Back in high school, I was required to take one of two classes. One option was "Debate", and the other option, the one that I chose, was called something else. Yep, I can't remember the name at the moment, but speaking in public and debating with others was not something I relished. So I chose Option #2. It was basically a class where the teacher brought in a topic of the day, and we hashed it out as a class. For those of us who were terrified to say anything in front of our peers, it was a safe class to sit and just listen. It's funny to think how much peer judgement and lack of support at home affected my personality, because no Kennedy now (especially myself) can keep from raising their arm in any class.
The class was only a semester long, and for our grade, we were required to present a final project about any topic we chose. It was basically a chance for us to present something like the teacher had been doing for the semester, and if the class wanted to discuss it afterwards, that was a bonus.
It wasn't necessarily hard for me to pick a topic. I loved politics, and music, and Latin. However, when given the chance to choose anything for myself (like my Latin name in Latin class), I always went with some obscure choice. I never wanted to be Athena, or Hera, but chose instead the name Pasiphae Symplegades (queen of Crete meets clashing coastal rocks), nor did I ever sing the praises of Beethoven sonatas (but went for the moody but beautiful Debussy Arabesques). So it made sense that the topic of my project would veer away from the typical and land on the "unique" (aka "weird") end of the spectrum.
I chose Aesthetics.
Yep, I told you. "Unique".
When I was about twelve years old, my grandfather won an IQ test at a ward fundraiser (not sure what organization was raising funds by auctioning off IQ tests), and it was legitimate. I've written about it before, but it was administered over several days, and in the end, I came out two points away from "genius" (138 with 140 being genius). My granddad had always known that I was smart, but this test only lent authenticity to his bragging to his friends about me. Looking back on it, IQ tests are really bent towards a certain way of thinking which is why Mensa members don't necessarily do well on Jeopardy. One of my favorite things to do as a kid (and as an adult still) is solving puzzles on paper. Give me anything that can be figured out using logic, or that offers only a set number of solutions, and I'm your solver. I have been a subscriber of Games Magazine for years with half of the magazine offering quantitative solutions, and the other half offering creative solutions. Needless to say, there are huge swaths of blank puzzle pages in the magazine where I have no interest in using creativity to find a solution. I want something that has a set number of options, or crossword squares, or letters in the answer, and those pages are filled. This way of thinking lends itself to success on an IQ test.
Well after my genius had been discovered (!), the bookshelves of my room began filling themselves with puzzle books. My favorite book, and one that I solved over and over, was The Brain Game. The cover describes it as "27 Classic Intelligence Tests That Will Reveal Your Unique Abilities". There were tests for vocabulary skills, problem solving abilities, spacial analysis, and sequential analysis among others. There was one test analyzing creative approaches to solving problems, and needless to say, I don't even remember looking at it. Thinking about it, this might be why I feel a bit overwhelmed when I first walk into an Escape Room: not knowing how many solutions there are feels unsolvable which is probably why I always choose one thing to work on, and I generally figure it out. I loved this book so much that through my months of homelessness as a teenager, I still held on to it, and just lovingly pulled it off my bookshelf to write this post.
One test in the book is about Aesthetics, and it measures how well one's good taste follows certain visual rules. I loved this test. I didn't do perfectly (let's remember that I was only a teenager), but I did well, and it was the first time that I had seen something that quantified how I felt about the world around me. Kids today like to label this general feeling as "OCD", but for me, it's more than just having the silverware arranged correctly. It's about a balance in nature.
I did as much studying as I could about the topic "aesthetics", spending quite a bit of time in the library (yes kids, this was way before the internet and Google). Like most other things in my life though, there wasn't a lot of information (I will never forget giving a presentation on the Vestal Virgins in Latin class--talk about milking what I could find for all it was worth!). Our culture wasn't to the introspective, narcissistic point that it is now, and not a lot of people cared if something was balanced in art. The Brain Game though gave an excellent explanation which I no doubt presented almost verbatim:
I know you all are wanting to see an example and measure your own abilities, aren't you? How about these:
You'll notice that in some, the difference is instantly noticeable, but in others, you have to actually find the difference before you can make a judgment. And thinking about my honey, John, I can imagine that some of you might think, "Who cares?" :-)
Back to my project. I presented it well, and everyone was listening. However, there were no questions from my fellow teenagers at the end as you can probably imagine. No discussions, no debate. I mean really, what could they say?
