Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Archaic Smile
Back when I was trying to figure out my tastes, I would compare pictures of men.
OK, which one do you find more attractive?
Then the harder question.
Why?
One of the things that I learned about myself is that I really like guys that smile.
One of the things that I learned about Americans while traveling abroad was that Americans smile a lot. As a people, that says something about us.
I smile a lot myself. Hey, I've waited tables; my waiter's smile has had miles of practice. When you read to others as different—and when you look at me, you tend to think “gay” right away—a smile is a useful tool.
Call me a Philistine if you like (see if I care), but when it comes to ancient Greek art, I've always prefered Archaic to Classical. Classical art I admire; Archaic art I love.
Some of it is a matter of relationality, to be sure. Perfection is cold. But stylization, the schematic, simultaneously creates a distance and bridges that distance. Beholding it—by which I mean participatory seeing—you sense essence.
And then, of course, there's that mysterious smile—it's even known as the Archaic Smile—that plays about the lips of Archaic figures like a flickering flame. What are they smiling about? you want to ask. What do they know that I don't?
But, of course, sometimes you do know what they're smiling about. It's that sense of rightness, of well-being, of deep, deep inner joy: the bliss of being who you are, of being where you belong.
In some, such a smile creates suspicion. What have you got to smile about? they ask.
To such a question as this, an enigmatic archaic smile is the only possible response.
O happy people, children of happy gods.
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nolongerhere Monday, 28 August 2017
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