Yr wylan deg ar lanw dioer
Unlliw ag eiry neu wenlloer,
Dilwch yw dy degwch di,
Darn fel haul, dyrnfol, heli.

Dafydd ap Gwilym







Janine Flynn
Gull Rock
323 mm x 445 mm





































O sea-bird, beautiful upon the tides,
White as the moon is when the night abides,
Or snow untouched, whose dustless splendour glows
Bright as a sunbeam and whose white wing throws
A glove of challenge on the salt sea-flood.






Read more Dafydd ap Gwilym

“Yr Wylan” (To the Sea-gull), line 1; translation from Robert Gurney (ed. and trans.) Bardic Heritage (London: Chatto & Windus, 1969) p. 130.
















Gull Rock is one of the images featured in the interview in the first edition of
Full articles and interviews with further images are available in the high quality PDF edition

… Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross …


Ash Wednesday Part VI
T S Eliot







I began this project with an unsettling suspicion that there would be an element of looking into a mirror and finding no reflection or possibly worse, one revealing those dimly formed ‘things’ I might prefer to ignore - “Ouch!”





Art does not exist in isolation - a product of its time and understood through the context of the individual. Succeeding eras layer the understandings of their times over or alongside the original expression creating an even richer tapestry of associations.











Hans HOLBEIN the Younger
Jean de Dinteville and Georges de Selve (`The Ambassadors')
1533
Oil on oak, 207 x 209 cm
National Gallery, London

16C bling was a less scintillating indication of status and learning


A painting and by extension other types of art, usually has to have some pleasantly arresting aspect to attract attention for me and this seems quite a prevalent attitude, especially in our age of image saturation. There is a high probablility that I’ll pass by without question when that pleasant attraction is missing. Sometimes though a little prior knowledge is reason to sit and look for a while, for instance the Veronese ‘Feast in the House of Levi’ would have had far more appeal had I known what I was seeing at the time. There are other examples of Art that you almost don’t need to see because the ideas they embody seize hold of that attention.





It would be easy to dismiss ‘For the Love of God’ as another Momento Mori ‘… the prospect of death serves to emphasize the emptiness and fleetingness of earthly pleasures, luxuries, and achievements, and thus also as an invitation to focus one’s thoughts on the prospect of the afterlife’. Or to reflect on the very varied interpretations of Skull Symbolism.





Difficult to escape the Glamour of the ultimate expression of Bling with whatever opinions and attitudes bling arouses. My major difficulty trying to find some coherent understanding is in the many faceted directions this piece inspires in my thoughts, mimicing the gems and creating an equivalent of the ‘flocculent effect’ noted in Will Self’s article To Die For. This skull doesn’t grin - it laughs out loud at my attempts to grasp and articulate answers for questions that the finest brains have struggled and argued to comprehend for millenia - and with books to fill entire libraries about them. At which point, I have to join in and laugh out loud at my conceit and the ironies of Hubris but Chesterton makes a strong case for at least attempting some of the impossible. So, with a nod in both directions…








The following extract about Hymn from Dances with Sharks, includes some comments that may relate to facets of For the Love of God.
(contains strong language; emphasis added in bold).







22 March 2000



Damien Hirst
Hymn
1996
Photography and copyright unassigned - assumed to be © Damien Hirst





… Like the big guy [Hymn]. I financed that myself. But all the money I had off them [Charles Saatchi and Larry Gagosian; JF] was used to set myself up so that I never get under pressure again. So that I’ve not got someone knocking on the door when I’m experimenting on something that’s cost a lot of money, d’you know what I mean? To take a little toy like that of Connor’s and enlarge it to that sort of size, there’s a big possibility that it’s going to look shit.





GB Is it a toy? I assumed it was from a teaching-hospital.





