Questions of Test: English Usage And Comprehension-2

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1

While I was in class at Columbia, struggling with the esoteric du jour, my father was on a bricklayers scaffold not far up the street, working on a campus building. Once we met up on the subway going home-he was with his tools, I with my books. My father was not interested in Thucydides, and I was not up on arches. My dad had built lots of places in New York City .he cannot get into: colleges, condos, office towers. He made his living on the outside. Once the walls were up, a place took on a different feel for him, as though he was not welcome anymore. Related by blood, we are separated by class, my father and I. Being the white-collar child of blue-collar parent means being the hinge on the door between two ways of life. With one foot in the working-class, the other in the middle class, people like me are Straddler, at home in neither world, living a limbo life.  
What drove me to leave what I knew? Born blue-collar, I still never felt completely at home among the tough guys and anti-intellectual crowd of my neighbourhood in deepest Brooklyn. I never did completely fit in among the preppies and suburban royalty of Columbia, either. It's like that for Straddler, I was not so smooth jumping from Italian old-world style to US professional in a single generation. Others who were the first in their families to go to college, will tell you the something : the academy can render you unrecognisable to the very people who launched you into the world, The ideas and values absorbed in college challenge the mom-and-pop orthodoxy that passed for truth for 18 years. Limbo folk may eschew polyester blends for sea-isle cotton prefers Brie to Craft slices; They marry outside the neighbourhood and raise their kids differently. They might not be in. church on Sunday.
When they pick careers (not jobs), it's often a kind of work their parents never heard of or cannot understand. But for the white-collar kids of blue-collar parents, the office is not necessarily a sanctuary. In Corporate America, where the rules are based on notions foreign to working-class people, a Straddler can get lost. Social, class counts at the office, even though nobody likes to admit it. Ultimately, corporate norms are based on middle class values, business types say. From an early age, middle-class people learn how to get along, using diplomacy, nuance, and politics to grab what they need. It is as though they are following a set of rules laid out in a manual in the blue-collar families never having the chance to read.
People born into the middle class to parents with college degrees have lived lives filled with what French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu calls "cultural capital". Growing up in an educated environment, they learn about Picasso and Mozart, stock portfolios and creme Brule. In a home with cultural capital, there are networks: someone always has an aunt or golfing buddy with the inside track for an internship or some entry-level job. Dinner-table talk could involve what happened that day to mom and dad at the law firm, the doctor's office or the executive suite. Middle¬class kids can grow up with a sense of entitlement that will carry them through their lives. This belongingness is not just related to having material means; it also has to do with learning and possessing confidence in your place in the world. Such early access and direct exposure to culture in the home is the more organic, 'legitimate' means of appropriating cultural capital, Bourdieu tells us. Those of us possessing ill-gotten Culture can learn it, but never as well. Something is always a little off about us, like an engine with imprecise timing. There greater match between middle-class lives and the institutions in which the middle class works and operates-universities or corporations. Children of the middle and upper classes have been speaking the language of the bosses' and supervisors forever.
Blue-collar kids are taught by their parents and communities to work hard to achieve, and that merit is rewarded. But no blue-collar parents know whether such things are true in the middle-class world. Many professionals born to the working-class report feeling out of place and outmanoeuvred in the office. Soon enough, Straddlers learn that straight talk won't always cut. Resolving conflicts head-on and. speaking your mind does not always work, no matter how educated the Straddler is.
In the working-class, people perform jobs in which they are closely supervised and are required to follow orders and instructions. That, in turn, affects how they socialise their children. Children of the working-class are brought up in a home in which conformity, obedience and intolerance for back talk are the norm-the same characteristics that make a good factory worker.


Q.2     According to the passage, which of the following statements about "cultural capital" is NOT true?

