufield?

Did Don Henley learn to drown out the cacophony of oppressive “fakery” permeating the world, through music? 

Did music give him the bridge to his own authentic voice, like J. D. Salinger’s writing? 

Ten years after the book was written, Salinger appeared on the cover of TIME magazine in 1961, and Don Henley may have found his calling as a musician when he read in The Catcher in the Rye (quote): “a woman's body is like a violin and all; and that it takes a terrific musician to play it right.” The ladies’ man begins his journey in a band (in North Texas) with Salinger’s words deeply embedded in his mind.

In 1982, at 35-years old, Don Henley still felt like he was living in a time of great mistrust, a feeling that one-nation undivided, was rapidly disappearing. Henley saw even then, the prevalence of lawyers, and the everyone-for-themselves ethos of modern culture, where men and women sue each other regularly, "it's a very insidious thing," Henley said.

"Writing songs is therapeutic for me. It's a way of trying to make sense of a world that often doesn't make sense at all," he said. "It keeps me off the shrink's couch, keeps me from climbing a tower with a rifle (a reference to the UT/Austin mass-shooting of 1966, when Henley was 19?)." "Creating is a spiritual act, as well as a kind of meditation." (end quote)

Written for a LP which contained an interesting juxtaposition of dark themes; the song was developed as part of his first solo album in an atmosphere of excitement and productivity. Although Henley always thought there's room for social commentary in music, one of the basic principles of folk, singer/songwriters; "you can't hit people over the head with it." Henley believes, "you can comment, but you can't preach." 

In "Dirty Laundry," humor and satire protect against heavy, or preachy themes; but producing a song completely applicable as social commentary 35-years after it was written, is truly remarkable.  Like The Catcher in the Rye, I realize it sounds a little Holden Caulfield-esque calling everyone in TV news a phony, but Henley really did think everyone in that business was a phony.

"I got divorced and my personal life fell apart. I don't know if you feel this way, but when you're depressed, it's really easy to see everything that is fake about other people and life, and I just started seeing all that. How phony celebrity was, how phony everything is. You channel your inner-Holden Caulfield, you know?"--Ethan Hawke (writer, producer, director, actor)

I've taken the liberty to update the lyrics to apply to 2017 times, but the spirit of the song has been left unedited. I hope you like my adaption, and the song is common enough to your memory that you will sing along! 

Writer's Digest Story Contest #83 -- Writing Prompt w/ max of 700 words

Short story writing prompt:

"A man is surprised to find himself feeling both pleased and liberated by the news that he will soon die."

700 Words Maximum:

Rick felt a gut-churning fear he’d fought all his life, ever since he got called to the principal’s office, or when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant. Riding a tumultuous, entrepreneurial roller-coaster put him in frequent high-pressure meetings in the clouds of downtown, called to dark-paneled conference rooms, where fate, future, and fortune hung in the balance. But coming to this specialist panicked him, and the fact that the doctor was so young (and female) twisted the knife in his stomach.

She’d spent half her life studying cancer, but the look on her face reminded him of bankers staring him down at a lender conference. Methodically reviewing testing procedures conducted at the world’s finest cancer facility in Houston, the sincerity with which she explained Stage 4 kidney cancer touched him deeply. It must be hard for any doctor, even one daily waging war against cancer to tell a man there isn’t much hope for a “successful outcome,” she said, as stiff as her starched lab coat.

“Are you talking years or months, Doctor,” urging more than asking.

“I’m afraid my best guess is months, Rick, I’m sorry to say.”

After swallowing the personal premise of pending death, he gulped again and sheepishly, in a childish way asked, “So, this treatment regimen is unbelievably hard, without any real hope of recovery? Am I just going to make an exit looking like a zombie?”

She responded earnestly, with piercing eyes, “We can prolong your life a significant amount of time if the tactics work well.” “But it will be extremely painful toward the end, depending how long your body can take what we drag it through.”

Raw, and emotionally spent, he left the Texas Medical Center disoriented. By the time he sat by his pool at home with his Labrador licking the sweat off of his calf and his hand wet from the chilled highball he held tightly, Rick considered mortality and the feelings of fear and hopelessness crowding his mind.

In business, he consumed numbers ravenously, and it seemed that a guy with only 1.5% left on his battery—maybe 8,000 hours of existence remaining, would be tossing around a dozen emotions; grabbing each one, tasting whether bitter or sweet? He’d lived a long time and lost many of life’s pillars: his wife through divorce, parents, a brother, jobs, houses, even a Cadillac repossessed in the eighties.

