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Double Professionals

Posted in Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 17, 2012 by javedbabar

“Welcome to the house,” Bobby said to the new couple. “Where have you just come from?”

“We were in the New City before this,” said the lady. “We needed to…” She looked at the gent as if to seek permission; he gave her a grave look.  She added, “We decided to move.”

They didn’t look like other people here; they were altogether more polished. He wore a button-down white shirt with handcrafted brown leather belt, and well-pressed blue trousers. She wore a white dress with blue embroidery, and high-quality, stitched brown leather sandals. They matched each other, which set them apart from everybody else in the halfway house, who were misfits.

“Do you know what happened to Nancy and Steve?” asked Bobby. The previous couple in their double bedroom – the house was mostly dorms – had disappeared overnight. Maybe they had got jobs somewhere. He hoped that was true.

“No, we never met them,” said the lady. “We just took the empty room.”

Bobby learnt that the lady was a cultural producer and the gent a project manager. Both were jobs that could mean anything at all. Then it hit him.

Though they were not traditional vocations involving expert and specialized knowledge, these were indeed professional jobs. This couple were from the social strata of well-educated, salaried workers who engaged in intellectually challenging tasks, and enjoyed working autonomy. They were most likely from a superior class background, and had been indoctrinated subtly to seek out others like themselves.

What were they doing here? This was a place for unprofessional people hoping to hold their lives together.

Over tea the lady said, “We are not moving here officially until next month. The Authority incentivised us to come to Lucerne, and offered us a choice of jobs. There’s so much on offer, we don’t want to rush, so we’re staying here till we’ve decided.”

The man said, “What is your job here?”

Bobby didn’t know what to say. He worked whenever somebody paid him, whatever the job. He mumbled, “Project worker. I am working on various projects here.”

He thought, I wonder if they know where they are. “How did you find this place?”

“We looked for short-term accommodation and this place was available.”

Bobby thought, I wonder why it was available? Maybe because it is a dive.

The lady continued, “To be honest, it’s not what we expected, but we’ve paid the deposit and we are here now, so we may as well stay.”

They used their mattress to make love that night. Others, using theirs for sipping whisky, eating fast food, injecting heroin, masturbation, weeping alone, and closing their eyes hoping that everything would go away, listened in awe.

People wanted to hate these bright, young people with university degrees, who had professional training and experience, and were makers of award winning work. But they couldn’t hate them. They were both so nice. They seemed to have morale and motivation, strong morals, and a high standard of manners.

The halfway house’s residents knew this was what separated professional people from them. And that’s why the piles of cash under the new couple’s mattress grew many times faster than theirs.

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Ten Views of God

Posted in Conceptual Art, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 8, 2012 by javedbabar

It was Alex’s last PIA: Philosophy In Art class this term. Though he was still annoyed that The Authority had made him include teens in what he had wanted to be adult classes, the course was going well.

In the spirit of Japanese Ukiyo-e – woodblock – artists, they’d examined many views of different subjects, including mother, father, myself and teacher. In the last class, Alex decided to examine God. He felt this would provide a sort of progression in the subject matter.

He’d noticed a difference in behaviour between adult and teen students. Adults had begun enthusiastically, but were becoming tired of the format he’d created, exploring ten facets of each topic in turn.

However the teens were really getting into it. They’d started slowly – due to self-consciousness caused by adults’ presence – but were now very comfortable. Whereas the adults’ thoughts were flowing like canals, teen’s thoughts were turbulent, with today’s topic likely to produce extra froth.

“God is the creator of everything,” said a woman. “It says so in the Bible. Other religions say it too, in other books and languages, but they all say it somehow.”

An older man said, “But he – or she – is also the destroyer of everything. In the Bible there are so many stories of destruction – the Great Flood, warfare, plagues, and eventually Armageddon, the end of the world. In science too – whether you believe in endless expansion of the universe or the Big Crunch, the world – at least for us – comes to an end eventually. So God is ultimately a destroyer.”