DH I wouldn’t have done it with a teaching-hospital one. I did it with a toy. It’s called ‘The Young Scientist’. I might even get sued for it. I expect it. Because I copied it so directly [Hirst later paid an undisclosed sum to charities nominated by the toy's maker Humbrol to head off legal action for breach of copyright]. It’s fantastic. I just thought it was so brilliant, and it was so accurate, it was like a chemistry set, and I loved it that it was a toy. It was really similar to a medical thing, but much happier, friendlier, and more colourful and bright. And I just thought, ‘Wow! I wanna do that.’ I suppose it came from that idea of Koons doing those things [the witches' hat etc]. I just thought, ‘Twenty feet tall. Fantastic.’ But there’s no way you can get an idea of whether that’s going to work or not. So to go to Saatchi and say, ‘give us some money,’ and it turns out it’s shit and then he has to have it… So I managed to make that, blow it up, have it in my studio and sit with it until I was convinced it was good, and then decide whether I want to sell it or not. And Jay [Jopling] freaked out over it. He was: ‘Let’s get someone else to pay for it. Get someone else to pay for it!’ And it’s just shite doing that. It just doesn’t work out. You don’t get anyone else to pay for it. You pay for it yourself.





GB Why did you do it in bronze?





DH I just wanted it to be grand. It can go outside. It’s vandal-proof. Underneath it is this big fucking grand iconic fucking artwork. I mean, I love painted bronze. The paint on it’s like skin… It’s an outdoor sculpture. It’s like a car. It’ll decay. So eventually what you’ll be left with is this solid bronze man with bits of paint hanging off it. So in a way it’s like what happens to your body. I liked it for that reason. That’s why I went in for bronze.





GB It reminds me of something you said when you did the Building Sites film on the Worsley Building in Leeds for the BBC: ‘It’s almost as if the outside of the building, the exterior, is denying that it’s a part of the same processes of decay and destruction and corruption as the human bodies inside the building. The dead bodies come and go and the living bodies come and go, and the building stays the same. I get the feeling from the building that it’s more alive than me, which is terrifying.’





DH The guy at the foundry [where Hymn was cast], says, ‘What d’you want?’ So I gave him the toy and said, ‘I want it made this big, 20 feet, with a base this height.’ And he said, ‘What do you want it to look like at the end?’ And I said, ‘Plastic!’ He nearly had a heart attack. He said, ‘But it’s a bronze.’ I said, ‘I want it to look like plastic.’ ‘Well, why do you want it to be bronze?’ ‘Because I want it to be grand, and I want it to be bronze.’ And just when he finished making it, he phoned me up and he’s like, ‘C’mon, we can do some great patinas… We can do a really great red patina.’ I said, ‘What, bright red? Like plastic?’ He said, ‘Well, no. Not like plastic.’ ‘Well, can you make it took like plastic?’ And in the end, he thought it was great and he really liked it.





GB Most people will come away from it thinking it is plastic.





DH They will when it’s new. But they won’t in 10 years’ time. It’s like a car. It can be fixed up like a car or it can’t be. It’s tough. It’s car paint. But in 20 years’ time it’s going to look like a 20-year-old car… I felt very sad when it wasn’t there today when I went down. I missed it… When money comes in, I do things like that on the side. I’m beginning to more and more.





© Damien Hirst and Gordon Burn
Extracted from On The Way To Work by Damien Hirst and Gordon Burn, published by Faber & Faber on 22 October 2001 at £25








Firstly, qualify everything I say about these works as I’ve only ever seen photos. That isn’t a cop out - no photo can ever compare with the experience of seeing first hand that blue whale in the Natural History Museum.






My first reaction to seeing this - and most of his other works online - was ‘Uh?’ But add that bit of knowledge that it’s a bronze deliberately concealed and made to look like plastic whilst the image is literally spilling it’s guts, the flayed skin exposing the blood and bones, based on a toy rescaled to giant proportions and that the finish will deteriorate and age. No, I don’t think it’s terribly pretty but as an analogy of image, it’s spot on. Could there also be a comment about the ‘professional victim’ too? It definitely wouldn’t have the same impact if it had been on a mere human scale.


Hymn also goes beyond comments on the place of image in our present popular culture, implying comments of the society that venerates image and further implying about the place of art in that society, even including a comment about ‘itself’ as an example of art - almost like a fractal in reverse where the tiny part is a reflection and symptom of the whole.


I think it is fair to say that many people share a deep puzzlement or cycnicism about art that is too far removed from their personal ideas and expectations. I also think that a work of art that needs additional information to arouse sufficient interest to contemplate or gaze doesn’t quite succeed in it’s primary purpose, although that opinion is probably far too purist in practice. I don’t know what to think about Hirst’s works as objects of art - certainly artful. I began this project with a dismissive attitude towards him and his works - I find my attitude to have been unfounded prejudice. Several of his themes can be viewed as social commentary expressed with a masterful ambiguity of opinion that creates a tortuous enigma that can become quite compelling.






