I'm not sure how to take them graciously.
So I'll probably take them badly. But first I'll ramble incoherently. (For you. All for you. And a little bit for me because I like to hear my head rattle.)
One of the classes I'm taking this semester is "Alabama Black Belt." It's a special course, a collaboration between geography, archeaology, literature, history, and art professors. (There are more disciplines represented, but I can't remember them all).
They treat us to supper every night we meet (5:30 - 8:30 pm Mondays). Supper consists of authentic "black belt" food, complete with an explanation of the foods we're eating and the time period they evolved, who cooked them and how and why. The course seems to center around a visiting artist who has been named our 2005 Weil Fellow. Basically, this is a grant from a well-to-do family (the Weil family, natch) in town who provides a grant (amount unknown) to the artist who has been selected by the board to spend time with the students and share his work.
Our Weil Fellow is Mr. William Christenberry. He does sculptures from his photography, as well as rather surreal paintings (although I believe his style is modern impressionism, or something like that).
I'd never heard of him. I don't follow art, really. Occasionally, I stumble across an artist whose work I really admire, but it isn't often. I'd looked through the book we had to get for the class that contains pictures of much of his work (admittedly, sculptures and paintings don't transfer well to a photograph), and thought he was okay. It just didn't ring my bell, artistically.
At the same time, I'd spent quite a bit of time reading Alabama in the 20th Century by Dr. Wayne Flynt, a professor of history at Auburn University. I'm quite taken with the book. I can appreciate the research that he's put into it, as well as the skill with which he shares what he's learned. This is a rarity indeed: a history book that tells stories. Stories with points. Stories with punchlines. It's very human, this book, but it's undeniably a history book.*
* I've long complained that historians take fabulous stories, of which history is comprised, and suck all the life out of them until they are just dry facts, then wonder why students hate history.
Last night at our first class meeting, both men were present. All of the collaborating professors presented something on Alabama's Black Belt,* then--following dinner--Dr. Flynt and Mr. Christenberry did their presentations. While they were giving their presentations, it was clear that several of the professors were clearly atwitter over Mr. Christenberry in every respect. It was almost unseemly.
* This is an area of the state that not only has black, alluvial topsoil but also a specific culture, a large part of which is African American. It boasts the rise of plantations as well as the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement. The Alabama Black Belt is an area that is just dripping with history.
Well, he seems like a gentleman of the nicest sort to me, and I like his work all right. Maybe I just don't get art. Perhaps I'm simply too literal to appreciate an artist's attempt to convey emotion. I accept this as a possibility.
Or perhaps it simply isn't to my taste. I mean, I like some music but not other music. Rap, for example...I've never liked rap. I just don't get it. I don't see the talent necessary to produce it* and I don't enjoy listening to it. But that's just my taste.
* In all fairness, I might change my tune (so to speak) were I to attempt producing some. I never enjoyed watching golf on TV until I tried swinging the club.
For that matter, maybe I simply am not impressed. I don't gaze in awe and wonder, looking for the nuances of a tortured psyche, when I see something that I could have produced with fingerpaints before the age of five. Instead, I gaze in awe and wonder and say, "Someone paid how much for this? I'm in the wrong racket."
When it comes to photography, I don't see the difficulty there, either. Good art photographers--I mean, people with an eye for composition--seem to be rare, so I can appreciate a good eye and perfect perspective and the ability to capitalize on color. Like calligraphy, though, photography is something that I don't remember ever not knowing how to do it. I can appreciate a talented photographer, but I don't lose my mind over him like a groupie.
This is all to say that I simply don't understand the almost worshipful behavior of the faculty toward our Weil Fellow. They practically drool when they mention him. (To his credit, he acts as though he's completely unaware that they regard him as anything other than "Bill.")
But no one mooned over Flynt. That's strange to me, because I think he's definitely the more talented of the two. Michelle took the book (that we're sharing) to him for him to sign it, and she told him simply, "I really like your work. It's a good book."
I thought, that's about what I would have said, too. As she pointed out, the very fact that she enjoyed the book enough to want him to sign it should tell him more than she could say. But other than that, what do you say?
He replied simply and graciously. I can't remember what he said, exactly. Maybe just a smile and "Thank you."
And thus, thinking of my reactions to these two accomplished men to their admirers, I turn to those who compliment my ramblings here in the ether.
I'd like to say that I never quite know how to respond when someone sincerely compliments me. "Thank you" sometimes doesn't feel substantial enough to convey how it makes me feel to know that someone out there really appreciates what I write and enjoys how I say it. I sometimes read back through what I've written, trying to see what's special about it.
I guess it's a bit like Christenberry being flabbergasted that people looked at his simple photos of common scenes back home and saw art. He was just doing what he loved, preserving a moment. He never dreamed that those snapshots--all of the early ones with a Brownie camera Christmas present and with film developed in the local drugstore--would be seen by so many as meaningful, as beautiful, as art.
It baffles me, I guess, because to me, what I write doesn't really seem to be anything special. But it's so nice to know it's special to you.
Thank you.
d
