The fact of the matter is that there have been no supremely great women artists, as far as we know, although there have been many interesting and very good ones who remain insufficiently investigated or appreciated; nor have there been any great Lithuanian jazz pianists, nor Eskimo tennis players, no matter how much we might wish there had been. That this should be the case is regrettable, but no amount of manipulating the historical or critical evidence will alter the situation; nor will accusations of male chauvinist distortion of history. There are no women equivalents for Michelangelo or Rembrandt, Delacroix or Cezanne, Picasso or Matisse, or even, in very recent times, for de Kooning or Warhol, any more than there are black American equivalents for the same. If there actually were large numbers of "hidden" great women artists, or if there really, should be different standards for women's art as opposed to men's - and one can't have it both ways - then what are feminists fighting for? If women have in fact achieved the same status as men in the arts, then the status quo is fine as it is.

But in actuality, as we all know, things as they are and as they have been, in the arts as in a hundred other areas, are stultifying, oppressive, and discouraging to all those, women among them, who did not have the good fortune to be born white, preferably middle class and, above all, male. The fault lies not in our stars, our hormones, our menstrual cycles, or our empty internal spaces, but in our institutions and our education - education understood to include everything that happens to us from the moment we enter this world of meaningful symbols, signs, and signals. The miracle is, in fact, that given the overwhelming odds against women, or blacks, that so many of both have managed to achieve so much sheer excellence, in those bailiwicks of white masculine prerogative like science, politics, or the arts.

(..)

Those who have privileges inevitably hold on to them, and hold tight, no matter how marginal the advantage involved, until compelled to bow to superior power of one sort or another.

Thus the question of women's equality - in art as in any other realm - devolves not upon the relative benevolence or ill-will of individual men, nor the self-confidence or abjectness of individual women, but rather on the very nature of our institutional structures themselves and the view of reality which they impose on the human beings who are part of them. As John Stuart Mill pointed out more than a century ago: "Everything which is usual appears natural. The subjection of women to men being a universal custom, any departure from it quite naturally appears unnatural."' Most men, despite lip service to equality, are reluctant to give up this "natural" order of things in which their advantages are so great; for women, the case is further complicated by the fact that, as Mill astutely pointed out, unlike other oppressed groups or castes, men demand of them not only submission but unqualified affection as well; thus women are often weakened by the internalized demands of the male-dominated society itself, as well as by a plethora of material goods and comforts: the middle-class woman has a great deal more to lose than her chains.

//Linda Nochlin, 1971, Why have there been no great women artists?

visa eseja nemaz nav gara

Depression is smaller than you. Always, it is smaller than you, even when it feels vast. It operates within you, you do not operate within it. It may be a dark cloud passing across the sky, but – if that is the metaphor – you are the sky. You were there before it. And the cloud can’t exist without the sky, but the sky can exist without the cloud.
(..)
I have gone from never feeling happy to feeling happy – or at last somewhere in the ballpark – most of the time. So I am lucky. But I have blips. Either blips when I am genuinely depressed/anxious or blips caused by me fighting the onset of depression/anxiety by doing something stupid (getting excessively drunk and coming home at five in the morning after losing my wallet and having to plead with taxi drivers to take me home). But generally, day to day, I don’t fight it. I accept things more. This is who I am. And besides, fighting it actually makes it worse. The trick is to befriend depression and anxiety. To be thankful for them, because then you can deal with them a whole lot better. And the way I have befriended them is by thanking them for my thin skin. (..) [Because] you need to feel life’s terror to feel its wonder.

Feeling. That is what it is about. People place so much value on thought, but feeling is as essential. I want to read books that make me laugh and cry and fear and hope and punch the air in triumph. I want a book to hug me or grab me by the scruff of my neck. I don’t even mind if it punches me in the gut. Because we are here to feel.