However, a strange calm came from the two emotions dominating his thinking: he was both pleased and liberated by the thought of leaving this world. His situation wasn’t preferable but these two tracks didn’t intersect or conflict as he pondered imminent death.

Whether enlightened or unshackled, contentment surprised Rick, heated by the sizzling sun and the hot concrete surrounding the pool. As odd and unusual as he felt, the reaction positioned him unexpectedly to be open to death and consider his life against what he thought he believed of the other side.

He studied the Bible growing up, and took his kids to an Episcopal Church in River Oaks because it was close to his home, but it was probably the hatred for Baylor athletics that skewed his religion to the left. He satisfied his liberal arts love for adventure by reading Revelation like sci-fi literature.

Rick dimly pictured the Lord, white-headed with flowing hair and robes, seated at the head table of a gargantuan banquet, where Rick’s anticipated mourning, crying, and pain passed away. He longed to see the amazing city called the New Jerusalem. Released from gravity, he gazed heavenward and contemplated the brilliance of his future home, as well as he could. Liberation and contentment came from a believer’s travel plans.

Three gates side-by-side, welcomed each named entrant to a wall of the square city, roughly the size of all of North America; each gate made out of a single pearl 2,200 kilometers high. Gold paved streets, translucent and clean, wove throughout a destination where nightfall never came. God illuminated every hour of eternal, joyous days; and in the middle of the biggest boulevard in the city flowed a crystal clear river. Rick planned on walking peacefully near its banks. ##

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Contest entered July 10, 2017

Failed in London, Tried Hongkong: 

The tale of British expats abroad in Hong Kong, Lawyers in Love

Book Review: Jane Gardam Trilogy:

Lovers of English literature will enjoy the trilogy of books by Jane Gardam written in 2004, 2009, and 2013. These @EuropaEditions were recommended by @DeepVellumBooks which is a Dallas (non-profit) bookseller and publisher, from whom I purchased Vol. 1 for $20.00.

As we currently observe the political divide between nationalism and globalism, these books unfold with a backdrop of the historiography of the (declining) post-war British Empire, including a unique view of the colonialism, imperialism, mercantilism, and the legal-economic culture of expat lawyers abroad.

Author Jane Gardam takes the story of a love “triangle” of sorts, to Hong Kong and back to the "Donheads" of Southwest England, near Dorset. The trilogy’s emotional landscape plays out between two rivals and one eccentric woman, but Gardam’s immense talent as a writer fully illustrates and explicates many other quirky English characters from the Queen, all the way to the crazy town mail carrier.

The opening saga is entitled “Old Filth” about an English lawyer who, “Failed in London, Tried Hongkong,” or FILTH, as an acronym. “Last Friends” ties up the cast and their inter-woven lives in book 3, including 70 years of complicated friendships; however, as successful and dominant as these uppercrust Brits appear, like the British Empire, they often took wrong turns by making foolish decisions.

The second and third novels in the sequence are not so much sequels or “prequels” to the first, as they are augmentations, or different POVs. As the trilogy advances, the supporting characters from Old Filth emerge with their own life histories, altering, and occasionally exploding the first understanding of what occurred in the opening book FILTH. But to quote Gardam, there are “no minor characters” in life nor in these books.

Surprisingly easy to read despite my lack of knowledge of this particular niche of English culture, still I constantly looked up the meanings to “Brit” words, and sometimes didn’t understand their profession despite my own legal training. Empathetic writing kept my interest, sometimes relating to the characters, often feeling sorry for them,  but any anglophile would give these books ***** out of 5-stars!

Remember the Alamo: The Endgame in Chess and Life

The Endgame in Chess and Life:

Placing a big priority on learning Chess endgames positions is futile if the player makes too many mistakes before the endgame even arrives. Most major mistakes made in a typical chess match likely come a long time before the endgame, and are far costlier than being able to execute a KRP vs. KR endgame appropriately. Said another way, short-term tactics employed prevent the long-term strategic theory of endgames, which comes in handy when there are only a few pieces left on the board. Or shortly, you dig your own grave long before you are killed.

