Cold SnapDragon

Artemisia Gentileschi was raped by Agostino Tassi, 'an artist her father had hired to teach her perspective'. Technically, she was not on trial. stood accused of raping her. ... Artemisia, however, was the one who was tortured to see if her story would remain consistent. The authorities used thumbscrews, tied cords around her hands and pulled them tight, which would be agonizing for anyone to go through but for a painter held a special horror. Tassi was not tortured, though his testimony was so contradictory that the judge told him repeatedly to stop lying. Artemisia was also subjected to a public examination to determine whether she had in fact been a virgin before the rape. Source: Artemisia Gentileschi: Artist and Rape Survivor The story has somehow always haunted me: true, today no authority (one hopes) would torture a woman who made an allegation of rape. There are, however, far too many instances where people whether they be healthcare providers or those involved in la...

Euripides' Medea has defined the modern perception of her. Some time ago, the Teatro Instabile Di Aosta presented, in Delhi, a contemporary revisiting of Euripides' Medea in a play based on the texts of Euripides and Pasolini revolving around “discriminations and forbearance, power and revenge, and the meeting of two extremely different worlds; the one that is logical and rational, and the other one that grapples with the possible reality of mythology and ritual,” as the brochure said. The performance was meant to portray the universality and power floating in the story culminating in the “terrible decision that Medea comes to as a result of her painful suffering.” Her “painful suffering” was the suffering which her husband Jason inflicted on her by being unfaithful to her and marrying Glauce, a princess, to further his political ambitions. He justified himself by saying that he could not pass up the opportunity to wed a princess, and Medea was, after all, a barbarian woman, ne...

The effects of militancy in Manipur were portrayed in this play which was directed by Toijam Shila Devi. Set in a fictional village in Manipur, it focussed on the effects of the militancy particularly on women and children. There were several moments in the play when I wanted to get up and leave, not because the play wasn't good but because it seemed the pain the actors conveyed seemed extremely raw at times -- there was sometimes no "artistic portrayal", and it felt as though the actors were far too familiar with the effects of militancy to need to "act" at all. Manipur comprises nine districts: four in the Valley and five in hilly areas, and all nine of those districts have been subject to militant activities for years. A separatist insurgency began in Manipur in the 1960s demanding that Manipur secede from India, and that a separate "Kingdom of Manipur" be established -- Manipur was in fact the last kingdom to be annexed by the British and made a pa...

Claude Presset, a Swiss ceramist and teacher has curated an exhibition of cups by a hundred different ceramists which is currently on display in Delhi. Each ceramist has created a series of ten cups each in which none of the cups are identical although each series has been created using only one technique. Each cup is approximately the same size as a kulhar : the traditional Indian teacup which was once commonly used but is now rarely seen -- the handcrafted, earthenware cup of yesteryear having now been replaced by mass produced cups often not even made of clay. And yet, the basic shape, structure and purpose of the cup has probably not significantly changed through the millennia. And so, as the exhibits -- displayed in packing cases -- demonstrate, the lines which demarcate 'tradition' from ' living tradition', and 'experimentation' from 're-interpretation' are in fact often amazingly thin. At the end of the day, there is only so much that can be done...

"There is no such thing as autobiography, there is only art and lies." I've never written a book review in my life and I don't intend to begin now although I suspect that it is precisely what I'm going to wind up doing. Sometime ago, I read a book which I loved. It's called Art and Lies: A Piece for Three Voices and a Bawd by Jeanette Winterson. Prose and poetry merge, and words are used to sculpt images (as opposed to being used to frame sentences). There isn't anything academic in it but doesn't lack depth. Art and Lies certainly isn't everyone's cup of tea though: it's the kind of work which either leaves you stunned by the beauty of its language or makes you want to throw rotten tomatoes at the author who, after all, often does nothing more than simply state the mundane and the obvious albeit beautifully. In many ways, the book reminded me of the film Closer --- although it lacks the crudity of the film --- and in particular, one lin...

Loosely Translated From A French Poem By Pierre Ronsard (1524-1585) When you grow old at evening, you'll spin beside the fire, In candlelight you'll marvel at memories of days gone by, Singing my songs, you'll say, 'He loved me dear when I was young,' and sigh, But soon enough, labouring at the wheel, you'll tire. Those servants with you at the time will hear of my demise, But they'll know naught about our past and care not for my fame, Lavishing immortal praise on you, they'll fervently bless your name, And for my sake alone, they will not make you rise. Sitting by the fire, you'll be but an old woman with no zest, While I, ghost without bone, below the Earth shall be lain, You'll regret the loss of my love and your proud disdain, Alas! By then, beneath the myrtle's shade I will be at rest. So live as though you believe in me, Without waiting for tomorrow, Gather the roses of life from today, Before there's cause to sorrow. Ronsard'...