Things tended to seem grander, bigger, and better as a child. Maybe it's because children are actually smaller than adults, and therefore everything seems bigger because it...well...is. But I think there's more to it than that. Our minds as children are so prone to exaggeration, which I think is linked to the imaginations children possess. I remember my brother telling a story of running from a bumblebee that was as big as his head. He would argue vehemently against anyone who tried to reason with him that it is rare (if not absolutely impossible) for a bumblebee to be that size. But he was convinced it was. In his memory, that bumblebee was the size of his head, whether in reality it was or not. It was his reality. And therefore, I maintain that a child's imaginings and memories are, to them, real. It is not until children grow up and their wild imaginations are tamed (become dormant? morph into something else completely?cease to exist? who knows) that they get a better grasp on "reality."
For example, in Nobokov's experience, his family's coat of arms appeared to be different to his childhood self than his adult self:
"Thus, in the first version of this chapter, when describing the Nabokov's coat of arms (carelessly glimpsed among some familial trivia many years before), I somehow managed to twist it into the fireside wonder of two bears posing with a great chessboard propped up between them. I have now looked it up, that blazon, and am disappointed to find that it boils down to a couple of lions--brownish and, perhaps, overshaggy beasts, but not really ursine--licking their chops, rampant, regardant, arrogantly demonstrating the unfortunate knight's shield, which is only one sixteenth of a checkerboard, of alternate tinctures, azure & gules, with a botoneé cross, argent, in each rectangle" (51).
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
A Ghost of the Present
"A sense of security, of well-being, of summer warmth pervades my memory. That robust reality makes a ghost of the present. The mirror brims with brightness; a bumblebee has entered the room and bumps against the ceiling. Everything is as it should be, nothing will ever change, nobody will ever die." - Speak, Memory, page 77.
This particular quote had quite an impact on me. I kind of like the idea of making a ghost of the present instead of a ghost of the past. I think more often than not, we think of our past in ghost-like terms - it is wispy, phantom-like and surreal. But what if our memories are so tangible and palpable that it is our present that becomes dreamlike and unreal? I often think back into my childhood into a time when security, well-being and summer warmth pervade my memory. A time when my family was still together. A time when my mother was still alive. I lost my mother three years ago, and sometimes it seems as if this world in which she no longer exists is the phantom world; a ghost of the present. My robust reality is the memories I have of her - the security and well-being she provided me. The only way I can interact with her now is through my memories. The world in which I remember her is the real world. In that world she is still alive and well and everything, as Nobokov says, is as it should be.
This particular quote had quite an impact on me. I kind of like the idea of making a ghost of the present instead of a ghost of the past. I think more often than not, we think of our past in ghost-like terms - it is wispy, phantom-like and surreal. But what if our memories are so tangible and palpable that it is our present that becomes dreamlike and unreal? I often think back into my childhood into a time when security, well-being and summer warmth pervade my memory. A time when my family was still together. A time when my mother was still alive. I lost my mother three years ago, and sometimes it seems as if this world in which she no longer exists is the phantom world; a ghost of the present. My robust reality is the memories I have of her - the security and well-being she provided me. The only way I can interact with her now is through my memories. The world in which I remember her is the real world. In that world she is still alive and well and everything, as Nobokov says, is as it should be.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
An Emotional Subject
This entry is partly in response to Sarah's blog post this week and partly in response to a conversation I had with Deb last week about her process of making a memory palace. Both Sarah's post and my conversation with Deb were similar in that they involved discussing the different ways people (and women, in particular) remember and make memories. Sarah wrote about her observation of Proust and how he writes about memory in an almost feminine way; in Swann's Way, memories are connected more to emotions than they are connected to images, and that this presents a sort of vulnerable and sentimental way of remembering; attributes often associated with femininity.
This same topic came up in my conversation with Deb; she mentioned she had difficulty creating a memory palace by only visualizing absurd or ridiculous images. In fact, from what I gathered as we were talking, she really couldn't approach it in that way at all to be successful at making her memories stick. The items she was placing around her memory palace absolutely had to be connected to an emotion or feeling that was also connected to a past memory...she was creating associations that were much less visual than the prescribed way of remembering by visualizing the obscene/ludicrous.
I then thought about my own way of remembering. I am an extremely visual person. In fact, a friend of mine has come to find entertainment in throwing out a one or two word description of something and then having me describe the detailed image that comes to my mind. He once told me to visualize a dancing squirrel, and the image that immediately popped into my mind was of a squirrel wearing bright green high-top Chuck Taylors, a pink and black polka-dotted shirt, and neon blue shorts doing break-dancing moves on the branch of a red maple tree. I have no problem conjuring up crazy images in the blink of an eye.
