Dickinson College Humanities Program in Norwich

     After our class discussion the other day about arranged marriage in eastern religions such as Hinduism, Islam and Sikhism, especially, I wanted to look further into the subject. I focused on the “Living” sections of BBC’s Religion & Ethics website, and what I found was rather surprising.

     Arranged marriages have been a popular, if not essential, part of eastern religions for many years. Oftentimes parents will chose a partner for their children based on character and personality and for religious reasoning. However, rather less selflessly, some parents have been known to choose their children’s brides and grooms to expand businesses, earn dowries or move up the social ladder.

     However, in Sikhism, Hinduism and Islam alike, there can be seen a noticeable shift towards a new phenomenon in arranged marriages: internet matchmaking. The younger generations have taken matters into their own hands and have begun to usurp their parents’ role as matchmakers and look for their own partners on their own, via the internet. Sites like Islamic Faces and Hindu Faces have begun to spring up on the World Wide Web, uniting singles based on their religion and the simple profiles they create.

     According to the BBC site, there are varying degrees of acceptance among the parents of those who have taken to the internet to find their soul mates. Some parents, like those of Manush, a Hindu man, were apprehensive about the process, and met it with some resistance. Most, however, were happy with their children’s unions once they met the spouse-to-be. Other parents were relieved that they no longer had the responsibility of choosing a mate for their son or daughter.

     Among all these religions, one thing is glaringly apparent: marriage is sacred. Marriage is believed to be a true life-long commitment, and low divorce rates among Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims reflect that. Marriage is likewise something which enables those who enter into it to pass down their religion and culture to their children, which accounts for members of these religions seeking partners with similar religious, ethnic and cultural backgrounds.

     What is apparent is that inherent in this shift towards internet dating is also a shift away from traditional cultural and religious practices and towards more modern and western ideas about marriage. Could this trend be evidence of adoption of and integration into UK culture? Or does the fact that internet dating could still be considered, in a sense, a form of arranged marriage render the change simply a shift in the conduit through which partners find one another, and not a shift in cultural practice at all?

     Over my one-pound-fifty take-out lunch that I brought back to the garden, Megan and I discussed last week’s blog topic: identity and immigration. “I just have no idea where I’m going to take this,” I said. “We’ve done so much reading about this already, I just feel like I have nothing new to say.” Megan agreed, saying that she felt as though she had done all the research, knew all the background information, and was just struggling to “find a conclusion.” I think we both really had valid points here.

     It is impossible to form any sort of thesis about identity and immigration in London because of the essence of London. It is, according to one of our Guardian readings on race, “a city with immigrants” rather than “a city of immigrants,” like New York. London is definied by its ever-shifting immigrant populations. If one were to establish some sort of grasp on what immigration means to London today, and what London means to immigrants today, it would shift within a matter of years and become obsolete. Immigration is part of what makes London London, and therefore, there is nothing new to say about it because it has always been this way, and will continue to be.

     Perhaps this blog is too short, perhaps some of you will think it was ill-structured, poorly thought-out or had no new ideas to introduce to the reader. Well, you may be right. However, over-analyzing immigrant populations – identifying where the Afro-Caribbean communites or the Polish communities or the Jewish, Indian, Bangladeshi or Pakistani communities are located – only serves to further isolate these populations from one another and from the rest of British culture. We’ve discussed the topic to death. What we need to do now is look at the issue from a new vantage point, or even better, from no vantage point at all. If we accept immigrants as Londoners, and cease to discuss these populations as separate entities, then the possibility of a new London would be possible.

     No museum  has affected me as viscerally as The Victoria and Albert Museum in South Kensington. Immediately upon entering the museum I was struck by the sight of life-sized Rodin sculptures of the human body that were raised above eye level, which created, for me, a sense of the insignificance of the appreciator, and likewise, the importance of art over all things. These sculptures were grotesque; Rodin used a technique that rendered them black and raw-looking, as if they had once been alive and thrown into a fire, then the charred remains removed and put on display. Though they were shocking and somewhat disturbing, Rodin’s pieces elicited in me a very emotional response, one that cut to the core of my perceptions of the self and of humanity, and one that I can neither explain nor recreate for the reader.

     I also really enjoyed seeing several sculptures by Alfred Stevens, including a copy of the original “Truth and Falsehood” which is a part of The Wellington Memorial which we saw at St. Paul’s Cathedral several days ago.

