[85936] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Solar Panel Specials
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Solar Panel Specials)
Tue Aug 2 15:58:27 2016
Date: Tue, 2 Aug 2016 15:51:10 -0400
From: "Solar Panel Specials" <solar_panel_specials@dagost.com>
To: <mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu>
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<h1>Solar Panel Specials</h1>=20
<p>Solar installation is more affordable than ever. You can save 30 perce=
nt with federal rebates, and when you make the change to Solar, you can cut=
your electric bill up to 80 percent. Plus you may be eligible to get start=
ed without any up front costs.</p>=20
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<p>Solar Panel Specials<br /> Style, the Latin name for an iron pen, has=
come to designate the art that handles, with ever fresh vitality and wary =
alacrity, the fluid elements of speech. By a figure, obvious enough, which =
yet might serve for an epitome of literary method, the most rigid and simpl=
est of instruments has lent its name to the subtlest and most flexible of a=
rts. Thence the application of the word has been extended to arts other tha=
n literature, to the whole range of the activities of man. The fact that we=
use the word " style" in speaking of architecture and sculpture,=
painting and music, dancing, play-acting, and cricket, that we can apply i=
t to the careful achievements of the housebreaker and the poisoner, and to =
the spontaneous animal movements of the limbs of man or beast, is the noble=
st of unconscious tributes to the faculty of letters. The pen, scratching o=
n wax or paper, has become the symbol of all that is expressive, all that i=
s intimate, in human nature; not only arms and arts, but man himself, has y=
ielded to it. His living voice, with its undulations and inflexions, assist=
ed by the mobile play of feature and an infinite variety of bodily gesture,=
is driven to borrow dignity from the same metaphor; the orator and the act=
or are fain to be judged by style. " It is most true," says the a=
uthor of The Anatomy of Melancholy, " stylus virum arguit, our style b=
ewrays us." Other gestures shift and change and flit, this is the ulti=
mate and enduring revelation of personality. The actor and the orator are c=
ondemned to work evanescent effects on transitory material; the dust that t=
hey write on is blown about their graves. The sculptor and the architect de=
al in less perishable ware, but the stuff is recalcitrant and stubborn, and=
will not take the impress of all states of the soul. Morals, philosophy, a=
nd aesthetic, mood and conviction, creed and whim, habit, passion, and demo=
nstration--what art but the art of literature admits the entrance of all th=
ese, and guards them from the suddenness of mortality? What other art gives=
scope to natures and dispositions so diverse, and to tastes so contrarious=
? Euclid and Shelley, Edmund Spenser and Herbert Spencer, King David and Da=
vid Hume, are all followers of the art of letters. In the effort to explain=
the principles of an art so bewildering in its variety, writers on style h=
ave gladly availed themselves of analogy from the other arts, and have spok=
en, for the most part, not without a parable. It is a pleasant trick they p=
ut upon their pupils, whom they gladden with the delusion of a golden age, =
and perfection to be sought backwards, in arts less complex. The teacher of=
writing, past master in the juggling craft of language, explains that he i=
s only carrying into letters the principles of counterpoint, or that it is =
all a matter of colour and perspective, or that structure and ornament are =
the beginning and end of his intent. Professor of eloquence and of thieving=
, his winged shoes remark him as he skips from metaphor to metaphor, not da=
ring to trust himself to the partial and frail support of any single figure=
He lures the astonished novice through as many trades as were ever housed=
in the central hall of the world' s fair. From his distracting account of =
the business it would appear that he is now building a monument, anon he is=
painting a picture (with brushes dipped in a gallipot made of an earthquak=
e); again he strikes a keynote, weaves a pattern, draws a wire, drives a na=
il, treads a measure, sounds a trumpet, or hits a target; or skirmishes aro=
und his subject; or lays it bare with a dissecting knife; or embalms a thou=
ght; or crucifies an enemy. What is he really doing all the time? Besides t=
he artist two things are to be considered in every art,-- the instrument an=
d the audience; or, to deal in less figured phrase, the medium and the publ=
ic. From both of these the artist, if he would find freedom for the exercis=
e of all his powers, must sit decently aloof. It is the misfortune of the a=
ctor, the singer, and the dancer, that their bodies are their sole instrume=
nts. On to the stage of their activities they carry the heart that nourishe=
s them and the lungs wherewith they breathe, so that the soul, to escape de=
gradation, must seek a more remote and difficult privacy. That immemorial r=
ight of the soul to make the body its home, a welcome escape from publicity=
and a refuge for sincerity, must be largely foregone by the actor, who has=
scant liberty to decorate and administer for his private behoof an apartme=
nt that is also a place of business. His ownership is limited by the necess=
ities of his trade; when the customers are gone, he eats and sleeps in the =
bar-parlour. Nor is the instrument of his performances a thing of his choic=
e; the poorest skill of the violinist may exercise itself upon a Stradivari=
us, but the actor is reduced to fiddle for the term of his natural life upo=
n the face and fingers that he got from his mother. The serene detachment t=
hat may be achieved by disciples of greater arts can hardly be his, applaus=
e touches his personal pride too nearly, the mocking echoes of derision inf=
est the solitude of his retired imagination. In none of the world' s great =
polities has the practice of this art been found consistent with noble rank=
or honourable estate. Christianity might be expected to spare some sympath=
y for a calling that offers prizes to abandonment and self-immolation, but =
her eye is fixed on a more distant mark than the pleasure of the populace, =
and, as in gladiatorial Rome of old, her best efforts have been used to sto=
p the games. Society, on the other hand, preoccupied with the art of life, =
has no warmer gift than patronage for those whose skill and energy exhaust =
themselves on the mimicry of life. The reward of social consideration is re=
fused, it is true, to all artists, or accepted by them at their immediate p=
eril. By a natural adjustment, in countries where the artist has sought and=
attained a certain modest social elevation, the issue has been changed, an=
d the architect or painter, when his health is proposed, finds himself, sor=
ely against the grain, returning thanks for the employer of labour, the gen=
ial host, the faithful husband, the tender father, and other pillars of soc=
iety. The risk of too great familiarity with an audience which insists on h=
onouring the artist irrelevantly, at the expense of the art, must be run by=
all; a more clinging evil besets the actor, in that he can at no time whol=
ly escape from his phantasmal second self. On this creature of his art he h=
as lavished the last doit of human capacity for expression; with what beari=
ng shall he face the exacting realities of life? Devotion to his profession=
has beggared him of his personality; ague, old age and poverty, love and d=
eath, find in him an entertainer who plies them with a feeble repetition of=
the triumphs formerly prepared for a larger and less imperious audience. T=
he very journalist--though he, too, when his profession takes him by the th=
roat, may expound himself to his wife in phrases stolen from his own leader=
s--is a miracle of detachment in comparison; he has not put his laughter to=
sale. It is well for the soul' s health of the artist that a definite boun=
dary should separate his garden from his farm, so that when he escapes from=
the conventions that rule his work he may be free to recreate himself. But=
where shall the weary player keep holiday? Is not all the world a stage?</=
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<font size=3D"2">Change your options by visiting <a href=3D"=
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