I’ve been lucky enough to have taught at CUNY and Smith, two places that are very committed to economic inequality. My dad and I just had an interesting conversation about Smith and a place called Berea College this weekend, and it didn’t take long for me to find a new piece from The Chronicle, via a Slate post called ‘What Would Smith Do?’:
Pell Grant recipients account for a quarter of the undergraduates at Florida State University and Smith College, for 35.2 percent at the University of California at Los Angeles, and for 77.4 percent at Berea College, which makes educating the neediest students its mission.
My dad brought me to Berea when I was a teenager, and I have wanted to return at some point. I think that nothing would make him happier for me to teach there. (There’s also a recent New York Times piece on the ‘Ivy League Letdown.’)
I will admit, sheepishly, that my first impression was ‘Oh my, I would love to buy one of those,’ when I started reading about the oil paintings produced in Dafen, China. The little village, located in the south east of china, has been getting a lot of attention for producing 60% of the world’s market of reproductions of famous paintings (see Chicago Tribune and Der Spiegel). The Atlantic has some incredible pictures. This area has hundreds of factories where artists spend their days slaving away at di Vincis, O’Keefes, Klimts, Manets, and Yue Minjuns, shipping out $120 million worth of art last year alone. What this says about aura will surely be a topic in class on Tuesday. The aura of the sweatshop? I can just imagine my own instinct played out: “Oh, and over here we have our Mona Lisa… That’s right, it is a copy, made in a real Chinese sweatshop!” This is from a conversation with an 18 year old factory worker in the Trib article:
“We divide up the colors among us,” said Zeng, working his way briskly along a line of 10 identical contemporary-style paintings, applying a stripe of brown, while a teenage partner worked on the red. Surrounded by dozens more identical pieces at the sprawling Artlover factory, he explained: “By dividing up the work, contrasting colors stay clearest.”
The Trib article goes on to talk about how they have 5,000 artists, 700 galleries, and a new museum under construction. Will the latter be a mixture of copies of famous works and originals by the copyists? (Mt. Holyoke’s Ajay Sinha has apparenty given talks about the 200 history of the Chinese producing mass art for the West.) Pics from The Atlantic:
I wrote earlier about ‘Sock City,’ and this is a topic that spans both my Media and Technology class and my urban one. There’s also a professor of management science at Instead that has written a program that ‘writes’/’auto-assembles’ books (e.g., ‘The Official Patient’s Sourcebook on Acne Rosacea’ and ‘The 2007-2012 Outlook for Tufted Washable Scatter Rugs, Bathmats and Sets That Measure 6-Feet by 9-Feet or Smaller in India’) using relevant information from the public domain. Phillip Parker and his team of software engineers have written 200,000 books. (The above two books sell for $24.95 and $495, respectively.)
I have not felt much like blogging as of late. End of the semester woes, mild existential crisis on re-engaging with themes and ideas that I left behind a few years ago. To the rescue comes my dark brother Allen and dear Graeme who get me thinking about Paul Auster and Siegfried Kracauer. For them, I’ll just post this quote from a seat at the Haymarket Cafe:
The author lays his idea on the marble table of the cafe. Lengthy meditation, for he makes se of the time before the arrival of his glass, the pens through which he examines the patient. Then, deliberately, he unpacks his instruments: fountain pens, pencil, and pipe. The numerous clientele, arranged as in an amphitheater, make up his clinical audience. Coffee, carefully poured and consumed, puts the idea under chloroform. What this idea may be has no more connection with the matter at hand than the dream of an anesthetized patient with the surgical intervention. With the cautious lineaments of handwriting the operator makes incisions, displaces internal accents, cauterizes proliferations of words, inserts a foreign term as a silver rib. At last the whole is finely stitched together with punctuation, and he pays the waiter, his assistant, in cash.
Walter Benjamin, ‘One Way Street‘
Q: Do they teach about degradation ceremonies in journalism school?
Q: Was I clear that Goffman used the term, but that it’s from Harold Garfinkel?
A: Not enough.