Classes, money, and realizations

First, a class update. I am no longer in the technology class, so no more EduBlogging. I am, however, in a multicultural education class, whose assignments keep telling me to post something as my status update on Facebook or on Twitter or to text my friends. Creative...but my classes don't usually invade my Facebook life.

Well, but I have added professors as friends. Weird.

Anyway. The week has included several monumental moments for me.

First: the US Mint makes fake money.

Have you seen the newer one dollar coins? I don't know if it was just a PR failure, but I had no idea about this program when it started--the Presidential $1 Coin Program. Though I sure did hear a lot about the state quarter thing when it was starting, and when the dollar coin was introduced, and even about the revamping of dollar bills, I never heard anything about this. The first time I got a hold of one of the presidential $1 coins (I think as change for pizza at high school, if I remember correctly) I thought some dumb kid had given the lunch lady fake money that she had bought into, and now was giving me fake money back as change.

The design--especially the Statue of Liberty back--it looks fake and cheap. I bought a snack out of a vending machine this week and got gold $1 coins as change, and initially had the same reaction. Wait, this isn't real money!

And other coins, too--after completing the state quarter thing (last year, right?), the Mint is now starting an "America The Beautiful" quarter series--again, going through all the states and territories (kudos to them for including American Samoa, Guam, Northern Mariana Islands, Puerto Rico, and US Virgin Islands--places I didn't even know about until 10th grade, but that's a whole other issue), depicting nature scenes. There's currently in circulation a penny with a shield on the reverse and also four different pennies with scenes from four stages of Lincon's life: birth and early childhood in Kentucky, formative years in Indiana, professional life in Illinois, and presidency in Washington, DC. "Westward Journey" nickle series with five different nickles with a buffalo, the Pacific coast, Louisiana Purchase/Peace Medal, a keelboat, and the traditional Monticello. Oh, and there are currently three designs for the reverse of the Sacagawea gold dollar.

I have to admit, I was a fan of the original 50 state series--I have all of them in a book at home (except about five) that I've been collecting for the last ten years. But I think part of my attraction to the program was how it was so new. It felt like a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I didn't realize it was just the start of the future of American money. When did our currency come out of novelty shops, anyway? There are so many variations that you can't even tell what's real.

Second: Not everyone likes Minerva Tiechert's paintings

I love Minerva Tiechert's paintings. I'm signed up for a class about appreciating art and museums this term. We meet at the BYU Museum of Art. For our first assignment, we had to go write a response to a work in the museum. I chose The Rug Dealers by Minerva Tiechert, a huge--maybe five feet by ten feet--painting showing two Native Americans holding up woven rugs to sell. There are some cowboys--two Latino, one Anglo--standing on sides of the scene looking. Behind the sellers, a woman is standing and weaving a rug, a child at her side. It's Minerva Tiechert's style--more impressionistic, softer colors, movement--and looks so American, with the Native American designs in the rugs, lots of different cultures and people, an American scene in the American West.

I wrote the paper about it, and the next day at class, we all walked around the museum together, lead by our teacher. She asked us to present the work of art we had written about. We were close to mine, so I said I'd go. I stood up and described the things I just described, and then the teacher started asking the class questions, leading a discussion. She brought up Arnold Friberg, who painted the picture of George Washington kneeling and praying by his horse--and the series of pictures that appear in front of copies of the Book of Mormon. LDS audiences usually like more realistic depictions, she said, and when Friberg's and Tiechert's Book of Mormon paintings were both submitted, Frieberg's were chosen.

This lead into some discussion--several people saying, yes, I like the more realistic Friberg pictures. I don't like the chalky colors and painting style Tiechert uses. Her pictures are vague.... I guess this all just surprised me. I really like Tiechert's paintings. I guess it had honestly never even occurred to me that people might not like them.

Which leads me to realization number three.

Third: Some people think The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is cheesy

Another thing I love: the 1060's movie The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. It's French, entirely sung, and sad. I watched it for the first time with my dad, and liked it so much that I bought the soundtrack and, when I was in France, went to Cherbourg and tried to buy an umbrella.

