Last week, I spent an evening at the Whitney Museum to attend a lecture given as part of their "Summer of Love" exhibit. Titled "Vision and Violence," it featured Richard Drew, who photographed a man falling from the World Trade Center, and William T. Vollmann, whose most recent work is Poor People. Other bloggy folks in the audience included Levi of Literary Kicks, Ed of Return of the Reluctant, and Jason of The Publishing Spot.

I was quite impressed by Vollmann, the man, which very much surprised me since I've never been impressed by Vollmann, the writer. His prose tends toward too much bloat for my reading taste, but he maintained my interest during the lecture because his speech is not peppered with simile upon simile. My ears especially perked up when he said his fiction writing is influenced by beautiful sentences. For me, beautiful writing conveys a message using as few words as possible; it's why I much prefer poets over prolifics. Vollmann's fecund style suddenly made more sense when he mentioned liking Lautréamont, a 19th century author who also used lots of words. Beauty, clearly, is in the eye of the reader.

Thanks to Zonker, I brought one of my new beloved Moleskines to the lecture in order to wave it about for some notebook envy. Of course, I was denied the pleasure as is always the case when I conspire to be deliberately evil. My section of the room was nearly pitch black and approximated an epileptic hell due to regular jolts from a flash bulb. Darkness notwithstanding, I managed a few notes, including a few statements by Vollmann which were also quoted in Ed's post about the event. We didn't write down exactly the same words, most notably:

Ed: "As the beast becomes more insatiable, it's for more and more types of meat in smaller bytes."

Me: "As the beast becomes more insatiable, it wants to eat more and more meat in smaller bites."

Despite slight differences in what we heard, both sentences convey similar meanings. However, the last word in each tells a lot about us. Ed's use of "bytes" is obviously interpretive of Vollmann's words while my "bites" is much more literal. I have new respect for vowels; they are the most powerful letters in the alphabet.

During the Q&A, Levi asked why photojournalism today seems to do nothing to change the world, specifically our entanglement in Iraq even though it's the most photographed war in history. Richard Drew said something about photographers recording history rather than influencing it, and my hand shot up to further Levi's train of thought. I brought up the 1993 photographs of mutilated soldiers in Somalia, which influenced U.S. public outcry for swift withdrawal (and, eventually, a book and a movie called Black Hawk Down). Drew responded that similar images have come out of Iraq, including the ones of burned Americans hanging from a bridge in Fallujah. He stated that the AP does not practice censorship and makes all of its war photographs available to the media, but that individual outfits self-censor due to pressure from readers and sponsors. At first I thought he was being overly defensive. I've since had a chance to think on it and do some more reading, and I now see that most people prefer burying their heads in the sand to confronting anything unpleasant. We are a nation of pussies in denial.

Before departing, Ed brought Vollmann over to introduce him to the Internet crowd and I very much enjoyed speaking with him directly. I asked if he has ever become numb to the horrors he has seen (He has not.), and I told him I find it harder to handle gruesome imagery when I have a connection to it (For example, WTC photos are particularly difficult since my sister was on the shopping concourse when the first plane hit.). As Jason mentions on his site, Vollmann asked the group what journalistic projects should come next. No one came up with a suggestion on the spot, but Jason's afterthought about web video to accompany the written word is a good idea. It was at about this time that the Whitney wanted to begin closing up, so we said our good-byes and headed toward the door.