The Englishman - Revision history

HansaThapliyal at 20:16, 30 May 2009

2009-05-30T20:16:50Z

HansaThapliyal at 08:09, 23 May 2009

2009-05-23T08:09:41Z

HansaThapliyal at 08:09, 23 May 2009

2009-05-23T08:09:18Z

HansaThapliyal at 19:49, 22 May 2009

2009-05-22T19:49:32Z

HansaThapliyal at 19:47, 22 May 2009

2009-05-22T19:47:54Z

HansaThapliyal at 14:06, 22 May 2009

2009-05-22T14:06:38Z

HansaThapliyal at 13:57, 22 May 2009

2009-05-22T13:57:18Z

HansaThapliyal at 05:55, 20 May 2009

2009-05-20T05:55:22Z

HansaThapliyal at 05:53, 20 May 2009

2009-05-20T05:53:43Z

HansaThapliyal at 05:53, 20 May 2009

2009-05-20T05:53:30Z

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 the new premium on the idea of genius
-He liked the way the grass caught hold of the earth here. Strong green shards and at the point they struck out of the soil, they shared its deep red brown. Looking down at the stretch of the earth kept him occupied all the way to John's cottage. Outside the stone walls of the Art College, he could hear the din of the market place. He smiled.
+He liked the way the grass caught hold of the earth here. Strong green shards and at the point they struck out of the soil, they shared its deep red brown. Looking down at the stretch of the earth kept him occupied all the way to Lockwood's cottage. Outside the stone walls of the Art College, he could hear the din of the market place. He smiled.
 No, he had no complaints of India, none at all.
 If he had any, they disappeared a few minutes into the dark cavern of his classroom, facing all those young, expectant eyes. Beautiful eyes, all of them, of the Dhurinders', the Abalals', the Pestonjees'. Eyes that look towards him, so beautiful that they made his breath catch sometimes.
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 He never had this feeling in England, where he had taught for a good while.
-"My dear, you are living out your dream of the exotic. Enjoy it while it lasts" John pushed a ceramic cup towards him, filled with the promise of that thick sweet liquid they called tea here. It carried that extra sinuousness of form, muscular form, he did not know how else to describe it, that made the Orient what it was. He felt attached here, to the place.
+"My dear, you are living out your dream of the exotic. Enjoy it while it lasts" Lockwood pushed a ceramic cup towards him, filled with the promise of that thick sweet liquid they called tea here. It carried that extra sinuousness of form, muscular form, he did not know how else to describe it, that made the Orient what it was. He felt attached here, to the place.
 If there was a woman ,.. of course the thought came to him,often. The so called 'best years' were passing him by. Well, unless he had an affair with a married woman, they seemed more interesting.. or else, maybe he would make a trip to see the famed white women of Mahabalesvar. Some hogwash myth in all probability.
@@ Line 15: / Line 15: @@
-They discussed again, that trip to Ajanta that he had recently been alluding to. John was being very good about it, really, he had heard him out patiently, a few times by now.
+They discussed again, that trip to Ajanta that he had recently been alluding to. Lockwood was being very good about it, really, he had heard him out patiently, a few times by now.
 " Those were beautiful works, John, actually beautiful works, not just of craftsmanship, but they had something infinitely more.. and none of these boys could see it. Not one! Some of them actually refused to make copies. I had to finally pull rank with them to get them to do it"
 John looked at him with that quiet patience, that sometimes seemed bullheadedness to Griffith..not saying that thing that Griffith was probably trying to provoke him into saying" Are we doing it all wrong? Is that the point of this whole conversation that you make us have again and again?"
-Or maybe John did not think that at all. What had he said last time " We are forced to be pioneers, Griffith, and that will be rough".
+Or maybe Lockwood did not think that at all. What had he said last time " We are forced to be pioneers, Griffith, and that will be rough".
 What were they saying in class that were making these young men contemptuous of the finest work of their country's craftsmanship?
-At bedtime Griffith tried to weigh in balance all that he remembered saying in different classes, saying to different Indian boys, who were training to be artists in this country. Of course memory is very selective at such times, it would let him off, pronounce him not guilty in the mean.  Pestonjee's sullen expression at the caves returned to haunt him. And then he would feel "guilty,guilty, guilty". To what end? Did he really believe that all that he told them about ancient Greek art was worth nothing. No, quite no one compared to Michelangelo, of too he was sure. He was not just espousing the cause of some white Englishman, he was trying to communicate the eternal values of art, to get these wonderful young boys to recognize it when they saw it. So then where, between the introduction of the new- and for these boys sometimes all of it was new, certainly the evaluation of their own monuments that they had hitherto treated with a completely utilitarian approach.. between the introduction of the new and..??
+The caves returned to Griffith as he went to bed. Those delicate coloured shadows haunting the walls, Griffith almost wanted to turn back and see who those exquisite creatures were who had cast such shadows on the walls of the caves.
 Sleep came closer, and unbolted many  doors in the dark. New-old images floated up. The familiar film of sweat squirted its way out of his pores,all over his body and evaporated into a cool air that finally lulled him to [[sleep]]. As he was slipping away, he heard midnight crows making bedlam of that hour.

