From the Very Large Solid Walnut Desk of Bartholomew Francis Hughes III
A review of Camille Paglia’s Glittering Images: A Journey Through Art from Egypt to Star Wars
I demand all the flickering screen addicts out there read this book. Or as is more likely, I demand all current and future guardians – parents, hospital orderlies, nurses, and prison guards – to read this book to the illiterate masses in their charge. Though I had much bigger and better things to say about the art works selected for this book, Ms. Paglia got one thing right: the antidote to today’s constant barrage of electronic images, fired at a speed too quick for our minds to contemplate let alone recognize, basically subliminal messages right out in the open, is to slow down and contemplate some art.
I must admit this review is providing me with some difficulty. I’ve labored over this blank parchment for hours and hours, and filled wastebasket upon wastebasket of ape-ish musings. Until I finally came to the truth. The truth froze me as if ice water had been injected into my veins. I didn’t want to face this truth. I’ll admit I wanted to turn tail and take the coward’s exit. I planned to tell the fine folks at Bellicose Blathering that I needed to spend some emergency time on my island. I had a whole story fleshed out about how my usually mainland-reliable internet was down on the island, that my private plane was being rented out for the next month so I was being dropped off on the island, that I’d be pulling a Crusoe or a Gilligan for a long time, and I’d just have to skip out on this review and pick it up with the next piece of published rubbish the editors decided was good enough to read. But I’ve decided to face this truth and overcome the hardships it presents. This simple truth, as ugly and shameful as it is, is that I loved this book.
Yes, I, Bartholomew Francis Hughes, of inestimable repute and intellect, who with unyielding and accurate probes has plumbed the depths of human knowledge to the point that all other’s intellectual pursuits to me seem stale and juvenile, found a book that I, dare I say it, respect.
Oh my, this hurts.
The thing is, it’s Ms. Paglia’s unflinching honesty. She hasn’t passed her opinions through any kind of focus group testing, seemingly not even the people around her – family, friends, colleagues. She thinks what she thinks, and it’s clear she has no concern about the label-makers pinning her down.
I must quote her:
On the other hand, a tremendous amount of major Western art has been intensely religious, and liberals, who have hounded Christmas crèches out of public squares, would similarly object to the doctrinal instruction necessary to present Christian iconography in the public classroom. Thus arts education is stymied in the United States – a victim of political cross fire. Although I am an atheist, I respect all religions and take them seriously as vast symbol systems containing deep truth about human existence. While evil has sometimes been done in its name, religion has been an enormously civilizing force in the world history. Sneering at religion is juvenile, symptomatic of a stunted imagination. Yet that cynical posture has become de rigueur in the art world – simply another reason for the shallow derivativeness of so much contemporary art, which has no big ideas left (emphasis mine). (Paglia xii)
I must go lie down. Oh me, oh my.
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I disagreed with Ms. Paglia on many points. There were times when I thought she might be one of the illiterate masses masquerading as an erudite scholar. There were times when I thought she might be a truly dedicated user of some hardcore stimulants. One of those times occurred in her last chapter. She begins the chapter by asking, “Who is the greatest artist of our time?”
If you’re a minor, are pregnant, take heart medication, weep easily, pass out when frightened, or have any sense of taste left in this tasteless world, you might want to sit down or take a puff or dram of your favorite fortifier.
After establishing throughout prior portions of the book the ascendancy of Pop Art over Fine Art in the last half of the 20th century, and after asking her baiting question, she traces “supreme” art through Jackson Pollock, Ingmar Bergman, Bob Dylan, and finally to…to…to…to…
George Lucas.
Yes, George Lucas.
One would think the greatest artist of our time would at least have a chin. I’ve always felt that having a chin lent one gravitas and freedom from being giggled at.
George Lucas!
The required cynicism, and the back seat one must push their intellect into like a raging child, when consuming pop culture these days have led me to view George’s epically wasteful movies as repackaging of and blending of many culture’s myths into a sickening meaningless stew. And he’s what we should look up to? He’s all we have?
Oh I’ll admit this chapter is worth reading. That Ms. Paglia at least makes her pitch for Lucas worthwhile. I hadn’t thought about the progression of all the technology involved in moviemaking, and how that technology injects itself into our lives in ways we don’t even see.
Which brings me back to the title of Ms. Paglia’s book: Glittering Images. She argues so passionately for the reemergence of art that causes us to pause. But then she inaugurates someone, who according to the accomplishments she assigns to him, is responsible for our culture of glittering images. Lucas taught us to drool when we saw spaceships zooming around shooting flashes of light that make childish playground sounds. Lucas taught us the flash was greater than the substance. Maybe that wasn’t his intention, but it’s what’s happened with the technology he’s pioneered. Michael Bay is the natural byproduct of George Lucas. Are Bay’s films art? Maybe. But they are definitely glittering images which only accelerate our cultural decline due to our inability to sit down, and think.
Editor’s Note: It seems Mr. Hughes has decided to glance over two very important facts: Ms. Paglia’s willingness to document something truthfully even when it counters her own beliefs, something Mr. Hughes indicates he admires; and a dual purpose of this book, which may be the majority purpose, which is to document changes in art through the ages and not necessarily comment on them.
Author’s Note: This meddling is exactly why editors have the deserving social standing of a flatulent rat. I stand by my remarkable words.
Bellicose Blatherings 
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