I've moved back into the French House at BYU, where I speak French with my roommates and five days a week all the French House people have dinner together. The other night we were talking about French movies. We had talked about Les Diaboliques and Amélie and I said, do you know The Umbrellas of Cherbourg? Clémence, who's from France, laughed. Christina rolled her eyes. "It's so cheesy," said Clémence.

I still love it. And listen to the music.

Cannon Center Dada

Yesterday in my French class, we talked about the Dadaists and their artistic movement after WWI. According to my professor, they were disenchanted generation of young people. The War wasn't as glorious as they had been promised, and when they got back, no one could understand what they had been through--or even conceive their war in the trenches when machine guns and tanks and gas had barely replaced horse and cannon warfare.

And thus began the Dada movement, with the goal of making nonsense. The world didn't make sense, reality was disconnected from language--therefore disconnect language from any reality, the Dadaists figured. It was a primal scream and a hatred of civilization when what they saw of "civilization" was rotten to the core.

But it's also that disconnect when someone just doesn't understand. When there is a gap that doesn't get crossed. Like I wrote in my notes: that frustration when you're trying to communicate something, and there is something dividing that communication. The other person hasn't had the same experiences as you, or they are too young, or too old, or you are afraid of hurting them my telling everything, or they don't understand the words you are using, or, or...

But that's not why I'm writing about Dada. During my freshman year, I was sitting in the cafeteria with some friends, and one of them brought up talking about it in on of her classes, and the other friend knew what she was talking about. I didn't have any idea what they were talking about, and didn't pay much attention--I was so distracted with my delight in the word. Dada. This delight elicited the beginning of a poem using all the phrases that I thought were lovely that we used in our conversation that night.

So yesterday in class, I was delighted [I think I've overused this word, but it is the only one that fits the way I want it to] when the professor said "dada," and even more so when I found out my Cannon Center version pretty much fits with the description (I think) because it is absolutely nonsense. But it sounds pretty. So maybe it doesn't count.

Cannon Center Dada

I have a strait-laced spoon on a Welch bed of grapes
The cult of Katie Couric and the dreaded Spanish drapes.
Chips on ice and an empty plate for dinner

Count or not, it needs additions, so feel free.

Only Time (alt. title: The Worst Video Quality That Could Possibly Exist)

My friend Natalie and "Only Time" by Magnetic Fields

This looked a whole lot better in iMovie than it does here. But I spent such a ridiculous amount of time on it that I am posting it. It looks awful. Take it as visible evidence of my technological incompetence.

Doodle

I have had a hard time of late staying captivated by my classes. Particularly with all the observing I have been doing for my education class. This is the third week of sitting in on two block-schedule foreign language classes a day at a high school or junior high. The novelty is wearing off a little (though there are always things to learn).

So I have increased my resolve to improve my doodling skills. Here are my best examples.


This is inspired by the necklace my classmate was wearing.

I am also working on fancy handwriting.

I forgot what inspired this one.

This wasn't actually in class, but when I was trying to avoid writing my French paper.

Today I finished my bas-relief, ate lunch along the Seine, kissed two dozen French people, had an apéro at a sculpture workshop, talked to a communist, and had a midnight hot chocolate at a sidewalk cafe.

I can't believe I'm leaving.

A Little Too Academic (sorry)

Today we went to see the abbey of Jumièges. It is an extraordinary place--a huge abbey in ruins. Most of the main building that is still standing is romanesque, and an amazing example of a romanesque structure because it is so tall--a demonstration of the power of abbeys at the time, and of the afluence of the area. The abbey, and an accompanying legend of the "enervés" of Jumièges, illustrate as well the former path of the Seine. The river currently flows a good kilometer from the abbey, but once must have been closer.