I want life. I want to read it and write it and feel it and live it. I want, for as much of the time as possible in this blink-of-an-eye existence we have, to feel all that can be felt. I hate depression. I am scared of it. Terrified, in fact. But at the same time, it has made me who I am. And if – for me – it is the price of feeling life, it’s a price always worth paying. I am satisfied just to be.


ja nu vēl kādu interesē, šeit vienu nedēļu būs pieejama šī grāmata, ko sarakstījis vīrietis, kas izcīkstējies ar depresiju un anxiety - https://we.tl/3dZlrtAiKS

Movement is primal and accompanies all the elements of play we are examining, even word or image movement in imaginative play. If you don’t understand and appreciate human movement, you won’t really understand yourself or play. Learning about self-movement creates a structure for an individual’s knowledge of the world—it is a way of knowing. Through movement play, we think in motion. Movement structures our knowledge of the world, space, time, and our relationship to others. We’ve internalized movement, space, and time so completely that we need to take a step back (a movement metaphor) to realize how much we think in these terms. Our knowledge of the physical world, based in movement, explains why we describe emotions with terms like “close,” “distant,” “open,” “closed.” We say we “grasp” ideas, or “wrestle” with them, or “stumble” upon them.

Movement play lights up the brain and fosters learning, innovation, flexibility, adaptability, and resilience. These central aspects of human nature require movement to be fully realized. This is why, when someone is having a hard time getting into a play state, I have them do something that involves movement: because body play is universal. As Bob Fagen says, “Movement fills an empty heart.”

//Stuart Brown, Christopher Vaughan, Play: How it Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul

Neuroscientists, developmental biologists, psychologists, social scientists, and researchers from every point of the scientific compass now know that play is a profound biological process. It has evolved over eons in many animal species to promote survival. It shapes the brain and makes animals smarter and more adaptable. In higher animals, it fosters empathy and makes possible complex social groups. For us, play lies at the core of creativity and innovation.

(..)

Nearly every one of us starts out playing quite naturally. As children, we don’t need instruction in how to play. We just find what we enjoy and do it. (..) At some point as we get older, however, we are made to feel guilty for playing. We are told that it is unproductive, a waste of time, even sinful. The play that remains is, like league sports, mostly very organized, rigid, and competitive. We strive to always be productive, and if an activity doesn’t teach us a skill, make us money, or get on the boss’s good side, then we feel we should not be doing it. Sometimes the sheer demands of daily living seem to rob us of the ability to play.

The skeptics among the audiences I talk to will say, “Well, duh. Of course you will be happy if you play all the time. But for those of us who aren’t rich, or retired, or both, there’s simply is no time for play.” Or they might say that if they truly gave in to the desire to experience the joy of free play, they would never get anything done.

This is not the case. We don’t need to play all the time to be fulfilled. The truth is that in most cases, play is a catalyst. The beneficial effects of getting just a little true play can spread through our lives, actually making us more productive and happier in everything we do.

//Stuart Brown, Christopher Vaughan, Play: How it Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul

we were looking for starfarers, but we were too small and all we saw were their ankles.

//Vernor Vinge, A Deepness In The Sky

[L]et me reiterate that we are not here simply to experience pain-free living — to be comfortable, happy, or fulfilled all the time. The reality is that painful feelings accompany problem solving, and the process of becoming increasingly conscious is, like life in general, difficult. But it has many benefits, the greatest of which is that we will become more effective in life. We will be aware of a broader array of choices in responding to different situations and the daily dilemmas of life. We will be more aware of the games people play, thus less willing to be manipulated by others into doing things we deem to be against our best interests. We will be in a better position to determine for ourselves what to think and believe, rather than simply fall prey to the dictates of mass media or family and peer influences.

Unfortunately, pain is an inevitable side effect of consciousness. We will also become more aware of the needs, burdens, and sorrows of ourselves and others. We will become more aware of the realities of our mortality and the aging process working in every cell of our bodies. We will become conscious of our own sins and imperfections and, inevitably, more aware of the sins and evils of society. The choice of whether or not to think deeply is, therefore, the choice of whether or not to accept that pain is associated with consciousness.

(..)

I wrote that "life is difficult because the process of confronting and solving problems is a painful one." But when I say that life is difficult, I'm not suggesting that it is never easy or rewarding. To say that life is difficult without qualifying the statement would be to subscribe to the idea that "life is difficult and then we die." It is a simplistic and nihilistic notion. It discounts all beauty, goodness, opportunities for spiritual growth, serenity, and other wonderful aspects of living. Indeed, one of the mysterious and paradoxical realities is that in addition to the pain that life brings, living can be accompanied by an unfathomed joy once we get past the pain.

