Semiotic Themes

I took this photo in Dublin, Ireland a few years ago.

Content of material represented through literature, art and music contains the linguistic configurations associated with language in addition to visual and auditory stimuli: 

In literature, content consists of language, represented by words on a page that convey meaning to the audience. 

Artistic content varies from materials, such as paint, rock, metal, fabric, or other physical substances, with the subject matter originating in the human experience. 

Musical compositions include content that incorporates any form of resonance to which the auditory mechanism responds.

For instance, thematic representation of creative expression incorporates the history, language and culture of the artist in relation to individual purpose of expression with an audience. A musical composition contains a specific theme. This theme can then repeat every time a musician performs the piece. However, the theme will elicit variations based on instrumentation, acoustics, and musicians actively attempting to recreate the original sound. 

A new aurally thematic expression results from this interpretation. Likewise, a work of art will receive the eyes of multiple viewers. Each person adapts his/her life experience (historicity) to the interpretation of the rendered artistic theme, thus altering the original thematic construct of the artist. Hence, an artist's theme is in a constant state of evolution, no matter which art form has been presented. (Lakatos 22-23)

Iconic Realism and Commercial Use

(Image from Google Images)

A few years ago, I had viewed a TV commercial for a national American bank. The ad began with footage of an adorable, well-fed, happy baby, followed by a series of events that could affect this baby during his/her lifetime, placing the iconic image of innocence juxtaposed with the risks of adult decisions, bringing the audience to the recognition that their savings would earn wonderful dividends if placed in this bank. 

In another commercial, a hybrid automobile is placed in the middle of a lush, wooded glen. Little by little, the writers narrate the environmental benefits of owning this car. Again, the placement of an icon for modern society in the middle of the natural environment makes a statement about the cultural need for earthly stewardship (as well as the adaptability of that particular car to a variety of terrains).  However, they never mentioned the cost of maintaining such a vehicle. Hmmm... food for thought in another commercial perhaps...

Indeed, the use of iconic realism is a creative means to sell a product!

Century Mountain Project and Iconic Realism

Huang Xiang and William Rock

Click HERE to see their website

William Rock and Huang Xiang have formed a collaboration that unites iconic figures throughout the centuries with artistic/poetic expression. Their juxtaposition of these creative geniuses in the common public arena brings awareness of cultural coalescence.

However, the audience incorporates and assimilates the information gained from perceiving a work of art, the reader, viewer or listener structures the information in order to create interpretation.

The audience draws from personal nuances to create the parameters of this creative endeavor, basing it upon the artist’s textual, visual, scientific or musical composition. This circuitous relationship between the audience and the artist continues to unfold as the audience adapts its mind-set to the art form.

Sydney Owenson's (Lady Morgan's) "The Musical Fly and William Blake's "The Fly"

                

 
Photos above:

 Left: Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) with harp, compliments of NY Public Library

Right: the-fly-shapiro.webp from Google Images

An excerpt from a paper presented at Association for Franco-Irish Studies, Mary Immaculate College, Limerick, Ireland: 

In Sydney Owenson's (Lady Morgan's) poetic collection, Lay of an Irish Harp,  her chapter entitled, “The Musical Fly,” renders a quote in French: “De pouvoir sans nous ennuyer Eterniser une bagatelle,” which translated into English generally states, “We cannot perpetuate a trifle annoyance.” Her poetic rendition continues with the tale of a fly’s encounter with the silent strings of a harp and an allusion to William Blake’s “The Fly” (See Blake's poem below.)

In the third stanza, she writes: 

Not seem’d unconscious of the charm
That lurk’d in every silent string
For oft the little vagrant swept

               O’er every chord his lucid wing. 

A fly not only is an insect that displays independence, but the word, fly, is both transitive and intransitive, with multiple meanings, all of which are related to transcendence. This fly, then, could be representative of independence. While Blake’s fly has an inevitable brush with death, “For I dance/And drink and sing, /Till some blind hand/Shall brush my wing,” Owenson’s fly, with a touch of its lucid wing, flirts with the silent strings of the Irish harp, a symbol of Ireland, and manages to create a resonance with the origins of the harp’s music. 

