Coal Mining and Floor Problems: Photographs

Ben Shahn: Boys who salvage coal...

Sitting in shards of coal the two boys tried to find the piece that was the roundest. They had been digging all day in the soot, their faces and clothing now black. It was a game, collect the most pieces of tiny coal as possible before sundown. Really there was nowhere else for them to play in their small backwoods town; here they were able to get dirty and get away from home. The mine, which the coal had slipped away from, lay a few miles down the road over a hill. Both of the boy's fathers worked in the dark hole; so in a way they were connected to them. Picking up black rocks and shoving them in their pockets, similar to the way the older men would take the same stones and put them in wheelbarrows.

This photograph instantly reminded me of my grandfather. He lived in a coal mining town and tells stories of how he and his cousin would go to the outskirts of the mine and pick up pieces of coal. In his town there really wasn't much to do, so they explored the mines and eventually became miners themselves. This photograph to me showed two boys that were having a great time playing piles of coal while their parents were working in the mines.

Edwin Locke: Walker Evans

The problem of the day is a big one. He slides to the floor in his office, ignoring his chair that stands mere feet away. As he runs a hand through his hair he stares at the white wall in front of him. This problem should have an easy solution, but for some reason he just can't see it. His hand drifts up to his cheek, his pinky finding its way in between his teeth. He'll bite his nail off before he solves this problem if he's not careful.

This photograph made me think of myself. There are many days where sitting in a chair just won't help; where it becomes more of a floor-big-problem. Meaning that there are so many issues going on in my head, I need enough space to deal with them and a small chair and table aren't enough. Whatever Walker Evans was going through it must've been a hefty thing because he looks lost and in the midst of his thoughts. There are definitely days that I feel this way, as well as look that way.

Death will Come to Us All

This little story of a moth is quite captivating. It's just about watching a moth, that happens to be out in the day, die but it contains great enough detail and simplicity that it holds attention. The moth itself even takes on a personality. Compassion is felt toward the moth as it struggles for life. The line "had he been born in any other shape" definitely makes one think about what kind of life the moth leads. Even if the moth is aware of its own being. Virginia Woolf makes the assumption that the moth is in fact aware of this. To think that the moth is aware of its own being makes the last line even more strong. Almost sadder but content.

In a way the moth is given the characteristics of being stronger than a human for it accepts death when Woolf would have tried to help it. The moth fought death and in the end let it come. Woolf even states that the moth was "uncomplainingly composed" as it lay rigid. Most humans try to fight death, after all there are so many ways to seem young; botox, lipo-suction, medication of all kinds, and general health foods. As humans it seems that we try to put off death, but this small moth who had all life against it, accepted its fate without a complaint. In a way it would seem that we, as humans, should be like the moth and not complain about our fate. For we are all going to die one day, whether we like it or not.

Once was Blind but Now I See

So when I read this I started thinking about the idea of not just physical blindness but being blind to things mentally. As in not acknowledging that an item is there because of ignorance or just not wanting to. People are blind, and make themselves blind, all the time. I could walk into a room filled with people but only see one person because I've made myself blind to everyone else. I could even focus my attention to one subject, say english, and completely forget that math exists. This is a problem and there are many that have it, or so I believe. I feel as though Borges is talking about reintroducing oneself to subjects and breaking down the walls that create the blindness. Borges does this himself as he learns Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian. He finds new sounds, new words that trigger emotions and meanings. It's a discovery that clears away blindness. It's also this discovery that he encourages his readers to do. For even those that can see are blind as the old hymn states; the way to clear our sight and help us see again is to reveal truths, and to spark our bored minds.

Now I'm not saying that it wasn't interesting that a blind man wrote poems and books, because it was. I really didn't know that some of those authors were in fact blind; nor the strange coincidence that librarians in charge of great stacks of books were also blind. The way he described his blindness was rather interesting; for there was still color but no blackness. It's like trying to understand how a deaf person hears. Do they hear nothing or do they at least hear mumbles and echoes? His description did keep me enthralled.