A current “international chess champion” believes that:

“This (Endgame) is one of the most important phases in chess, because while it’s possible to make a comeback from mistakes made in the openings and middle game, it’s almost impossible to make a comeback from mistakes made in the endgame – as they are usually the last mistake made in the game. It’s also an area where one can score a lot of points, as it’s usually one of the phases less studied by opponents.” (end quote)

It makes sense. Victory hangs in the balance.

So what happens when you are in a position where every move you could make causes you to lose the game (or at least significantly worsen the position).The German word for this predicament is called “Zugzwang”. Is this the way Custer felt at Little Big Horn, or the band playing on the Titanic deck? Like what’s called a “Hobson’s Choice” (which is not a choice at all, b/c the “choice” is taking what is available or nothing at all), or being struck between a rock, and a hard place? As pressure dissolves all good strategies, tactics end up dominating the game execution. I think back poignantly to the mind-numbing, paralyzing horror of the patriots stuck during the Siege of the Alamo. Full disclosure, I'm a native Texan so forgive me for starting from the Texas perspective:

• Bowie and Travis led about 200 “Texicans” in the defense of the Alamo for 13 days but eventually the invading Mexican army overwhelmed them. This happened near San Antonio TX. All good 7th grade Texans learn this in public school history. But what was it like to be there, and know the odds of defense against an insurmountable force? Did “strategy” ever enter the frantic war-room discussions or was this a suicide mission? Did the enemy “surrounded” the Fort before they knew it? At what chilling moment in this Endgame did their fate become frighteningly clear?

• On March 5, 1836, after fierce fighting, Mexican artillery stopped shelling the fort. Their defensive positions weakened so, President General Antonio López de Santa Anna planned an all-out ground attack on the garrison just before dawn on March 6, 1836. Mexican soldiers would go over the walls in waves, risking hand-to-hand combat to fully and finally kill the rebellion called the Alamo.

The Queen is lost, painted warriors appear on the ridge, bullets fly, the band plays on…

Realizing the end is near, how feeble, exposed, and out-of-control one must feel? Dread rises as a fever, slowly strangling life out of the victim. A knotted gut, sweating brow, but most of all an overriding “confusion” seeps under the door like drifting fog. How is this actually happening? Looking at the Chess board, gulping, blinking, realizing there aren’t many moves left, you have found yourself in the astonishing “Endgame”. Keep up the fight, but don’t lie to yourself looking out over the precipice at a “Check-mate” on the board; it will not go away without one. more. move. ##

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Heartbeat

Heartbeat

Beating in the womb,

Waiting to appear, to bloom.

Will it fulfill its dreams, like music in tune.

Faithfully, over and over it beats,

Were it syncopal you'd fall over in the heat.

As hands circle the clock,

Decades flash by, it never stops.

Keeping life's rhythm:

Rushing, resting, hurting, telling,

It echoes slowly, emotion swelling.

Who can divine the human heart?

How many beats in a day: 100,000

How many equal a life: the work begins when it starts.

Bearing up under strife, holding more blood than stress.

Volume, velocity, endurance, the machine's mystery is that it performs best:

Inflamed, impassioned, straining to the point of breaking

Full of love, filled to the top, henceforth it will come to a stop.

Pushing out one last beat, no more pumping remains.

Until then keep moving your feet,

The heartbeat keeps tune to a lonely refrain.

©Mark H. Pillsbury

*Note: I like to pin a #YouTube video to my writing and this time it is from the group: Hammock (I could hear the water, or can you hear the heartbeat?)

https://youtu.be/mncgetsmhD0

WORLD PETROLEUM COUNCIL PICKS HOUSTON TO HOST CONGRESS IN 2020:

YOU THINK Super Bowl LI® IS A BIG DEAL?

With the economic, logistical, and cultural impact of a giant meteor, looming over the City of Houston on the eve of Super Bowl LI, February 05, 2017, there was another December announcement given to the city like a beautiful Christmas present, by the World Petroleum Council [“WPC”]. They bestowed on us the privilege of hosting another Petroleum Congress for the world audience to once-again come to Houston in 2020.

The WPC was established in 1933, based in London, with the intent to promote the management of the world's petroleum resources for the benefit of mankind, because energy is the lifeblood of economic and social development.

WPC facilitates dialogue among internal and external stakeholders in the petroleum industry on key technical, social, environmental, and operations management issues. One of the primary goals is to accomplish solutions to these issues in a neutral, and non-political way.

