Unformatted text preview: This essay is taken from: The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tremendous Trifles, by G. K. Chesterton This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Tremendous Trifles Author: G. K. Chesterton Release Date: August 10, 2009 [EBook #8092] Last Updated: January 15, 2013 Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TREMENDOUS TRIFLES *** Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger During reading: Reflection and Insight Highlight and comment on places in the essay where you see Chesterton reflecting and offering insight. Remember, we're not looking for a moral to the story. We're looking for topics or ideas or concepts for us to ponder. II. A Piece of Chalk I remember one splendid morning, all blue and silver, in the summer holidays when I reluctantly tore myself away from the task of doing nothing in particular, and put on a hat of some sort and picked up a walking-stick, and put six very bright-coloured chalks in my pocket. I then went into the kitchen (which, along with the rest of the house, belonged to a very square and sensible old woman in a Sussex village), and asked the owner and occupant of the kitchen if she had any brown paper. She had a great deal; in fact, she had too much; and she mistook the purpose and the rationale of the existence of brown paper. She seemed to have an idea that if a person wanted brown paper he must be wanting to tie up parcels; which was the last thing I wanted to do; indeed, it is a thing which I have found to be beyond my mental capacity. Hence she dwelt very much on the varying qualities of toughness and endurance in the material. I explained to her that I only wanted to draw pictures on it, and that I did not want them to endure in the least; and that from my point of view, therefore, it was a question, not of tough consistency, but of responsive surface, a thing comparatively irrelevant in a parcel. When she understood that I wanted to draw she offered to overwhelm me with note-paper, apparently supposing that I did my notes and correspondence on old brown paper wrappers from motives of economy. I then tried to explain the rather delicate logical shade, that I not only liked brown paper, but liked the quality of brownness in paper, just as I liked the quality of brownness in October woods, or in beer, or in the peat-streams of the North. Brown paper represents the primal twilight of the first toil of creation, and with a bright-coloured chalk or two you can pick out points of fire in it, sparks of gold, and blood-red, and sea-green, like the first fierce stars that sprang out of divine darkness. All this I said (in an off-hand way) to the old woman; and I put the brown paper in my pocket along with the chalks, and possibly other things. I suppose every one must have reflected how primeval and how poetical are the things that one carries in one's pocket; the pocket-knife, for instance, the type of all human tools, the infant of the sword. Once I planned to write a book of poems entirely about the things in my pockets. But I found it would be too long; and the age of the great epics is past. ..... With my stick and my knife, my chalks and my brown paper, I went out on to the great downs. I crawled across those colossal contours that express the best quality of England, because they are at the same time soft and strong. The smoothness of them has the same meaning as the smoothness of great cart-horses, or the smoothness of the beech-tree; it declares in the teeth of our timid and cruel theories that the mighty are merciful. As my eye swept the landscape, the landscape was as kindly as any of its cottages, but for power it was like an earthquake. The The way the author portrays his imaginary it's essential for the reader to create a connection with the deeper insight the author is trying to make. In this case, the authors word choice in describing the smooth and strong "colossal contours" is clearly language that artists would use when describing an art piece. Thus, said language sets up the tone to convey ideas such as the one depicted above, of the essential softness those who are powerful. villages in the immense valley were safe, one could see, for centuries; yet the lifting of the whole land was like the lifting of one enormous wave to wash them all away. I crossed one swell of living turf after another, looking for a place to sit down and draw. Do not, for heaven's sake, imagine I was going to sketch from Nature. I was going to draw devils and However strange it may seem, in terms of art and poetry, to capture the soul is one of the greatest and hardest accomplishme nts. It is never discussed much, is a rather pure topic, due to the marvelous mystery that one soul encapsulates. Therefore, to see how the author wants to draw the spirit instead of men ideals, it's a very queer but worthy approach of art and a way to affirm that it is only when we focus on unusual things that we would experience the best of us. seraphim, and blind old gods that men worshipped before the dawn of right, and saints in robes of angry crimson, and seas of strange green, and all the sacred or monstrous symbols that look so well in bright colours on brown paper. They are much better worth drawing than Nature; also they are much easier to draw. When a cow came slouching by in the field next to me, a mere artist might have drawn it; but I always get wrong in the hind legs of quadrupeds. So I drew the soul of the cow; which I saw there plainly walking before me in the sunlight; and the soul was all purple and silver, and had seven horns and the mystery that belongs to all the beasts. But though I could not with a crayon get the best out of the landscape, it does not follow that the landscape was not getting the best out of me. And this, I think, is the mistake that people make about the old poets who lived before Wordsworth, and were supposed not to care very much about Nature because they did not describe it much. They preferred writing about great men to writing about great hills; but they sat on the great hills to write it. They gave out much less about Nature, but they drank in, perhaps, much more. They painted the white robes of their holy virgins with the blinding snow, at which they had stared all day. They blazoned the shields of their paladins with the purple and gold of many heraldic sunsets. The greenness of a thousand green leaves clustered into the live green figure of Robin Hood. The blueness of a score of forgotten skies became the blue robes of the Virgin. The inspiration went in like sunbeams and came out like Apollo. ..... But as I sat scrawling these silly figures on the brown paper, it began to dawn on me, to my great disgust, that I had left one chalk, and that a most exquisite and essential chalk, behind. I searched all my pockets, but I could not find any white chalk. Now, those who are acquainted with all the philosophy (nay, religion) which is typified in the art of drawing on brown paper, know that white is positive and essential. I cannot avoid remarking