I have become acutely aware of my sensitivity to aesthetics with the move to our new (aka old) house. There is a certain balance that needs to be achieved in order for me to feel peaceful, but not having built this house around our furniture, it's been extremely difficult to work things out. It can mean moving a framed picture on the wall two inches to the right to relieve crowding, or it can mean removing an entire piece of furniture from a room because it makes the room feel too heavy. It's making sure that our "Garden Room" which overlooks our beautiful pond and landscaped backyard feels like a piece of the outdoors inside. One of the biggest "rubs" for me is that our family room's giant window isn't centered with the room itself, so no matter how I try and adjust the couch to be centered to the window, it will remain uncentered from the room (and vice versa). The tension in the design of our house versus the shape of our furniture is one of those paper puzzles...but in real life, hundred-pound forms. One of the most aesthetically pleasing things in our home at the moment is my new cat, KitTen. His body is so perfectly balanced in shape and color. His tail isn't too short, he isn't fat, his markings are symmetrical and handsome. And as a bonus, he's soft (yay for hitting another sensory pleaser).
I need to mention that this isn't an OCD thing. When I think about my friend, Sarah Moran, who even cleans her refrigerator on a regular basis, I don't feel the compunction for cleanliness although my house is clean (not Sarah Moran clean though). It's more about balance. Like kitchen cupboard doors open. Why in the world wouldn't you close them so that they appear orderly with the other doors? Or a welcome mat. I will straighten a welcome mat a hundred times so that it's centered with the front door before I get out a broom and sweep away the cobwebs at the entrance to our home. And cars. There is something so calming to me about the shape of Greenie that every time I see him or get into him, I feel happy. And yet he needs to be dusted.
I believe Glo is the only Kennedy child who has inherited this trait. She and I see eye to eye regarding ambient pleasure. I remember when she was much younger and we would sit down to watch a movie together. She would prepare the most gorgeous snack tray, complete with sliced apples and caramel, and turkey cold cuts, cheese and crackers. She would bring it over on a cutting board, and it looked like a catered appetizer. It's nice to be around Glo.
So, onto cupcakes (you were wondering when I was going to get there, weren't you?)
We have the most delightful cupcake bakery in Ann Arbor. I will admit that it doesn't rival Sweet Tooth Fairy in Provo, but it runs a close second. I can't go downtown without running by The Cupcake Station to pick up a cupcake...or two...or a half dozen. On the flip side, it just about kills John when I walk in that door. He sees those darn things as way too expensive for what we get. This past weekend though, I found some justification in buying them.
I had asked several students from the School of Music to provide live background music for our ward's creche exhibit. Bless their hearts, they were more than happy to do it for free, but I insisted on having something for them to take home for their willingness. Along with a gift card to Pretzel Bell (a great restaurant also in downtown Ann Arbor), I gave them their own individually packaged Candy Cane cupcake from The Cupcake Station. I was running a bit late, so by the time I got to the church to leave the gifts for the kids as they came and went through the night, the first performer was already there. She actually stopped playing to look at the cupcake and comment to me how beautiful it was.
Thank you. I know.
There is something so insanely satisfying to me about a beautiful cupcake. I once made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting, and they looked like they had come from a bakery. The frosting ran in thick ropes around the top of the cupcake, and as a garnish, I carefully placed a small red heart off to the side of the center. It didn't hurt either that they tasted like heaven. Having a half dozen or so cupcakes from The Cupcake Station sitting on my counter makes me insanely happy. It's like bringing home a piece of well-thought-out art.
Sometimes I can even take this to an extreme, and here's where the "conundrum" part of the post comes in.
They're so beautiful that I just can't eat them.
When Hannah moved back to PA before her mission, we picked up a half dozen cupcakes in Provo for the drive. I do not kid you--through us carting those cupcakes in and out of hotels over three different nights, and then them sitting on our counter at home, they ended up going stale because I just couldn't bring myself to eat them. Seeing something so beautiful and balanced and aesthetically pleasing sitting on my counter over several days brings me more joy than eating it in five minutes or less.
So here we are. Not only did I pick up cupcakes for my willing volunteer musicians, but I picked up three for our family, thinking how delicious they would taste after a 24 hour fast. And yet last night, after a very long day at church, we were finally sitting down in front of the TV noshing on stroganoff and biscuits. Dinner was over. Bring on dessert. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't eat a cupcake. They're just too beautiful.
So there they sit, on my kitchen counter, in all their frosted, bedecked glory, reminding me how much I like the "effect equilibrium of tension and volumes."
The class was only a semester long, and for our grade, we were required to present a final project about any topic we chose. It was basically a chance for us to present something like the teacher had been doing for the semester, and if the class wanted to discuss it afterwards, that was a bonus.
It wasn't necessarily hard for me to pick a topic. I loved politics, and music, and Latin. However, when given the chance to choose anything for myself (like my Latin name in Latin class), I always went with some obscure choice. I never wanted to be Athena, or Hera, but chose instead the name Pasiphae Symplegades (queen of Crete meets clashing coastal rocks), nor did I ever sing the praises of Beethoven sonatas (but went for the moody but beautiful Debussy Arabesques). So it made sense that the topic of my project would veer away from the typical and land on the "unique" (aka "weird") end of the spectrum.