2

While I was in class at Columbia, struggling with the esoteric du jour, my father was on a bricklayers scaffold not far up the street, working on a campus building. Once we met up on the subway going home-he was with his tools, I with my books. My father was not interested in Thucydides, and I was not up on arches. My dad had built lots of places in New York City .he cannot get into: colleges, condos, office towers. He made his living on the outside. Once the walls were up, a place took on a different feel for him, as though he was not welcome anymore. Related by blood, we are separated by class, my father and I. Being the white-collar child of blue-collar parent means being the hinge on the door between two ways of life. With one foot in the working-class, the other in the middle class, people like me are Straddler, at home in neither world, living a limbo life.  
What drove me to leave what I knew? Born blue-collar, I still never felt completely at home among the tough guys and anti-intellectual crowd of my neighbourhood in deepest Brooklyn. I never did completely fit in among the preppies and suburban royalty of Columbia, either. It's like that for Straddler, I was not so smooth jumping from Italian old-world style to US professional in a single generation. Others who were the first in their families to go to college, will tell you the something : the academy can render you unrecognisable to the very people who launched you into the world, The ideas and values absorbed in college challenge the mom-and-pop orthodoxy that passed for truth for 18 years. Limbo folk may eschew polyester blends for sea-isle cotton prefers Brie to Craft slices; They marry outside the neighbourhood and raise their kids differently. They might not be in. church on Sunday.
When they pick careers (not jobs), it's often a kind of work their parents never heard of or cannot understand. But for the white-collar kids of blue-collar parents, the office is not necessarily a sanctuary. In Corporate America, where the rules are based on notions foreign to working-class people, a Straddler can get lost. Social, class counts at the office, even though nobody likes to admit it. Ultimately, corporate norms are based on middle class values, business types say. From an early age, middle-class people learn how to get along, using diplomacy, nuance, and politics to grab what they need. It is as though they are following a set of rules laid out in a manual in the blue-collar families never having the chance to read.
People born into the middle class to parents with college degrees have lived lives filled with what French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu calls "cultural capital". Growing up in an educated environment, they learn about Picasso and Mozart, stock portfolios and creme Brule. In a home with cultural capital, there are networks: someone always has an aunt or golfing buddy with the inside track for an internship or some entry-level job. Dinner-table talk could involve what happened that day to mom and dad at the law firm, the doctor's office or the executive suite. Middle¬class kids can grow up with a sense of entitlement that will carry them through their lives. This belongingness is not just related to having material means; it also has to do with learning and possessing confidence in your place in the world. Such early access and direct exposure to culture in the home is the more organic, 'legitimate' means of appropriating cultural capital, Bourdieu tells us. Those of us possessing ill-gotten Culture can learn it, but never as well. Something is always a little off about us, like an engine with imprecise timing. There greater match between middle-class lives and the institutions in which the middle class works and operates-universities or corporations. Children of the middle and upper classes have been speaking the language of the bosses' and supervisors forever.
Blue-collar kids are taught by their parents and communities to work hard to achieve, and that merit is rewarded. But no blue-collar parents know whether such things are true in the middle-class world. Many professionals born to the working-class report feeling out of place and outmanoeuvred in the office. Soon enough, Straddlers learn that straight talk won't always cut. Resolving conflicts head-on and. speaking your mind does not always work, no matter how educated the Straddler is.
In the working-class, people perform jobs in which they are closely supervised and are required to follow orders and instructions. That, in turn, affects how they socialise their children. Children of the working-class are brought up in a home in which conformity, obedience and intolerance for back talk are the norm-the same characteristics that make a good factory worker.


Q.3     According to the passage, the patterns of socialization of working-class children make them most suited for jobs that require:

