Thursday, March 18, 2010

The Late Spring effect

Many appear to be on the attack against web 2.0, according to Michiko Kakutani's book review appearing in The New York Times, March 17, 2010. It goes like this: these days people, such as the climate deniers, are just cherry-picking only what they want to see to make their arguments; things are fragmented and we no longer share the same story; where is the objective reality?; they steal things from the Internet and making something out of these fragments without context, and they claim it their own creation... These criticisms are often combined with criticisms of so-called postmodern phenomena: deconstruction, bricolage, and cultural relativism.
I don't know if web 2.0 is to blame for all this, or if web 2.0 does evil, but I feel that many feel something is being broken. It's not new that people fear some kind of fragmentation. It seems to me, those who are on the attack fear their subjective world to be broken. They probably are kind of people who think that when the subject disappears, the world disappears. Or, they simply dislike that the others don't feel the way they feel when facing the reality, which is, I mean, the world which doesn't disappear even when I disappear: we no longer share the same feelings.
Don't they resemble my parents who seem sad when I laugh at a scene in a sentimental TV show which brings tears to my parents'eyes, and blame that I was born after 1968 and studied art? We are watching the same TV show anyway.
I'm a bit bored to hear the term "Rashomon effect," if it means there are many ways to view one thing, so I invent another term "Late Spring effect," which refers to a famous scene made by another great Japanese filmmaker Yasujiro Ozu, in which two men converse, sitting side by side in front of the dry garden: there is no water in this garden, but stones and pebbles suggests water flow. The garden symbolizes the reality they are facing. They have got old. They are talking about one of the men's daughter who is going to marry. They rarely face each other while they are talking:

I wonder whether we are talking that way, even when we are physically facing each other. Water may flow differently for each of the men, but the garden is autonomous from the men. The garden is, in a way, a server computer, in which my messages are stored, and you come to see my messages. The man whose daughter is going to marry actually has something to say to his daughter, but it is the other man sitting by him who reads the message ...

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