Providing a Spark

My Graduation Mortar Board from UT-Austin

The majority of influential men in my life have either passed from this life, or passed from my life's sphere of influence. Of the former, André Lefevre, became one of the most determining factors in my life, professionally and personally. I can literally say that had it not been for him, I most likely would not be a professional translator, nor living in Belgium for much of my adult life. Part of that has now culminated in the fact that I am the official Dutch-English translator for the Museum of Fine Arts in Ghent (MSK) and responsible for translating the entire audio, wall and catalogue texts for the forthcoming (Spring 2020) exhibition, Van Eyck. An Optical Revolution.

Van Eyck. An Optical Revolution

This exhibition on Jan van Eyck, and more specifically on his revolutionary use of optics and light within his works with the new media of oil paints in the Burgundian Netherlands of the 15th century, is the largest and most prestigious exhibition on Van Eyck, one of the (and according to many, the) greatest painters ever, in recorded history. I am truly honored to have been hired by the MSK to do this highly esteemed project, but, as with everything in life, there is a backstory, and this is no exception.

Life's roadmap has a funny way of unfolding, and its course can be ever changing, while often what may seem like minor junctures or detours end up becoming major route-altering and defining moments. More often that not, we may forget where that first detour began...

Mine begin with a funny (as in peculiar), little Belgian man from Ghent, André Lefevre. André studied in Ghent at the University of Ghent, where I have also recently given guest lectures in the Indology Department (though that is another story) and earned his PhD at Essex and then ultimately landed in Austin, Texas, teaching Dutch to Texans. He created his own textbook "Treat Yourself to Dutch" which I still have amongst my many notebooks.

However, how I ended up in André's classroom, is a bit more roundabout than merely signing up for an undergraduate foreign-language class at The University of Texas at Austin.  

I graduated at the top of my high school class, giving a very mordant valedictory speech, less nostalgic and more looking forward to ridding myself of any vestiges of high school. I was not a fan. But, I also had no idea what I wanted to do, and if I even wanted to go to college. I only chose to attend one a week before classes began because I had a scholarship and a place on the Varsity swim team (also another story). That ended up being a very poor decision, both for the atmosphere of the school and the swim team experience. Within a year, I was back to the blank drawing board.

I dropped out of college because I truly did not have a clue about what I wanted to do, nor the motivation to continue higher education. I moved to Austin, Texas, as one of my sisters was there, and I liked the city for its vibe and attitude. I took on various jobs including delivering pizzas and bartending. And, for the first time in my life, despite having aced school all these years, I really began to read. I read some 70 or so books that so-called "lost year" when others were diligently going to classes and chipping away at degree requirements. I still did not have a clue, but I did know that I wanted to do something with philosophy and literature, and travel.

I looked into transferring into UT, but was not in time. So, I went around and started talking to some professors and asked if I could sit in on their classes. I also knew that I had to have a foreign-language requirement for Liberal Arts, and I wanted to do something "different". I looked into the course catalogue and found "Dutch."

I went to the Germanic Languages department, and found a certain professor "André Lefevre" and went to his office. Sitting across from his desk, he looked at me curiously as to why this drop-out, unsure, clueless kid would want to take Dutch, virtually for no credit, but he was intrigued. With his gremlin-like little smile and squeaky blue eyes, he stroked his beard and said, "okay". Come to my class. If you do the work, we'll figure it out from there what's the next step.

So, for a semester, I went to Dutch 506 nearly every day, along with a handful of philosophy and art history classes, and sometimes just to random ones as UT is rather large, and one can be anonymous.

André had a very strange sense of humor, and a horrible knack for very bad puns, but he loved Shakespeare and made many good, obscure references that I was usually the only one getting, so we "bonded" on the grounds of obscurantism.

André had one major passion in life, or one great love, and it was Van Eyck's Adoration of the Mystic Lamb Altarpiece in Ghent. He used to talk about it all the time and how there was a funny, little man in Ghent's St Bavo's who was in charge of opening the magnificent altarpiece on holidays, and if you knew him, he might open it for you. This was well before the restoration that is the impetus for the exhibition at hand.

The way he marvelled at its genius intrigued me. I had to see it, which I eventually did during my 3-month backpacking trip across Europe after that semester, when I did visit Holland and Belgium upon André's suggestions. I was indeed amazed and in awe.

I decided to do an English Literature/Language undergraduate degree with minors in Art History and Philosophy after that, which I did. I got back into college and finished my degree in a very short time as I was taking a course load of 21 hours instead of the normal 12-15. I was back in the saddle.

