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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Gauguin who wrote (37372)	9/7/1999 8:29:00 PM
From: Ilaine	Respond to of 71178

I love asking you questions. Well, what I really love is getting your answers. "How many ways shall I answer Cobalt? Let me count the layers." On the top floor, Greek statuary, the "fine stuff", the aesthetic. Going down (pun intended) we stop at the the wondering, the sensational, the voyeuristic, the sensual, the Freaking Hot, and the tits in the face. With a detour through ADD and the ladies in the parking lot. Good stuff. "Good Gaugie, good!"

To: Gauguin who wrote (37372)	9/7/1999 8:53:00 PM
From: Jacques Chitte	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

(I think it's ADD again.) The unspoken tragedy is that if the ADD ever gets reversed you come down with SUBTRACT.

To: Gauguin who wrote (37372)	9/8/1999 10:10:00 AM
From: Crocodile	Read Replies (4) \| Respond to of 71178

<I feel an aesthetic sensation when I look at things. Van Gogh's, buildings, sculpture, yad yad yadda. It's very pleasant to be exposed, engaged, aesthetically. The sensation, the mental ooosh, the impress, is the fine stuff.> Aesthethic sensations... interesting to think about how they vary from person to person. Like they say, "One man's pill is another man's poison". One person in rapture over an outstanding piece of San Ildefonso pottery by Maria Martinez... someone else enjoying the wonderfully bizarre (to me) hot glass sculptures of the de la Torre brothers. Meanwhile, someone else is going bonkers over a David, or a Rossetti, or maybe a Holbein. And maybe someone else gets weak in the knees over some velvet painting of Elvis or Orbison that they've seen on some busy street corner. Pretty hard to account for the differences in how we all see the world sometimes... And sure... I like museums and galleries...and have spent many, many hours studying large and small collections wherever I happen to be... But one of my favorite aesthetic preoccupations is watching a truly skilled craftsman (craftsperson) at work (or should that be "at play"). Now, when I say "craftsman", I'm not just talking about a potter at a wheel working clay, or a hot glass artist blowing glass at the furnace... although those are fantastic aesthetic visuals... But, I'm also talking about watching someone who REALLY knows how to do the thing that they do....something that they do every day, all day long... that maybe seems mundane to most people, but that has a poetry all of its own when you really stop to watch... ...Could be a someone planing wood or working on a lathe, or maybe a bodyman carefully hammering at or sanding some section of a car.... ...Could be a butcher deboning the hind leg of a beef to make rolled roasts... ...Could be someone splitting wood with their axe, or moving logs onto a mill with a peavie or dog... Aaaahhh... or here are a couple of the best... a really good shearer shearing sheep...or a farrier making custom horseshoes on a forge... But not to be too snobbish-sounding about this... heck... I just got a great sensory-charge watching a guy squeegee the windshield of my van while in Nova Scotia. Like...this guy REALLY knew how to do the job. He put his whole body into the motion of running the squeegee across the windshield... and not leaving the faintest trace of a line between strokes... It was amazing... (well, perhaps only to me, that is). And just in case anyone is thinking... hmmm... you can see this kind of thing anywhere. Well, sorry...no dice. Happening across these people is a rare occasion... sort of like the chances of finding a Stradivarius at a garage sale... well, perhaps just a little better. But when it happens.. it's a a true feast for the eyes..or perhaps all of the senses... especially hearing as much as seeing... the steady hum of the sheepshears as the knife-sharp blades run snug against the tightly stretched skin of the sheep without making so much as a nick; the bell-like ring of the hammer on the anvil as molten chips of steel fly away from the horseshoe that magically forms beneath the steady blows; and the soft, rhythm of the plane as it slides back and forth along a board, sending impossibly long and delicately thin curls of wood falling to the floor... ....hmmmmm.....