The NYC Tea Party, April 15, 2009

For the past 20-odd years, whenever I’ve seen a protest rally in NYC I’ve given it a wide berth. Such rallies usually offer the sort of speeches that require shouting after every sentence and are interspersed with long periods of angry chanting, all amidst pushing and shoving and general misbehavior. The average age of the participants is 20, and the cause being supported is usually a couple light-years to the far side of the extreme left. Why would I go to a protest? I’ve always known that changing someone’s mind depends on reasoned argument, not decibels.

But I decided this week that there’s one exception to that. When attempting to get a politician’s attention, decibels matter more than reasoned arguments, particularly when the decibels are emitted by a large collection of voters. I went to the tea party mostly to provide another visible, vocal voter … and was pleasantly surprised.

First of all, everyone I saw in the crowd was well dressed (as if they’d just come from a paying job), patient, and polite to the surrounding NYPD officers. The average age was probably 40. The crowd eventually stretched for 3 or 4 blocks along Broadway, and from the fence of City Hall Park across a wide sidewalk, a lane or two of the street (barricaded from traffic), and another wide sidewalk. The people toward the back could not possibly see the people on stage, yet they did not push and shove. They read and commented on the protest signs held up by members of the crowd. They listened to the speakers and clapped at appropriate times. The only thing they didn’t do well was shout in unison: whenever the organizers tried to get a chant going, it fizzled. This rather amused me—we were obviously a thinking crowd unwilling to play “follow the demagogue.”

As for the content of the speeches: I doubt that anyone who didn’t already believe government spending was out of control was converted; such conversion happens in the privacy of one’s thoughts, not in the presence of amplifiers on city streets. That said, the speeches were much better than I had expected, with repeated praise for capitalism and calls for a government responsible to the people. One speaker referred obliquely to Atlas Shrugged. I saw several signs that explicitly referred to Atlas, and met a woman who was handing out ARC’s flyer. The attendees seemed to be hard-working and thoughtful people—precisely the sort who might be persuaded by Ayn Rand’s arguments, if they are intrigued enough to read her works.

As we were leaving, the event’s organizer reminded us not to leave trash on the ground, making a joke that this was probably the only time in the history of NYC protest rallies that such a request had been made. I didn’t see so much as a dropped tissue as we left.

The rudest the crowd ever got was in expressing its disapproval of New York’s senior U.S. senator. While it would be more accurate to shout, “If the Senator disapproves of the American Constitution and defending Americans abroad, I do not wish to have him representing me,” I have to admit (purely as a student of rhetoric) that shouting “Schumer sucks” has more punch. I hope the TV crews covered that bit and gave the senator cause for insomnia.

History as Prozac

I am usually “even tempered and good-natured, whom you never hear complain,” but like Henry Higgins, occasionally I get furiously angry. My trigger at the moment is the upcoming presidential election. As an Objectivist, I don’t think the government should dictate how I run my private life or my business; it ought to confine itself to protecting individual rights, including protecting me from attacks foreign or domestic. (See Ayn Rand’s “The Nature of Government.”) McCain and Obama are both promising more regulations and more government programs that would affect every aspect of my life, and neither one has convinced me that he’ll fight genuine threats such as Iran. So when I see either one talking on TV, I soon find myself shouting at them, and wondering how a nation with such brilliant founding principles can survive, if we're reduced to choices such as this. Pass the Prozac, please.

 My Prozac is history, because history gives me a sense of perspective on passing events. Last summer I started working part-time as a cataloguer for Martayan Lan, a bookseller specializing in works printed before 1800, particularly the history of science, travel and discovery, and art and architecture. I typically skim a book and then write a page-long description of it, setting the book in context as a major contribution to knowledge, a quaint leftover from an earlier age, or something between. Recently I’ve described a 17th-century book on heart defects, a collection of reports submitted by Jesuits around the world in the 1590s, French newspapers promoting the California Gold Rush, and a compilation of women’s legal rights in 16th-c. Portugal.