(..)

Thus, to seek the truth involves an integration of things that seem to be separate and look like opposites when, in reality, they are intertwined and related in some ways. Reality itself is paradoxical, in that while many things in and about life seem simple on the surface, they are often complex — although not always complicated. There is a difference, just as clear as the difference between simplism and simplicity. There is, in fact, a great simplicity to wholeness.

//M. Scott Peck, 1997, The Road Less Travelled And Beyond

Un tikai tagad es sapratu, ka man šajā pasaulē nekad nebija bijis vietas - es nebiju ne vienkārša, ne praktiska, ne noderīga. Es biju tikai sarežģīta un sveša, es biju kā putns, kas uz laiku ielaidies viņa istabās, putns, kas ir pārsteigums un prieks - vismaz sākumā -, bet tad sāk sisties pret rūtīm un apgāzt traukus, un vairs nav dabūjams prom, lai arī ir skaidrs, ka visiem būtu vieglāk, ja tas vienkārši aizlidotu. Apjucis un kliedzošs tas sitas pret sienām un iespiežas stūrī pie pašiem griestiem, un tu vēlies atvērt visas durvis un logus un aiziet - cerot, ka tad, kad tu atgriezīsies, putna tur vairs nebūs, un tu varēsi atsākt savu dzīvi, pat neuzzinot tā vārdu.
Viņš bija atgriezies, un es vēl joprojām biju te, neiederīga un spilgta, un viņš nezināja, ko ar mani darīt.

//Ieva Melgalve, 2016, Mājas bez durvīm

“Son, I’d say you were going at it the wrong end first,” said the Judge, turning up his coat-collar. “How could you care about one girl? Have you ever cared about one leaf?”

Riley, listening to the wildcat with an itchy hunter’s look, snatched at the leaves blowing about us like midnight butterflies; alive, fluttering as though to escape and fly, one stayed trapped between his fingers. The Judge, too: he caught a leaf; and it was worth more in his hand than in Riley’s.

Pressing it mildly against his cheek, he distantly said, “We are speaking of love. A leaf, a handful of seed — begin with these, learn a little what it is to love. First, a leaf, a fall of rain, then someone to receive what a leaf has taught you, what a fall of rain has ripened. No easy process, understand; it could take a lifetime, it has mine, and still I’ve never mastered it — I only know how true it is: that love is a chain of love, as nature is a chain of life.”

//Truman Capote, 1951, The Grass Harp

George Earnshawe regarded his wife with fond affection (..). He thought of her in the same way, and with the same emotions, that he thought of anything that had been in the house for ten years and still worked well. The television, for example. Or the lawnmower. He thought it was love.

//Neil Gaiman, 2006, Fragile Things

pluck wild eagles from the air and nail me to a lightning tree

//Neil Gaiman, The Fairy Reel

‘Well,’ I said. ‘If she brought me here to look at me, let her look at me,’ and as I said it, I knew that it had already happened. How long had I been sitting on that bench? As I had been remembering her, she had been examining me.
‘Oh. She did already, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘And did I pass?’ The face of the old woman on my right was unreadable in the gathering dusk. On my left the younger woman said, ‘You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.’

//Neil Gaiman, 2013, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

"Harry, there is never a perfect answer in this messy, emotional world. Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic. In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Be honest to those you love, show your pain. To suffer is as human as to breathe."

//John Tiffany and Jack Thorne, 2016, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

Psychotherapy was invented to (..) help us to not mind being all the time and to not be minding all the time.

I have knowledge that I cannot use, on a journey I cannot control, with aims I do not share or understand, and I am longing for a home I fled, and for a place I have never seen. 

//China Mieville, 2002, The Scar
 

Why don’t they take all the lonely ghost floaters in every high school and have a pep rally for them? Make all the most popular kids in school sit on the hard bleachers and cheer until their asses hurt like hell? “Here is Nanette O’Hare, who used to play for the girls’ soccer team but now does nothing because she is depressed and seeing a therapist. Let’s give her a big round of applause! Lend her some of your pep because she really needs it! Band members, please begin to play a corny orchestral version of a popular rap song while Nanette stands at the center of the gym and waves to all the people who are not depressed! Let’s really pep her up! Pep the fuck out of her!”   

