In my last post I tried to elucidate the classy and artful double-entendre title of this blog. My Reciprocal Space, I explained, is a place for exchange, but the name also belies a play on words that invokes the peculiar mathematical construct used to interpret the X-ray diffraction patterns from crystalline samples. Reciprocal space inverts reality and reflects it back at us in ways that are not immediately obvious or revealing, as those who have grappled with the concept will know; but it can reward persistent analysis.
Now I promise that am not going to keep harping on about this, but I have just spent a few days in Chicago and two artistic encounters evoked alternative types of reciprocal space. So let me beg your indulgence on this topic one more time and then I’ll drop it – at least for a while!
The first encounter happened last Sunday on a dismal grey afternoon as incessant rain glossed the sidewalks and seeped into my shoes. I took refuge in the Art Institute of Chicago and came upon Ivan Albright’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. The painting was commissioned for the 1945 film of Oscar Wilde’s famous novel of the same name. In the book Dorian Gray maintains his youthful looks and pursues a life of debauched hedonism at the expense of his portrait, which—locked in the attic—decays slowly to reveal the terrible degradation of his soul. Albright’s painting is laden with corrupting detail (his signature style) and reveals the late stage of decay of the portrait. It is a truly shocking reciprocal to Dorian’s supremely indulgent lifestyle; the inversion is ugly, repellent – even the cat is disgusted with its master.
The second occurred on Tuesday at the nearby Millennium Park where Anish Kapoor’s sublime and very shiny sculpture, Cloud Gate sits gleaming in the sun. Known more commonly as ‘The Bean’, since that is exactly what it looks like, this is a fun piece of public art. The smooth, polished contours of the huge steel sculpture reflect the surroundings, playfully bending the linear, cornered cityscape into friendly curves.
But more enchanting still is to walk in underneath and gaze up at the convex metal surface which bounces and duplicates your reflection, casting it all over the place. Your image shimmers, stretches, separates and squeezes as you wander around. The pattern of reflections is so complex that you cannot easily make out the surface of the mirror—real and reciprocal spaces are conjoined—and you have to be careful not to bump into the metal walls. I stood and stared upwards, smiling with amusement, and trying—ever the scientist—to figure out the symmetry of my reflections.
There’s nothing terribly deep in either of these observations but, as I say, they did put me in mind of reciprocal space. I wonder have others chanced upon works of art that had echoes of their scientific interests? I would be glad to hear any reciprocal views…
Fantastic examples!
Thanks Maxine. I had thought that Albright’s horrified feline might draw (f)ire from some of the cat-lovers around here but not so far…
Can we talk of works of literature too? My memory is a bit rusty, but I rather thing that Jostein Gaarder’s philosophical novel Sophie’s World might be classed as an example of reciprocal space?
Sure – literature counts! What’s the story?
Well, a) I don’t want to give it away and b) I can’t remember in detail but it hinges around the distinction between characters in a book and characters in the real world. I remember that the point at which it finally becomes clear what’s going on was quite dazzling.
That’s sounds intriguing – and perhaps one I should read, since I sometimes have difficulty separating characters from real people…!
Have you ever come across Flann O’Brien’s At Swim Two Birds? It’s a comic tale in which (my memory is also fuzzy – is that age?) multiple plot-lines become entwined and the characters try to seize control of the story from the author. I clearly remember enjoying it immensely!
Yes, I did read At Swim Two Birds, but even longer ago so I recall only that I classified it in my head under “Books I would read again if I had time”. I guess Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead is also one of these works of metafiction.
My desk at work often resembles a Joseph Cornell collage, and there are some Salvador Dali paintings that remind me of gross anatomy lab.
Moving on to literature, the “Oxen of the Sun” chapter of Joyce’s Ulysses contains not only a satire of styles in English literature, but also a summary of human prenatal development. A couple of years ago, I started drafting (roughly) a series of essays on this topic, but became discouraged when I realized that I needed access to the 63-volume James Joyce Archive, from Garland Publishing. It was much less intimidating to write up our tumor mutant frequency and mutation spectrum data for a paper, so I did that instead. 😉
I’d still like to come back to the embryonic Joyce essays, though, and there’s a full Garland Archive available at the Ransom Humanities Research Center in Austin.
Frank – that’s a great example of reciprocity!
Kristi – I have to confess that I have yet to get beyond the early chapters of Joyce’s masterwork. It sits on my bookshelf and every so often harrumphs derisively when I am in the room. I’d like to read your essay if you ever manage to find the time to get back to it…
Stephen- What finally pushed me over the hump with getting through Ulysses (and enjoying every minute of it), was reading Stuart Gilbert’s book James Joyce’s Ulysses, A Study at the same time. A friend gave me the Gilbert book as a present; I think it’s out of print, but used copies can be acquired for reasonable prices. I know the dominant paradigm is to disbelieve or mock people who say that Ulysses is their favorite book, but nevertheless: It’s my favorite book.
I haven’t managed to get through Finnegan’s Wake, however, so I’m prepared to let a Pynchon novel take second place in my literary
heartfrontal cortex.Thanks for the suggestion. A quick perusal of Amazon shows they have Gilbert’s book so maybe it’s time I took another run at it. I did love Dubliners and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Just got to get my current backlog out of the way…
So many books, so little time!
This blog post also stirred some vague thoughts in the back of my mind about Fourier transforms, but I thought better of it. However, seeing you have mentioned FTs in your comments elsewhere I will share my deep thought.
It seems to me that wisdom is like a Fourier transform of one’s life experiences. After hundreds or thousands of similar events in our life we can add them all up and find something simple and meaningful.
On its own, any individual event may seem insignificant or devoid of meaning, but taken together with all the other events there is meaning there.
That’s a nice thought Frank, but my fear is that the FT of my life would reveal nothing of significance…!