here upon a moral significance. One of In a very simple but yet profound way the author connected the idea of color and virtue, white and mercy. One concept completely visual and the other abstract, it's a perfect representation of the idea that darkness is not just the absence of light but where obscure things dwelt, of a greater connotation to those concepts that we might have socially defined but that certainly need to be reconsidered with a greater perspective. the wise and awful truths which this brown-paper art reveals, is this, that white is a colour. It is not a mere absence of colour; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black. When, so to speak, your pencil grows red-hot, it draws roses; when it grows white-hot, it draws stars. And one of the two or three defiant verities of the best religious morality, of real Christianity, for example, is exactly this same thing; the chief assertion of religious morality is that white is a colour. Virtue is not the absence of vices or the avoidance of moral dangers; virtue is a vivid and separate thing, like pain or a particular smell. Mercy does not mean not being cruel or sparing people revenge or punishment; it means a plain and positive thing like the sun, which one has either seen or not seen. Chastity does not mean abstention from sexual wrong; it means something flaming, like Joan of Arc. In a word, God paints in many colours; but He never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white. In a sense our age has realised this fact, and expressed it in our sullen costume. For if it were really true that white was a blank and colourless thing, negative and non-committal, then white would be used instead of black and grey for the funeral dress of this pessimistic period. We should see city gentlemen in frock coats of spotless silver linen, with top hats as white as wonderful arum lilies. Which is not the case. Meanwhile, I could not find my chalk. ..... I sat on the hill in a sort of despair. There was no town nearer than Chichester at which it was even remotely probable that there would be such a thing as an artist's colourman. And yet, without white, my absurd little pictures would be as pointless as the world would be if there were no good people in it. I stared stupidly round, racking my brain for expedients. Then I suddenly stood up and roared with laughter, again and again, so that the cows stared at me and called a committee. Imagine a man in the Sahara regretting that he had no sand for his hour-glass. Imagine a gentleman in mid-ocean wishing that he had brought some salt water with him for his chemical experiments. I was sitting on an immense warehouse of white chalk. The landscape was made entirely out of white chalk. White chalk was piled more miles until it met the sky. I stooped and broke a piece off the rock I sat on; it did not mark so well as the shop chalks do; but it gave the effect. And I stood there in a trance of pleasure, realising that this Southern England is not only a grand peninsula, and a tradition and a civilisation; it is something even more admirable. It is a piece of chalk. After reading: Reflection & Insight Think about your plans for your personal essay. What insight will you offer to your readers? Remember, you are not going to simply offer a clichéd "life lesson." Give the readers something to ponder over, not something to put on a Post-It note on their fridge. This essay and the direction that the author takes in transforming a topic that seems so simple into an impressive analogy with the world, its virtues and our perspective about it made me strongly reconsider the tone and topic I'm choosing for this essay. I've reviewed the previous writing assignments for it and so far I can't find a single way that my essay can be sympathetic to anyone else but myself. This exercise, along with the annotated reading of Shooting an Elephant from George Orwell have made me more aware of what the Personal Essay project is really looking to achieve. It is certainly not about some "big moral" or a "good phrase to memorize", it's about finding a greater meaning to a personal experience and laying it out in a way that may be sympathetic to the public and to instigate ourselves as well as others to ponder about certain topic that we can all find within our lives. ...
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English writer G.K. Chesterton gives readers a new outlook on beauty in his two essays, A Piece of Chalk and On Chasing One’s Hat. The author uses irony, imagery and juxtaposition to persuade his audience that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To Chesterton, even the most typical objects or situations can be enjoyed immensely if the audience chooses a more enlightened perspective.
In today's world of celebrities, slim fast, and bikini waxes, the social standard for beauty is becoming more and more dependent on fulfilling vain ambitions. No longer is the individual satisfied with the lustrous beauty of nature or the obscure beauty of abstract art. Through television, magazines, and social networking, companies are constantly reminding individuals that beauty is skin-deep, and can be purchased at the right price. G.K. Chesterton, however, illustrates his own perception of beauty in his essays, A Piece of Chalk and On Chasing One's Hat. These essays argue that beauty exists in every entity of life, even those commonly thought of as hazardous, destructive, or unaesthetic. According to Chesterton, beauty is defined by the observer, and not by opinions that exist outside the individual’s mind.
In the first paragraph of A Piece of Chalk, Chesterton establishes mood in order to put the reader in the right mindset to grasp his theme. He uses color imagery to describe a "blue and silver" morning from his childhood, a morning which he finds "splendid" (Chesterton 1). This establishes a deeply nostalgic mood as the reader is able to reflect on the simple pleasures of childhood that adults often overlook due to frequent exposure. The foggy atmosphere of the morning transforms into the existential atmosphere of the essay. By reminding the reader of the beauty once felt in childhood but lost in time, Chesterton persuades his audience that beauty is defined by the observer.
The writer supports his point by comparing how a brown paper bag can be viewed as beautiful. An adolescent asks an elderly woman for such a bag, and the reader is introduced to the woman’s ideas on the purpose of brown paper. "If a person wanted brown paper he must be wanting to tie up parcels" (Chesterton 1). She makes no connection between brown paper and beauty. However, the juvenile intends to draw on the paper, an activity which creates beauty through inspiration and creative thought. This juxtaposition demonstrates that any object, even those commonly perceived as purposeless or unaesthetic, can encompass magnificent qualities. The adolescent goes on to describe his affinity for "the quality of brownness in paper" and compares the hue of his canvas to that of "October woods" (1).