//Matthew Quick, 2016, Every exquisite thing

I was a lower class boy who made it big in the middle class world. I am not impressed with either one of those provincial states of mind. I don't have much respect for other cultures either. Bullshit abounds everywhere the world over as far as I can tell. When I am in Rome I do not want to do as the goddamned Romans do because they are just as fucked up as I am, or worse.

(..)

We all lie like hell. It wears us out. It is the major source of all human stress. Lying kills people. The kind of lying that is most deadly is withholding, or keeping back information from someone we think would be affected by it. (..) Keeping secrets and hiding from other people is a trap. Adolescents spend most of their time playing this hide-and-seek game. The better you are at getting by with playing hide-and-seek during adolescence, the harder it is to grow up.

(..)

The mind is a jail built out of bullshit. This book tells how the bullshit jail of the mind gets built and how to escape. This is a "how to" book on freedom. Withholding from other people, not telling them about what we feel or think, keeps us locked in the jail. The longer we remain in that jail, the quicker we decline. We either escape, or we go dead. The way out is to get good at telling the truth.

//Brad Blanton, 2005, Radical Honesty: How to Transform Your Life by Telling the Truth

Living is like licking honey off a thorn.

//Louis Adamic

As I turned and looked back toward the hotel I noticed that my footprints leading out into the city were mismatched. One side was glistening, small and white. The other was misshapen from my limp and each heel was pooled with spots of bright red blood. It struck me as a metaphor for my life. Always seeing the good. Lucky. The other side bloodied, stumbling. Never quite able to keep up.

Jenny Lawson, 2015, Furiously Happy

Bet neaizmirsīsim izvērtēt vienīgo iemeslu, kuru mēs personīgi varam ietekmēt, to, kurš pedagoģijā pastāv kopš senseniem laikiem - ir skolēns, kas nesaprot, un ir iesprostots pasaulē, kurā visi pārējie visu saprot, un ar viņu ir viņa vientulība un kauns.

Mēs vienīgie varam izpestīt viņu no šī cietuma, vienalga, vai mums tas ir mācīts, vai ne.

Skolotāji, kas mani izglāba un kas izveidoja no manis skolotāju, nebija tam gatavoti. Viņus neinteresēja manas mācīties nespējas pirmsākumi. Viņi netērēja laiku, meklējot tam iemeslus un lasot man par to morāli. Tie bija pieaugušie, kas sastapuši briesmām pakļautus pusaudžus. Viņi saprata, ka lieta ir steidzama. Viņi ienira. Viņi mani nenotvēra. Viņi atkal ienira, dienu pēc dienas, vēl un vēl... Galu galā viņi mani izvilka. Un kopā ar mani vēl daudzus citus.

(..)

- Katrs skolēns spēlē savu instrumentu, nav jēgas tam pretoties. Labi pazīt mūsu mūziķus un rast harmoniju ir grūts uzdevums. Laba klase ir nevis pulks, kas soļo vienā solī, bet orķestris, kas atskaņo kopīgu simfoniju. Ja jūs esat mantojis mazo trijstūri, kas spēj izteikt tikai ting-ling, vai vargānu, kas saka tikai blong-blong, galvenais, lai tie ieskanas īstajā brīdī, cik vien labi iespējams, lai kļūst par izcilu trijstūri un nevainojamu vargānu un lai tie būtu lepni par savu devumu ansambļa skanējumā. Tā kā patika uz harmonisku skanējumu liek viņiem visiem progresēt, mazais trijstūris arī galu galā pazīs mūziku, varbūt ne tik labi kā pirmā vijole, bet viņš pazīs to pašu mūziku. (..) Problēma ir tā, ka mēs viņiem liekam domāt par pasauli, kurā svarīgas ir tikai pirmās vijoles.

//Daniels Penaks, 2007, Skolas sāpes

Imagine a thirty-two-year-old man born with the ability to be all things to all people but nothing to any one person.

//Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor, 2015, Welcome to Night Vale: a Novel