Not long ago I described a book of medical aphorisms: Latin couplets that purported to help students and physicians remember how to diagnose and/or treat various ailments. The information in the poems was probably centuries old when the book came out, and had mostly likely been distorted by years of unthinking repetition to the point of being useless, if not outright harmful.

Here's the kicker: the book was published in 1589. Forty years earlier (the whole working life of a physician at that time), Andreas Vesalius had dissected cadavers and had published the results of his research in a beautiful multi-volume work. (See the illustrations at http://tinyurl.com/6nxkr9 ). Others were also finally looking at nature rather than parroting ancient and medieval authors: physicians of this era described the circulation of the blood in the lungs and set the foundation for the systematic study of tropical diseases. Those at the cutting edge in science knew better than to simply memorize and apply medieval solutions in Latin doggerel. Many of them must have howled with rage that any publisher would print works such as Scholtz' Aphorismorum medicinalium.

And yet … eventually books like that were no longer published. Those who were constantly expanding their knowledge and confidently announcing their discoveries did eventually triumph. Reality and reason won out, in the long run - although not without staunch defenders who fought long, difficult battles.

So when I need a pick-me-up from the current depressing presidential election, history is my Prozac. If you need some anti-depressants, try these:

• Simon Winchester, The Map That Changed the World
• Bronowski, Jacob. The Western Intellectual Tradition: From Leonardo to Hegel.  
• Frederick B. Artz, The Mind of the Middle Ages
• Paul Johnson, Modern Times
• Paul Johnson, Birth of the Modern
• Printing and the Mind of Man
• Sebastian Haffner, Defying Hitler
• Herold, The Age of Napoleon
• Gordon, John Steele.  A Thread Across the Ocean: The Heroic Story of the Transatlantic Cable.
• Loon, Willem van. The Story of Mankind. 
• Manchester, William. A World Lit Only by Fire. 
• Bryson, Bill. Short History of Nearly Everything
• Petrocelli, Daniel. The Triumph of Justice: Closing the Book on the Simpson Saga   
• McCullough, David. John Adams
• Ellis, Joseph. His Excellency (on George Washington)
• Shorto, The Island at the Center of the World (on Manhattan)

Why not live with art you love?

I’m the kind of person who walks into your home and heads straight for your bookshelves and artwork. I can’t help it. As an art historian, I’m always avid to see more art, and as a mystery lover, I’m always curious to see what common threads I can identify in the books and artworks.

Your choice of art is, of course, a very personal matter. What you like will depend both on what’s in a particular artwork and on your experiences and values. If Michelangelo’s David looks like the bully who beat you up in high school, you’re not likely to want a reproduction of him in your home. No one can or should tell you what you ought to like.

But what if you want to own more art, and don’t know where to start looking?

Based on my years studying art history, my knowledge of esthetics (my writing and research are based on Ayn Rand’s esthetic theory), and my familiarity with art galleries and online sources for buying art, I’m offering my services as an art consultant. If you’ve had the same works on your wall for so long that you don’t really see them any more, or if you have wall space you’d like to fill, I can help. Together we can look at your favorite works and figure out what other artists or periods you might like to explore or live with, in your home or office.

My charge per hour for these consultations is less than the latest edition of Janson’s History of Art a framed 18 x 24” giclee print of the David. Email for details: forgottendeli@earthlink.net.

