The Hemoclysmic Atrocitologist

I am presently listening to an audiobook, Steven Pinker's, The Better Angels of Our Nature. I hate audiobooks. I didn't expect to hate them, I started with The Swerve by Stephen Greenblatt and things started well as the audio reader had perfect pronunciation of the Italian names. But I was lulled by a silver tongued Italian, soon I found that I couldn't remember anything that I had heard. Hearing a sentence spoken I can't see it sitting between my ears and so I can't savour the idea and breadth of the thought. Unless I am extremely quick to hit PAUSE, more and more words tumble out at me. Pinker's long and dense book is exactly the kind of book I love, that is, when it has pages and page numbers and actual words sitting together forming sentences.

Audiobooks also let you do something else instead of sitting your ass down crushed beneath an 800 page book, but this multitasking thing we are all doing more of is actually not something we humans are very good at.

I do love words but I live on pictures and these posts are as much about me drawing some conclusions as they are about just drawing.

Words are tricky, they lead us down twisting paths, bristling with half cooked intentions nestled in a sticky sauce of meaning. Words appear to say what they mean but they help us to hide and run ducking our heads behind tropes and shrubs.

Pictures are different. They are intentioned through design and colour to have an intrinsic meaning. Less slippery slope than words but not completely a picnic in the park. My aim in these posts is to explore the MAKING of pictures and the MEANING of pictures, as they can not be separated.

And this returns me to the audiobook, made with all the same words as a book but lacking the visual, tangible form that gives words meaning to me.