So the differences between visual or emotional memories and my experience versus Deb's experience made me wonder...is remembering by associating objects with emotion really a feminine thing, or is just automatically considered a feminine thing because woman are so often associated with being emotional and more sensitive? Are there men who remember this way? Proust was a man, and his themes in Swann's Way, as Sarah suggested, are emotional, so that makes me wonder if there are more men out there who do the same thing.
Can we really make this a gender issue? Or is it more subtle and complex than that?
This same topic came up in my conversation with Deb; she mentioned she had difficulty creating a memory palace by only visualizing absurd or ridiculous images. In fact, from what I gathered as we were talking, she really couldn't approach it in that way at all to be successful at making her memories stick. The items she was placing around her memory palace absolutely had to be connected to an emotion or feeling that was also connected to a past memory...she was creating associations that were much less visual than the prescribed way of remembering by visualizing the obscene/ludicrous.
I then thought about my own way of remembering. I am an extremely visual person. In fact, a friend of mine has come to find entertainment in throwing out a one or two word description of something and then having me describe the detailed image that comes to my mind. He once told me to visualize a dancing squirrel, and the image that immediately popped into my mind was of a squirrel wearing bright green high-top Chuck Taylors, a pink and black polka-dotted shirt, and neon blue shorts doing break-dancing moves on the branch of a red maple tree. I have no problem conjuring up crazy images in the blink of an eye.
So the differences between visual or emotional memories and my experience versus Deb's experience made me wonder...is remembering by associating objects with emotion really a feminine thing, or is just automatically considered a feminine thing because woman are so often associated with being emotional and more sensitive? Are there men who remember this way? Proust was a man, and his themes in Swann's Way, as Sarah suggested, are emotional, so that makes me wonder if there are more men out there who do the same thing.
Can we really make this a gender issue? Or is it more subtle and complex than that?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Gust of Memory
I've always been intrigued by America's founding fathers and the ability they had to speak and incite people to action. Orators such as Patrick Henry and John Adams frequently spoke to the American people off the cuff, a talent I greatly admire (probably due to the fact that I consider myself dreadful at it). Their education seemed to be deep and wide; they knew of philosophy and art and politics and religion, and they were able to draw upon that broad knowledge to make fully formed arguments at a moment's notice. And if someone refuted their arguments, they seemed to be able to call upon some other nugget of knowledge from within to counter the refutation. Their far-reaching acquaintance with rhetoric, and by association, memory enabled them to pull up information swiftly and speak about it in an educated way. Now, I don't know if they were familiar with memory palaces, but I do know they placed significance on studying ancient rhetoricians, who do we know were familiar with memory palaces (i.e. Cicero).
We haven't been studying about America's revolutionary figures in this class, but my interest in them stems back to when I was a child growing up in a colonial farmhouse in Morganville, NJ. In fact, my house (which was built in the 1750s) was used by General Clinton of the British army at one point during the battles carried on in the colony of New Jersey. Growing up with that history around me gave me a love for it that has never left. So last semester in Writing Pedagogy with Dr. Branch, when he gave a class that covered the basics of classical rhetoric, I became highly interested in studying classical rhetoric further, especially from a Colonial American standpoint; if I could combine my love of 18th-century America with my newfound interest in classical rhetoric, then voila! I had an area of study I with which (I had a hunch) I could be fascinated. I studied and researched into how classical rhetoric played a huge part in obtaining freedom from Britain; without it, I don't believe we would have the same country we have today.
Now that I am in this class, I am realizing even more the reason I have so much respect for the historical figures of the Revolution; they took their education seriously, especially when it came to studying classical rhetoric (which I'm learning includes the art of memory). They could converse on a wide array of topics; and they did not converse menially, but rather conversed with meaning! I think I am so interested in this because I want to be able to do the same. I'm jealous of those people in history who were required to study rhetoric and all it involved. I'm jealous of the ancient students of rhetoric who were familiar with memory techniques and rules and studied them on a daily basis. I want to be able to converse about a multitude of things and bring bits knowledge to the forefront of my brain when I need to. So while I am jealous of those old masters of memory and rhetoric, I am hoping some of their enthusiasm and skill rubs off on me over the course of this semester.
Proust Paragraph
Even though this was at the very beginning of the book, I am entranced by the line, "These revolving, confused evocations never lasted for more than a few seconds" (p. 7), which I have also read translated as, "These shifting and confused gusts of memory never lasted for more than a few seconds." I do believe Lydia Davis has performed a beautiful translation, but I can't help but feel some sadness over the omission of the expression "gusts of memory," for I think that is often how memories work; like a gust of wind that unexpectedly whirls by you, letting you experience it for just a moment before it flutters off again. Memories are elusive and intangible. I am reminded of a song lyric in the musical The Sound of Music: "How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?" You can't. Neither can you catch a memory and pin it down. A memory and the moment in which it arises are usually unannounced; something as unrelated as a Madeleine can give rise to a memory of another time and place. I love that...that memories are little buried treasures, and you never know when you're going to discover one.
