I want to ponder a paragraph in an article by Adam Gopnik about Milton Glaser, in the New Yorker, 3/27/23. Glaser was prolific, famous for his poster of Bob Dylan with peacocky hair and other rainbowy graphics--below, his album cover for Mahalia Jackson (via--with more examples).
Civilization can be seen in the care we take––and the circumstances that allow us to take that care––in making a plate of food look good. Or, by designing a good book cover (Glaser did this), or making an Apple product look sleek:
In the last paragraph, above, however, civilization runneth over. I relate to a latte's foam as an example of civilization's froth though—in fact, I heart ❤️ it—so, a la Michael’s How to Improve Writing series, I'm going to trim the overly ornamental paragraph.
ORIGINAL by Gopnik, with my strike-throughs:
"The care and imagination putintothe envelope of existence is a signof the strengthof a society'shummingself-confidence.Wherever there is anundue ornament, the economy is healthy. The heart pattern in the steamed milk of a latte is an assurance, like the peacock's plumage, that the bistro, or bird, is in such good shape that itcanafford towaste energy on looking wonderful. Judging a book by its cover is one of thewisestjudgments wecanmake."
My REWRITE:
"The care and imagination put into decorating the envelope of existence is a sign of a society's self-confidence. Undue ornament indicates a healthy economy. The heart pattern feathered into a latte's froth is an assurance, like the peacock's plumage, that the owner can waste energy on wonderful presentation. Judging a book by its cover is a wise judgement--though not on the book itself."
Better?
I changed some of the sense too--it is not "wise" to judge a book by its cover, and undue ornament is not always and everywhere a sign of a "healthy economy".
Look at the visible-mending style, sashiko, that is currently in vogue in Instagrammy culture. Arising in the folk culture of 17th century Japan, sashiko, "little stabs", makes a virtue out of necessity:
It is a needlessly decorative way of mending clothes, in which the sewer uses contrasting-colored thread to stitch pretty patterns on the outside of the clothes--like a latte's feathering.
Edo-era Japan was peaceful, and its economy was
growing, but the peasants––rice farmers––weren't the main
benefactors, they were the main source of taxes. (See, the desperately
poor farmers who hire the Seven Samurai.)
The imagination that peasant women put into decorating "envelopes of existence" was not the sign of their own wealth.
Indigo Niche explains, "These people simply couldn’t afford to throw away a single scrap of fabric." They evolved decorative stitchery to mend their cloths, making "a frugal necessity into a decorative art".
So, yeah... the wealth behind folk arts is not money, but a stable, even strict, society. (Can’t get much more strictly hierarchical than medieval Japan.)
That social treasury is, I think, the "self-confidence" Gopnik named first.
The imagination that peasant women put into decorating "envelopes of existence" was not the sign of their own wealth.
Indigo Niche explains, "These people simply couldn’t afford to throw away a single scrap of fabric." They evolved decorative stitchery to mend their cloths, making "a frugal necessity into a decorative art".
So, yeah... the wealth behind folk arts is not money, but a stable, even strict, society. (Can’t get much more strictly hierarchical than medieval Japan.)
That social treasury is, I think, the "self-confidence" Gopnik named first.
And there's a huge difference between what we do for beauty by choice and what we do to sell things. The heart on our latte does not signify that the barista loves us.
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[comments by email welcome]