But why a person would want to voluntarily go blind is a matter that I haven't fully understood. He stated that Milton did that. In a fleeting line, Borges says that it is so that "reality would not distract" (384). This line is odd for I would think that reality would lend to fuel creativity but the line is also paired with a statement of castration. So would the reality be of pure distraction? This would possibly go back to my idea of perhaps they aren't blind at all. Perhaps they are just trying to seclude themselves from the common distractions of life to dive into the work that they have. Work of learning new things.

We're All Cracked Plates

Well my first reaction to this piece came when I got the second paragraph. Fitzgerald, in the middle of the paragraph writes "It seemed a romantic business to be a successful literary man-" and ends the section with "but I, for one, would not have chosen any other [trade]." His sentiment between these lines strikes me as, ah! someone who gets me! I, for one have chosen the life of writing and am coming to the realization that yes, I won't have any fame. If any is to be bestowed upon me it will be once I'm dead probably not coming even then for centuries after the fact. I hate politics and though I have strong religious convictions, I am consistently unsatisfied with my writing and with the conclusions that I've come with. But isn't that what writing is supposed to be? A forever changing, forever unsatisfactory work between an author, or many.

The rest of his piece reminded me of someone who was longing for a connection to something important; someone who wanted to make something of his life but was having trouble doing so. And so to remedy that they escape their surroundings and the life that they know, they change drastically. Fitzgerald even shows that in the end when he throws out all his letters, changes his smile, and even his voice. He believes that he has found himself through the idea of what a writer is supposed to look and sound like.

If that is what a writer is supposed to look and sound like, I don't want to be a writer. He makes writers seem very selfish and quite pretentious. It might also have to do with the time period that he is living in but I doubt it. The idea that he brings across just bothers me. To me writing is a craft that involves many people and many different ideas. A writer can't separate himself from others because he will need them eventually.

But then Fitzgerald was also dealing with the idea of losing who he was. He had the image of him hugging a pillow for an hour. This is a break down. He needed a complete change, a revitalization of sorts. That in essence scares me. If this is his mid-life crisis for he mentions that he's around 40yrs old, does that mean that most people second guess themselves, and that's why they do drastic things like buy expensive cars. Now I get that this is a leap but still, the idea bothers me.

That's Farce, That's Theatre, That's Life

Mencken's essay, "On Being an American" reminded me of a quote that I used to have posted in my room. "Life is a tragedy for those that feel, and a comedy for those that think." This quote has been claimed by Horace Walpole, Jean de la Bruyere, and Moliere; but no one has been able to decide which one actually said it first. But that doesn't make much difference; what does it the significance of the quote. In relation to Mencken's essay, the quote weaves in perfectly. For Mencken sees Americans as players in a theatrical performance and it's hysterical to him. To some what he describes would seem horrible. Slapstick comedy for instance, Mencken uses throughout the essay, many don't like that sort of comedy. They see it as crude and mean but he finds it amusing. When that's applied to life, things get a bit twisted. The same goes for the presidential debates, they are supposed to be straight forward arguments. Mencken sees the comedy in it and brings it out.

There are many things that happen in America that are comedic when it's just thought about. If people stop "feeling" about things, and that's not to say that feelings are bad because they aren't, it's just to say that Americans have a tendency to take events personally. Even when the events didn't happen to them individually. Oh, the multi-million dollar football player that sits on the bench for half the season played one game, he tore a muscle and now you think the team has no chance of making it to the Super Bowl? Really, you want to tell me that's the reason they aren't going? Little things like that are funny and yet people get so worked up over them. Even if something does happen to someone individually, it can still be funny. Take the football example again. The quarter back that never lets you down except when it's cold and sometimes when it's raining too hard just messed up again? And you're going to throw a fit because you're not going to win your fantasy football game. It's a small thing but still comedic.

Mencken is pointing out that there are many things that happen to us that should be considered comedic and not end-of-the-world problems. Living in America is a good thing. We should be happy to live here not complain about it. There are people who live in worse conditions after all.