Week Five

Andrés de Santa Maria, The Harvesters, 1895

This is one of my favorite scenes in art. Before I saw the title or even started to contemplate this painting, something else came to mind:

Jean-François Millet, The Gleaners, 1957

Millet's painting came almost 40 years earlier than de Santa Maria. It's likely that de Santa Maria was familiar with Millet's work and he likely wanted to recreate it.

Though de Santa Maria's version is quite similar to Millet's painting, there are some obvious differences. de Santa Maria chooses to have one woman actually bending over and picking while the other two women stand, but in Millet's painting, two women are bending over while the third is just about to be reach for the plants as well. So the depiction of these harvesters or gleaners is slightly different.

That's a very small difference, and I almost suggest it with tongue in cheek. But the differences that really matter are two things.

1. The backgrounds. In Millet's painting, we see a lovely pastoral scene, typical of European paintings of that time.  But in de Santa Maria's painting, we see mountains and a vast expanse of land. The landscape is so different in Latin America than it is in Europe. This difference helps to emphasize the essential Latin American and European feelings we get from these paintings.

2. The clothing. I don't know much about clothing styles in 19th century Europe and Latin America, but I can tell you that they differ quite a bit. Millet's gleaners look European and de Santa Maria's gleaners look Latin American. 

These differences are all on the surface. The similarities- and one in particular- are what really impresses me.

We all have to glean.

We are all different, that can't be denied. But at the same time, we have this unbreakable connection with every other person alive or dead: Humanity. We are all human. And, call me crazy, but I think that's more important than any difference

Week Four

I may be the only one, but I think that Iracema is difficult to understand.

I read the first nine chapters once through and I couldn't think of any connections to make.

So I read the passage again and still nothing.

I went back to the book again and just flipped through, thinking that maybe it was the flowery language that was preventing me from making an insightful and entertaining comment about this novella. 

And I finally came up with an idea.

From the Chief's encounter with Iracema: "Vile is the warrior who allows himself to be protected by a woman." (Iracema, José de Alencar, 24)

In one of my other classes, we have been talking about "Minnedienst" which is a German term that essentially describes how a man (particularly a knight) does everything for the woman of his dreams. He fights battles for her and he tries to woo her. He would certainly be a disgrace if a woman was to protect him. 

This idea is apparent in other cultures as well. I think back to fairy tales that speak of men rescuing helpless women.

This raises a question in my mind:

Why is it so undignified for a woman to protect a man? Why does the Chief tell Iracema that she should not be protecting Martim?

Women are capable and strong. Iracema herself is an incredible example of that. She can defend herself, as proved by her first encounter with Martim (whom she shot) and by the way that she dealt with the Chief. Women are able to fight their own battles, to forge their own way in this world.

But I'm from a time when this way of thinking is not only acceptable, but it's encouraged.

They lived in a different time when chivalry was important. 

I want to conclude with a question for you. Does the Chief's admonition apply today?

Week Three

Do not pity the people. Let us die quickly, if we do not win, and we shall make our dais of the people who die supposing the cowardly gods do not favor us. (Stephen Schwartz, Victors and Vanquished, 187-8)

Although there is certainly a lot to say about the fall of Tenochtitlan, I was struck by the quote above. It's likely that the reason that it means so much to me is because of another quote that I feel is quite similar:

"Do not pity the dead.... Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love." (J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, 722)

Pity.
What a terrible feeling.

Have we not all felt pity towards someone at some point? We see an aged woman struggling to load groceries into her car at the supermarket or someone with a physical or mental handicap trying to accomplish a seemingly simple task or someone who has lost her hair due to cancer treatment and what do we feel? Often times, pity. But we shouldn't feel pity for these people, for they clearly have gone through hardships that we probably can't even imagine. These people possess wisdom and strength that others may never gain, especially those that choose to pity themselves and others.

This is something that has bothered me while reading Victors and Vanquished: The Spaniards seem to pity the natives because they seem less sophisticated than the soldiers with their advanced weapons, fancy clothes, and big boats. But when I think of the people living in Tenochtitlan, I do not understand how anyone could pity these people. They created a city out of nearly nothing. They were wealthy, smart, and productive people. These are not people to be pitied. These are people to be admired, people to learn from.

Our pity doesn't lead to conquests or destroying cities like that of the Spaniards. But that doesn't justify our often mean or accusing thoughts towards others. If the Spaniards hadn't sought to destroy Tenochtitlan out of greed and pity, Mexico would be a much different place today. So, if we no longer feel pity, perhaps our lives would be a little happier and we would be a little more aware of the incredible people all around us. 

 Because they are certainly there.

Week Two

He was going to embrace him, and those great Princes who accompanied Montezuma held back Cortés by the arm so that he should not embrace him, for they considered it an indignity. (Stephen Schwartz, Victors and Vanquished- The March Inward, 135)

I think we can all agree that Cortés made some mistakes during his visit with Montezuma. In my opinion, the biggest mistake that he made was ignoring the culture that was so obviously in place. When Cortés chided Montezuma in regards to the way they worship, I was appalled by his lack of understanding of the culture. No, I don't think that human sacrifice to idols is particularly effective worship, but it's not quite apropos to tell someone they're going to hell. This was a pretty glaring example of cultural misunderstanding, but not every example in the text is so obvious, and that's why I like the quote above. There really is no way that Cortés could have known that hugging was undignified, because his culture was (slightly) more like this video:   

 I imagine that not everyone in Spain at that time was as willing to hug strangers as the video portrays, but my point is that hugging was (and is) a sign of friendship and good will. At least it is in some cultures. But in others- like Montezuma's- it's not appropriate or appreciated. In class, we talked about this idea, that there are varying cultures even within the Latin American culture. I think it's so important to remember that culture changes everywhere you go. For example, I grew up in Nebraska and moved to Utah for college. Despite the fact that they're both in the United States, you better believe that I discovered many cultural differences. 


Ultimately, everyone is different. The culture of one country is going to be different than that of another country. There will even be different sub-cultures within that country. We are all stuck behind the lens of culture that we grew up with. But as we try to understand these different cultures and ideas, we will have our eyes opened to a great wealth of knowledge and new ways of life. As I consider this, though, I realize that some things we just won't understand. And that reminds me of this video:

  

Sometimes people are just different.