tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35644012529241177472024-03-18T19:40:37.200+00:00My Uncommercial TravellerIdle thoughts on places, reading, and viewing. Might include travel. Always uncommercial. Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.comBlogger266125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-6312337777295438822024-03-18T19:39:00.002+00:002024-03-18T19:39:47.690+00:00The York Art Gallery <p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCTdZ6tMFgwDpLbU2HsBi3DQ5RwFSFEQw4DMcQ_PTIFUHo_-cwaK--sc5LI2WevQ5h7ncpvJAfsYWQABaNNJphgQvXQ_AdTIfUvMmE2ne4Ps_gd3L_dRz1AcCy0VAxbK3pBfOG__39QXzzfYqxdpcbkh08itZW5daHSIB_iwmJJh8Qhhm6eicMiYmJWNhX" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1052" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCTdZ6tMFgwDpLbU2HsBi3DQ5RwFSFEQw4DMcQ_PTIFUHo_-cwaK--sc5LI2WevQ5h7ncpvJAfsYWQABaNNJphgQvXQ_AdTIfUvMmE2ne4Ps_gd3L_dRz1AcCy0VAxbK3pBfOG__39QXzzfYqxdpcbkh08itZW5daHSIB_iwmJJh8Qhhm6eicMiYmJWNhX=w278-h400" width="278" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoCaption">Grayson Perry, Melanie, 2014<o:p></o:p></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Having responsibility for an art gallery is something of a
challenge these days. When I visit a gallery with a permanent collection, such
as York, I imagine the curators having sleepless nights about how to present it.
Outside, the world is shouting (quite rightly) for equal rights, sexual
equality, political justice, much which seem to be diametrically opposed to
many of the works in the collection. Like most galleries, York has plenty of old
paintings: a Saint Sebastian with arrows through him, a St Barbara being
whipped, a male model strung up with cords, and so on – not the kind of images
you would want to present without some explanation. How does a gallery deal
with this challenge?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">York Art Gallery’s response is quite dramatic. The main
gallery is largely handed to members of the York LGBT community, who appear to
have chosen the paintings displayed and added captions to them. A second room
devoted to paintings is entitled “Treasures from the Stores”, although it
includes some of the best-known pictures from the collection. Finally, a couple
of big rooms are allocated to the ceramics collection, a highlight of the
collection. </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiG25Ao4uY3LEGqeNtkHGGzieL0-Yg5b16Us-Rq2sHH0tzc9SXhy3CWneMMg2ADArjgXrlZ8B6RBKsg6AiQgODAA89kkm4OSoJLEKNmE2PkTYb3qIh52t7-pZzaePcStusG70qTKRIl-ATMql9DnIUbdmxHTRvllkjQqM4T4Aa3cz7vZJEu4G9NK_UwrtUG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1028" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiG25Ao4uY3LEGqeNtkHGGzieL0-Yg5b16Us-Rq2sHH0tzc9SXhy3CWneMMg2ADArjgXrlZ8B6RBKsg6AiQgODAA89kkm4OSoJLEKNmE2PkTYb3qIh52t7-pZzaePcStusG70qTKRIl-ATMql9DnIUbdmxHTRvllkjQqM4T4Aa3cz7vZJEu4G9NK_UwrtUG=w285-h400" width="285" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">When it comes to ceramics, you feel the curators breathe a
sigh of relief. I didn’t see any pots with arrows stuck in them, and you would
think that for the most part ceramics are sufficiently abstract for them to
cause no offence. There was a quiet, contemplative feel about the ceramics
galleries that is welcome; one wall, the Wall of Women, was dedicated to female
artists. The almost homely feel was greatly helped by the lovely display of the
Anthony Shaw collection, over 1,000 pieces, displayed in what feels like a
domestic environment, with rugs, a fireplace and mantelpiece. The individual
works are not captioned, although with a bit of detective work you can find out
who did what. Overall, there is a warm feeling to the space. </p><p class="MsoNormal">York Art Gallery is distinctive for its collection of contemporary
ceramics, which, they say, is unequalled in the UK. It’s certainly one of the
most imaginative presentations, something like Kettle’s Yard for porcelain. </p><p class="MsoNormal">As for the paintings, you feel the gallery curators are
almost embarrassed by their collection. As a gesture, they invited local gay