I chose Aesthetics.
Yep, I told you. "Unique".
When I was about twelve years old, my grandfather won an IQ test at a ward fundraiser (not sure what organization was raising funds by auctioning off IQ tests), and it was legitimate. I've written about it before, but it was administered over several days, and in the end, I came out two points away from "genius" (138 with 140 being genius). My granddad had always known that I was smart, but this test only lent authenticity to his bragging to his friends about me. Looking back on it, IQ tests are really bent towards a certain way of thinking which is why Mensa members don't necessarily do well on Jeopardy. One of my favorite things to do as a kid (and as an adult still) is solving puzzles on paper. Give me anything that can be figured out using logic, or that offers only a set number of solutions, and I'm your solver. I have been a subscriber of Games Magazine for years with half of the magazine offering quantitative solutions, and the other half offering creative solutions. Needless to say, there are huge swaths of blank puzzle pages in the magazine where I have no interest in using creativity to find a solution. I want something that has a set number of options, or crossword squares, or letters in the answer, and those pages are filled. This way of thinking lends itself to success on an IQ test.
Well after my genius had been discovered (!), the bookshelves of my room began filling themselves with puzzle books. My favorite book, and one that I solved over and over, was The Brain Game. The cover describes it as "27 Classic Intelligence Tests That Will Reveal Your Unique Abilities". There were tests for vocabulary skills, problem solving abilities, spacial analysis, and sequential analysis among others. There was one test analyzing creative approaches to solving problems, and needless to say, I don't even remember looking at it. Thinking about it, this might be why I feel a bit overwhelmed when I first walk into an Escape Room: not knowing how many solutions there are feels unsolvable which is probably why I always choose one thing to work on, and I generally figure it out. I loved this book so much that through my months of homelessness as a teenager, I still held on to it, and just lovingly pulled it off my bookshelf to write this post.One test in the book is about Aesthetics, and it measures how well one's good taste follows certain visual rules. I loved this test. I didn't do perfectly (let's remember that I was only a teenager), but I did well, and it was the first time that I had seen something that quantified how I felt about the world around me. Kids today like to label this general feeling as "OCD", but for me, it's more than just having the silverware arranged correctly. It's about a balance in nature.
I did as much studying as I could about the topic "aesthetics", spending quite a bit of time in the library (yes kids, this was way before the internet and Google). Like most other things in my life though, there wasn't a lot of information (I will never forget giving a presentation on the Vestal Virgins in Latin class--talk about milking what I could find for all it was worth!). Our culture wasn't to the introspective, narcissistic point that it is now, and not a lot of people cared if something was balanced in art. The Brain Game though gave an excellent explanation which I no doubt presented almost verbatim:
"How many times have you heard (or said), "I may not know much about art, but I know what I like." Dr. Norman Meier, a University of Iowa psychologist, developed an interest in measuring aesthetic judgment, which served as the stimulus for a new abilities test. He wrote in the 1942 manual for the Art Judgment Test: "Aesthetic judgment is one of the most important, if not the most important, single factor in artistic competence. Without a fairly high degree of it, no artist produces meritorious work."
The Art Judgment Test grew out of research started in 1922, conducted by "one of the foremost research laboratories devoted to the investigation of specific talents." Meier's goal was to present 100 pairs of drawings, each one exploring a specific principle of aesthetic judgment. Your goal in taking the test is to evaluate the pair on the basis of that particular principle, selecting the alternative with the greater aesthetic value. Meier wrote that anyone with good aesthetic judgment should be able to sense the "effect equilibrium of tension and volumes."
I know you all are wanting to see an example and measure your own abilities, aren't you? How about these:
You'll notice that in some, the difference is instantly noticeable, but in others, you have to actually find the difference before you can make a judgment. And thinking about my honey, John, I can imagine that some of you might think, "Who cares?" :-)
Back to my project. I presented it well, and everyone was listening. However, there were no questions from my fellow teenagers at the end as you can probably imagine. No discussions, no debate. I mean really, what could they say?
I have become acutely aware of my sensitivity to aesthetics with the move to our new (aka old) house. There is a certain balance that needs to be achieved in order for me to feel peaceful, but not having built this house around our furniture, it's been extremely difficult to work things out. It can mean moving a framed picture on the wall two inches to the right to relieve crowding, or it can mean removing an entire piece of furniture from a room because it makes the room feel too heavy. It's making sure that our "Garden Room" which overlooks our beautiful pond and landscaped backyard feels like a piece of the outdoors inside. One of the biggest "rubs" for me is that our family room's giant window isn't centered with the room itself, so no matter how I try and adjust the couch to be centered to the window, it will remain uncentered from the room (and vice versa). The tension in the design of our house versus the shape of our furniture is one of those paper puzzles...but in real life, hundred-pound forms. One of the most aesthetically pleasing things in our home at the moment is my new cat, KitTen. His body is so perfectly balanced in shape and color. His tail isn't too short, he isn't fat, his markings are symmetrical and handsome. And as a bonus, he's soft (yay for hitting another sensory pleaser).
