Editorial

On Language Games and the Arts

Language games govern how we perceive time, space, identity, and the universe at large; these systems and disciplines shape our view of the world. Yet the language game of art is often underappreciated as a maker of change, perhaps because society associates it with abstraction, fiction, or entertainment. The strong artist knows this and uses it, insinuating ideas about the universe that would otherwise go unnoticed.

On art and music, C. S. Lewis writes in The Weight of Glory that "they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited". Jeanette Winterson, in Art Objects: Essays on Ecstasy and Effrontery, writes that "art does not imitate life. Art anticipates life". Neither phrase can replace the word ART, but reducing the concept to such a phrase would be its death.

With these ideas in mind, the September issue of The Pasticheur, arriving with the equinox in both hemispheres, opens the season by spotlighting two artists from distant times and places: a photographer whose work I have long admired, Shirley Baker (1932–2014), and a composer I admire and have known for twenty-two years, Robert "Bob" Zieff (b. 1927). Separated by distance, culture, and form, their work continues to resonate and inspire, bridging past and present.

Beyond their talent, and beyond how their work moves me, I find their humbleness admirable, something I can say of only a few.

Shirley's documentary photography was never imposing, never pretentious, never self-centered, and ever-present. She never spoke about or promoted herself or her work, yet she became known as a pioneer in the field, and thanks to the work of her daughter, Nan Levy, she is being appreciated again. Her work mattered because she saw what most did not see, or did not care to: how people in some parts of the city lived despite poverty, how the young set the trends that become culture, and how the old carry a wisdom that a society quick to forget its elders tends to overlook. Unlike artists whose names stay welded to their work, Shirley's does not, though most of us have seen her photographs, in one context or another, before.

Like Shirley, Bob is rarely associated with his own name. He has composed for influential musicians such as Chet Baker and taught important performers such as Richard Twardzik, yet like many jazz composers he was never properly recognized. He did not try to be. Tunes such as "Sad Walk" have become favorites, performed and reperformed, and still almost no one thinks of Bob when they hear them. The pieces evoke their own emotions and reactions; they are timeless, as Shirley's photographs are. They belong in this publication because they stand as metaphors for certain realities, and like the work of all strong artists, they take on new meaning each time.

In 2004 I founded Sirena, a journal of poetry, art, and criticism. That May, a colleague and writer in residence, Michael Augustin, and I decided to feature Bob in the journal's second issue. We recorded a CD with three versions of his "Sad Walk", photocopied the score, and sent both to several poets, asking them to listen and compose a poem in response to what they heard; we published the results as an homage to Bob and his work. The first two issues of Sirena exist only in print; those that followed, through 2012, are available online through Johns Hopkins's Project Muse. Today, twenty years later, we bring back in electronic form part of that homage, featuring Bob's music alongside poetry by Michael Augustin (Germany), Sujata Bhatt (India/USA/Germany), Robert Creeley (Massachusetts), Hasso Krull (Estonia), Linda McCarriston (Massachusetts), Adrian Mitchell (England), and Eleanor Wilner (Cleveland).

Photography, film, painting, sculpture, and literature all share the act of composition, a vision or idea, which is essential for expressing aspects of reality that escape denotative definition. As metaphors they hold all possible interpretations at once, and yet none of those interpretations can fully account for the work of art.

Shirley's photographs and Bob's music are perhaps the scent of a flower we have never found, the echo of a tune we have not yet heard, as Lewis proposed. And as with all artists, once published the work is no longer theirs but the public's. The poems written in response to Bob's tunes are perhaps news from a country each of us visits for the first time, as their words become ours. In this way, as Winterson suggested, art shapes our lives through anticipation, often predicting our lives and our realities before we live them.

Enjoy this issue, share it widely, and find ways to take part in the exchange of ideas we try to foster here.

Jorge R. G. Sagastume, Editor