CONSIDERIING SERAPHINE ON A GRUMPY MONDAY

I have an on-going wrestling match with the concept of praise. Here’s a list of problems with it:

1. In my experience, after someone has given me a lot of praise, their next move will be to ask me to do something for free, or something compromising, or to want to come live with me. (Two cats are my absolute limit and I already HAVE two cats.)

2. If I give someone else a lot of praise and then ask them for something (small and unembarrassing, let us stipulate), they suddenly disappear. There is no reciprocity in this game.

3. What do you do with praise from people who have no taste and don’t know what they are talking about?

4. In some quarters there is a constant stream of praise, the way one would praise a dog: “good girl, that’s great, oh wonderful, sit now, that’s right. . .” until it’s just noise. Means nothing.

5. Sometimes the best praise is not spoken -- just an action, a response, a gesture, a look. Kinda hard to do on the Internet, but it can be managed. I use fiction technique: “my hand rests briefly on your head.” But then I get hooked on the pursuit of praise: Did “I pinch your earlobe” mean they really liked it and for the right reason? How do I find out?

6. If I don’t get any feedback at all, I worry. Did I offend? Did I forget to send the message? Are they unconscious? Am I interrupting something far more important? Esp. if I’ve tried to praise honestly: was it too soon? Did I praise the wrong thing?

7. I HATE those thumbs up/thumbs down, “like,” five-stars, constant rating demands which are simply marketing research and go into your computer algorithm at cyber-headquarters to sell you something.

8. The worst thing about teaching was grading. The worst thing about being a student was grading. For one thing, it’s often comparative. I’ve graded classes on a curve and even awarded an undeserved A because the individual had the highest score in classes where NO ONE was performing up to the general standard or even near it -- because otherwise the administration and I would take so much political heat that we would be paralyzed. If I got an A in a class where no one even came close to my intelligence and background, it meant nothing. The two C’s on my transcript from my undergrad years were for acting and the philosophy of religion, the two courses that were most useful of any I took in the whole four years, knowledge that has been the foundation for the rest of my life. Those two C’s were in classes where the others were so brilliant that I had to fight even for a C.

9. Much praise is simply popularity. “Greatest hits” has nothing to do with curated and reflective analysis or even spontaneous emotional response -- just numbers sold. I used to get ballistic every time my denomination did a head count of who believed what and said that was what defined us. Surely there was something more permanent and valuable than flavor-of-the-week definitions of “God.” Likewise, I discovered that being a praiseworthy minister had more to do with popularity and “feel-good” quotient than insight into life.

10, Facebook categories: “Like” or “friend” trespass on words that I intend to mean something serious. I do not take liking or friendship lightly. Nor do I say “love” unless I mean something specific and high-value. I hate being forced into praise or gated categories (“you can’t come in unless you’re a friend . . .”) in the name of drumming up action. Likewise, Netflix rarely suggests a movie that interests me, though they offer a whole row of “based on” picks. Same with Amazon which more cagily says, “People who bought this book also bought that.” What do I care what other people do? Esp. when I don’t know who they are.

This weekend I have a Netflix movie that I really hate to have to send back. It’s “Seraphine,” the story of a cleaning woman who combined dogged hard work with a kind of obsessive, naive, patterned art of considerable intricacy and vivid impact. The plot, which is the artist’s true story, is about her discovery, her major reputation and sales, and then her abandonment in hard times (war and depression) which may or may not have led to her insanity. (She spoke to angels.) It’s a familiar story, but this version was inhabited by an actress, Yolande Moreau, of enormous charm and such particularity that she can’t be compared to anyone else. (There are YouTube vids of her. They’re in French.) Not really fat and not really thin, she clops along in her boots to the country where she climbs a tree and dangles her legs while her dumpling face and Siamese cat eyes drink in the sun. Her paintings are sort of halfway between Klimt and Van Gogh: repetitive, glittering, vivid, vegetal, feathered, full of eyes, visionary. http://pomposa.livejournal.com/22424.html for one set of reproductions.