The legend of the "enervés" tells of two sons who commited treason in leading an army against their royal father. Their crime merited death, which their mother, the queen, could simply not support. So the king agreed on a lesser punishment. The two were "enervé"--the nerves in their legs were cut--then they were sent down the Seine in a boat filled with food. The monks at the abbey of Jumièges took them in and cared for them. This painting depicting the scene, "Les Énervés de Jumièges" by Évariste Vital Luminais, is at the Musée des Beaux Arts in Rouen.

I had already visited the abbey a few weeks ago, but hadn't gone on a tour like we did this time. The coolest part, though, was when the tour ended, for some reason just the people in the workshop got to go down and see other parts of the abbey campus--or what used to exist of the abbey campus: a bakery, stables...they think only about a fourth of the buildings that stood at the abbey's heyday exist now. The tour guide went and got two flash lights that could have been used during WWII and he unlocked an iron gate in a wall. We desended--it was dark and damp and a bit slipery--a staircase into a chamber with a vaulted ceiling, then turned around and walked down a long tunnel that lead to another dark, vaulted room, then down another tunnel that ended, bricked off. I had forgot my camera this morning. The picture, that I found on Google, is pretty close, but think no lights, a dirt floor, and peaked (gothic style), not rounded.

Photos

Saturday was a Young Adults activity with the branch. Guy-Noël, Tarolin, Maïté, Jennifer, and I got to and from Benois’ house on the bus. On the way back though, the bus drove right past the five of us waiting at the bus stop, so we had to walk to another stop to catch a different bus. It was dark and so quiet—hardly any cars went past. Tarolin was so mad that the bus hadn’t stopped, and he walked fast ahead of the rest of us. The moon was full, and huge. It was beautiful.



I don’t like saying goodbye to people. It’s almost easier just not to become friends in the first place. Almost.

I had my last Family Home Evening with the Warenghein family last night. They found me at church my first Sunday here, and have had me over every Monday night since then. They made me feel a lot less island-like while I’ve been here, and after I said goodbye last night, I suddenly felt homeless.



This is where I have been spending my last two weeks, sculpting in Jumièges. Yesterday at the sculpture workshop, Tiffann called me her favorite American. I will miss the people there, too.

Madagascar

Today was just a good day. I sculpted this morning. I am enjoying the sculpting and I am enjoying being with the other people who are participating in the workshop. But also part of it is that I finally know what is expected of me—that was the big mystery with the internship: What do they want me to do? But with the sculpting workshop…I just sculpt.

Also, though, I’m not a guest there. I’m just part of the group. It’s funny, but being a guest so often lately is one thing that I have had a hard time with. And finally I can help do the dishes and not worry if it’s polite or impolite.

The mother of my host family is from Madagascar. She has a relative getting married, so the house has been full of cousins and aunts and uncles. Tonight dinner was much more noisy, more busy. The uncles play the guitar and sing, loud and in harmony. One of the French cousins was curious about the US and posed lots of questions. We talked about the school system, about the death penalty—comparing the countries, and also comparing to Madagascar talking to another cousin who lives there.

The Madagascar cousin and I went up to my room to practice English. She recently got back from China—she was there to export “contrefaçon” clothes and toys to Madagascar. She has her bachelor’s in law and is looking to get a master’s in France. We talked more about the school system: in Madagascar, the schools are in French, and business operates in French, but friends and family speak in Malagasy. Madagascar was a colony of France until 1960, and the country bases its civil code on that of France. Then the French cousin found us, and we talked about relationships.

Sculpting...

The sculpture workshop continues. I am working on a bas-relief in Caen stone. Today at lunch someone asked me where I was from, and someone else knew Mormons were connected with Utah, so we spent some time talking about that. We established that Mormons dress like normal people and don't have to live in Utah. This evening, we had a barbecue. I expalined the strength of the different swear words they recited to me in English. We told jokes; mine weren't always that funny after translating them into French or explaining "la chute"--the punchline--for the ones in English. Tiffann told me about smoking weed and Mathieu talked about why he is vegetarian. And Adeline, who is teaching the workshop, talked about sculpting.