←Older revision		Revision as of 08:09, 23 May 2009
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	refer to- The Discourses of Reynolds, a mentor of Indian academic artists... noble art should give no hint of craftsmanship		refer to- The Discourses of Reynolds, a mentor of Indian academic artists... noble art should give no hint of craftsmanship
		+	the new premium on the idea of genius

	He liked the way the grass caught hold of the earth here. Strong green shards and at the point they struck out of the soil, they shared its deep red brown. Looking down at the stretch of the earth kept him occupied all the way to John's cottage. Outside the stone walls of the Art College, he could hear the din of the market place. He smiled.		He liked the way the grass caught hold of the earth here. Strong green shards and at the point they struck out of the soil, they shared its deep red brown. Looking down at the stretch of the earth kept him occupied all the way to John's cottage. Outside the stone walls of the Art College, he could hear the din of the market place. He smiled.

←Older revision		Revision as of 08:09, 23 May 2009
Line 1:		Line 1:
		+	refer to- The Discourses of Reynolds, a mentor of Indian academic artists... noble art should give no hint of craftsmanship
		+
	He liked the way the grass caught hold of the earth here. Strong green shards and at the point they struck out of the soil, they shared its deep red brown. Looking down at the stretch of the earth kept him occupied all the way to John's cottage. Outside the stone walls of the Art College, he could hear the din of the market place. He smiled.		He liked the way the grass caught hold of the earth here. Strong green shards and at the point they struck out of the soil, they shared its deep red brown. Looking down at the stretch of the earth kept him occupied all the way to John's cottage. Outside the stone walls of the Art College, he could hear the din of the market place. He smiled.
	No, he had no complaints of India, none at all.		No, he had no complaints of India, none at all.

@@ Line 19: / Line 19: @@
 What were they saying in class that were making these young men contemptuous of the finest work of their country's craftsmanship?
-At bedtime Griffith tried to weigh in balance all that he remembered saying in different classes, saying to different Indian boys, who were training to be artists in this country. Of course memory is very selective at such times, it would let him off, pronounce him not guilty in the mean.  Pestonjee's sullen expression at the caves returned to haunt him. And then he would feel "guilty,guilty, guilty". To what end? Did he really believe that all that he told them about ancient Greek art was worth nothing. No, quite no one compared to Michelangelo, of that he also he was sure. He was not just espousing the cause of some white Englishman, he was trying to communicate the eternal values of art, to get these wonderful young boys to recognize it when they saw it. So then where, between the introduction of the new- and for these boys sometimes all of it was new, certainly the evaluation of their own monuments that they had hitherto treated with a completely utilitarian approach.. between the introduction of the new and..??
+At bedtime Griffith tried to weigh in balance all that he remembered saying in different classes, saying to different Indian boys, who were training to be artists in this country. Of course memory is very selective at such times, it would let him off, pronounce him not guilty in the mean.  Pestonjee's sullen expression at the caves returned to haunt him. And then he would feel "guilty,guilty, guilty". To what end? Did he really believe that all that he told them about ancient Greek art was worth nothing. No, quite no one compared to Michelangelo, of too he was sure. He was not just espousing the cause of some white Englishman, he was trying to communicate the eternal values of art, to get these wonderful young boys to recognize it when they saw it. So then where, between the introduction of the new- and for these boys sometimes all of it was new, certainly the evaluation of their own monuments that they had hitherto treated with a completely utilitarian approach.. between the introduction of the new and..??
 Sleep came closer, and unbolted many  doors in the dark. New-old images floated up. The familiar film of sweat squirted its way out of his pores,all over his body and evaporated into a cool air that finally lulled him to [[sleep]]. As he was slipping away, he heard midnight crows making bedlam of that hour.

