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September 25, 2006 04:23PM
Here is an extract from an email I have recently sent to my oldest friend who now lives in Bangkok, Thailand. It sums up the way I feel right now.
"Glad to see the bloodless coup continues thus far, although suspension of all political activity is somewhat ominous. Then again, when at my worst, I feel like we are heading for a semi-elected dictatorship in the UK at times. Without wishing to bring the tone of the email into the dour registers of the distinctly dire I do find myself increasingly divested of any empathy with the current political climate. Once it was that I wanted to argue and take on all the wrong-wing tossers, whereas via a process of half fatigue and half exasperation, I can no longer be bothered other than wanting to shout a great big 'Fuck Off!' now and then (for cathartic as well as ideological reasons of course). I rest-assured in a far from smug way that history will judge me on the side of truth, my understanding of complex issues reflect reality and not rhetoric, but it is terribly difficult not to fall into a childish 'I told you so' mentality, if and when it happens.
And thus I suppose I retreat into a world of seeming cosy-ness, applying the 'sticking-plaster' of high culture to the mortal wound of left-wing sensibility ( I sip wine and listen to Le Nozze Di Figaro as I write!). As one ages I suppose we have to reassess whether vitality can be replaced effectively by experience alone. Or even if the two are mutually exclusive. No easy or rapid answers here! And yet calm prevails at times, we have not yet 'heard the chimes at midnight'; one only has to reassess one's relationship with parents to be thrust back into a combination of paradoxical 'child role' playing, whilst yet intermittently assuming the parental mantle within the confines of the progressing relationship with, and incipient gerontion of, our forebears."
~
Slightly verbose because I have spent the weekend seeing Shakespeare's 'Henry IV' Parts I, II and III with my partner and father. Rarely performed, they are being done by the RSC at Stratford-Upon-Avon and are truly stunning. So many resonaces for today, so much insight into the nature of England. I'll write more when I have recovered from getting old.
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September 11, 2006 01:41PM
Many things done recently but one of them was my mad attempt to be kind to my mum and younger brother. My brother has recently returned from studying in Prague and is living at home amid much tension and general argument. I love them both and have noted that their only line of communication has been their shared reading of Bronte novels. Thus, in for a penny, in for a pound I decided to join them and organised a day trip to Bronte Falls on the Yorkshire Moors. Only now I realise what utter madness this was.
The journey consisted of catching the 7.10 train from London to Leeds, then a Train to Keighly and then a steam train to Howarth followed by a three mile walk. have some lunch, walk back, a pint in the pub and then repeat the train journey backwards.
I began to realise that spending time with these two members of my family is somewhat akin to being a carer helping the disturbed integrate back into the community whilst on day release. I won't dwell on the details but for example I suggested we meet on the station concourse, my mother asked what a concourse was. When we went to The Black Bull they pulled me a pint of bitter (Copper Dragon, rather nice) in the usual manner and my brother exclaims 'I've never seen it done like that before!" The countryside was absolutely beautiful and the open expance of the landscape blew away the cobwebs. Even made it as far as Withen Top which is the ruin thought to be the basis for Wuthering Heights (a savage, extraordinary but mad book). The Falls themselves were the site of our lunch ( I brought some Champagne), interestingly closest to a building on the map known as 'Bottoms'....apt somehow. The sun and the water and the idea made it a idyll......soon to be broken.
Anyway, the steam train broke down on the way back, we missed both of our connections and didn't get back until midnight. To cap it all as I was trying to rest on the last stumbling miles of the journey, Wayne Sleep joined the train opposite us and proceeded to have the loudest and most queeny conversation I have ever had the displeasure to listen to. A totally adolescent 'look at me, look at me' kind of thing that involved sexual revelation, name-dropping, singing and dancing.
I slept for most of Sunday.
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August 14, 2006 12:13PM
I have always had a bit of a problem with Kandinsky. Not sure why as I love expressionism and work from 'Der Blaue Reiter' Group (indeed one of my favourite afternoons was a couple of years back walking through the Grunewald Forest to find the legendary Bruke Museum in Berlin. Truly wonderful stuff including a retrospective of Erick Heckel who inspired the covers of both 'The Idiot' and '"Heroes"'. I digress.)
Kandinsky's retrospective at Tate Modern entitled 'The Path to Abstraction' does exactly what the title suggests. But I just find his later painting messy and jarring on the eye. I can appreciate their importance, but I find so many other bits of early modernism to be somewhat more pleasing and enduring to be honest. His early work was, as ever, delightful, but not what he is famous for.
I think my mood was further dampened by the fact that every couple under 35 with children had decided to bring them along and proceeded to let them run riot through the rooms whilst retaining the pushchairs which they barged through the attendant crowds like tanks. Or chatting in small coverns about their gardening and holiday destinations. A social 'be seen' event.This was in addition to the Cyborg hoards tuned into their commentary and clustering around the paintings as directed. I somehow felt what with the audio commentary and the jockeying for position right in front of the canvas, that perhaps the actual art was lost somewhere, or at least secondary ( cf. my comments about Caravaggio a few years back).
Infact the excellent rehang at Tate is overshadowed by the huge attendence figures (5 million last year making it the most visited art gallery in the world I think), the rooms are packed and the art squeezed out. I am all for popularity of the arts and I suppose this is preferable to the collection withering away neglected, but somehow the focus is missed, a bit like Stratford-Upon-Avon. Infact, the more I think about it, the more I find myself at odds with the ideals of mass tourism. We need a return to personal and geographical mythos rather than cultural tick boxes. I'll have to think about that for a bit because I'm not too sure that I actually agree with myself.
What a grumpy old man I am becoming. :)
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