An Indian girl said, “In my religion, God is also a preserver. That is what God is doing right here, now. He is keeping the universe ordered and running as it should be.”

“Call this running smoothly? With all the hatred, war, disease, famine, earthquakes, tsunamis, and floods? There’s racism, sexism and homophobia. Corruption, discrimination, genocide! That’s not running smoothly. Any God out there must be cruel!”

“But there’s also love and peace and joy! There’s sunshine and sunsets, and rainbows! There are babies being born, and birthdays, and weddings. People finding each other and hidden treasures. God is kind and compassionate.”

“God has the power to do anything. He or she is omnipotent.”

“God knows and sees everything – omniscient.”

“God is everywhere – omnipresent.”

“But is God real?” asked a boy. “Or not? Maybe God is unreal.”

“God is personal,” said a girl. “And impersonal. Sir, do you know the holy man Guru baba? He lives in Lucerne.” Alex nodded. “He says there are two laws in the universe. The Law of Attraction is that you get what you want. The Law of Karma is that you get what you give. So you get what you give. So you should give what you want. In a sense you are a gifting God. You give what you want to yourself. You make your own world.”

Thank God the bell rang. Everybody was confused. Life was no clearer in the classroom than in the outside world.

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Ten Views of Teacher

Posted in Conceptual Art, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 7, 2012 by javedbabar

After covering myself in his PIA: Philosophy In Art class, Alex thought that students should cover himself – the teacher. The adults and teens may see him in different ways, like Hokusai found thirty-six ways to view Mt Fuji. Let’s see.

“Okay, everybody, what do you think of me?”

There was general silence – even more than there usually was in class when nobody said anything, but a proportion of students were fidgeting, whispering, texting, flicking through books, picking their nails, yawning and crunching candy.

They had all ceased activity and become quiet.

A girl put her hand up, slowly. It seemed that she felt responsible for the class. “We like you, Sir. We think you are a good teacher. We are enjoying your class. I’m sure we will give you good marks at the end of term…” She tailed off, running out of words.

Ah! thought Alex. So that was it. They thought he was concerned about his ratings. This was the crazy situation in schools these days, where teachers were forced to give poor students good marks for everything, so as not to disappoint them. Many students savaged good teachers because they made them work hard and enforced discipline. This could lead to their being sacked. Thank God he wasn’t a full-time teacher.

He said, “I don’t mean me as an individual. I mean me as a teacher. In how many ways can we view teachers?”

Light commotion resumed in class. The terrible silence was broken. A woman said, “Teachers provide education. They share their knowledge of subject matter on which they are experts.”

I wish that were the case, thought Alex. We’re generally just coping.

A man said, “Teachers provide both formal and informal teaching. Beyond their academic lessons, they show us how to speak to groups and behave as individuals.”

“My favourite teacher was my RS teacher,” said a woman. “He told me about God. He said that the word religion comes from religare – to connect. He said that religion provides a good way to engage with the world.”

A boy said, “A teacher is a coach. He or she gives you training that you use to improve your skills. I mean mainly in sports, but in everything else too.”

“Teachers are role models,” said a girl. “If they’re good, you want to grow up to be just like them.”

Some of the adult students were much older than Alex. They looked bemused.

“Teachers are leaders. They help you to advance in learning.”

“They must be disciplinarians. Their attitude must be that of in loco parentis – like absent parents. If you do something wrong, you should expect to be walloped.”

The teens looked horrified. This was not the way these days.

“Sometimes there are substitute teachers, just filling in. Their job is not to teach you anything, merely to avoid disaster!”

“What about teaching assistants? Are they sort of teachers too?”

Alex said yes.

An older woman stood up, grabbed her bag and prepared to leave the room. “This class is getting on my nerves,” she said. “Ten views of this! Ten views of that! The best teacher is no teacher. I am going home to think and learn things myself.”

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Ten Views of Myself

Posted in Conceptual Art, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 6, 2012 by javedbabar

Alex wondered how many topics they could cover, inspired by Ukiyo-e, before they should move on to something else. The Japanese artist Hokusai had created thirty-six, then ten more, and later a hundred more, views of Mt Fuji, showing that there was plenty of mileage for any subject.