Both writers use a melodic format with metaphoric representations of the human aspiration for independence and the complexity that occurs when this spirit interacts with annoying governmental and societal dictates. Both poets elucidate for their audiences the dire consequences associated with submission to an overt power. 

Whereas Blake’s fly dances until it receives its fatal blow, Owenson’s fly dances to silent strings. Hers lives in a paradox that illustrates her desire to convince those in the British government, who could create the true music to allow their constituents to experience a reality based on tolerance, but choose instead to manage their constituents like that of the insect-vagrant, whose truth consists of momentary felicity. 

Owenson’s careful choice of lexicon in her poetic representation of independence reveals the antagonism that echoes throughout Irish history, like the strings of her harp, often resonating in a cultural vacuum of silence. 

The Fly 

by William Blake

Little fly,

Thy summer’s play

My thoughtless hand

Has brushed away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance

And drink and sing,

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life

And strength and breath,

And the want

Of thought is death,

Then am I

A happy fly,

If I live,

Or if I die.

William Butler Yeats' "The Tower II" and Iconic Realism

I took this photograph of Thoor Ballylee a few years ago.

 

I pace upon the battlements and stare

On the foundations of a house, or where

Tree like a sooty finger, starts from the earth;

and send imagination forth

Under the day’s declining beam, and call

Images and memories

From ruin or from ancient trees,

For I would ask a question of them all.

(“The Tower II,” ll. 18-25) [1]

Here, Yeats places himself in the midst of the Tower, the earthen icon of the human soul. Born of the ancient source of all life, this soul’s power rests in the simplicity of a child’s voice, echoing for the “blind man’s joy.” This simplicity is so powerful that “certain men, be[come] maddened by those rhymes,” (l. 42) a magnificent union of the duality existent in imagination and reality. 

To further illustrate this duality, Yeats incorporates the iconic representation of “The Great Memory” to signify the reality of human consciousness. The speaker is out of control while at the same time, he is in control, “Come old, necessitous, half-mounted man;/And bring beauty’s blind rambling celebrant” (ll. 91-2). This ambivalence, accented with alliteration, leads to Yeats’s revelation that from chaos comes order and from dissonance, consonant harmony. He continues with his reference to human consciousness with an allusion to his recurrent swan’s song: “When the swan must fix his eye/ Upon a fading gleam, /Float out upon a long/Last reach of glistening stream/And there sing his last song” (ll. 141-45). 

The central theme of this poem is the realization of life’s paradox that art is both illusion and ideal. When Yeats reveals through the alliteration and rapid meter of “Man makes a superhuman/Mirror-resembling dream” (ll.165-66), he draws upon his references of the Easter Uprising and WWI in which reality of life recreates itself through the restructuring of chaos. 

Yeats’s iconic-bucolic imagery of singing birds in the introductory and concluding lines of “The Tower” reinforce his message of universal harmony that echoes throughout the sphere of life’s transformations. His final lines, “Seem but the clouds of the sky/When the horizon fades,/ Or a bird’s sleepy cry/ Among the deepening shades” (ll.193-96), indicate his reconciliation of life, art, Ireland and reality. It is not by accident that this poem leads directly to “Meditations in Time of Civil War.” 

In “The Tower,” Yeats illustrates the necessity for humanity to acknowledge the reality of life’s paradox and to nurture human consciousness with eyes wide open to human frailties as well as the glorious harmony present in one's creative endeavors.

[1] Yeats, William Butler. The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats. (Hertfordshire, G.B.: Wordsworth Editions, Ltd., 2000)


[2] Lakatos, Jeanne. The Theory of Iconic Realism: Understanding the Arts through Cultural Context. New York: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2008, pp. 54-55.