     The fashion and jewelry exhibits at the Victoria Albert were equally as touching, but for different reasons. Coming from a background in feminism, I was disappointed in those women who conformed to societal ideals of beauty – women who cinched their waists and bustled their butts, weighing themselves down with heavy jewelry, changing and shifting and molding themselves to ‘fit,’ quite literally, into the beauty myth.  One display featuring a bustle and the wooden innards of a hoopskirt were reminiscent of a cage. And would it really be so far from the truth if it were? 

     Another exhibit which really hit me was photography. A great little exhibit, though I do wish it were larger. I thought that all of the works were quite good, though I connected on a deeper level with just two prints. The first piece was strikingly different. The artist worked with the principles of light and photography and used the sun to burn a simple design into the photo paper. I didn’t quite understand the process by which the piece was created but that’s the beauty of art, isn’t it? You don’t always have to understand it, or at least understand it as the artist does.

     One piece that I definitely took a bit of “viewer’s license” to form my own interpretation was a photograph of a beautiful black model in a traditional Georgian dress and wig – both stark white. In her delicate hand she held a large diamond, perfectly cut and gleaming. Her head tilted towards the diamond in her hand, yet her eyes remained fixed intently on the camera. I thought that this piece, out of all the pieces of artwork I have seen at any exhibit thus far, had the most to say. It powerfully conveyed, by capturing  just a single moment in time, hundreds of years of British imperialism and the pain it caused the imperialized. The Africans and West Indians were brought to perhaps not-so-‘Great’ Britain and taught that being ripped from their homelands like so many weeds was a privilege. They drowned the enslaved in western culture, which is represented by the model wearing the white (this was surely no mistake) Georgian garb, and meanwhile robbed their homelands of natural resources – such as diamonds and gold – for their own profit.

     “Has imperialism, has slavery, really ended?” one must ask him or herself when one considers that there are still related issues in today’s society. The answer should become glaringly apparent when one considers Westerners’ continued thirst for diamonds. Though our presence in the diamond mines of Africa, in places like Sierra Leone, The Democratic Republic of Congo and Angola,  may not be physical, our socially-sculpted ideologies surrounding the institution of marriage perpetuates these issues, and exacerbates the problems surrounding blood diamonds. So, for all you ladies out there: next time you stare doe-eyed into a Zales’ display window and exclaim in “I can’t wait to get married!” think twice about what societal forces and social constructions may be at work when you consider the “necessity” of an engagement ring. And the next time you look at a piece of art, everyone, look a little deeper and listen a little closer to what the piece may be trying to say.

     I’m not one for long, verbose titles; I prefer to let my artwork (if a blog post could be considered such) stand on its own. I suppose that’s why The British Museum and The National Gallery appealed to me, because these museums are arranged in such a way that the art and artifacts are privileged over their context and allowed to speak for themselves. Information is available at both museums for those who want to learn more about an individual piece, but signage is simple and audioguides are discreet.

     I devoted most of my time spent at The National Gallery to the 18th-20th centuries exhibit, which featured works by Monet, Manet, Picasso, van Gogh and Degas. The piece which affected me most viscerally was Vincert van Gogh’s “Sunflowers,” a painting which I had seen many times on postcards, coasters, prints hanging on water-damaged walls or in the only remains of my mother’s abandoned art degree – in her art books. Seeing this work in person was an incredible experience. Having the opportunity to experience the thoughts, emotions and perceptions of one of the world’s most renown artists though one of the world’s most renown pieces of artwork affected me very deeply. What struck me about works in both museums, but “Sunflowers” in particular, was the work’s enduring relevance diachronically. Though styles and historical contexts are particular to a piece of art and remain fixed, its meaning is mutable. This, I feel, is the true beauty of art.

     At The British Museum, I had a similar reaction to seeing and touching part of a column which came from the Parthenon. It is amazing how these artifacts have managed to remain in tact and meaningful for thousands of years. One sign that caught my attention was one which told the story of how Lord Elgin brought pieces of the Parthenon back to England in 1806. The signage, as well as other historians and archaeologists, claims that Elgin essentially saved the artifacts from further destruction and preserved them by bringing them to England. However, now that Greece has the means to afford an appropriate Acropolis Museum, there is much debate regarding the British Museum’s collection of artifacts, uncluding a number of friezes.