As more oil and gas is discovered unconventionally, it is clear that we have entered an era of hydrocarbon abundance. Although exploration and development projects executed in the next 20 years will become more complex, more difficult to execute, and more expensive, many of the leaders of the profession are leaving the field or are near retirement.

So during this time of massive change, following one of the longest downturns in the economics of oil and gas in history; the interchange of ideas and the upbringing of a new generation of energy professionals is as important a goal as when the WPC started in 1933.

The need for abundant fuel is just as acute in 2017 (e.g., more than one billion people lack access to electricity and modern cooking fuels, and 75 million new cars are sold each year, globally). There is an incredibly strong correlation between the use of fossil fuels and life expectancy, and between fossil fuel use and income; one can observe the recent history of China and India as examples. Human “flourishing” requires resources, and abundant energy (points made by Alex J. Epstein in his book “The Moral Case for Fossil Fuels,” 2014).

https://books.google.com/books?id=_ld9AwAAQBAJ&lpg=PP1&dq=Alex%20Epstein&pg=PP1#v=onepage&q=Alex%20Epstein&f=false

The First Congress, London, 1933

The First Petroleum Congress opened on July 19, 1933 at the Kensington Science Museum, led by its President, Thomas Dewhurst, and 830 delegates from 35 countries. There had been  massive developments in the oil industry since the last scientific oil conference, held in 1907, so presentations were given on the large numbers of reports on the geology of specific fields all over the world and techniques used in exploration and development. Topics included: knock-rating in motor and aviation gasoline, the development of special fuels for high-speed compression engines, recent developments in lubricating oil and viscosity, hydrogenation and the testing of bituminous emulsions.

Houston Congress, 1987

The 12^th Congress was held in Houston from April 26—May 1, 1987 and coincided with the massive Offshore Technology Conference (“OTC”). Close association and joint promotion resulted in higher attendance at both events. Then Vice President George H.W. Bush supported the US bid to host the Twelfth Congress, while the US Secretary of Energy, John S. Herrington, took part in the Opening Ceremony.

At the Houston Congress 2,286 participants from 72 countries presented 104 papers. During the conference, the most serious accident in the nuclear power industry to date occurred at the Chernobyl nuclear reactor, in the Soviet Union. Again, this accident raised serious doubts about the expansion of nuclear electricity generation.

The 23^rd Congress, to be held in Houston, 2020

WPC bestowed another honor, long overdue, on Houston, by choosing it to host the 23^rd Congress in 3 years (2020). Again, thousands of industry leaders will meet here in the world’s energy capital to present papers and carry on the tradition of discussing, learning, and promoting better management of the world’s petroleum resources. The economic impact during December 2020, typically a slow period for tourism, will be significant; most likely as impactful as any OTC of previous years.

Though not as dynamic as 2017’s Super Bowl LI, the WPC is known as the “Olympics” of the oil and gas sector, attracting over 6,000 delegates, 500 Ministers and CEOs, with an expected total of over 25,000 visitors to our city. Shortly after the mess is cleaned up from the massive invasion of professional football fans, the city can start gearing up for the 23^rd World Petroleum Congress. Merry Christmas, 2020! 

##

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Art Musings: What’s the Best Kind of Art?

The universal language of jazz, with healing in every riff.

One listens, absorbs, worships; contemplating life’s what-ifs.

A globule of oil, smudged or smeared, shaped into a lily,

Subtle strokes, airy blue hues, I wonder at such reality.

Translucent watercolor bleeds slightly over a boundary of pencil,

Underpinning the delicate pigment, lines serve as stencil.

Gelatin-silver, contrasting black & white images reflect off of shiny puddles, dotted with raindrops,

The suit, jumping shadows, almost purple-black, at one moment the shutter stops.

Rusting iron soldered at incongruent joints, splayed upon St. Augustine fields, baking in the sun.

Industrial art coexists with the elements, size and shape imbalanced, abstract, gargantuan.

Splattered, sprayed, sprinkled paint, explodes over a gigantic canvas,

Pollock expressed his colors wildly, understood by few of us.

Cerise mud, spun, fired, glowing in the furnace, glazed, painted, and shaped, still copper-red like the earth, The potter’s hands held the clay for what seemed a generation, gently letting it whirl away like a child growing up.

Words can seem scrambled, but go higher and deeper than any of the art you see or I saw,

I’ve read twice the number for pleasure, than I ever studied at law.

They spark with creativity, discussing many forms of art,

These media mentioned move me, but don’t go as deep into my heart.