3

While I was in class at Columbia, struggling with the esoteric du jour, my father was on a bricklayers scaffold not far up the street, working on a campus building. Once we met up on the subway going home-he was with his tools, I with my books. My father was not interested in Thucydides, and I was not up on arches. My dad had built lots of places in New York City .he cannot get into: colleges, condos, office towers. He made his living on the outside. Once the walls were up, a place took on a different feel for him, as though he was not welcome anymore. Related by blood, we are separated by class, my father and I. Being the white-collar child of blue-collar parent means being the hinge on the door between two ways of life. With one foot in the working-class, the other in the middle class, people like me are Straddler, at home in neither world, living a limbo life.  
What drove me to leave what I knew? Born blue-collar, I still never felt completely at home among the tough guys and anti-intellectual crowd of my neighbourhood in deepest Brooklyn. I never did completely fit in among the preppies and suburban royalty of Columbia, either. It's like that for Straddler, I was not so smooth jumping from Italian old-world style to US professional in a single generation. Others who were the first in their families to go to college, will tell you the something : the academy can render you unrecognisable to the very people who launched you into the world, The ideas and values absorbed in college challenge the mom-and-pop orthodoxy that passed for truth for 18 years. Limbo folk may eschew polyester blends for sea-isle cotton prefers Brie to Craft slices; They marry outside the neighbourhood and raise their kids differently. They might not be in. church on Sunday.
When they pick careers (not jobs), it's often a kind of work their parents never heard of or cannot understand. But for the white-collar kids of blue-collar parents, the office is not necessarily a sanctuary. In Corporate America, where the rules are based on notions foreign to working-class people, a Straddler can get lost. Social, class counts at the office, even though nobody likes to admit it. Ultimately, corporate norms are based on middle class values, business types say. From an early age, middle-class people learn how to get along, using diplomacy, nuance, and politics to grab what they need. It is as though they are following a set of rules laid out in a manual in the blue-collar families never having the chance to read.
People born into the middle class to parents with college degrees have lived lives filled with what French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu calls "cultural capital". Growing up in an educated environment, they learn about Picasso and Mozart, stock portfolios and creme Brule. In a home with cultural capital, there are networks: someone always has an aunt or golfing buddy with the inside track for an internship or some entry-level job. Dinner-table talk could involve what happened that day to mom and dad at the law firm, the doctor's office or the executive suite. Middle¬class kids can grow up with a sense of entitlement that will carry them through their lives. This belongingness is not just related to having material means; it also has to do with learning and possessing confidence in your place in the world. Such early access and direct exposure to culture in the home is the more organic, 'legitimate' means of appropriating cultural capital, Bourdieu tells us. Those of us possessing ill-gotten Culture can learn it, but never as well. Something is always a little off about us, like an engine with imprecise timing. There greater match between middle-class lives and the institutions in which the middle class works and operates-universities or corporations. Children of the middle and upper classes have been speaking the language of the bosses' and supervisors forever.
Blue-collar kids are taught by their parents and communities to work hard to achieve, and that merit is rewarded. But no blue-collar parents know whether such things are true in the middle-class world. Many professionals born to the working-class report feeling out of place and outmanoeuvred in the office. Soon enough, Straddlers learn that straight talk won't always cut. Resolving conflicts head-on and. speaking your mind does not always work, no matter how educated the Straddler is.
In the working-class, people perform jobs in which they are closely supervised and are required to follow orders and instructions. That, in turn, affects how they socialise their children. Children of the working-class are brought up in a home in which conformity, obedience and intolerance for back talk are the norm-the same characteristics that make a good factory worker.


Q.4     When Straddlers enter white collar jobs, they get lost because:

4

While I was in class at Columbia, struggling with the esoteric du jour, my father was on a bricklayers scaffold not far up the street, working on a campus building. Once we met up on the subway going home-he was with his tools, I with my books. My father was not interested in Thucydides, and I was not up on arches. My dad had built lots of places in New York City .he cannot get into: colleges, condos, office towers. He made his living on the outside. Once the walls were up, a place took on a different feel for him, as though he was not welcome anymore. Related by blood, we are separated by class, my father and I. Being the white-collar child of blue-collar parent means being the hinge on the door between two ways of life. With one foot in the working-class, the other in the middle class, people like me are Straddler, at home in neither world, living a limbo life.  
What drove me to leave what I knew? Born blue-collar, I still never felt completely at home among the tough guys and anti-intellectual crowd of my neighbourhood in deepest Brooklyn. I never did completely fit in among the preppies and suburban royalty of Columbia, either. It's like that for Straddler, I was not so smooth jumping from Italian old-world style to US professional in a single generation. Others who were the first in their families to go to college, will tell you the something : the academy can render you unrecognisable to the very people who launched you into the world, The ideas and values absorbed in college challenge the mom-and-pop orthodoxy that passed for truth for 18 years. Limbo folk may eschew polyester blends for sea-isle cotton prefers Brie to Craft slices; They marry outside the neighbourhood and raise their kids differently. They might not be in. church on Sunday.
When they pick careers (not jobs), it's often a kind of work their parents never heard of or cannot understand. But for the white-collar kids of blue-collar parents, the office is not necessarily a sanctuary. In Corporate America, where the rules are based on notions foreign to working-class people, a Straddler can get lost. Social, class counts at the office, even though nobody likes to admit it. Ultimately, corporate norms are based on middle class values, business types say. From an early age, middle-class people learn how to get along, using diplomacy, nuance, and politics to grab what they need. It is as though they are following a set of rules laid out in a manual in the blue-collar families never having the chance to read.
People born into the middle class to parents with college degrees have lived lives filled with what French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu calls "cultural capital". Growing up in an educated environment, they learn about Picasso and Mozart, stock portfolios and creme Brule. In a home with cultural capital, there are networks: someone always has an aunt or golfing buddy with the inside track for an internship or some entry-level job. Dinner-table talk could involve what happened that day to mom and dad at the law firm, the doctor's office or the executive suite. Middle¬class kids can grow up with a sense of entitlement that will carry them through their lives. This belongingness is not just related to having material means; it also has to do with learning and possessing confidence in your place in the world. Such early access and direct exposure to culture in the home is the more organic, 'legitimate' means of appropriating cultural capital, Bourdieu tells us. Those of us possessing ill-gotten Culture can learn it, but never as well. Something is always a little off about us, like an engine with imprecise timing. There greater match between middle-class lives and the institutions in which the middle class works and operates-universities or corporations. Children of the middle and upper classes have been speaking the language of the bosses' and supervisors forever.
Blue-collar kids are taught by their parents and communities to work hard to achieve, and that merit is rewarded. But no blue-collar parents know whether such things are true in the middle-class world. Many professionals born to the working-class report feeling out of place and outmanoeuvred in the office. Soon enough, Straddlers learn that straight talk won't always cut. Resolving conflicts head-on and. speaking your mind does not always work, no matter how educated the Straddler is.
In the working-class, people perform jobs in which they are closely supervised and are required to follow orders and instructions. That, in turn, affects how they socialise their children. Children of the working-class are brought up in a home in which conformity, obedience and intolerance for back talk are the norm-the same characteristics that make a good factory worker.