     Both The National Gallery and The British Museum seem to honor artwork and artifacts over their historical context. Though considering where these pieces came from is crucial in understanding their meaning, perhaps where they are going, such as the friezes and sections of column of the Parthenon, and their relevance to our culture in the present and future is what should be more important.

     There are a total of eight Royal Parks within all greater London: St. James’s Park; The Green Park; Hyde Park; Kensington Gardens; Richmond Park; Greenwich Park; The Regent’s Park and Bushy Park. Thus far, I have visited three of these: St. James’s Park; Greenwich Park and The Regent’s Park. Each park was very different, yet shared a similar history.

     St. James’s Park, originally created by King Henry VIII as a personal deer park for hunting, is located in Westminster. The park has been remodeled several times, including once for King Charles II in the 1600’s and again in the first half of the 1800’s by John Nash. The closest tube stops include Piccadilly Circus, Charing Cross and, of course, St. James’s Park.

     This park is absolutely massive. You could easily spend an entire day here. Perhaps the most interesting feature of this park is its wildlife. There were waterfowl of all kinds paddling and preening in around the long lake that stretches through the park and placards along the way that discussed each species. The asphalt walkways circling the lake contain markers that indicate that the Princess Diana Memorial Walk trails through the park. With all the flora and fauna found inside St. James’s Park, it only seems appropriate to commemorate one of Great Britain’s most beloved members of the royal family here, amidst such beauty.

     St. James’s Park is a popular spot for tourists and locals alike. There were many families, especially, snapping pictures of the scenery, but also native Brits jogging or enjoying lunch or a book in the park. What I did find interesting was that there were very few non-whites in the park. I remember seeing one tourist family of what appeared to be an Indian descent inside the park, posing for family snapshots by a knotty tree, and a two black women with strollers and little, skipping girls around the age of five, who walked along the sidewalk on the outskirts of the park, but never entered it.

     Greenwich Park is equally interesting. We walked through this park on our way to The Royal Observatory, which is located almost in the center of the park. The Observatory was commissioned by King Charles II (see hyperlink above) in 1675 and was designed by Christopher Wren, the architect who was responsible for countless famous buildings around London including St. Paul’s Cathedral and others circa the Great Fire of 1666. The park is inaccessible via the tube, but many buses such as the 188 and 53 run through Greenwich at frequent intervals.

     This park, which is divided by the Prime Meridian features much more open space than either St. James’s or The Regent’s Park. There are large expanses of lawns – slightly browning in areas – with trees dotting the landscape throughout, but no fences, hedges, walls or other structures that create intimate spaces within the park. As we walked through the park I noticed many families and couples strolling through the park, and several joggers. There was a friendly yet rather skinny dog sniffing around the sneakers of several students. He carried a ball in his mouth and seemed to plead with his icy blue eyes for a playmate. He wandered around without direction and I wondered if he was blind, or homeless, and watched the ribs shift under his taut skin.

     The abandoned dog, the slightly sunburned grass and the lack of flora cast a feeling  of melancholy upon me as I walked through the park. I didn’t feel joy or peace in Greenwich Park as I did in St. James’s or The Regent’s Parks. Even the view of the city from the top of the hill upon which the observatory is situated depressed me. It is a view full of skyscrapers, power plants, power lines, smoke stacks no longer in use. When I am in the city for too long, I crave green space, but in Greenwich Park, I found myself preferring the city.

     The Regent’s Park, located between Paddington and Camden Town, is accessible via several tube stops, including; Marylebone, Great Portland Street and, of course, Regent’s Park. The park was originally another of King Henry VIII’s deer gardens (see hyperlink above) and features the Queen Mary’s Garden, an area of the park blooming with over nine thousand begonias.

     The Regent’s Park is one of the most stunning places, if not the most, I have been lucky enough to visit in my life. The walkways reach out through rows of shaped cylinders of shrubbery and tall hedges line the walkway, creating walls of green that flank beds of bright flora. Fountains pour out clear water that glints in the sun, cascading like icicles ripped from rooftops in the winter. There are areas reserved strictly for children, areas with cafes, an outdoor amphitheatre and a community sports and recreation centre. The overall feeling that I had being in the park was one of peace and serenity. Car horns, sirens, the pounding of joggers’ feet and the wails of children with scraped knees or simply a poor temperament could not be heard in the near silence of the park. For one who is quick to grow weary of the London hustle-bustle, The Regent’s Park serves as the quintessential getaway.