Words bless, or harm, inform, enlighten with a mysterious power; but they can’t be taken back,

Sharp as a cutlass, pointed as a sword, plunged into flesh whether launched from defense or attack.

Comprehension or translation are lost on a wispy breath of the wind:

“Certains l'aiment chaud” they say, or
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” 

Can you tell me that again?

Formed together in poetry, words escape the prison of definition;

Sometimes they flutter and sparkle in the dark, fireflies of cognition.

Do they bounce, echo, drift like shadow, lying through their teeth,

Poetry flows to the ocean of truth by the river of deceit.

Visual art as described above, takes the mavens to different places,

Fascination, imitation, contemplation; you can see it in their faces.

Reading a paragraph so skillfully crafted, its contention ringing true in my ears,

“Listen to this,” I’ll say, reading it aloud, truth’s reverberation bringing me to tears.

Pages layered into plot as rings inside a tree, hardened bark covers the story;

A book opens a thousand doorways, using myth, truth, and allegory.

“I am an invisible man, called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and it was the worst of times,”

These snippets remind me of some of literature’s best opening lines.

Active, alive, and useful as a lamp unto my feet, the Bible.

I smell it like warm bread, knowing there is nourishment when I eat.

That place in my heart where the stockings are hung.

Warm, encouraging words are there; reading it I feel accepted, some call it “home.”

Opening this ancient text is, “Sursum Corda” meaning to uplift,

Dr. Luke's words tell of Christmas, and the most important gift.

Expounding more is wasting time, the art speaks for itself;

I will always look to get mine, from the dusty book shelf.

##

 Poetry 2016©Mark H. Pillsbury

Blogging... Five years in... The Sailboat...

(Dear Reader:)

Keeping a digital diary is very modern, but five years ago, in 2011 I started blogging just to try it out. Not thinking anyone would read my posts, it provided a channel for me to practice writing and find a voice for deeper expression. Also, as the supervisor of school communications, it was an experiment in social media: the Head of School thought Twitter was the coolest thing going, but wouldn't know a "weblog" if it rolled in front of his shiny grey Camry. The New Rostra was my own, and my impression is that many artists don’t create for their audiences until much later in their journey. Blogging allows the writer an intersection of their thoughts and lives; sometimes in juxtaposition, like my partner does here with her art and a diagnosis of breast cancer:

www.theartofcancerblog.wordpress.com

Origins
As I finish 5 and ½ years of blogging and this 142nd post, looking back, I see the same kinds of topics initially placed on the Blogspot® “Profile”: fiction, politics, religion, sports, culture, books, movies, wine, and basic “lifetime” story-telling which has attracted almost 46,000 site visits. Even in today’s fast paced social media society, some of my longest posts are the most clicked; nevertheless I am still surprised when a stranger takes the time to read and comment on what I’ve written. It's fun hitting the “Publish” key after spending time and effort writing a post; however, it is also rewarding to think that a reader out there relates to what you’ve written (agree, disagree, like, dislike, but just read it). This is not a Writer's Manifesto or a Declaration of Blogging Independence, but I'm sure that nowhere else can you sear ideas onto a page like a weblog. Twitter's 140 character limit is a ceiling, a natural filter, so it is on the New Rostra where I explore in depth those thoughts most captivating. 

Building the Machine
Through blogging I’m encouraged to write more, even attempting chapters which might someday be cobbled into a book. There’s a lot of fiction stirring around in my brain if I can ever find time to put it down in short chunks. As I’ve read two (well-known) best-selling authors' latest novels this month, it occurred to me that books are written one chapter at a time, like building a brick wall, brick-by-brick. There’s no magic to it—work is required, and continuity, flow, and character development must be consistent throughout; but a story is made like our lives unfold, one-day-at-a-time. These simple truths do not break any ground to anyone who writes, but blogging reinforces this reality.