Q.5     What does the author's statement, "My father was not interested in Thucydides, and I was not up on arches", illustrate?

5

The painter is now free to paint anything he chooses. There are scarcely any forbidden subjects; and today everybody is prepared to admit that a painting of some fruit can be as important as a painting of a hero dying. The Impressionists did as much as anybody to win this previously unheard of freedom for the artist. Yet, by the next generation, painters began to abandon the subject altogether and began to paint abstract pictures. Today the majority of pictures painted are abstract.
Is there a connection between these two developments? Has are gone abstract because the artist is embarrassed by his freedom? Is it that, because he is free to pain anything, he does not know what to paint? Apologists for abstract art often talk of it as the art of maximum freedom. But could this be the freedom of the desert island? It would take too long to answer these questions properly. I believe there is a connection. Many things have encouraged the development of abstract art. Among them has been the artists wish to avoid the difficulties of finding subjects when all subjects are equally possible.	
 I raise the matter now because I want to draw attention to the fact that the painters? choice of a subject is a far more complicated question than it would at first seem. A subject does not start with what is put in from of the easel or with something which the painter happens to remember. A subject starts with the painter deciding he would like to paint such and such because for some reason or other he finds it meaningful. A subject begins when the artist selects something for special mention. (What makes it special or meaningful may seem to the artist to be purely visual-its colours or its form) When the Subject has been selected, the function of the painting itself is to communicate and justify the significance of that selection.	
It is often said today that subject matter is unimportant. But this is only a reaction against the excessively literary and moralistic interpretation of subject matter in the nineteenth century. In truth the subject is literally the beginning and end of a printing. The painting begins with a selection (I will paint this and not everything else in the world); it is finished when that selection is justified (now you can see all that I saw and felt in this and how it is more than merely itself).
Thus, for a painting to succeed it is essential that the painter and his public agree about what is significant. The subject may have a personal meaning for the painter or individual spectator; but there must also be the possibility of their agreement on its general meaning. It is at this point that the culture of .the society and period in question precedes the artist and his art. Renaissance art would have meant nothing to the Aztecs-and vice versa. If, to some extent, a few intellectuals can appreciate them both today it is because their culture is an historical one: its inspiration is history and therefore it can include within itself, in principle if not in every particular all known developments to date.
When a culture is secure and certain of its values, it presents its artists with subjects. The general agreement about what is significant is so well established that the significance of a particular subject accrues and becomes traditional. This is true, for instance, of reeds and water in China, of the nude body in Renaissance, of the animal in Africa. Furthermore, in such cultures the artist is unlikely to be a free agent: he will be employed for the sake of particular subject. And the problem, as we have just described it, will not occur to him.
When a culture is in a state of disintegration or transition the freedom of the artist increases but the question of subject matter becomes problematic for him: he, himself, has to choose for society. This was at the basis of all the increasing crises in European art during the nineteenth century. It is too often forgotten how many of the art scandals of that time were provoked by the choice of subject (Gericault, Courbet, Daumier, Degas, Lautrec, Van Gogh, etc.)
By the end of the nineteenth century there were, roughly speaking, two ways in which the painter could meet this challenge of deciding what to paint and so choosing for society. Either he identified himself with the people and so allowed their lives to dictate his subjects to him; or he had to find his subjects within himself as painter. By people I mean everybody except the bourgeoisie. Many painters did of course work for the bourgeoisie according to their copy-book of approved subjects, but all of them, filling the Salon and the Royal Academy year after year, are now forgotten, buried under the hypocrisy of those they served so sincerely.