Alex decided to keep going in his PIA: Philosophy In Art class. He would push out the metaphoric boat, not just the one on Lake Kawaguchi.

A girl asked, “What subject are we covering today?”

He said, “By covering, do you mean touching upon, or exhausting?”

“We’re doing a good job of exploring them. I guess we’re exhausting them.”

A middle-aged man put up his hand. It was funny how adults were behaving more like schoolchildren than the teens were. Maybe they were just being more old school.

Alex said, “Yes? What’s your name? Tony? Sorry, I haven’t got everyone’s name yet.”

“It seems to me that we are only touching upon them. I’ll bet that if he’d wanted to, Hokusai could have done one thousand views of Mt Fuji, and if he lived long enough, a million views. Aren’t all things multi-facetted? Sort of never ending? The English philosopher William Blake talked about seeing the world in a grain of sand.”

“You are right, he did. In a sense yourself and, sorry what’s your name? Amanda? Yourself and Amanda are both right. We are only really introducing ourselves to these topics, but we are covering them off well in the time available. So keep up the good work. You are doing a great job. And that’s today’s topic – yourself.”

They all knew the format. Amanda started. “I am a physical entity, formed of skin and bone and blood.”

Tony added, “I am mentally conscious. I think therefore I am. Spinoza said that, I think.”

“Actually it was Descartes, but very good.”

A woman said, “I am more than just physical and mental though. I am a spiritual being, born of the intention of a self-conscious universe, that wishes to be aware of itself, and appreciate itself.”

Some of the teens – who Alex had been forced to include in this class by The Authority – were looking confused. This class was being led by the adults.

“I am primarily ego, driven by the need for food and sex.”

Now the teens looked scared.

“I think that persons are driven by their subconscious – so many things that you are not really aware of. Hidden fears and desires. And there are symbols and myths. We are all on our own hero quest, battling monsters and searching for home.”

A girl said, “Our public image is very important. It’s what defines us in society.”

“We are citizens in nation states, celebrating our common heritage and values.”

“In cosmic terms, beings are just energy and information in differing forms.”

An older man said, “That’s all true, what everyone’s said. But in the end we are all just food for worms.”

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Ten Views of Dad

Posted in Conceptual Art, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 5, 2012 by javedbabar

Alex’s PIA: Philosophy In Art class had started well. Inspired by Hokusai’s Thirty-Six Views of Mt Fuji, he had asked the class to look at ten views of various subjects.

Last week they had discussed mothers, and he thought that today they should look at fathers. After all you needed both. Even if you had two mothers – like the boy last week whose lesbian mother was marrying her partner – you still needed sperm.

Alex said, “Okay class, who can tell me what a father is?”

A boy at the front said, “A father is a man who has fathered a child.”

This caused some smirks. Alex said, “Yes, that’s true. But you are using the word father to describe a father. It’s called a tautology – something that is self-referent. The thought is correct, but can you think of a better way to explain it?”

“Like what?”

“Let me help you,” said Alex. “Another word for father is sire.”

“Like we call you Sir? Is it the same?”

“No, it’s a different word. Sire means to produce a child. Sir is just a term of respect. They are related etymologically though. Sire is how you address a male monarch; in olden times they had special rights to women of their estates, and could indeed be anyone’s father.”

“Sir, should you be respectful to your father?” asked the boy. “Should you call your sire Sir?” The class laughed.

“Yes, Sir!”

A woman said, “A father is someone who protects you, or at least he should do. Mine tried his best but I was determined to harm myself.” She rolled up her sleeve to show cut marks. “I only stopped when he died.”

A boy said, “A father is someone who supports you financially. My dad works hard in the auto-shop. He says his job is to make sure that we have three meals a day, two holidays a year, and one happy home.”

“I had a stepfather,” said a woman. “I hated him initially for replacing my real father. God knows why, as he’d left us anyway. But then I got to know my stepfather and grew to love him. He was the best thing that ever happened to me and my mum.”