Talking w/ Charlie Rose on 11/23/2016, Jon Stewart said about the challenge of developing his long-running Daily Show, which I'm comparing to the art of blogging:

“Would we be able to develop a process, within the inherent juxtaposition of a creative pursuit; which is to say, can we build a machine that is redundant enough, and rigid enough that it can sustain inspiration, improvisation, and creativity?” (end quote)

Dark Doubt
Like a dark enveloping cloud of dense fog, doubt seeps into a writer’s brain, and we tell ourselves there is just no use! No one will read this crap. Who has the time to go to your blog? Aren’t you glad you don’t feed your family doing this? Why would anyone believe anything you put down in writing, who do you think you are?… And so on. Since I’m not trying to leverage my website into advertising income, I don't fight the anxiety of caring (or needing to care) if anyone really visits. If writing posts is my "business", then I’ve lost the love of the work, giving up amateur-status (from Latin amator ‘lover,’ from amare ‘to love.’). Blogging is in some ways about Love. Without being critical of professionals, amateur-status for me, is like the force that makes the sailboat move across the ocean. From tracking site statistics, it is apparent that the more one writes, the more people visit, and the more passionate the topic, the more clicks the post receives. The love of the work, the frequency and passion with which it is done are important, and data has proven this at the New Rostra.

Obstacles
Allow me to admit that sometimes I don't know whether I'm lost or found; I lose the power to write, adrift without creativity (but this is not a investigation into the paradox of "writer's block"). So many topics and issues are on my mind, often I can't sort them out - the cup overflows. With the freedom to sail anywhere across the vast ocean, the writer must not veer off course; but instead, making tacks and turns throughout the plot, one must chart a course and find their destination. Along the way the cutter loses power, “in-irons” as the "doldrums" are called out on the sea. These doldrums, where doubt steals the usefulness of the sails, can only last awhile; soon the writer is back on her way, inspired and moving along with the winds, as if catching one’s breath. As in life, writing is a process, a task, a habit, which must be supported and practiced on a regular basis or it gets atrophied, slow, or even stilled. Doldrums can mean the loss of momentum: even though this blog is a priority, sometimes I can't summon the passion or motivation to write. It's OK to wait, and let curiosity build.

Tomorrow's Sunset
So, as the sun sets on another year of blogging, I'm looking forward to what next year brings?! I'm counting on numerous topics to power the canvas sails. Thank you to the reader, and a salute to all bloggers who think, feel, and post. Keep up the good work... Sail on!

Keeping my tradition of posting a music video to accompany my blog post:

Ben Rector -- "Sailboat"  https://youtu.be/rRyXY4oo21A

This song illustrates the writer's plight, we often feel like a sailboat... 

benrectormusic.com

The New Rostra©Mark H. Pillsbury

(Celebration, Florida) The Town Walt Built. Property Poetry.

In 11-square miles, with pastel-colored condos and warmly hued-homes,

Like the Magic Kingdom nearby, there opened a master-planned community.

Walt himself dreamed of a Disney-themed town that the company owned,

Named “Celebration” with housing, shopping, and public space in proximity.

Now 20 years later, the company sold the center of the city,

The condo owners have filed suit asking for repairs.

The legal claim about the condition is more than whether they’re pretty,

But the new owners, Lexin Capital, claim the fault is not theirs.

Even if this new urbanism seemed like the perfect plan,

Walt isn’t here to take care of the citizens.

This was the early vision of the man,

Yet property management and maintenance takes discipline.

Disney provided vision, money, and development of aesthetics,

At the beginning, it hired architects, builders, and planners.

“Now, we’re slapping on whitewash, or lipstick on a pig,” a board member said it’s pathetic.

Neighbors treat each other well; however, even Democrats show Republicans good manners.

Repair, replacement, and maintenance could cost over 15 million dollars,

A Utopian population of about 10 thousand, worry about resale value of property.

Disney sold its interest over 8-years ago, and now claims they only control exterior paint colors,

The name “Celebration” in its current condition, they say, turns Walt's vision into mockery.

(end)

Adapted from an article I read by @LauraKusisto

http://www.wsj.com/articles/leaks-and-mold-are-ruining-the-disney-magic-in-celebration-florida-1479249246

Poetry ©Mark H. Pillsbury (2016)

The Most Important Venn Diagram in Politics

Venn Diagram in Presidential Politics: 2016

I wrote previously about arbitrage (02/22/2013):  http://rostranovum.blogspot.com/2013/02/beginning-with-letter-arbitrage.html

Arbitrage is the method of finding a trading advantage because of some sort of unknown inequality. I’m fascinated by finding the angle or the area of analysis no one else is looking for?

There’s always a hinge-issue, a decision-point, a key deciding group that swings elections, and finding that group keeps political scientists busy every four years between major elections.

With so much of this cycle focused on the personalities and idiosyncrasies of the top candidates, feeding the cult of personality the salacious purple Kool-Aid of the 24-hour news cycle has dominated the thinking of the professional political class.