When I finished undergraduate, I ended up spending a year in Antwerp, Belgium with UIA (which became the University of Antwerp, and where I was a visiting Fulbright Professor of English 10 years ago, though again, another story...) and pursued languages and found my newest calling, James Joyce, with one of André's colleagues, Geert Lernout. It was from Lernout that I found out that André was a hugely respected leader in Translation Studies...something I did not know...and, some light bulbs started going off in my head.

I would go back to UT and do a PhD in Comparative Literature with André in translation studies relating to James Joyce! It all came together.

I went back to André's office after living abroad and told him my plan. He looked at me again across his desk, through his squinty lapis lazuli eyes, and said okay, he would vouch for me to start a PhD in Comparative Literature.

I was pursuing my Master's degree first, picking up German and Ancient Greek as we had to have at least 3 languages, and ultimately wrote on Heinrich Von Kleist and the implied reader of Wolfgang Iser for my thesis. But, Joyce and Dutch were still going to figure in, or so I thought.

Life, and death, had other plans. During the Spring of my Master's second year, on my 27th birthday, André died at the age of 50. We were all shocked. No one had even known he was sick. Suddenly my main advisor was dead.

I did not want to continue Dutch as my main language without André, but at that time, I had begun a serious interest in translation because of him.

In even more detours, twists and turns, I added Sanskrit to the list, and that is when the translation bug stuck. I was completely hooked on the power of translation. I ultimately finished my PhD a couple of years later on the works of James Joyce and the concepts of Memory and Death (using German, Greek and Sanskrit philosophies to explore that), and was then once again at a crossroads.

My academic career then had many twists and turns again, and ultimately I landed in Bologna, Italy as a Visiting Professor of English, specifically on James Joyce, with Rosa Maria Bosinelli, the former President of the International James Joyce society and a major figure in translation studies, and she knew André's work very well. Via her, I began then my translation career with a student-run translation company to help them translate the Università di Bologna's website into English from Italian. I actually got paid and recognition for translating, something I loved to do. This was great!

So, at that moment, I started The Language Doc, my own translation "company" that I have been running for over 15 years, translating Italian, German, Dutch and French into English as well as editing and copyediting.

Having lived then in Antwerp, Belgium, again for the past 10 years, Dutch-->English became my main line of work for The Language Doc. Slowly building up the trust and clientele of the Flemish Art Collection and various other arts and humanities institutions, this past Spring I was hired on by the MSK for the Van Eyck exhibition amongst others.

All of that is to say that none of that would have ever happened if André had merely said "no" that day that I walked into his office as a clueless, 20 year-old college drop-out.

It makes me as a teacher as well always to pause when I am teaching and when I am dealing with students about the impact that we can have. We bear a responsibility that is invisible and one that has consequences, for better or for worse, we most likely will never see. Sometimes, seeds can be planted that may not bear fruit for 25 years or so from our former students.

Giving someone a chance, when everyone else has written them off, or considered them "lost" or "off the path" may be that very spark that is what is needed to create and forge a new path.

Such a spark was given to me by André nearly 30 years ago, so for that, I am eternally grateful.

Dank u wel, André.

Cowards

Cowards attacked Brussels today, a few months after Paris, all linked to a single neighborhood in Brussels.

Until public condemnation and shame comes from within the community these despicable people come from and send the message that this is wrong, then we are getting nowhere. Criticism from outside does nothing as we have seen with Trump...

Thank you for all of the notes from the US and beyond about our welfare here.

United we stand...

Peace,
Robert

Greasing the Wheels

This past weekend I attended a workshop at the Ho Sen Dojo of Antwerp called “Breakthrough with the Brush,” led by the zen sensei (teacher) of the brush and pen, Kaz. For the first two and a half days we learned the rudiments of Ancient Chinese calligraphy and some of the primary ideograms.

Without a doubt, this was one of the most intriguing three days I have experienced. As someone who is nearly 45, I believe that it is imperative to continue to try and learn new things in order to stay young at heart.

The danger of learning new things at a middle-aged stage of one's life is that one may become frustrated at feeling inadequate or perhaps even childlike. However, for me, this is the exact reason that I enjoy being in such situations. It has allowed me to see the world through new eyes, as a child, with the experience of an adult.

There is something to be said to be in the presence of a “master.” I have had the good fortune of having several “masters” in my life, with languages, with yoga, with swimming, and various other aspects of my life. In each instance, it is such a joy and honor to be part of that learning experience. To be in the presence of someone who has obtained such a level of expertise or craftsmanship is truly inspiring.

The most amazing aspect of the learning process this weekend was how Kaz would literally take us by the hand so that we could feel the Master’s hand at work. For each ideogram we did, we would go up to the table where Kaz was and then sit down with our brush in hand and he would put his hand around ours and guide us through the process after we had tried several attempts on our own. It was easily one of the most powerful learning experiences I have ever had.

