Balboa Park is enjoyed by native San Diegans as well as visitors. Its parks, gardens, and museums team with activity in this usually nice year-round climate. I say 'usually' because San Diego was cold, wet, and gloomy. Yes, they desperately need the rain and the mayor has initiated a water rationing plan that will begin this summer. However, for the winter-weary it was disappointing.
Despite the weather I visited several museums and galleries in the park. The buildings, since replaced with studier replicas, were built for the 1918 World's Fair that was designed to celebrate the opening of the Panama Canal. Balboa 'discovered' the Pacific Ocean so who better to name the park after. The park is also home to the famous San Diego Zoo which I also visited. It was a second trip to the zoo, but the pandas had not been installed on my last visit. It was special to see them and the koalas.
My favorite museum was the Mingei International Museum which specializes in the presentation of contemporary folk art, craft, and design from world cultures. Not withstanding the ugly and misleading caricatures outside the building, the museum's collection is beautiful, thought provoking, and diverse. Of particular interest was the Japanese exhibit demonstrating the concept of Shibui.
According to WikiPedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shibui "Shibui is a Japanese word which refers to a particular aesthetic of simple, subtle, and unobtrusive beauty...(that) can apply to a wide variety of subjects, not just art or fashion." Its original meaning, dating from the 14th century, suggested "astringent taste." Since the 17th century, the term defines anything "that was beautiful by being understated, or by being precisely what it was meant to be and not elaborated upon. Essentially, the aesthetic ideal of shibumi seeks out events, performances, people or objects that are beautiful in a direct and simple way, without being flashy." Shibui embraces the arts of the people.
The Museum exhibit enlarges on this definition. Shibui craftsmanship reflects a utilitarian and unadorned philosophy. The objects included in the collection are simple, everyday essentials of the common man. The exhibit includes dinnerware, chairs, clothes, and other everyday objects. Materials are natural and functional. Yet each is a work of art. Herein the paradox reveals itself.
Shibui translates well into European examples that are more familiar to me. What appears commonplace necessity, utilitarian, stripped of all non-essentials becomes rare and beautiful. Shibui is as elegant in its simplicity as the beautiful mathematical formula, epitomized in Einstein's equation E = mc². It is puissant in application, like a cosmic singularity. A shibui object is absolute potentiality veiled in functionality. The acerbic becomes a terrible beauty.
Both the haiku and an example of medieval Irish poetry demonstrate this concept in the language arts.
A splash of lightning sparks,
Forsythia;
Spring opening here today!
[Author unknown from The Haiku Anthology, n.d.]
The Sea
Look you out
northeastwards
over mighty ocean,
teaming with sea-life;
home of seals,
sporting, splendid,
its tide has reached
fullness.
[Medieval Irish Lyrics, translated by James Carney. Mount Rath Portlaoise, Ireland: Domen Press Ltd, c 1967, 1985, p. 41. The Irish poetry is elegant in the original Gaelic, but an English translation will have to do.]
In these comparisons and examples I realized that Shibui summons my memory of the essential Epicurean goal of ataraxia, which translates as tranquility, equanimity, and repose of mind. In this paradox the Epicurean becomes Stoic. The cold rain no longer causes irritation. Viewing the crafts of Japanese artisans helped banish the winter in my mind. I was exactly where I wanted to be, simple and unassuming.
We would do well to seek shibui/ataraxia in our daily lives, and more importantly, in our souls.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Gullible's Travels: A Transcendental Interlude
We’ve just returned from southern California which is home to some of the country’s mega-mega churches. The thrill of breathing the same air with folks who attend the Crystal Cathedral or with the super-preacher, Rich Warren, sends shivers down my spinal column. How can such a rarefied atmosphere not affect one?
I think it might have. While preparing dinner last evening I asked my husband to bring in a few potatoes from the larder. He brought three, one of which was naturally shaped like a heart. “Wow, call Jerry Springer.” I cried. I looked more closely at my “love potato.” Could it be? If I looked very closely—preferably with my glasses off—did I really see the face of the Lord? An amazing wonder lay on the counter, Jesus in the Potato.
It was truly a wondrous miracle, especially after cutting into three onions before finding one that wasn’t rotten. “Jesus in the Potato, praise the Lord!” Others have seen such miraculous wonders in wax drippings or on the walls of a Chicago viaduct. In fact, “Our Lady of the Underpass” is scheduled for the PBS pledge drive tonight. Now I have had a visitation worthy of the 6 o’clock news. The Lord had chosen my kitchen counter and I was inspired.
I brought the potato into hubby’s den. In my best ministerial voice I proclaimed, “Alleluia! Jesus has chosen to appear in my potato. Send money, brother, and I will praise the Lord in your name.” Hubby was curiously unimpressed. His attention was focused on the 250 plus stock market losses of the day. Philistine!