There are too many potential avenues of enquiry to include all that I’ve found from the several themes I’ve explored [1]. To return to the original questions …


Picasso’s Quotes regarding interpretations of Guernica remind me that whether conscious or deliberate implications were intended is an irrelevance verging on stupidity. If the extract above is typical, conscious or deliberate intentions seem unlikely - but none of the interviews I’ve read include this type of question. On the other hand, in The Last Supper Leonardo was emphatic in his intentions, concentrating ‘… on the different reactions of each of the Apostles, conveying their varied emotional responses through their facial expressions, poses and physical gestures. Surviving studies for the heads of some of the Apostles indicate that Leonardo studied the physiognomy and expression of each individual, working out every detail in drawings.’ Maybe the contrast is simply an indication of change in emphasis.


Hirst’s ‘grinning skull’ is primarily for me, a commentary about the place of image in Popular Culture, laughing at the successful appropriation of popular culture by Pop Art that turns it into an intellectual exercise to deliberately exclude the general public that created the popular culture it derives from - and incidentally, laughing at the inability of those who can not see this as either Art or to get the joke - as well as laughing at those who ‘buy into it’. Personally, I think Hirst is having a good laugh all round too - a bit like the tailors in The Emperor’s New Clothes but I have no strong evidence to support that opinion.









[1] Other themes including these:



White Cube - Damien Hirst


Saatchi Gallery: Highlights


Damien Hirst - The Last Supper


Damien Hirst - Prints


The 150th anniversary edition of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species


The art market according to Damien Hirst


Inside Damien Hirst’s factory

A timely reminder of what criticism attempts to achieve. I include the whole essay because the arguments used indicate the framework that the opinon evolves from.


I disagree with the conclusion as always being accurate - there are many instances in history that disprove it, including examples from some of the artists mentioned. Equally, there have been others who were applauded but are now forgotten, who have faded out of our current tastes and fashions - who may return in another age, possibly the result of a completely fresh reappraisal of them that is unimaginable to us now in the context of our era.


I certainly agree that an elitist attitude that seeks a position of superiority through deliberate exclusion is definitely unacceptable.









Giotto
Scenes from the Life of Joachim: 4. Joachim's Sacrificial Offering
1304-06
Fresco, 200 x 185 cm
Cappella Scrovegni (Arena Chapel), Padua














The Mystogogue
G K Chesteron






Whenever you hear much of things being unutterable and indefinable and impalpable and unnamable and subtly indescribable, then elevate your aristocratic nose towards heaven and snuff up the smell of decay. It is perfectly true that there is something in all good things that is beyond all speech or figure of speech. But it is also true that there is in all good things a perpetual desire for expression and concrete embodiment; and though the attempt to embody it is always inadequate, the attempt is always made. If the idea does not seek to be the word, the chances are that it is an evil idea. If the word is not made flesh it is a bad word.


















Fra Angelico
Coronation of the Virgin
1434-35
Tempera on panel, 213 x 211 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris






Thus Giotto or Fra Angelico would have at once admitted theologically that God was too good to be painted; but they would always try to paint Him. And they felt (very rightly) that representing Him as a rather quaint old man with a gold crown and a white beard, like a king of the elves, was less profane than resisting the sacred impulse to express Him in some way. That is why the Christian world is full of gaudy pictures and twisted statues which seem, to many refined persons, more blasphemous than the secret volumes of an atheist. The trend of good is always towards Incarnation. But, on the other hand, those refined thinkers who worship the Devil, whether in the swamps of Jamaica or the salons of Paris, always insist upon the shapelessness, the wordlessness, the unutterable character of the abomination. They call him “horror of emptiness,” as did the black witch in Stevenson’s Dynamiter; they worship him as the unspeakable name; as the unbearable silence. They think of him as the void in the heart of the whirlwind; the cloud on the brain of the maniac; the toppling turrets of vertigo or the endless corridors of nightmare. It was the Christians who gave the Devil a grotesque and energetic outline, with sharp horns and spiked tail. It was the saints who drew Satan as comic and even lively. The Satanists never drew him at all.