Why Ayn Rand's esthetics is the basis for my writing on art

When discussing the theory of art in Outdoor Monuments of Manhattan: A Historical Guide, I cited only Ayn Rand's esthetics. An early reader suggested I "balance" the presentation by mentioning other writers on esthetics. But here's the problem: no one surpasses or even equals Ayn Rand in the field of esthetics. Rand treats art with the same rigor she applies to metaphysics, epistemology, ethics and politics. She begins her discussion by stating what art is and what purpose it serves for human beings. Her definition, "a selective re-creation of reality based on an artist's metaphysical value-judgments," indicates that an artist chooses his subject and style based on what he considers important, and creates something recognizable so that others will see it and grasp his message: "This matters - pay attention to this." Rand lays out the fundamentals of the field of esthetics. Using her definition of art plus her theory of knowledge (see Introduction to Objectivist Epistemology), one can determine what is and is not art: driftwood, paint splattered on a canvas, the Parthenon frieze? One can determine the esthetic requirements for good art: Is a portrait by Rembrandt better than one by Picasso in his Cubist phase? One can even explain why people often react so violently to works of art: "It repulses me but I can't turn away!" I have read hundreds of books by art critics and historians, many of whom have an encyclopedic grasp of their subject and descriptive abilities that make me wildly jealous. Not one of them offers a proper definition of art. The fifth edition of Janson's widely used History of Art, for example, says a work of art is "an esthetic object" and that "esthetic" means "that which concerns the beautiful." The term is, he promptly admits, unsatisfactory, but "will have to do for lack of a better one." When I'm visiting a gallery or reading a novel, I can and do revel in art without first subjecting it to rigorous esthetic analysis. I've found, though, that I can extend my enjoyment if I think about a particular work as well. For purposes of thinking about art and conveying my ideas to others, a proper definition is indispensable. In that respect, I have found Ayn Rand's essays on esthetics in Romantic Manifesto, Art of Fiction, Art of Nonfiction, and Ayn Rand Answers (the esthetics section) invaluable and irreplaceable. This entry appears on the Forgotten Delights site FAQ page, with further references.

Afterword and Appendixes of OMOM

In the Introduction to Outdoor Monuments of Manhattan I described how I became interested in art history and (years later) in outdoor sculpture in Manhattan. The Afterword explains how I was introduced to Ayn Rand's esthetics and why I became intent on developing a systematic method for studying art. It concludes with three answers to the crucial question: "Yes, but why would anyone else want to do that?" While writing the manuscript I wrestled with the question of whether to include that question and its three answers in the Introduction, as motivation. I feared that in the Introduction, giving a lengthy explanation based on Ayn Rand's esthetics and epistemology might lead potential readers to assume OMOM was yet another interminable, incomprehensible work of art criticism. By the time readers reach the Afterword, the answers to "Why analyze art?" merely summarize points I've already made. For motivation in the Introduction, I instead tried to describe my own introduction to art and to New York sculpture with such enthusiasm that it would draw readers in. Appendix A, "How to Read a Sculpture," has four sections:

1. A list of questions to ask when looking at a sculpture, cross-referenced to the OMOM essays in which the topics are discussed
2. A play-by-play description of the process by which I worked out the theme of Joan of Arc (Essay 44)
3. Evaluation of the Cid (Essay 54) in esthetic, philosophical, emotional and art-historical terms
4. Questions for readers to ask themselves about Butterfield (Essay 52), first to determine the theme and then to evaluate the sculpture

Appendix B is a list of OMOM sculptures by date of dedication. Appendix C is an alphabetical list of artists whose works are represented in OMOM. For each, it gives dates, place of birth, major works in the U.S., and all works by the artist that stand outdoors in the five boroughs of New York.

John Ericsson: OMOM Essay 2

Ericsson was one of the first New York sculptures I became familiar with, and remains one of my favorites because of what I've learned about its subject, who was highly intelligent, innovative, and assertive to the point of tactlessness. If you find that you, too, like Ericsson, Forgotten Delights: The Producers incorporates lengthier quotes from him.

This is the first of ten sculptures in Outdoor Monuments of Manhattan that also appeared in FDP. "About the Subject" focuses on the Battle of the Ironclads in the context of naval warfare in the 19th c. "About the Sculpture" discusses the purpose of portrait sculpture and introduces the idea of selectivity, one of the key concepts in Ayn Rand's definition of art. Rand's esthetics forms the basis for my understanding of art.