In yoga and zen and other meditative and mindful processes, the breath is essential. For me, it was a deep connection to be able to move with Kaz in his breath as he would lean over behind us, taking the hand, moving the brush and the ideogram would “magically” appear. However, what was crucial in the process was to completely let go and let Kaz move your hand. It was not a collaboration, but a surrender to a “higher power” if you will. If you truly let go, and let Kaz, then the results were profound, it was as if a spirit moved through you.

As I wrote above, the title was “Breakthrough with the Brush,” and it was. I have been very stuck with writing on these blogs, as is apparent by the lacuna in the past few months. I have numerous pages of themes that I had jotted down and wanted to post on, but the actual sitting down process and writing had eluded me. I was stuck, profoundly stuck.

In one of my favorite books, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig speaks through the semi-autobiographical protagonist about the phenomenon of being stuck. Being stuck can be with a myriad of things, from staring at a blank page or computer screen to not being able to fix the carburetor on your motorcycle. Whatever it is, being stuck is a very unpleasant feeling. It can lead to feelings of hopelessness, despair, frustration, anger, and failure.

It is within those moments of being stuck that our mettle is tested. It is within those moments of being stuck that we can either go into the problem or flee from it. However, fleeing from it is merely temporary and usually compounds the problem. It is a band-aide for a bruise, in other words, it is not worth much. Taking a break from the problem is one thing, but fleeing it is another.

I think that I have fled the problem lately instead of taking a break. As such, I needed to get to the core of the problem, to go deep within in order to get un-stuck. This past weekend at the Antwerp zen center did just that.

The process of zazen is one of the pillars of zen thought. Zazen ultimately stems from dhyana, or deep meditation from the Sanskrit. Bodhidharma was purportedly the first Indian Buddhist to go to China, bringing with him the concept of dhyana. The story goes that Bodhidharma sat in deep meditation in front of a wall for nine years. This was the origin of what has become zazen, or wall meditation. It consists of sitting in the lotus position in front of a blank wall and engaging in “unfocused” meditation in order to clear the mind.

This may sound quite odd, but it is a very profound experience if you let go and give yourself over to the process, just as we had to give ourselves over to the process of letting Kaz essentially become our hand. Both in the early-morning zazen sessions and when Kaz took my hand, I completely let go of be-ing Robert and was moved to a fascinating new level of experience.

My wheels had been stuck for some time now. It has led to frustration, anxiety, feelings of failure and just plan “blah.” However, letting go, completely and truly letting go and literally falling into the wall in the deepest stages of my zazen and feeling Kaz breathe as he guided my hand, was the grease that has un-stuck those wheels. In the former, I was able to feel my ego dissolve into the bigger picture and with the latter, to actually “feel” what it was like to be a master myself.

It has allowed me to walk out of my door now and to see a brand-new Antwerp and consequently Belgium, one that I will be writing more about now again that the wheels are unstuck. The concept of zazen meditation is that when contemplating the mountain in deep meditation, it at one point is no longer a mountain, but then afterwards, is again a mountain.

I have gone through a rather profound transitional stage in the past few months, and perhaps now, I again see the Fries With Mayonnaise which were for a while no longer Fries With Mayonnaise, but which are again, and ones that I now see with a new awareness and mindfulness.

Live Music Capital

This past weekend I went to a "musical event" in Brussels called "Anti tapas," held in a cavern-like barrel-vaulted underground venue in the shady part of town near Anderlecht.

From the website, it looked great. I had great company, three wonderful Italians, and we had just had a nice dinner and I was excited.

But, then I arrived.

It was at that moment that I realized how spoiled I am from living in Austin, Texas for so many years. For one, the crowd was trying to be "alternative." What a joke. If you have been to an alternative venue in Austin, then this was Euro Disney in comparison. I am continuously reminded that as far as style or letting loose goes, Europe is about 20 years behind America. This was no exception.

I wanted to have a good time, but, I could not. As I say, the company was great, but the atmosphere was impossible. That is when I really, really appreciated Austin. On any given day, you could hear better music, for free, even on the street, and truly witness an alternative culture than what we had to pay for and muddle around in at "Anti Tapas." Was I glad I went? Yes, but only to remind me of how it can be better.

Yes, this is a bit of a rant, but it is also a shout out to Austin and to anyone that lives there to tell you that you better appreciate what you got. Because, I have been around, and for live music, it does not get much better.

Enjoy it if you are there, and go there if you haven't been.

Under the Chunnel

My latest translation job is currently translating an array of biographies for Northern and Southern Netherlandish painters such as Peter Paul Rubens, Sir Anthony van Dyck, Jacob Jordeans, and François Duquensoy, who despite being Flemish, was most active in Rome and was even called the greatest sculptor in Rome after Bernini. That distinction is quite impressive, along the lines of the French Surrealist poets naming Edgar Allan Poe as “one of them.” One of the recurring themes is that these were very international men, highly competent in a number of languages, something that is still very much a regional pride amongst the Flemish.

