Me, preparing things.
And so we find ourselves at Thursday once again. And you all know what that means. If I were a betting woman, I'd already have my money down on Master P's clomping his way right off the show tonight. But between now and 8 p.m., I must do my best impersonation of this guy:
I discovered Raoul Hausman's "Der Geist unserer Zeit (Mechanischer Kopf)" ("The Spirit of the Age (Mechanical Head)") (1919) in an advertisement for MOMA's upcoming DaDa show, sometime during the break. Hausman was one of the Berlin DaDaists. (Sometime I will tell you more about why DaDa pleases me so reliably. It has to do with, of all people and places, Roland Penrose and the Dean Gallery in Edinburgh, not to mention the Spanish Civil War.) The Mechanischer Kopf lives at the Centre Pompidou, that wacky palace of enormous pipes and mystifying escalators and tremendous modern art, in Paris. And he's the best representation I've seen of what it feels like to craft syllabi, which I continue to do--though with a more pleasant expression on my face. These days of high seriousness are also days of high humor.
If you feel like feeding your own mechanical head--because I know I'm not quite holding up my end of the bargain today--hie your way to the Centre Pompidou's website and play with its online library. You'll need your rudimentary French (you know, the French in your brain that could still say, "Je voudrais un cafe, s'il vous plait," because you brushed it up with a crazy Bulgarian who tried to tell you that Julia Kristeva was only famous because of her husband.... oh, right: only a couple of us went through that, and one of us--not me, I'll add--took out his frustration by translating a story about howitzers as a final project) once you get into the searching, but I think you'll do just fine. If you look around enough, you'll find the source for today's image.
I discovered Raoul Hausman's "Der Geist unserer Zeit (Mechanischer Kopf)" ("The Spirit of the Age (Mechanical Head)") (1919) in an advertisement for MOMA's upcoming DaDa show, sometime during the break. Hausman was one of the Berlin DaDaists. (Sometime I will tell you more about why DaDa pleases me so reliably. It has to do with, of all people and places, Roland Penrose and the Dean Gallery in Edinburgh, not to mention the Spanish Civil War.) The Mechanischer Kopf lives at the Centre Pompidou, that wacky palace of enormous pipes and mystifying escalators and tremendous modern art, in Paris. And he's the best representation I've seen of what it feels like to craft syllabi, which I continue to do--though with a more pleasant expression on my face. These days of high seriousness are also days of high humor.
If you feel like feeding your own mechanical head--because I know I'm not quite holding up my end of the bargain today--hie your way to the Centre Pompidou's website and play with its online library. You'll need your rudimentary French (you know, the French in your brain that could still say, "Je voudrais un cafe, s'il vous plait," because you brushed it up with a crazy Bulgarian who tried to tell you that Julia Kristeva was only famous because of her husband.... oh, right: only a couple of us went through that, and one of us--not me, I'll add--took out his frustration by translating a story about howitzers as a final project) once you get into the searching, but I think you'll do just fine. If you look around enough, you'll find the source for today's image.
posted by Dr. S at 10:50 AM
3 Comments:
Kristeva only famous because of her husband (who no one has heard of)? That's just the tip of the iceberg! Surely you haven't forgotten the day You-Know-Who attempted to debunk feminism in Three Easy Steps?
Sometimes--but just sometimes--I try to parcel out the badness, bit by bit, rather than delivering it all at once.
Which is my way of saying, of course I remember. And I don't think I was even in class that day.
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