     All of the Royal Parks I have visited thus far each have their own distinguishing characteristics, and a unique essence. But don’t take it from me. Hope on the tube and go find yourself some green.

     As I entered  The Cabinet War Rooms and Churchill Museum I noticed a sign that appropriately read “1940 – You are here.” The War Rooms especially had the effect of transporting me back through the decades and directly into the blitz years.  I let myself become immersed in the time period, trying to experience the War Rooms as they would have been experienced during the blitz. Walking through the halls and listening to the recordings of secretaries furiously punching at typewriters, phones ringing, air raid sirens screaming and the distant, guttural peal of bombs – like some Gregorian chant – , I felt as though I truly was there. 

     Living quarters were by no means spacious or luxurious. Winston Churchill and his staff lived in small bedrooms with small twin beds – some cots, even – and small furniture, and they cooked in a small kitchen. The fact that the Prime Minister lived and worked in a somewhat average space – though his accommodations were by no means completely Spartan – impressed me. It reminded me of how The Queen Mother rejoiced at the bombing of Buckingham palace and felt that she could now more closely connect and identify with her subjects. Churchill, in this way, was living in a similar fashion as those who elected him.

     The War Rooms themselves were built underground. It consisted of several levels including a sub-basement or crawl space area. The Rooms were protected by steel-reinforced concrete up to three metres thick, depending on the area. The halls seemed labyrinthine – I’m not sure if the Rooms were laid out this way throughout the blitz, or if they were re-arranged when the museum was opened, though many of the rooms were left just as they were.

     The Churchill museum was equally as interesting, though it brought up current issues as well as those from the past. One section in particular focused on Churchill’s sentiments towards the Indians. In rather “politically correct” and certainly “British” words, a placard mentioned that Churchill took a social Darwinist approach with his policies towards India, claiming that if Great Britain had not intervened, the religious factions in the country would surely turn against one another in a barbaric warfare. I was not particularly surprised by this, unfortunately, considering the problems dealing with race and ethnicity seen so frequently throughout the latter half of the 20^th century. In fact, perhaps those later problems were actually rooted within the racist history of previous British policy.

     Overall, the museum was very informative and interesting, especially the Cabinet War Rooms section. The ability of the exhibit to situate the visitor in the heat of the blitz renders this museum truly successful in meeting the goal that all museums should strive to achieve;reaching – and truly affecting – its audience.

     Light – unnatural light from the hulking, undoubtedly gilt chandeliers and natural light which poured in through massive, paned windows – set a noonday glow upon the carved stone walls of Saint Martin in the Fields yesterday. The same light spilled onto the crowd that had gathered to watch the performance. For a donation of a few pounds – or nothing, if one desired – appreciators of music of all ages had the opportunity to attend a performance by E.L.F., a trio comprised of a pianist, flautist, and horn player.

     The three are known for their versatility, playing anything and everything from classical and pop music to arrangements from soundtracks and musical scores. At St. Martin in the Fields yesterday, E.L.F. stayed true to their reputation, playing a variety of pieces, but none nearly as powerful and interesting as Phantasia, based on Andrew Lloyd Weber’s famous The Phantom of the Opera. E.L.F.’s interpretations of hit songs such as “Music of the Night,” “Past the Point of No Return,” “Masquerade,” “All I Ask of You” and, of course, “Phantom of the Opera” were unexpected and enjoyable. Tempos were adjusted, notes and rests altered to create surprising syncopation, harmonies and jarringly dissonant chords created where none existed previously. At one point during the piece, “All I Ask of You,” a deeply emotional – and during the reprise, truly painful – love song segwayed beautifully into “Masquerade,” a joyful song with an element of whimsy. The transition was unexpected, but surprisingly appropriate and effective.

     What else I found to be especially inspiring was the obvious love of the art felt by the performers and the flautist in particular. Even when he was not playing, the flautist made eye contact with his fellow members, smiled, rocked and tapped and swooshed to be beat – or off-beat – of the music, as if all the nerves in his body were firing and playing their own fleshy instruments rather than the flute lying in anticipation at his side.