And as it is with moral good and evil, so it is also with mental clarity and mental confusion. There is one very valid test by which we may separate genuine, if perverse and unbalanced, originality and revolt from mere impudent innovation and bluff. The man who really thinks he has an idea will always try to explain that idea. The charlatan who has no idea will always confine himself to explaining that it is much too subtle to be explained. The first idea may really be very outree or specialist; it may really be very difficult to express to ordinary people. But because the man is trying to express it, it is most probable that there is something in it, after all. The honest man is he who is always trying to utter the unutterable, to describe the indescribable; but the quack lives not by plunging into mystery, but by refusing to come out of it.








Perhaps this distinction is most comically plain in the case of the thing called Art, and the people called Art Critics. It is obvious that an attractive landscape or a living face can only half express the holy cunning that has made them what they are. It is equally obvious that a landscape painter expresses only half of the landscape; a portrait painter only half of the person; they are lucky if they express so much. And again it is yet more obvious that any literary description of the pictures can only express half of them, and that the less important half. Still, it does express something; the thread is not broken that connects God With Nature, or Nature with men, or men with critics. The “Mona Lisa” was in some respects (not all, I fancy) what God meant her to be. Leonardo’s picture was, in some respects, like the lady. And Walter Pater’s rich description was, in some respects, like the picture. Thus we come to the consoling reflection that even literature, in the last resort, can express something other than its own unhappy self.











Botticelli
The Birth of Venus
c. 1485
Tempera on canvas, 172.5 x 278.5 cm
Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence

.






Now the modern critic is a humbug, because he professes to be entirely inarticulate. Speech is his whole business; and he boasts of being speechless. Before Botticelli he is mute. But if there is any good in Botticelli (there is much good, and much evil too) it is emphatically the critic’s business to explain it: to translate it from terms of painting into terms of diction. Of course, the rendering will be inadequate—but so is Botticelli. It is a fact he would be the first to admit. But anything which has been intelligently received can at least be intelligently suggested. Pater does suggest an intelligent cause for the cadaverous colour of Botticelli’s “Venus Rising from the Sea.” Ruskin does suggest an intelligent motive for Turner destroying forests and falsifying landscapes. These two great critics were far too fastidious for my taste; they urged to excess the idea that a sense of art was a sort of secret; to be patiently taught and slowly learnt. Still, they thought it could be taught: they thought it could be learnt. They constrained themselves, with considerable creative fatigue, to find the exact adjectives which might parallel in English prose what has been clone in Italian painting. The same is true of Whistler and R. A. M. Stevenson and many others in the exposition of Velasquez. They had something to say about the pictures; they knew it was unworthy of the pictures, but they said it.










VELÁZQUEZ
The Fable of Arachne (Las Hilanderas)
c. 1657
Oil on canvas, 220 x 289 cm
Museo del Prado, Madrid












Picasso Autoportrait
Winter 1899 (1900)
Charcoal on paper 22,5 x 16,5 cm
Museu Picasso, Barcelona
Copyright © Estate of Pablo Picasso/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York













Now the eulogists of the latest artistic insanities (Cubism and Post Impressionism and Mr. Picasso) are eulogists and nothing else. They are not critics; least of all creative critics. They do not attempt to translate beauty into language; they merely tell you that it is untranslatable—that is, unutterable, indefinable, indescribable, impalpable, ineffable, and all the rest of it. The cloud is their banner; they cry to chaos and old night. They circulate a piece of paper on which Mr. Picasso has had the misfortune to upset the ink and tried to dry it with his boots, and they seek to terrify democracy by the good old anti-democratic muddlements: that “the public” does not understand these things; that “the likes of us” cannot dare to question the dark decisions of our lords.











Rembrandt Self-Portrait
1669
Oil on canvas, 86 x 70.5 cm
National Gallery, London






















I venture to suggest that we resist all this rubbish by the very simple test mentioned above. If there were anything intelligent in such art, something of it at least could be made intelligible in literature. Man is made with one head, not with two or three. No criticism of Rembrandt is as good as Rembrandt; but it can be so written as to make a man go back and look at his pictures. If there is a curious and fantastic art, it is the business of the art critics to create a curious and fantastic literary expression for it; inferior to it, doubtless, but still akin to it. If they cannot do this, as they cannot; if there is nothing in their eulogies, as there is nothing except eulogy—then they are quacks or the high-priests of the unutterable. If the art critics can say nothing about the artists except that they are good it is because the artists are bad. They can explain nothing because they have found nothing; and they have found nothing because there is nothing to be found




















** I know I’ve used the Rembrandt Self Portrait before but his expression speaks volumes and I make no apology for repeating him here.