“My father was a rapist,” said an Asian boy. “My mother was raped by a soldier in Salistan during the civil war.” Alex didn’t know whether to speak or remain quiet. He was about to say something comforting when the boy continued, “So I was born to an unwed mother, which is not an acceptable situation there. I was hidden away at first, and then said to be my grandma’s child. We left there as soon as we could and came here.”

A man said, “I spent a lot of time with my uncle. He was like a second father – he took me hunting and fishing, and taught me how to survive in the wilderness. These were things that my own father didn’t know.”

“I have a father-in-law who drives me mad,” said a woman. “Whatever I do is never good enough for his son.”

“I am a weekend dad. My ex- only lets me see the kids on Saturdays.”

“I may be a DI Dad. When I was at university I sold my sperm for Donor Insemination. It brought in fifty bucks a week.”

A boy at the back said, “I am a surprise father. My girlfriend just told me she’s pregnant.”

The class cheered.

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Ten Views of Mum

Posted in Conceptual Art, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 4, 2012 by javedbabar

Alex had been forced by The Authority to mix adults and teens in his PIA: Philosophy In Art class. This could get complicated, so he’d decided to keep things simple.

After an introduction to Japanese artist Hokusai, famous for his series of one hundred, thirty- six, and then ten more, views of Mt Fuji, the class had agreed – or at least not disagreed too strongly – to take ten views of various topics.

“Welcome to class,” said Alex. “I’m delighted to see that most of you have made it back. We could have done thirty-six views of things, one each! But you opted for ten views. So who’s first?”

A girl said, “What’s the topic?”

“Ah yes, the topic. Hmmm…” Alex kicked himself. Why hadn’t he prepared something? How stupid. “The first thing I can remember in life is my mother. So let’s start with that. Who can tell us something about their mother?”

“Are we going to draw her?” said the girl.

“Maybe later. Right now I just want you to use your imaginations. Think of as many kinds of mothers as possible.”

The adults were holding back for some reason; they were leaving it to the teens. More precisely, to the girl.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Okay, I’ll start – a mother is a woman who has given birth to a child.”

The girl made a face, others did too. “Why do you need to tell us that? Mothers are just mothers.”

He felt strongly self-conscious. Did these teens respect their mothers? Would some soon be mothers themselves? Why didn’t the adults say something? Were they scared of looking foolish? He’d known it was a bad idea to mix adults and teens.

“A mother is someone who has raised a child.” It was a boy at the back speaking. “I was adopted at birth. I don’t know my biological mother. Mother for me is the woman who fed and clothed me, and rubbed my knees and elbows when I fell in the street.”

A man in his forties said, “A woman can become a mother by donating her eggs, which are united with sperm and implanted into another person’s womb. It was the only way my wife and I could have children.”

“I was suckled by a wet nurse,” said an overdressed woman; she seemed to be a present to herself in yellow wrapping. “My own mother dried up. The wet nurse was a mother to me too.”

“Are grandmothers also mothers?” asked a boy. The class giggled and he looked down.

“Of course they are,” said Alex. They are…”

“I was raised by a stepmother,” said an old man. “She was a horrible woman, always cruel to me. She said that if I ever told my father, she’d tell him to send me to an orphanage.” This made everybody sad.

“We eat the lush fruits of Mother Earth,” said a woman that Alex knew was a poet. “Gaia gives us all.”

“In mythology there are mother goddesses – Hera, Durga, Amaterasu, Isis, Kwan Yin…”

“And don’t forget the Holy virgin – Mother of God!”

A boy shouted out, “My mother is a lesbian and recently got married, so now I have two mothers.” Everybody agreed that he was very lucky indeed.

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Yoshitoshi Moshi Moshi

Posted in Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 2, 2012 by javedbabar

Alex wasn’t sure if this art class was a good idea. He had wanted to teach only adults, but The Authority had a policy of community-building and insisted that classes at the Transparent Temple – nickname of their glassy community centre – should be open to all. The Official Response Document asked the question, “Do children benefit from inter-generational interaction and instruction?” and then answered it too, saying, “Yes, they do. They should thus be offered classes alongside adults.”