Waffles in Belgium, Cheese Course in France

Last weekend I went to Belgium. It didn’t really hit me that I was visiting a whole nother country until I was leaving Belgium. While Jennifer and I were there, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be in Belgium—that is, not extraordinary at all. As we left, it felt extraordinary to be in Belgium. To have been in Belgium.

They sell beer in the vending machines in Belgium. Besides the vending machines, took a boat ride along the canals of Brugge, tasted curry, ginger, and spice cake chocolates, watched a woman making bobbin lace, wandered the Comic Book museum, and visited the bizarre and oversized Palais de la Justice where we could see the Atomium from a distance. Belgian waffles—from-Belgium Belgian waffles—are pretty much one of the best things I have ever tasted. Saturday was the national holiday, and that morning, in Brugge, we followed the small-town parade of a brass band and the veterans color guard. As they walked past I could hear the metals on their uniforms clink and I wanted to be home celebrating my own country.

It felt good to be back in France. Monday morning, I started a two week sculpture workshop that the MJC is running in Jumièges, near Duclair (the small town where the MJC is located). It feels so odd that this is what I have ended up doing, but I have enjoyed myself yesterday and today. So far I have sculpted a snail shell and a dog, in addition to helping make home made French fries and setting up a tent. Today I got a sunburn on one arm as we sat around picnic tables for two hours eating lunch—melon, bread and jambon cru and butter, salads, then the homemade fries and bloody steaks, a round of camembert, dessert, then coffee and tea.

Malidies; 14 July; Day Off

Maladies:

I fell down the stairs last Monday. This made me feel like an old person. I hit my elbow hard, and it still hurts.

After the discussion about food handling, I got some sort of stomach bug for a couple of days—probably from unpasteurized cheese.

14 Juillet:

I told Patrick, the father of my host family, that I would be going to Paris for Bastille Day. And I said it like that: “Je vais à Paris pour Bastille Day.” I wasn’t thinking apparently, and it turns out “Bastille Day” is not in fact what the French call it. But anyway, I was there. I was a block away from the parade (so I heard it go past). I saw the parade of military planes and fighter jets go overhead, which was really impressive—all different kinds flying low in formation. I also finally saw the Musée d’Orsay, as well as the sewer museum. The sewer museum stank. But I think it is an excellent example of how Paris has capitalized on tourism—they can even get people to pay money to see their gray water.

That night, Jennifer and I watched fireworks over the Seine in Rouen.

Photo: "Eve after the sin"

Day off!

I don’t go to the MJC this week, except Wednesday. This afternoon, I went to lunch at Dr. Rolland’s house in the country—the woman who helped organize the internship. After lunch, she said, okay, now what do you want to do? We ended up doing some oil painting for the afternoon. What a strange thing—in France, in some woman’s thatched-roof house, painting.

A Last

Last day in Geneva (hopefully not for forever). It rained today, but I went out anyway to find a little more cash to get me to the airport and to deposit my old shoes in a clothes-donation box downtown. I took one last walk along the Rhone, where I took these pictures. Like I mentioned before, there is lots of grafitti along here, and I was rather partial to the mural in the photo.

I had lunch with Simone, and am now gathering up the last things to pack. I hope it all fits.

My House

This is not Switzerland.

However, through the wonders of modern technology, I get to see what is happening at home. I have provided, for your viewing pleasure, pictures of the home I left and pictures of what my home has become.

Things are wrapping up in Switzerland. Yesterday, I went to a watch museum downtown. I went on my own, which meant it took me a long time to find it. I like it when I have other people to navigate for me. I also spent about five minutes in a museum of modern art. Very modern art. I was the only person there, besides the guard who was sitting eating a sandwitch. The whole combination--silent images projected onto big screens, dark rooms, strange smell, some guy sitting in the dark watching me--meant the overall effect was: creepy. I left.

I turned down the chance to go to an elementary school language fair (I think) this morning and I've been working on the paper. Not the most exciting thing ever, but I've been a little overwhelmed lately with being in unfamiliar situations, with strangers, in a foreign language. It is enlarging and enlightening, and I am glad I am here outside of the familiar, but it is fatiguing.