. Spinning .

I can only assume–as anyone else–that history interprets written language as descending from and a refining of pictographic art. Narrative was told in a series of simple, easily “readable” pictures on walls, tapestries, pottery, shades, and similar items that were both durable for posterity to read as history, and usable to surround one with one’s ancestral background.

Pictures served well as storyboards, although often huge gaps in time were necessary to fit limited space. But the language of pictures was understood by all at the time, and is still fairly clear centuries later–clear as to the durablity of the medium as well as the form. Man and woman were clearly defined by anatomically correct representation, as well as nobility from slaves by costume, crowns, jewelry and stance. Depiction of animals are still recognizable, and possession such as homes, boats, wagons, furniture, etc. were also similar enough in style to current trends to be obvious. But one thing is missing from early art; something that has progressively improved with both the artistic abilities (up through Michaelangelo at least, and the realist movements, since we’re exploring art as a language of history) and the evolution of written language as a separate art: Character Study.

The new addition on Spinning is the pencil drawing at the top of the right hand column (my left, if I’m facing you from inside your monitor screen) that I could use as an example of character study in portraiture. This drawing was done by my mother in 1929, a sketch she made from a magazine photo of movie actress Clara Bow. For a very short period of time, from when she was about 17 (at the time this picture was drawn) until her early twenties she produced quite a bit of pencil sketches of this type, as well as some pen and ink nudes that she used as the basis for paintings she then reproduced on her brother’s drums for their band. There is a depth to the actress that can be told from the pencil marks, soft feathering of the hair and skin shadows to bold and dark sensuality in the eyes and lips. This particular piece was never finished, but it was always one of my favorites out of all her works.

Words also have come a long way since Mesopotamian crockery. Although early written textual language seems more advanced in eloquence than some of the physical arts that have endured, and were able to more adequately include emotion and realism as both the languages expanded and man’s nature sought more intellectual goals than killing the behemoth before he killed you, narrative also reached several plateaus of stagnation where what was being written was based upon what was likely to be read. But just as all the post-modernism in the art world has transformed the human form often to unrecognizable shape, changes have made the simple story into more complex and layered forms that often require several readings to comprehend. And just as you often must stand back and stare quite a while at a Dali in the Museum of Modern Art, you may just need to be willing to learn how to take the time to understand and delve deeper into the hidden meanings and different interpretations of the modern work of fiction as well.

It’s character study. A study of the work, the subjects within the work, and the artist/writer that will give the most comprehensible and satisfying experience in appreciating the arts.

Upon reading certain literature, a most interesting question is proposed by Steve Ersinghaus at The Great Lettuce Head:

“How does an author generate this “reader response”? The same goes with King Lear. Every time I read Lear I hope the text will end differently. I’m hoping for the play to change, for Edmund to open his mouth. But he never does. I know he won’t. But I read “hoping” that he does.”

While an ongoing discussion places the burden upon the author, I also feel that the individual reader brings unique experience and point of view to a work, and bears a certain degree of responsibility for his own reaction.
For example, in the comments, Joanne suggests that she felt no empathy for Woody Allen’s protagonist in “The Kugelmass Episode.” I did. For whatever reason—age, upbringing, relationships, etc.—I could understand Kugelmass’ desires and frustrations as he seeks love with a literary character via a magician’s magic box. (I know that sounds strange, but I can’t think of better wording right now.)
Of course, I’m also branded as “Cries at weddings” and after a rather wet wedding rehearsal was nicely drugged for my own special day. So much so that at the minister’s words, “If there be anyone here present who sees just reason why these two should not…” I turned fully around to the congregation and scowled, eliciting a community chuckle among our friends and a sudden shrinking down into the seat by my embarrassed mother.
But back to the question of the writer and reader relationship, I would suggest that this is what is meant by reader input, whereas even the bound physical book of words is not seen the same by all.