Q.6	In the sentence, "I believe there is a connection" (second paragraph}, what two developments is the author referring to?

6

The painter is now free to paint anything he chooses. There are scarcely any forbidden subjects; and today everybody is prepared to admit that a painting of some fruit can be as important as a painting of a hero dying. The Impressionists did as much as anybody to win this previously unheard of freedom for the artist. Yet, by the next generation, painters began to abandon the subject altogether and began to paint abstract pictures. Today the majority of pictures painted are abstract.
Is there a connection between these two developments? Has are gone abstract because the artist is embarrassed by his freedom? Is it that, because he is free to pain anything, he does not know what to paint? Apologists for abstract art often talk of it as the art of maximum freedom. But could this be the freedom of the desert island? It would take too long to answer these questions properly. I believe there is a connection. Many things have encouraged the development of abstract art. Among them has been the artists wish to avoid the difficulties of finding subjects when all subjects are equally possible.	
 I raise the matter now because I want to draw attention to the fact that the painters? choice of a subject is a far more complicated question than it would at first seem. A subject does not start with what is put in from of the easel or with something which the painter happens to remember. A subject starts with the painter deciding he would like to paint such and such because for some reason or other he finds it meaningful. A subject begins when the artist selects something for special mention. (What makes it special or meaningful may seem to the artist to be purely visual-its colours or its form) When the Subject has been selected, the function of the painting itself is to communicate and justify the significance of that selection.	
It is often said today that subject matter is unimportant. But this is only a reaction against the excessively literary and moralistic interpretation of subject matter in the nineteenth century. In truth the subject is literally the beginning and end of a printing. The painting begins with a selection (I will paint this and not everything else in the world); it is finished when that selection is justified (now you can see all that I saw and felt in this and how it is more than merely itself).
Thus, for a painting to succeed it is essential that the painter and his public agree about what is significant. The subject may have a personal meaning for the painter or individual spectator; but there must also be the possibility of their agreement on its general meaning. It is at this point that the culture of .the society and period in question precedes the artist and his art. Renaissance art would have meant nothing to the Aztecs-and vice versa. If, to some extent, a few intellectuals can appreciate them both today it is because their culture is an historical one: its inspiration is history and therefore it can include within itself, in principle if not in every particular all known developments to date.
When a culture is secure and certain of its values, it presents its artists with subjects. The general agreement about what is significant is so well established that the significance of a particular subject accrues and becomes traditional. This is true, for instance, of reeds and water in China, of the nude body in Renaissance, of the animal in Africa. Furthermore, in such cultures the artist is unlikely to be a free agent: he will be employed for the sake of particular subject. And the problem, as we have just described it, will not occur to him.
When a culture is in a state of disintegration or transition the freedom of the artist increases but the question of subject matter becomes problematic for him: he, himself, has to choose for society. This was at the basis of all the increasing crises in European art during the nineteenth century. It is too often forgotten how many of the art scandals of that time were provoked by the choice of subject (Gericault, Courbet, Daumier, Degas, Lautrec, Van Gogh, etc.)
By the end of the nineteenth century there were, roughly speaking, two ways in which the painter could meet this challenge of deciding what to paint and so choosing for society. Either he identified himself with the people and so allowed their lives to dictate his subjects to him; or he had to find his subjects within himself as painter. By people I mean everybody except the bourgeoisie. Many painters did of course work for the bourgeoisie according to their copy-book of approved subjects, but all of them, filling the Salon and the Royal Academy year after year, are now forgotten, buried under the hypocrisy of those they served so sincerely.

Q.7	Which of the following views is taken by the author?