One of the many questions that come to mind exploring Hirst’s body of works concerns the validity of subjective interpretation - does it matter if the viewer comes up with some interpretation that is wildly different from the artist’s intentions? Does that make the interpretation irrelevant?


These extracts give some of Picasso’s thoughts about the interpretations offered about Guernica. Also interesting to note how his tone changes over a period of years (I would have liked to have known the years he said these remarks but that information was not provided at the Source)















Picasso never committed to a specific explanation of his symbolism: “…this bull is a bull and this horse is a horse… If you give a meaning to certain things in my paintings it may be very true, but it is not my idea to give this meaning. What ideas and conclusions you have got I obtained too, but instinctively, unconsciously. I make the painting for the painting. I paint the objects for what they are.”





“Picasso made a very poignant personal statement about the horse in Guernica being connected to the idea of the suffering of the people,” adds Failing[1]. “And since it’s an animal with a big lance wound through its center, certainly that’s a connection many people would find quite plausible. But Picasso was maddeningly inconsistent about what he had to say about these particular characters, although he didn’t like to say very much at all about them. He knew that it’s better to not say something and allow the interpreters to fill in the space. That gives them something to do. It makes them think about you more.”




Years after the completion of Guernica, Picasso was still questioned time and time again about the meaning of the bull and other images in the mural. In exasperation he stated emphatically: “These are animals, massacred animals. That’s all as far as I’m concerned…” But he did reiterate the painting’s obvious anti-war sentiment: “My whole life as an artist has been nothing more than a continuous struggle against reaction and the death of art. In the picture I am painting — which I shall call Guernica — I am expressing my horror of the military caste which is now plundering Spain into an ocean of misery and death.”





[1] Failing, Patricia. “Picasso’s ‘Cries of Children…Cries of Stones.’” Art News 126, 7 (Sept 1977): 55-64.

Damien HIRST
Papilio Ulysses (detail)
213.4 by 213.4cm.; 84 by 84in
Copyright © Damien Hirst







Book IX

Odysseus relates [...] how he was used by the Cyclops Polyphemus.




‘So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, then did the rams of the flock hasten forth to pasture, but the ewes bleated unmilked about the pens, for their udders were swollen to bursting. Then their lord, sore stricken with pain, felt along the backs of all the sheep as they stood up before him, and guessed not in his folly how that my men were bound beneath the breasts of his thick-fleeced flocks. Last of all the sheep came forth the ram, cumbered with his wool, and the weight of me and my cunning. And the strong Polyphemus laid his hands on him and spake to him saying:




‘”Dear ram, wherefore, I pray thee, art thou the last of all the flocks to go forth from the cave, who of old wast not wont to lag behind the sheep, but wert ever the foremost to pluck the tender blossom of the pasture, faring with long strides, and wert still the first to come to the streams of the rivers, and first did long to return to the homestead in the evening? But now art thou the very last. Surely thou art sorrowing for the eye of thy lord, which an evil man blinded, with his accursed fellows, when he had subdued my wits with wine, even Noman, whom I say hath not yet escaped destruction. Ah, if thou couldst feel as I, and be endued with speech, to tell me where he shifts about to shun my wrath; then should he be smitten, and his brains be dashed against the floor here and there about the cave, and my heart be lightened of the sorrows which Noman, nothing worth, hath brought me!”





‘Therewith he sent the ram forth from him, and when we had gone but a little way from the cave and from the yard, first I loosed myself from under the ram and then I set my fellows free. And swiftly we drave on those stiff-shanked sheep, so rich in fat, and often turned to look about, till we came to the ship. And a glad sight to our fellows were we that had fled from death, but the others they would have bemoaned with tears; howbeit I suffered it not, but with frowning brows forbade each man to weep. Rather I bade them to cast on board the many sheep with goodly fleece, and to sail over the salt sea water. So they embarked forthwith, and sate upon the benches, and sitting orderly smote the grey sea water with their oars. But when I had not gone so far, but that a man’s shout might be heard, then I spoke unto the Cyclops taunting him:




‘”Cyclops, so thou wert not to eat the company of a weakling by main might in thy hollow cave! Thine evil deeds were very sure to find thee out, thou cruel man, who hadst no shame to eat thy guests within thy gates, wherefore Zeus hath requited thee, and the other gods.”