     The light glanced off of the musicians’ instruments as they walked off and bowed to the crowd. The light burned my eyes as I left bliss inside St. Martin in the Fields and walked out into the crush of humanity that is Trafalgar Square. The light left shadows under my feet.

     Yesterday, we took a walking tour around Bloomsbury, the neighborhood that is adjacent to our own.  Learning about the area was truly fascinating, and I felt so lucky to have the opportunity to see where Virginia Woolf lived, walk along the sidewalk where Charles Darwin might have walked, and experience an area that is so rich in history. 

     We learned that in this one small area lived; Charles Dickens, The Bonham Carters, Edgar Allan Poe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Thomas Hodgkin, Henry James, Charles Darwin, Virginia Woolf and T.S. Eliot. In fact, we saw a building that once housed the publishing company where T.S. Eliot worked, and were told of how his wife – whom Eliot claimed was mentally unwell – would “picket” outside the building with a sign that read “I am the abused wife of T.S. Eliot!”

     We walked though an area around Russell square which was destroyed during the Blitz and rebuilt years later. It was interesting, too, to see just how severe the destruction of the city was at the Docklands Museum today. The rest of the museum was very informational, as well. I particularly enjoyed the sections about the docklands themselves. Being a visual learner, I found it very useful to see all the diagrams, primary sources of life at the Docklands and other visual and kinesthetic aids that connected with our readings.  In particular, I remember one of the articles mentioning how dangerous working at the docks was; how many men were killed by falling into the storage areas below deck or suffering other serious injuries. After seeing some of the chains, hooks, and other tools used by the workers, I can really see just how dangerous working on the docks was.

Attached are some pictures both of the Bloomsbury walk and the Docklands Museum…

    We took the Central Line from Goodge Station and switched onto the Waterloo line to Elephant and Castle at Charing Cross. As we moved farther down the line, we noticed that the number of business suits diminished and were replaced by more eccentric garb and hairstyles. After getting off at Elephant and Castle, we started to head in the right direction (towards Walworth Street) only to be re-routed (due to a “fatal accident” involving a bus) down a rather sketchy alleyway, only to make one giant loop and end up where we started. We wandered around, getting even more lost, and after consulting A-Zed, we finally got our bearings and headed down Walworth Street towards the East Street Market. Once there, we were bombarded with a rush of people, wares, sounds and smells. Reggaeton blasted from a CD and cassette tape booth, women in burkas sat under a tent draped with pashmina scarves and the aroma of bangers and burgers hung heavily in the air over the scene. Middle-Eastern and African vendors sold seafood and exotic fruits and vegetables arranged in wooden crates, and women loaded the produce into their bags, bartering with the vendors. There were booths selling watches, clothing (suits, dress shirts, slacks and lingerie), shoes, belts, toys, Christian books and movies, hats, sunglasses, jewelry, bags, scarves, cell phone accessories, linens and toiletry and cleaning products. But more interesting than the wares being sold was observing the interactions between those selling and buying. Vendors, for the most part, kept to themselves and did not call out to passersby. Some left their booths completely vacant and vulnerable to theft. One vendor in particular caught our attention. One of the few white British fruit vendors angrily accosted a potential buyer. As we were passing, we heard the vendor say to the man, “Speaking bloody f***ing English, you f***ing Bangladeshi.” The man walked away from the booth, and responded in very clear English, “English c**t.” We were shocked by witnessing obvious racial tension for the first time. It has become such a common scene in London to see people of all ethnicities sharing common spaces and interacting amicably with one another, and the altercation took us by surprise. Finally, we took the 176 to Tottenham Court Road and headed back home. While tensions do obviously exist in England, places such as East Street Market represent, for the most part, the harmony and co-existence between cultures which necessarily occurs every day in London.

     The boat ride was a really great way to see London, today. It was incredible to see how much the Thames has stayed the same over the years  (in that it is still a major waterway for transportation purposes) as well as how much it has changed (in that it is, luckily for us,  no longer a cesspool of human and industrial wastes). The museums at the Royal Observatory were fascinating. I really thought a lot about the concept of time and what it means to our culture. That watches used to be a symbol of wealth and status, I think, is particularly poignant. The wealthy are, in essence, the ones who own time in that they own time of their employees, and therefore, to an extent, the employees themselves. Greenwich is an absolutely beautiful area and I plan on going back. I particularly enjoyed wandering around the market; I’m now especially excited for our East Street Market assignment tomorrow.