But, what is most striking is the concept of travel as opposed to today. Though many of them did “travel” to Rome, Venice or even, in the case of Sir (because he was knighted by King Charles I) Anthony van Dyck, London, it was a completely different experience. One of the things I love about living in Antwerp is that it is so accessible to all of these places. In three hours, on the train, I went from Berchem Station to St. Pancras, London, via Brussels. That doesn’t make most people here blink nowadays. I could have flown from Duerne to London in a fraction of the time, much less Brussels. But, with the Chunnel train route, it is incredibly easy and rather inexpensive, and three hours!!

However, translating these pieces I read about their travels and it could not be a more different world. When they would take a trip to Rome or whatnot, it would be for YEARS, not a couple of days. And, how they would get there would be through a series of city trips and stops, usually taking MONTHS to get there, not hours. Van Dyck ultimately did immigrate to England, where he died at his home in Blackfriars and having become the court painter of the King of England.

Another aspect of travel that is so different is the concept of the hotel these days. Now, because it is such a short trip for us in the modern world, and because of prohibitive costs and such, a hotel is a place you sleep, shower (if you are lucky to have good water pressure in Europe), go to the bathroom (if you are lucky enough to figure out how to flush an English toilet, kind of like jump-starting a Model T-Ford, you are risking your arm), and then you leave. Housekeeping comes a-knocking at 8:30 because you should already be out! You should be on the streets of Cambridge (which is where I am currently) and not in your hotel room, frittering away the hours in the English way (that was for the Pink Floyd fans…).

No, the modern world is to come over quickly, check in, walk the streets, take the photos, buy the postcard and coffee mug that says “Cambridge University” on it, and go home. In a weekend.

Antwerp at the time of Rubens, and largely BECAUSE of Rubens as I am learning more and more, was THE city. Sixteenth-century and Seventeenth-century Antwerp was a destination, and many of these painters and sculptors, if they were not born in Antwerp, came to it, and usually died there. Brussels, though close, was a major trip, and only a few went from Antwerp to Brussels, whereas today, a larger majority of people from Antwerp commute to Brussels, due to its seat as the capital of the EU. However, Antwerp is again becoming such a destination, despite its highly provincial politics.

But, every time I travel under the Chunnel, I am amazed at the ease, and it is such a jolt to hear English again all around me. I usually stutter for the first few times I speak here because I am always not sure if people will “understand” me. I am always surprised when they then answer me in English, not because of being smug to show that they know English, but because it is their mother tongue. This is not the first time I have written about this, and it won’t be the last, because it is something that jars my consciousness, and I feel the need to write about it. It is fresher on my mind because of what I am actually working on.

Although the streets of Cambridge are brimming with tourists, (something I just heard two locals complaining about at the table next to me, in fact), none of them, via London (only 45 minutes away), would take more than 36 hours to get anywhere in the world to get home if they needed to. This is not to say one is better than the other, but indeed, it is a different world. Likewise, I have met people from all around the world in Antwerp over the past few years, and we still have our differences, sometimes that are endearing, at other times hindering for getting to know people, but the awareness of the world is rather more mundane than the eccentric nature it seems to have had when travel was only for a select few. For better or for worse, I cannot say, but it does give me pause each time.

Cairns

Last week I was walking through the streets of Antwerp with a friend who has a very strong penchant and deep knowledge of gemstones. Now that sounds innocuous enough, but what it led to was a very eye-opening experience for me.

Why?

Because I thought I knew Antwerp rather well and am aware of many of the shops, boutiques, restaurants, art galleries, etc. But, what happened was that because of listening to someone else’s interest, we ended up going to a whole different Antwerp than I had been to, but all the while being exactly in the same Antwerp that I have always walked through.

In essence, I had been walking by some very fascinating shops for years and never going in, sometimes perhaps out of just habit of knowing my favorite places, or sometimes just not recognizing what is right in front of your eyes. It is the cliché of driving down a road and suddenly realizing you have gone a mile and don’t remember any of it because you always drive down that road and your “subconscious” driver takes over.

As such, throughout the day, little cairns of memories were placed along familiar routes, marking new places and points of interest that I will be sure to view next time and more importantly gave me the awareness to keep my eyes open for new ones.

Every city has multiple dimensions, layers upon layers, like a sedimentary rock, and as with Foucault’s Archaeology of Knowledge, it is for us to dig through and find the layers and be aware of the rifts. Many of us, myself included, merely walk along the surface each day, and yet, just below, there are new worlds to be discovered, or like the theoretical pocket universes that could be all around us, but we must be willing to look for them.