The school thought this was wonderful. It was a good way to stretch their resources – they could send Year Twelve students to Alex’s art class instead of running one themselves.

Alex’s first term focus was PIA: Philosophy In Art. Now with two audiences to please, he wondered if that would work well. Maybe he should simplify the topic and start with a particular style of art, and see how that went before broadening its intellectual scope.

The audience had self-segregated. Adults sat along the left of the room and teens along the right.

“Good morning everyone,” Alex said confidently. “Welcome to PIA:Philosophy In Art class. It is wonderful to have both adults and teens present. I am looking forward to hearing a wide range of views and opinions from you all. I’d like to start with a particular style today, something very distinctive. Who knows something about Japanese design?”

The teens were more enthusiastic than he’d supposed. Their hands shot up and they began calling out.

“Pac Man!”

“Manga!”

“Godzilla!”

“Transformers!”

“Pokemon!”

“Tomagotchi!”

“Yu-Gi-Oh!”

This wasn’t really what Alex had wanted, but the last example was fortuitous. He decided to pick up on it.

“What is Yu-Gi-Oh? Oh, it’s a card game? The King of Games! Is it good? What are the characters like? Who is the main hero? So it’s Yugi Mutou? Thank you for enlightening me. I’ll prepare myself for battle! I’d like to introduce you to a similar word – Ukiyo-e. Can you say that?” Some of the class had a go.

“Well done! Ukiyo-e is traditional Japanese woodblock printing. Who has heard of Hokusai?”

Most adults put up their hands, but none of the teens.

“He was the son of a mirror-maker and became obsessed with Mt Fuji. He spent much of his life drawing it in surprising ways. Another artist is Hiroshige, the son of a fire fighter. When he was a child he loved to play with miniature landscapes, and later experimented with many different perspectives. The third artist I’d like to consider is Yoshitoshi. He lived in a time when feudal society was breaking down in Japan. It was a time of great chaos, and many of his images feature violence and death. So which of these artists shall we deal with first?”

A boy shouted out, “Yoshitoshi!”

A girl shouted out, “Moshi moshi!” Alex couldn’t help laughing. This was the usual way that Japanese people answered telephones.

A chant began in the classroom, with boys shouting out “Yoshitoshi!” and girls responding with “Moshi moshi!”

“Yoshitoshi!”

“Moshi moshi!”

“Yoshitoshi!”

“Moshi moshi!”

“Yoshitoshi!”

“Moshi moshi!”

Alex joined in with both chants. This class would be more fun than he’d supposed.

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Repo Men

Posted in Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , on July 18, 2012 by javedbabar

It was Dimpy’s third Spatial Studies class. She’d made up the title in a burst of inspiration, or maybe desperation, when her Museum Director’s job was cut from five days to three days a week; she’d needed a way to feed herself and her one-year-old daughter.

She’d heard that Lucerne Valley College had received an Authority grant and was keen to start new courses. They’d accepted her proposal for a course in Spatial Studies, which she’d said was “a multi-disciplinary approach to the element that surrounds and defines material objects.” In truth it was a made up course hoping to fill student’s gaps in knowledge.

Two weeks ago she’d set them a trick question saying only “Your homework is to remember your homework”. Last week however she’d set them a real task.

“Right,” she said, “Who’s done homework?” No hands went up. Oh dear, she thought, they think I’ve set them another conundrum; I’ve created a habit that may be hard to break. Still, I had better continue.

She pointed to a girl who was loud among her peers, but quiet when it came to teacher. “What’s your name? Okay, Simone, where’s your homework?”

“I haven’t done it, Miss Kashi, because my father doesn’t have work, and I don’t have a home. That’s why I can’t do homework.”

Nice wordplay, thought Dimpy, but hardly believable. She stared at Simone and raised her eyebrows. Simone felt pressured, and said, “It’s true, Miss. There’s nowhere quiet to do it.”