I need to mention that this isn't an OCD thing. When I think about my friend, Sarah Moran, who even cleans her refrigerator on a regular basis, I don't feel the compunction for cleanliness although my house is clean (not Sarah Moran clean though). It's more about balance. Like kitchen cupboard doors open. Why in the world wouldn't you close them so that they appear orderly with the other doors? Or a welcome mat. I will straighten a welcome mat a hundred times so that it's centered with the front door before I get out a broom and sweep away the cobwebs at the entrance to our home. And cars. There is something so calming to me about the shape of Greenie that every time I see him or get into him, I feel happy. And yet he needs to be dusted.
I believe Glo is the only Kennedy child who has inherited this trait. She and I see eye to eye regarding ambient pleasure. I remember when she was much younger and we would sit down to watch a movie together. She would prepare the most gorgeous snack tray, complete with sliced apples and caramel, and turkey cold cuts, cheese and crackers. She would bring it over on a cutting board, and it looked like a catered appetizer. It's nice to be around Glo.
So, onto cupcakes (you were wondering when I was going to get there, weren't you?)
We have the most delightful cupcake bakery in Ann Arbor. I will admit that it doesn't rival Sweet Tooth Fairy in Provo, but it runs a close second. I can't go downtown without running by The Cupcake Station to pick up a cupcake...or two...or a half dozen. On the flip side, it just about kills John when I walk in that door. He sees those darn things as way too expensive for what we get. This past weekend though, I found some justification in buying them.
I had asked several students from the School of Music to provide live background music for our ward's creche exhibit. Bless their hearts, they were more than happy to do it for free, but I insisted on having something for them to take home for their willingness. Along with a gift card to Pretzel Bell (a great restaurant also in downtown Ann Arbor), I gave them their own individually packaged Candy Cane cupcake from The Cupcake Station. I was running a bit late, so by the time I got to the church to leave the gifts for the kids as they came and went through the night, the first performer was already there. She actually stopped playing to look at the cupcake and comment to me how beautiful it was.
Thank you. I know.
There is something so insanely satisfying to me about a beautiful cupcake. I once made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting, and they looked like they had come from a bakery. The frosting ran in thick ropes around the top of the cupcake, and as a garnish, I carefully placed a small red heart off to the side of the center. It didn't hurt either that they tasted like heaven. Having a half dozen or so cupcakes from The Cupcake Station sitting on my counter makes me insanely happy. It's like bringing home a piece of well-thought-out art.
Sometimes I can even take this to an extreme, and here's where the "conundrum" part of the post comes in.
They're so beautiful that I just can't eat them.
When Hannah moved back to PA before her mission, we picked up a half dozen cupcakes in Provo for the drive. I do not kid you--through us carting those cupcakes in and out of hotels over three different nights, and then them sitting on our counter at home, they ended up going stale because I just couldn't bring myself to eat them. Seeing something so beautiful and balanced and aesthetically pleasing sitting on my counter over several days brings me more joy than eating it in five minutes or less.
So here we are. Not only did I pick up cupcakes for my willing volunteer musicians, but I picked up three for our family, thinking how delicious they would taste after a 24 hour fast. And yet last night, after a very long day at church, we were finally sitting down in front of the TV noshing on stroganoff and biscuits. Dinner was over. Bring on dessert. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't eat a cupcake. They're just too beautiful.
So there they sit, on my kitchen counter, in all their frosted, bedecked glory, reminding me how much I like the "effect equilibrium of tension and volumes."
 |
It is indeed an aesthetic enigma. A profiterole puzzle. The cupcake conundrum.
(And in case you were wondering (and I'm looking at you, Cheese, Mr. Skimmer of posts and test-taker extraordinaire), the answers to the pictures in order of appearance are b, b, and a.)
Okay, so I do clean my fridge regularly - second Tuesday of each month. And I was just vacuuming at midnight because I could not sleep and leave it for the morning. But I also appreciate aesthetics and I totally get what you're saying about trying to fit your furniture to your new home. I find that I have to live in a place for a while and see how this work with our lives. Then I move things around a little and make adjustments here and there. Then a new place will finally start to feel like home. Now eat a cupcake!
ReplyDeleteThe white cupcake with chocolate is going to be gone soon, it is very aesthetically pleasing though.
ReplyDelete