We haven't been studying about America's revolutionary figures in this class, but my interest in them stems back to when I was a child growing up in a colonial farmhouse in Morganville, NJ. In fact, my house (which was built in the 1750s) was used by General Clinton of the British army at one point during the battles carried on in the colony of New Jersey. Growing up with that history around me gave me a love for it that has never left. So last semester in Writing Pedagogy with Dr. Branch, when he gave a class that covered the basics of classical rhetoric, I became highly interested in studying classical rhetoric further, especially from a Colonial American standpoint; if I could combine my love of 18th-century America with my newfound interest in classical rhetoric, then voila! I had an area of study I with which (I had a hunch) I could be fascinated. I studied and researched into how classical rhetoric played a huge part in obtaining freedom from Britain; without it, I don't believe we would have the same country we have today.
Now that I am in this class, I am realizing even more the reason I have so much respect for the historical figures of the Revolution; they took their education seriously, especially when it came to studying classical rhetoric (which I'm learning includes the art of memory). They could converse on a wide array of topics; and they did not converse menially, but rather conversed with meaning! I think I am so interested in this because I want to be able to do the same. I'm jealous of those people in history who were required to study rhetoric and all it involved. I'm jealous of the ancient students of rhetoric who were familiar with memory techniques and rules and studied them on a daily basis. I want to be able to converse about a multitude of things and bring bits knowledge to the forefront of my brain when I need to. So while I am jealous of those old masters of memory and rhetoric, I am hoping some of their enthusiasm and skill rubs off on me over the course of this semester.
Proust Paragraph
Even though this was at the very beginning of the book, I am entranced by the line, "These revolving, confused evocations never lasted for more than a few seconds" (p. 7), which I have also read translated as, "These shifting and confused gusts of memory never lasted for more than a few seconds." I do believe Lydia Davis has performed a beautiful translation, but I can't help but feel some sadness over the omission of the expression "gusts of memory," for I think that is often how memories work; like a gust of wind that unexpectedly whirls by you, letting you experience it for just a moment before it flutters off again. Memories are elusive and intangible. I am reminded of a song lyric in the musical The Sound of Music: "How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?" You can't. Neither can you catch a memory and pin it down. A memory and the moment in which it arises are usually unannounced; something as unrelated as a Madeleine can give rise to a memory of another time and place. I love that...that memories are little buried treasures, and you never know when you're going to discover one.
Monday, January 16, 2012
First Post
Memory is something I have taken for granted, as I’m sure a vast majority of the world’s population has done as well. On a day-to-day basis, I don’t think about what it would be like not to remember my childhood, or what I ate for breakfast, or where I went on vacation last year. Sure, sometimes certain memories slip my mind, but for the most part, I can recall the events that have transpired in my life.
After reading about the amnesiac EP in Moonwalking with Einstein, it made me ponder what life would be like if my hippocampus had been eaten away by disease while the rest of my brain stayed intact. It sounds like an absolute nightmare, and one that you don’t even know you’re experiencing.
Our memories are often what shape our character, in my opinion. It’s often said that it’s our experiences that mold who we are…but without remembering our life experiences, would they even matter? Without our memoires of those experiences, what or who would we be? I am trying to imagine what my character would be like if I couldn't remember losing my mother to cancer or if I couldn't remember playing the violin. My character might be quite different if I couldn't remember 9/11, or the way I could see the New York skyline from the second floor of my house where I grew up in New Jersey.
I am also fascinated with the idea that our brains already know everything, we just haven't found a way of remembering or accessing the information yet. What if that is true? What if there is a way of unlocking our brains to the vast stores of information it very well could contain, unbeknownst to us (or unbeknownst to our memory). To me, this is also related to the character in Foer's book Daniel and other "savants" - are they tapping into those previously untapped memories?
If we all know the same things, and if some way we could all unlock that knowledge, would our personalities still remain unique and individual, or would they merge into one giant, collective personality? I don't know. I would like to think that we would still each be different, but it's hard to say.
In Plato's Meno, Socrates says, "And if the truth of all things always existed in the soul, then the soul is immortal. Wherefore be of good cheer, and try to recollect what you do not know, or rather what you do not remember."
Are we just immortals waiting for the veil to be lifted?
If we all know the same things, and if some way we could all unlock that knowledge, would our personalities still remain unique and individual, or would they merge into one giant, collective personality? I don't know. I would like to think that we would still each be different, but it's hard to say.
In Plato's Meno, Socrates says, "And if the truth of all things always existed in the soul, then the soul is immortal. Wherefore be of good cheer, and try to recollect what you do not know, or rather what you do not remember."
Are we just immortals waiting for the veil to be lifted?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)