7

The painter is now free to paint anything he chooses. There are scarcely any forbidden subjects; and today everybody is prepared to admit that a painting of some fruit can be as important as a painting of a hero dying. The Impressionists did as much as anybody to win this previously unheard of freedom for the artist. Yet, by the next generation, painters began to abandon the subject altogether and began to paint abstract pictures. Today the majority of pictures painted are abstract.
Is there a connection between these two developments? Has are gone abstract because the artist is embarrassed by his freedom? Is it that, because he is free to pain anything, he does not know what to paint? Apologists for abstract art often talk of it as the art of maximum freedom. But could this be the freedom of the desert island? It would take too long to answer these questions properly. I believe there is a connection. Many things have encouraged the development of abstract art. Among them has been the artists wish to avoid the difficulties of finding subjects when all subjects are equally possible.	
 I raise the matter now because I want to draw attention to the fact that the painters? choice of a subject is a far more complicated question than it would at first seem. A subject does not start with what is put in from of the easel or with something which the painter happens to remember. A subject starts with the painter deciding he would like to paint such and such because for some reason or other he finds it meaningful. A subject begins when the artist selects something for special mention. (What makes it special or meaningful may seem to the artist to be purely visual-its colours or its form) When the Subject has been selected, the function of the painting itself is to communicate and justify the significance of that selection.	
It is often said today that subject matter is unimportant. But this is only a reaction against the excessively literary and moralistic interpretation of subject matter in the nineteenth century. In truth the subject is literally the beginning and end of a printing. The painting begins with a selection (I will paint this and not everything else in the world); it is finished when that selection is justified (now you can see all that I saw and felt in this and how it is more than merely itself).
Thus, for a painting to succeed it is essential that the painter and his public agree about what is significant. The subject may have a personal meaning for the painter or individual spectator; but there must also be the possibility of their agreement on its general meaning. It is at this point that the culture of .the society and period in question precedes the artist and his art. Renaissance art would have meant nothing to the Aztecs-and vice versa. If, to some extent, a few intellectuals can appreciate them both today it is because their culture is an historical one: its inspiration is history and therefore it can include within itself, in principle if not in every particular all known developments to date.
When a culture is secure and certain of its values, it presents its artists with subjects. The general agreement about what is significant is so well established that the significance of a particular subject accrues and becomes traditional. This is true, for instance, of reeds and water in China, of the nude body in Renaissance, of the animal in Africa. Furthermore, in such cultures the artist is unlikely to be a free agent: he will be employed for the sake of particular subject. And the problem, as we have just described it, will not occur to him.
When a culture is in a state of disintegration or transition the freedom of the artist increases but the question of subject matter becomes problematic for him: he, himself, has to choose for society. This was at the basis of all the increasing crises in European art during the nineteenth century. It is too often forgotten how many of the art scandals of that time were provoked by the choice of subject (Gericault, Courbet, Daumier, Degas, Lautrec, Van Gogh, etc.)
By the end of the nineteenth century there were, roughly speaking, two ways in which the painter could meet this challenge of deciding what to paint and so choosing for society. Either he identified himself with the people and so allowed their lives to dictate his subjects to him; or he had to find his subjects within himself as painter. By people I mean everybody except the bourgeoisie. Many painters did of course work for the bourgeoisie according to their copy-book of approved subjects, but all of them, filling the Salon and the Royal Academy year after year, are now forgotten, buried under the hypocrisy of those they served so sincerely.

Q.8	When a culture is insecure, the painter choose his subject on the basis of:

8

The painter is now free to paint anything he chooses. There are scarcely any forbidden subjects; and today everybody is prepared to admit that a painting of some fruit can be as important as a painting of a hero dying. The Impressionists did as much as anybody to win this previously unheard of freedom for the artist. Yet, by the next generation, painters began to abandon the subject altogether and began to paint abstract pictures. Today the majority of pictures painted are abstract.
Is there a connection between these two developments? Has are gone abstract because the artist is embarrassed by his freedom? Is it that, because he is free to pain anything, he does not know what to paint? Apologists for abstract art often talk of it as the art of maximum freedom. But could this be the freedom of the desert island? It would take too long to answer these questions properly. I believe there is a connection. Many things have encouraged the development of abstract art. Among them has been the artists wish to avoid the difficulties of finding subjects when all subjects are equally possible.	
 I raise the matter now because I want to draw attention to the fact that the painters? choice of a subject is a far more complicated question than it would at first seem. A subject does not start with what is put in from of the easel or with something which the painter happens to remember. A subject starts with the painter deciding he would like to paint such and such because for some reason or other he finds it meaningful. A subject begins when the artist selects something for special mention. (What makes it special or meaningful may seem to the artist to be purely visual-its colours or its form) When the Subject has been selected, the function of the painting itself is to communicate and justify the significance of that selection.	
It is often said today that subject matter is unimportant. But this is only a reaction against the excessively literary and moralistic interpretation of subject matter in the nineteenth century. In truth the subject is literally the beginning and end of a printing. The painting begins with a selection (I will paint this and not everything else in the world); it is finished when that selection is justified (now you can see all that I saw and felt in this and how it is more than merely itself).
Thus, for a painting to succeed it is essential that the painter and his public agree about what is significant. The subject may have a personal meaning for the painter or individual spectator; but there must also be the possibility of their agreement on its general meaning. It is at this point that the culture of .the society and period in question precedes the artist and his art. Renaissance art would have meant nothing to the Aztecs-and vice versa. If, to some extent, a few intellectuals can appreciate them both today it is because their culture is an historical one: its inspiration is history and therefore it can include within itself, in principle if not in every particular all known developments to date.
When a culture is secure and certain of its values, it presents its artists with subjects. The general agreement about what is significant is so well established that the significance of a particular subject accrues and becomes traditional. This is true, for instance, of reeds and water in China, of the nude body in Renaissance, of the animal in Africa. Furthermore, in such cultures the artist is unlikely to be a free agent: he will be employed for the sake of particular subject. And the problem, as we have just described it, will not occur to him.
When a culture is in a state of disintegration or transition the freedom of the artist increases but the question of subject matter becomes problematic for him: he, himself, has to choose for society. This was at the basis of all the increasing crises in European art during the nineteenth century. It is too often forgotten how many of the art scandals of that time were provoked by the choice of subject (Gericault, Courbet, Daumier, Degas, Lautrec, Van Gogh, etc.)
By the end of the nineteenth century there were, roughly speaking, two ways in which the painter could meet this challenge of deciding what to paint and so choosing for society. Either he identified himself with the people and so allowed their lives to dictate his subjects to him; or he had to find his subjects within himself as painter. By people I mean everybody except the bourgeoisie. Many painters did of course work for the bourgeoisie according to their copy-book of approved subjects, but all of them, filling the Salon and the Royal Academy year after year, are now forgotten, buried under the hypocrisy of those they served so sincerely.

Q.9	In the context of the passage, which of the following statements would NOT be true?

9

Recently I spent several hours sitting under a tree in my garden with the social anthropologist William Ury, a Harvard University professor who specializes in the art of negotiation and wrote the bestselling book. Getting to Yes. He captivated me with his theory that tribalism protects people from their fear of rapid change. He explained that the pillars of tribalism that humans rely on for security would always counter any significant cultural or social change. In this way. He said. Change in never allowed to happen too fast. Technology, for example is a pillar of society. Ury believes that. Every time technology moves in a new or radical direction, another. Pillar such as religion or nationalism will grow stronger-in effect, the traditional and familiar will assume greater importance to compensate for the new and untested. In this manner, human tribes avoid rapid change that leaves people insecure and frightened.     
But we have all heard that nothing is as permanent as change. Nothing is guaranteed. Pithy expressions, to be sure. But no more than clichés. As Ury says, people don't live that way from day-to-day On the Contrary; they actively seek certainty and stability. They want to know they will be safe.
Even so. We scare ourselves constantly with the idea of change. A BIM CEO once said: "We only restructure for a good reason. And if we have-not re-structured in a while. That's a good reason". We are scared that competitors. Technology and the consumer will put us out of business-so we have to change all the time just to stay alive. But if we asked our fathers and grandfathers. Would they have said that they lived in a period of little change? Structure, may not have changed much. It may just be the speed with which we do things.
Change is over-rated. Anyway. Consider the automobile. It is an especially valuable example because the auto industry has spent tens of billions of dollars on research and product development in the last 100 years. Henry Ford first car had a metal chassis with an internal combustion. Gasoline powered engine. Four wheels with rubber tyres, a foot operated clutch assembly and, brake system. a steering wheel. And four seats. and it could safely do 18 miles per hour A hundred years and tens of thousands of research hours later, we drive cars with a metals   Chassis with an internal combustion, gasoline-powered engine, four wheels with rubber tyres, a foot operated clutch assembly and brake system, a steering wheel, four seats and the average speed in London in 2001 was 17.5 miles per hour!
That's not a hell of a lot of return for the money. Ford evidently does not have much to teach us about change. The fact that they are still manufacturing cars is not proof that Ford Motor Co. is a sound organization. Just proof that it takes very large companies to make cars: in great quantities-making for an almost impregnable entry barrier.
Fifty years after the development of the jet engine, planes are also little changed. They have grown bigger, wider and can carry more people. But those are incremental, largely cosmetic changes.
Taken together. This lack of real change has come to means that in travel-whether driving or flying-time and technology have not combined to make things much better. The safety and design have of course accompanied the times and the new volume of cars and flights, but nothing of any significance has changed in the basic assumption of the final product.
At the same time, moving around in cars or aeroplanes becomes less and less efficient all the time. Not only has there been no great change, but also both forms of transport have deteriorated as more people clamour to use them. The same is true for telephones, which took over hundred years to become mobile or photograph film. Which also required an entire century to change?
The only explanation for this is anthropological. Once established in calcified organizations, humans do two things: sabotage changes that might render people dispensable, and ensure industry-wide emulation. In the 1960s, German auto companies developed plans to scrap the entire combustion engine for an electrical design. (The" same
Existed in the 1970s in Japan. And in the 1980s in France). So for 40 years we might have been free of the, wasteful and ludicrous dependence on fossil fuels. Why did not it go anywhere? Because auto executives understood pistons and carburettors, and would be loath to cannibalize their expertise along with most of their factories.