‘So I spake, and he was mightily angered at heart, and he brake off the peak of a great hill and threw it at us, and it fell in front of the dark-prowed ship. {*} And the sea heaved beneath the fall of the rock, and the backward flow of the wave bare the ship quickly to the dry land, with the wash from the deep sea, and drave it to the shore. Then I caught up a long pole in my hands, and thrust the ship from off the land, and roused my company, and with a motion of the head bade them dash in with their oars, that so we might escape our evil plight. So they bent to their oars and rowed on. But when we had now made twice the distance over the brine, I would fain have spoken to the Cyclops, but my company stayed me on every side with soft words, saying:


{* We have omitted line 483, as required by the sense. It is introduced here from line 540.}




‘”Foolhardy that thou art, why wouldst thou rouse a wild man to wrath, who even now hath cast so mighty a throw towards the deep and brought our ship back to land, yea and we thought that we had perished {*} even there? If he had heard any of us utter sound or speech he would have crushed our heads and our ship timbers with a cast of a rugged stone, so mightily he hurls.”


{* Neither in this passage nor in B ii.171 nor in B xx.121 do we think that the aorist infinitive after a verb of saying can bear a future sense. The aorist infinitive after [Greek] (ii.280, vii.76) is hardly an argument in its favour; the infinitive there is in fact a noun in the genitive case.}









TURNER, J M W
Ulysses deriding Polyphemus - Homer's Odyssey
1829
Oil on canvas 132.5 x 203 cm.
copyright National Gallery London





‘So spake they, but they prevailed not on my lordly spirit, and I answered him again from out an angry heart:


‘”Cyclops, if any one of mortal men shall ask thee of the unsightly blinding of thine eye, say that it was Odysseus that blinded it, the waster of cities, son of Laertes, whose dwelling is in Ithaca.”




‘So I spake, and with a moan he answered me, saying:


‘”Lo now, in very truth the ancient oracles have come upon me. There lived here a soothsayer, a noble man and a mighty, Telemus, son of Eurymus, who surpassed all men in soothsaying, and waxed old as a seer among the Cyclopes. He told me that all these things should come to pass in the aftertime, even that I should lose my eyesight at the hand of Odysseus. But I ever looked for some tall and goodly man to come hither, clad in great might, but behold now one that is a dwarf, a man of no worth and a weakling, hath blinded me of my eye after subduing me with wine. Nay come hither, Odysseus, that I may set by thee a stranger’s cheer, and speed thy parting hence, that so the Earth-shaker may vouchsafe it thee, for his son am I, and he avows him for my father. And he himself will heal me, if it be his will; and none other of the blessed gods or of mortal men.”




‘Even so he spake, but I answered him, and said: “Would god that I were as sure to rob thee of soul and life, and send thee within the house of Hades, as I am that not even the Earth-shaker will heal thine eye!”




‘So I spake, and then he prayed to the lord Poseidon stretching forth his hands to the starry heaven: “Hear me, Poseidon, girdler of the earth, god of the dark hair, if indeed I be thine, and thou avowest thee my sire,–grant that he may never come to his home, even Odysseus, waster of cities, the son of Laertes, whose dwelling is in Ithaca; yet if he is ordained to see his friends and come unto his well-builded house, and his own country, late may he come in evil case, with the loss of all his company, in the ship of strangers, and find sorrows in his house.”




‘So he spake in prayer, and the god of the dark locks heard him. And once again he lifted a stone, far greater than the first, and with one swing he hurled it, and he put forth a measureless strength, and cast it but a little space behind the dark-prowed ship, and all but struck the end of the rudder. And the sea heaved beneath the fall of the rock, but the wave bare on the ship and drave it to the further shore.








THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER DONE INTO ENGLISH PROSE

by S. H. Butcher, M.A. & A. Lang, M.A.

April, 1999 [Etext #1728]
[Date last updated: June 5, 2004]