Know/Feel

Chuck Klosterman wrote in his essay "Through a Glass, Blindly," (found in his book, Eating the Dinosaur) that "Observing someone without context amplifies the experience. The more we know, the less we are able to feel." The rest of the essay continues to argue this point with examples relating to voyeurism such as watching people who live in the apartments across the street from you to how a movie once watched can never have the same impact a second time.

His argument is logical, I get it. Who doesn't wish they could rewatch their favorite movie for the first time, not knowing what's going to happen next? How often do I wish I could reread the Harry Potter series with fresh eyes, not knowing everything that's coming in the next book, or chapter, or page, or sometimes sentence?

But I disagree with his assertion. Sometimes having no context means having little meaning. Now, my design teacher freshman year proved to us that our minds will create stories and context with as little as three chairs in a room. His goal in the exercise was to prove that we don't actually need actors emoting on a stage; my classmates and I were all perfectly capable of creating situations in which we felt sympathy with the chair that was being abandoned by the other chairs, or afraid for the two chairs that were being attacked by the third, or concerned for ourselves being cornered by the chairs. But I still think that part of what makes ending images of so many books and movies and plays so impactful is an understanding of how they relate to earlier themes and images of the story.

When I reread the Potter books now, having already read each of them more times than I can count, there is less suspense. There is less mystery. I know that Mad Eye Moody isn't really Mad Eye Moody, and that Sirius Black is a good guy, and that Slughorn told Voldemort about horcruxes. But knowing the whole story, from beginning of book one to end of book seven gives me insight into plenty of things I must have missed before, like mentioning Sirius Black right in chapter one of book one. Certain moments, like Neville standing up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, mean more, because I can see it as the start of his friendship with him and his growth into a brave and successful student and friend. This summer as I read the books I ran across moments that are secretly important later and mini explosions in my stomach would erupt - LOOK! SHE TELLS US RIGHT HERE, BUT WE WON'T KNOW UNTIL BOOK FIVE! SHE IS SUCH A GENIUS! I couldn't know when I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and heard Hagrid tell Dumbledore about Sirius' bike that Sirius Black would be the pivotal, title character of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

I'm trying to figure out how to conduct an experiment in which an audience watches a scene without context and then with context and figure out which has more emotional impact. This is not about intellect, this is about our capacity to feel. Don't we feel even when things we expect happen? This is a very young work in progress.

Trapped in a Tree Trunk

A lot of things are changing. I'm apprehensive about this semester, because I can see it being so different from my entire last year at Playwrights. I will not be spending any time with the two people with whom I spent 90% of last year. This is confusing and a little depressing. Sure, it's time to "make new friends!" but I didn't really attempt to do that all summer; I just sat around the house.

I keep reminding myself to have faith. And I do. I will continue to survive, and I still want to get back to PHTS more than anything, even though I am afraid of the completely unfamiliar and uncomfortable silences that I know will accompany the familiar heartwarming feelings of being back where I belong.

I wonder about mistakes. I hope everything is okay.

My soul seems split, over many things, between "OHMYGOD AWESOME!" and "ugh why i hate everything." I'm not really sure what to do with that, except let it exist and wait for it to wash away.

It's kind of silly how when someone is already hundreds of miles away, going hundreds more miles away doesn't really affect things much. But somehow, it does.

A Nomadic Existance

For the last ten days I've been on the road with my family journeying from Chicago to
various points in a generally north-easterly direction. I haven't slept in the same place for more than two nights in a row since sometime in mid-July. My computer stayed home on this trip, so I haven't been posting even though I've been writing a lot in my head. I'll be home for a night tomorrow and then I'm off again for dive days to a UU conference, so I'll basically still be out of touch. It's been sort of a nice change, I guess, not being glued to the computer, but I've also been lonely and wishing for more contact with my friends.

I'm typing this on my iPod, which is much less satisfying and simultaneously more difficult than typing on a computer, so I'll leave my "I'm alive" check-in here for the night. I am grateful I at least live in a suburb of Chicago and not Pittsburgh.