Alice McDermott's novel, 'At Weddings and Wakes' and Iconic Realism: Doors

As my #37 bus passed by this section of Dublin, these doors always intrigued me.

From a paper presented at the American Conference for Irish Studies, Emory Univ., Atlanta, Georgia: 

Alice McDermott incorporates the iconic figure of a door, as a primary trigger of childhood memories in her novel, At Weddings and Wakes. Usually, a door is the iconic representation of a threshold, transporting either the characters or the reading audience to a new episode or revelation. However, McDermott’s doorways represent stability, a way for a child’s mind to capture a moment in time and hold it in place to reminisce or perhaps learn about oneself or the influential people who enter and leave via the strategically placed doors. For example, she begins the book with a vivid description of the narrator’s childhood front door: 

Twice a week in every week of summer except the last in July and the first in August, their mother shut the front door, the white, eight-panel door that served as backdrop for every Easter, First Holy Communion, confirmation, and graduation photo in the family album, and with the flimsy screen leaning against her shoulder turned the key in the black lock, gripped the curve of the elaborate wrought-iron handle that had been sculpted to resemble a black vine curled into a question mark, and in what seemed a brief but accurate imitation of a desperate housebreaker, wrung the door on its hinges until, well satisfied, she turned slipped away from the screen as if she were throwing a cloak from her shoulders, and said, “Let’s go.”   

On their odyssey through the city transportation system, the mother and her children encounter the subway entrance, described to reflect the child’s perspective: “And then bars, prison, bars, a wall of bars, and, even more fantastically, a wall of revolving doors all made of black iron (pp. 6-7).”  As they reach the Brooklyn apartment, another vivid description of doors provides the reader with a sense that this memory is one that the child paints in her mind to recall the important relationships of her mother. They connect the mother’s memory with that of the child’s: 

Key in hand, they climbed the steps again and let themselves in through the double glass door framed in heavy wood, across a tiled vestibule that held the cool stone smell of a church, and then into the dim hallway where the air was brown with the reflection of the dark wooden floor and the staircase, with the odor of stewing beef and boiled onions… 

One flight and across a narrow hallway with silent doors on either end, another flight, their mother’s shoes tapping on each tread and the dull yellow light now passing through an opaque lozenge of white skylight. An identical hallway (voices from behind the far door, again those rushed incomprehensible syllables struck throughout with startling exclamations), another flight, the light growing stronger until it spread itself like a blurred hand over the tops of each of the dulled and hazy light there was only a single door and the hallway on either side of it was filed with a clutch of cardboard boxes and paper bags…. (p. 1)

The single door gave off the purr and rattle that made it seem thick and animate to the children, with an internal life all its own. There was the scratch of the delicate chain, the metallic slither of its bolts, the tumble and click of its lock, and then, slowly, the creak of its hinges…. The face that appeared between the door and its frame was thinner than their mother’s and so, for the children, offered no resemblance – despite the same pale blue eyes and light skin and narrow mouth that was, as was their mother’s, fighting to resist a grin. ( pp. 12-13) 

Toward the end of the memoir, the father’s presence reveals a sense of humor in relation to a door, all the while, creating a puzzle in the children’s minds as he points out: 

She and her brother passed the corner parking lo of the Presbyterian church, crossed another side street, and then the catty-cornered doorway of a small bar (about which their father would say, with the same consistency that he made his cemetery joke but with a far more serious air, “ in all the years that we’ve lived here I’ve never passed through those doors,” filling his children with a vague admiration and a cautious sense of gratitude for what it was he had managed to avoid). (p. 151)

The iconic doors lend a sense of spirituality in McDermott’s novel as each door seems to have a personality of its own, a stability that intrigues and stimulates the childhood imagination that seems absent in the adults’ consciousness. This cognizance carved within the various slabs of wood, configured to keep out and keep in, actually create an experiential plane perceived by the children through their senses of sight, smell and especially sound, albeit occasionally, a dissonant harmony prevails between the squeaking movements of the doors’ hinges.