Q. 10   Which of the following best describes one of the main ideas discussed in the passage?

10

Recently I spent several hours sitting under a tree in my garden with the social anthropologist William Ury, a Harvard University professor who specializes in the art of negotiation and wrote the bestselling book. Getting to Yes. He captivated me with his theory that tribalism protects people from their fear of rapid change. He explained that the pillars of tribalism that humans rely on for security would always counter any significant cultural or social change. In this way. He said. Change in never allowed to happen too fast. Technology, for example is a pillar of society. Ury believes that. Every time technology moves in a new or radical direction, another. Pillar such as religion or nationalism will grow stronger-in effect, the traditional and familiar will assume greater importance to compensate for the new and untested. In this manner, human tribes avoid rapid change that leaves people insecure and frightened.     
But we have all heard that nothing is as permanent as change. Nothing is guaranteed. Pithy expressions, to be sure. But no more than clichés. As Ury says, people don't live that way from day-to-day On the Contrary; they actively seek certainty and stability. They want to know they will be safe.
Even so. We scare ourselves constantly with the idea of change. A BIM CEO once said: "We only restructure for a good reason. And if we have-not re-structured in a while. That's a good reason". We are scared that competitors. Technology and the consumer will put us out of business-so we have to change all the time just to stay alive. But if we asked our fathers and grandfathers. Would they have said that they lived in a period of little change? Structure, may not have changed much. It may just be the speed with which we do things.
Change is over-rated. Anyway. Consider the automobile. It is an especially valuable example because the auto industry has spent tens of billions of dollars on research and product development in the last 100 years. Henry Ford first car had a metal chassis with an internal combustion. Gasoline powered engine. Four wheels with rubber tyres, a foot operated clutch assembly and, brake system. a steering wheel. And four seats. and it could safely do 18 miles per hour A hundred years and tens of thousands of research hours later, we drive cars with a metals   Chassis with an internal combustion, gasoline-powered engine, four wheels with rubber tyres, a foot operated clutch assembly and brake system, a steering wheel, four seats and the average speed in London in 2001 was 17.5 miles per hour!
That's not a hell of a lot of return for the money. Ford evidently does not have much to teach us about change. The fact that they are still manufacturing cars is not proof that Ford Motor Co. is a sound organization. Just proof that it takes very large companies to make cars: in great quantities-making for an almost impregnable entry barrier.
Fifty years after the development of the jet engine, planes are also little changed. They have grown bigger, wider and can carry more people. But those are incremental, largely cosmetic changes.
Taken together. This lack of real change has come to means that in travel-whether driving or flying-time and technology have not combined to make things much better. The safety and design have of course accompanied the times and the new volume of cars and flights, but nothing of any significance has changed in the basic assumption of the final product.
At the same time, moving around in cars or aeroplanes becomes less and less efficient all the time. Not only has there been no great change, but also both forms of transport have deteriorated as more people clamour to use them. The same is true for telephones, which took over hundred years to become mobile or photograph film. Which also required an entire century to change?
The only explanation for this is anthropological. Once established in calcified organizations, humans do two things: sabotage changes that might render people dispensable, and ensure industry-wide emulation. In the 1960s, German auto companies developed plans to scrap the entire combustion engine for an electrical design. (The" same
Existed in the 1970s in Japan. And in the 1980s in France). So for 40 years we might have been free of the, wasteful and ludicrous dependence on fossil fuels. Why did not it go anywhere? Because auto executives understood pistons and carburettors, and would be loath to cannibalize their expertise along with most of their factories.


Q.11    According to the passage, which of the following statements is true?

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