But I don’t care about the pundits; I’m interested in a large chunk of US citizens otherwise forgotten in our society. These voters are disaffected, disengaged, and outcast.

In the 2012, 58% percent of registered voters turned out for the very close election between President Obama and Mitt Romney; however, 93 million registered voters did not vote.

Currently, the federal agency which tracks employment, the Labor Department's Bureau of Labor Statistics, said 94.6 million working adults were no longer participating in the workforce—they aren’t employed and they no longer are seeking employment.

A Venn diagram is a diagram that uses circles to illustrate the relationships among sets, and in this case the two sets are as follows: Set A is the large block of registered adults who did not exercise their voting rights in the last Presidential election. Set B is the large group of adults that are of working age and cannot find a job, to the point that they are a group no longer even looking to find a job.

In a Venn diagram, the region in both A and B, where the two sets overlap, is called the intersection of A and B, and it is the area of critical importance in my current thinking regarding Tuesday’s Presidential election. It is the area where the non-voters and the unemployed intersect, a powerful voting block of motivated citizens (hypothetically).

It is at this intersection, where sincere political analysis raises a number of questions:

• How big is the overlap of Set A (non-voters) and Set B (non-workers)?
• Are the the millions in the overlap region motivated enough to decide to vote this Presidential election, as opposed to not voting last time?
• If these people do actually vote, for whom will that voting block cast their ballot?
• Is this voting group big enough to swing the election either way?
• How do these folks think about the direction of our country, or the quality of the nominees?

Wouldn’t this be a great group to track over the next 48-hours…

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Endless Summer: no one wants to read about endings...

Who Writes about Winter:

My Thoughts on the Close of Summer

Endings are hard. They’re even harder to write about. Discussing writing with my young journalist daughter this week, I told her that the hardest thing about writing for her paper is you have to write something that the reader will stay with, that’s why the lead is so important. But you can’t know what interests the reader; you have to write about what’s interesting.

That’s why endings are frequently the topic of discussion, but rarely enough to hold the reader’s attention in this fast-paced media environment. The writer only gets a few seconds nowadays, either grab them or lose them. Closing a chapter, or the end of an era usually holds significance to those whom were there. For me thinking about a high-school buddy who died too early, or the end of a season is interesting, but not to one who believes the rest of their life is like a long stretch of road melting into an orange horizon.

Often the road takes a sudden turn, or the tires go flat. Until you’ve been caught by circumstance without a Plan B, a startling conclusion to best laid plans is not a realistic alternative. When you’re young, it always happens to the other dude. I graduated from college almost thirty years ago, but at the time it seemed the fun would last forever.

And so here we are at the end of another summer. Summer always offers mystery and adventure, warm weather, warmer memories, time to explore and go through the schedule on a relaxed pace. All the years of summer vacation affect the nostalgic way we view the balmy months of June, July, and August. The unique bookend holidays at each side of summer accent its special place in the cultural calendar, and of course I previously wrote about the special holiday in the middle (see July 4, 2016—e pluribus unum).

Looking back today, on Labor Day, my regrets about this summer do exist on a personal level: I now know that there is no “endless summer” and at the end of the road I often regret that I didn’t pack more into the opportunity. I’m happy that the rest of the family enjoyed some adventures and vacation, but my summer involved mostly work and some back pain. OK, no one wants to read about that, but a path without obstacles has no destination.

So the universal thoughts of this season turn to the weather, food, books, travels, smells, and the long evenings with friends and companions bleeding the last bit of light out of a long, wonderful day. You remember those days? We look back on summer for its freedom, the whimsy of celebrations, the adventure of the journey, but most of all for the warmth and fullness of being alive. 

Spring is glorious for how we wait for its colorful eruption, the resurrection from the dead. Spring is the morning of the year. Fall is self-absorbed, organized, and determined to achieve what we've planned. Fall is less about fun, and more about keeping score. Winter is the dull hibernation, the killing of one year and the re-birth of another. Winter is the end. Not much creative writing about winter. ##

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Finally, let me recommend some brilliant writing about this summer which inspired this blog post:

Thank you, Bob Greene for saying it with such class, may my thoughts merely echo yours…

He said so eloquently that the real gift of summer is that there will be another one next year!

http://www.wsj.com/articles/summers-greatest-gift-is-that-next-year-there-will-be-another-1472769683