Surprised by praise and fame, Seraphine has no defense except her religious ardor, which is partly what leads her into madness. The people in her ordinary life have no way to see what is praiseworthy to the sophisticated Paris art dealer and his clientele. Luckily one young woman remains her friend, but that might just be a plot device. What are we to make of this? That no one should trust praise because it is all fleeting and empty? I lean that way. But praise is also welcome, maybe a gift of insight and appreciation. But what if Seraphine had been praised for the wrong reasons that might distort her gift?

Yolande Moreau is a different story. A performance artist, soliloquist, clown and repertory actor, she is self-possessed and aware of what is praise-worthy by her own standard. One might say “shrewd” in the Belgian manner. (She was born in Brussels.) To say someone is shrewd is praise. A shrewd person is impressed by praise until she hears it given in the same terms to someone else who may or may not have achieved to the same level. Scots like me -- who keep their teeth clenched for fear of letting softness get in -- simply ignore praise and watch for actions. Of course, one is obligated to be grateful for praise and act accordingly, whether one uses terms of endearment or not. Let’s hope Susan Boyle, being Scots, survives praise better than Seraphine did.

A PASSIONATE DEFENSE OF "FRIENDING" by Mattathias

This blog post by Mary Scriver is an editorial with a lot of judging going on. I want to know why I have to limit my so-called real friends to relationships defined by the past. I do not want my grandmother's friends. I want my friends and who is qualified to tell me that my Internet friends are of less value and that they are plastic like legos. Is this to piss me off? I wish Tim will tell me but he will not. "Tell your story your way," is what he always says. "Mary did. Now, it is your turn." I have found many friends who are good friends and supportive human beings and I have found them through social networks. They are not legos. I resent being called one. I am their friend and I am not a plastic person or a cheap toy and I am not a Rolodex. No one uses a Rolodex no more.

There are other implications like the one where it is judging to say that my social network friends are like fundraising. Just because someone has found Cinematheque through a social network does that mean that their financial support is not supportive? it is safer to be on the Internet than it is to be where people can really hurt you if they have a mind to if they see you as being vulnerable. I am vulnerable. Multiple sclerosis is a disability. It gets worse and worse. Am I supposed to stay in my bedroom a shut in and cut off from the entire world because my Internet friends are not really friends and they are really legos? If the purpose was to piss me off it worked. Am I supposed to say that I am not worthy of having friends in the flesh because I can't always attend social events?

When you started reading this did you say to yourself that this writer is disabled? No because you did not know. I am treated with great equality by my social network friends and the disability only comes up every now and then. They see me as a person first and if they know about the MS it is not like the big deal it is when they know me sitting in a wheelchair. They do not feel sorry for me and I do not need or want their pity. I type with a pencil in my mouth. Does that make me into a thing that can only connect to other things? Why are we things and only people who know other people and are friends with them the old way when there were no computers can be friends and we are not really friends? Because people might not disclose on the social network? People do not always disclose face to face. Mary's aversion seems to me to be coming from a couple of places. One of them is generational where the word friend is supposed to mean sight-to-sight, flesh-to-flesh. In person. That is only one way of communicating. Am I not supposed to use the touch talker on my computer because it is not really talking and it is only a machine? I will not do it. I will use my touch talk machines TextSpeak and I will be heard by anyone I want to talk with. There are many ways to know people. I feel like Mary is putting one of the ways I find friends down and sort of making fun of it with disdain by putting me in the same category as a list. Am I an impersonal person who functions like a snap-together life?

One of my social network friends works for an airline and he has made it possible for me to travel to foreign countries. He has changed my life. He has removed barriers. Am I supposed to say that our relationship has no worth because it started on Facebook? The old way is always the better way. It is not better for me. I love computers. I have friends because of computers. Not many people know this but my friend at the airline has MS, too. We connected through a group. His MS is not as bad as mine and he can work. Are we not supposed to connect because we are just names on a list. Mary doesn't know what she is talking about. It is a complaint. If someone does not want to be on a social network who is holding a gun to their head to do it? But to put down a way many people use to make contact with other people is I think kind of mean.

Mattathias Athanasiou

(Matthathias is a member of Cinematheque in Paris. I have not edited whatsoever.)