“Brother, the Lord wants me to save you.” I held the potato high in the air as I invoked higher powers. While doing so, I glanced at the back of the Jesus Potato. Sure enough, it revealed the three-quarters profile of a squirrel. “Alleluia! Jesus is speaking through this humble cook. Send money. The Lord loves you, hubby. And he loves the ground squirrels enough to share my potato.”
I explained that the Lord’s message to the world was clear. “Send money. Send money so the Lord and I can build a Squirrel Haven.” My husband is a particular sinner with respect to Jesus’ chosen rodent. He has been destroying nests high up in the oak tree again. “Alleluia! Jesus and the squirrel on my potato can only mean that I have been chosen to shelter the least of His creatures. Send money!”
Hubby offered to send money for a ‘Squirrel Heaven’ which reflects a certain insensitivity on his part. “Jesus in the Potato is a sign, you sinner.” I was pulling out all stops. “You need to be saved. Send money. This Potato was sent for your redemption.”
“More like for my dinner,” he mumbled.
As I left his den, sincerely praying for his squirrel hating soul, I tried to think of other ways to get my message to true believers while converting the doubtful. I rushed back into the den. “Jesus in the Potato has one final message. It’s your last chance. Send money.” My husband turned on his favorite news program, wondering if dinner would ever make it to the table. “You’re going to be watching me on that TV,” I prophesied.
He turned to look at me. “What’s Jesus’ final message?”
I knew I had him now. “Well,” I said. “Jesus also says that 'Roland Burris is the best man for the job'. So there!” He tossed me a quarter.
Returning to the kitchen, I whispered under my breath, “Praise the Lord.”
Alleluia! I only needed two of those potatoes so I decided to spare the ‘Jesus in the Potato’ potato—at least as long as the donations continue to trickle in.
Who says travel isn’t rewarding?
I think it might have. While preparing dinner last evening I asked my husband to bring in a few potatoes from the larder. He brought three, one of which was naturally shaped like a heart. “Wow, call Jerry Springer.” I cried. I looked more closely at my “love potato.” Could it be? If I looked very closely—preferably with my glasses off—did I really see the face of the Lord? An amazing wonder lay on the counter, Jesus in the Potato.
It was truly a wondrous miracle, especially after cutting into three onions before finding one that wasn’t rotten. “Jesus in the Potato, praise the Lord!” Others have seen such miraculous wonders in wax drippings or on the walls of a Chicago viaduct. In fact, “Our Lady of the Underpass” is scheduled for the PBS pledge drive tonight. Now I have had a visitation worthy of the 6 o’clock news. The Lord had chosen my kitchen counter and I was inspired.
I brought the potato into hubby’s den. In my best ministerial voice I proclaimed, “Alleluia! Jesus has chosen to appear in my potato. Send money, brother, and I will praise the Lord in your name.” Hubby was curiously unimpressed. His attention was focused on the 250 plus stock market losses of the day. Philistine!
“Brother, the Lord wants me to save you.” I held the potato high in the air as I invoked higher powers. While doing so, I glanced at the back of the Jesus Potato. Sure enough, it revealed the three-quarters profile of a squirrel. “Alleluia! Jesus is speaking through this humble cook. Send money. The Lord loves you, hubby. And he loves the ground squirrels enough to share my potato.”
I explained that the Lord’s message to the world was clear. “Send money. Send money so the Lord and I can build a Squirrel Haven.” My husband is a particular sinner with respect to Jesus’ chosen rodent. He has been destroying nests high up in the oak tree again. “Alleluia! Jesus and the squirrel on my potato can only mean that I have been chosen to shelter the least of His creatures. Send money!”
Hubby offered to send money for a ‘Squirrel Heaven’ which reflects a certain insensitivity on his part. “Jesus in the Potato is a sign, you sinner.” I was pulling out all stops. “You need to be saved. Send money. This Potato was sent for your redemption.”
“More like for my dinner,” he mumbled.
As I left his den, sincerely praying for his squirrel hating soul, I tried to think of other ways to get my message to true believers while converting the doubtful. I rushed back into the den. “Jesus in the Potato has one final message. It’s your last chance. Send money.” My husband turned on his favorite news program, wondering if dinner would ever make it to the table. “You’re going to be watching me on that TV,” I prophesied.
He turned to look at me. “What’s Jesus’ final message?”
I knew I had him now. “Well,” I said. “Jesus also says that 'Roland Burris is the best man for the job'. So there!” He tossed me a quarter.
Returning to the kitchen, I whispered under my breath, “Praise the Lord.”
Alleluia! I only needed two of those potatoes so I decided to spare the ‘Jesus in the Potato’ potato—at least as long as the donations continue to trickle in.
Who says travel isn’t rewarding?
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