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
 He liked the way the grass caught hold of the earth here. Strong green shards and at the point they struck out of the soil, they shared its deep red brown. Looking down at the stretch of the earth kept him occupied all the way to John's cottage. Outside the stone walls of the Art College, he could hear the din of the market place. He smiled.
 No, he had no complaints of India, none at all.
-If he had any, they disappeared a few minutes into the dark cavern of his classroom, facing all those young, expectant eyes. Beautiful eyes, all of them, of the Dhurinders', the Abalals', the Pestonjees'. Beautiful eyes that looked towards him.
+If he had any, they disappeared a few minutes into the dark cavern of his classroom, facing all those young, expectant eyes. Beautiful eyes, all of them, of the Dhurinders', the Abalals', the Pestonjees'. Eyes that look towards him, so beautiful that they made his breath catch sometimes.
 He never had this feeling in England, where he had taught for a good while.

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
-After class, Griffith headed to John's cottage behind the college building for his evening cup of that wonderful sweet decoction they called tea here.
+He liked the way the grass caught hold of the earth here. Strong green shards and at the point they struck out of the soil, they shared its deep red brown. Looking down at the stretch of the earth kept him occupied all the way to John's cottage. Outside the stone walls of the Art College, he could hear the din of the market place. He smiled.
-Outside John's windows the lawns, and beyond that the absolutely excessive and wonderful bustle of Victoria Terminus.
+No, he had no complaints of India, none at all.
-No, he had no complaints of India. None at all. And the reassuring feeling that he was doing good work. He loved their eyes, all of them, the Pestonjee's, the Dhurinders', the Abalals'. Young, bright eyes. Beautiful eyes, he would get startled mid class sometimes, looking at them.
+If he had any, they disappeared a few minutes into the dark cavern of his classroom, facing all those young, expectant eyes. Beautiful eyes, all of them, of the Dhurinders', the Abalals', the Pestonjees'. Beautiful eyes that looked towards him.
-"You're living out a dream of the exotic", John had laughed and told him. And that was probably true.
+He never had this feeling in England, where he had taught for a good while.
-He wanted to talk to John about something else though, that disturbing trip at Ajanta
+"My dear, you are living out your dream of the exotic. Enjoy it while it lasts" John pushed a ceramic cup towards him, filled with the promise of that thick sweet liquid they called tea here. It carried that extra sinuousness of form, muscular form, he did not know how else to describe it, that made the Orient what it was. He felt attached here, to the place.
 " Those were beautiful works, John, actually beautiful works, not just of craftsmanship, but they had something infinitely more.. and none of these boys could see it. Not one! Some of them actually refused to make copies. I had to finally just pull rank with them to get them to do it"
-He remembered John's troubled face when he went back home at night. Was it their teaching? was the unspoken question between them.
+Griffith went to bed again, trying to weigh in balance all that he remembered saying in different classes, saying to different Indian boys, who were training to be artists in this country. Of course memory is very selective at such times, it would let him off, pronounce him not guilty in the mean.  Pestonjee's sullen expression at the caves returned to haunt him. And then he would feel "guilty,guilty, guilty". To what end? Did he really believe that all that he told them about perspective and ancient Greek art was worth nothing. No, he did not think that. So then where, between the introduction of the new- and for these boys sometimes all of it was new, certainly the evaluation of their own monuments that they had hitherto treated with a completely utilitarian approach..
-What were they saying that were making these young men contemptuous of the finest work of their country's craftsmanship?
+Sleep came closer, and unbolted many  doors in the dark. New-old images floated up. The familiar film of sweat squirted its way out of his pores,all over his body and evaporated into a cool air that finally lulled him to [[sleep]]. As he was slipping away, he heard midnight crows making bedlam of that hour.

@@ Line 13: / Line 13: @@
 What were they saying that were making these young men contemptuous of the finest work of their country's craftsmanship?
 Griffith went to bed remembering what he said in different classes, trying to evaluate his own words in the light of what had happened. Pestonjee's sullen expression at the caves returned to haunt him.
-Sleep came closer, unbolting many doors in the dark, and new-old images floated up. The familiar film of sweat squirted its way out of his pores,all over his body, evaporated into a cool air and lulled him finally to [[sleep]] in his residence near J.J..He could hear some midnight crows.
+Sleep came closer, unbolting many other doors in the dark, and new-old images floated up. The familiar film of sweat squirted its way out of his pores,all over his body, evaporated into a cool air and lulled him finally to [[sleep]] in his residence near J.J..He could hear some midnight crows making bedlam of that hour.