Dimpy was embarrassed by her oversensitivity to Tom last week – thinking he was the victim of child abuse, when the cause of his aching arm was dragging around his fat cousin. She wouldn’t be so gullible this time. “Why not?” she said.

“Because we live in one room at the Valley Motel. The television is always on, and my mum and dad are shouting.” Other children were sniggering; it must be a joke. “Why do you live there?” said Dimpy.

Simone became serious and said, “Miss, I’m sure you’re aware of the economic downturn. I know that you have a job at the Museum too; I’ve seen you there. So you have two jobs, that’s great, but lots of people don’t even have one job…”

Dimpy was feeling bad; she’d been wrong about the girl, but she didn’t want to stop her now. Simone continued, “My folks had a tire shop in town. They’d struggled for years, building up debts, and whatever money came in was drunk away by my dad. They lost the tire shop and the bank took our house. The repo men took everything, even my computer. We can only live in the motel because my dad knows the guy there. We’re all looking for work, including me. But while I’m looking I thought I’d do an extra course. I got a grant for it. That’s a good thing isn’t it, Miss, even if I can’t do my homework?”

Dimpy was teaching the Spatial Studies course, but realized that some of her students knew more about spaces than she did. The gaps in their lives were bigger.

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Spatial Studies

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience with tags , , , , , , , , on July 16, 2012 by javedbabar

Lucerne Valley College accepted Dimpy’s proposal to teach a course in Spatial Studies, whose title had come to her during a meditation. They agreed in principle to three ten-week terms, teaching two different classes weekly. These two days a week would fill the ones she was losing as a result of The Authority’s new accounting system, making her a cost rather than an asset to the museum. She couldn’t help feeling that there was also a vendetta at play between herself and the Board of Trustees. They wanted her out.

Having to support her one-year-old daughter Tasha by herself meant there was no time to feel sorry for herself. She had to take action. She had committed to presenting the Spatial Studies course and had better now think of a lesson plan.

“It’s the study of space,” she’d told the college administrator. “A multi-sensory approach to the element that surrounds and defines all material objects. I’m sure you know that the universe’s building blocks are 99.9% empty space.”

“Of course,” he’d said. “Yes, it sounds like a wonderful course.”

Teaching the course though was a different matter. She would have to convince the students.

She had a bright idea – maybe that was the answer: to ask the students. See what they wanted to learn; explore gaps in their knowledge. There was plenty of information out there on the internet, on TV, in book stores, and on cell phones. What was lacking was cohesion and integration. Maybe that was the space she should explore with students. What they had right now was a ladder with missing rungs, through which to fall, and possibly even missing rails, meaning never climbing at all.

The turnout for the first class was good: thirty students. She only needed fifteen to make it viable for the college. The administrator introduced her. “This is Miss Dimples Kashi who will be teaching this course in Spatial Studies. It will cover a wide range of disciplines and set you thinking, and may sometimes give you a headache. So keep your thinking caps on! Miss Kashi, they’re all yours.”

“Okay, class, who can define space for me?”

No hand went up. She pointed to a boy at the back. “Hello, what’s your name? Tom? Okay, Tom, what’s your understanding of space?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Excuse me? This is a class in Spatial Studies, the study of space.”

“The study of space? Like outer space?”

“No, it’s broader than that.”

Another boy said, “I thought it was Special Studies. I thought it would be easy; that’s why I came.”

There was a chorus of “Me too.”

A girl said, “I thought it was something like Physical Ed.”

More calls of “Me too.”

Oh dear, thought Dimpy. Maybe her lesson plan of limited dimensions, infinite extents, and linguistic and mathematical gaps must wait; as for theories and practice, objective and subjective views, symbols and archetypes, and the concept of a room in which to do all these things – those must wait too.

The bell rang, and shoes shuffled immediately. Bags were snatched and students arose. She called out, “Your homework is to remember your homework.”

They stopped and looked at her. She’d created a small space.

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