people to select paintings from the collection and to add their comments
alongside. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Many of the captions seem to be determined to read things
into the picture that do not seem warranted by the work itself. For example, one
gay commentator claims that Anna Hudson’s The Visitor “is representing her own
reality as a queer individual … the figure’s obscured facial features suggest a
struggle with identity”. Well, it may be, but Sickert, Hudson’s contemporary,
painted many figures with obscured faces, and we don’t immediately jump to similar
conclusions about them. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJKiFQjcGqDgXUOltOX9hnMh5XTPksBBF1f1885XzkKiWFwFqOsd3de6euo9uah3zgs4zBmqyMrxwJrk0VfOHEz0SvMJmzjfnnjB93-hi-cY5U7Sr_mnnU_afUz1C5Nny16icHxrhFzb2bTEWu6c6FYfNwnQx55cSP4H4cFchgJNyMoJkPwfMq7SU87ax6" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="732" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJKiFQjcGqDgXUOltOX9hnMh5XTPksBBF1f1885XzkKiWFwFqOsd3de6euo9uah3zgs4zBmqyMrxwJrk0VfOHEz0SvMJmzjfnnjB93-hi-cY5U7Sr_mnnU_afUz1C5Nny16icHxrhFzb2bTEWu6c6FYfNwnQx55cSP4H4cFchgJNyMoJkPwfMq7SU87ax6=w400-h285" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">My final example of imaginative over-readings of a painting
things is <i>Composition</i>, by John Banting. This work is a kind of
still-life: a depiction of a classical bearded head (stated to be Greek in the
caption, but could equally be Roman), a couple of mussel shells, plus a
blackboard with an upturned squiggle. Out of this the commentator suggests
“Does Banting long for Greece and its queer, starlit beaches?” Difficult to
imagine, from the work in front of us. </p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, the main thing is that galleries are visited. There
was a healthy number of people visiting the gallery on the Saturday afternoon
when we were there, and they represented a wide range of ages – both a good
sign. There was a tiny but inviting café, and a shop selling very interesting
ceramics. All in all, a satisfying experience. Even though I never worked out
why the medieval painter should focus on St Barbara was being whipped, I did
enjoy Grayson Perry’s <i>Melanie</i>: a lovely, rounded figure, full of joie de
vivre. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-18250338066239425252024-03-03T22:16:00.013+00:002024-03-03T22:18:36.145+00:00Do we care what William Blake means? <p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgm-uzGGD_NpLTk9NyP5thSUDHykk2syNjCKXX6ql7fgIAqYbyFsr3GW28eDG9-hmNNCSFxhbmXc7ErWBsl0v0g5to94139CKXRXvVYYx6Jmbm_yVEO28B7bxNqLunvL5GIrbtbhHHS2LWyaMrivHzPHUxIHYoeLLCFKMTwHwuSDo9PeVUyjX1YZHe38b0Z" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="732" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgm-uzGGD_NpLTk9NyP5thSUDHykk2syNjCKXX6ql7fgIAqYbyFsr3GW28eDG9-hmNNCSFxhbmXc7ErWBsl0v0g5to94139CKXRXvVYYx6Jmbm_yVEO28B7bxNqLunvL5GIrbtbhHHS2LWyaMrivHzPHUxIHYoeLLCFKMTwHwuSDo9PeVUyjX1YZHe38b0Z" width="400" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoCaption"><i>Blake, Newton (1795) (Tate)<o:p></o:p></i></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">What are we to make of William Blake? The author of some of
the most famous lines of English poetry; the creator of some of the best-known
images in art (<i>Newton</i>, <i>Glad Day</i>). Yet his work seems to many like
a locked chest of mystical texts full of cryptic allusions, which literary specialists
attempt laboriously to elucidate and to decipher (Northrop Frye spent ten years
writing his 462-page book on William Blake, and his book is still regarded as
one of the essential books on the artist and poet). <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Do we all need to spend years trying to make sense of Blake’s
visions? The current exhibition at the Fitzwilliam, Blake’s Universe (2024), tries to
present Blake in his contemporary setting. The curators make it clear that they
struggle to understand much of his writing and allusions, so they are by no
means full Blake believers. Their approach seems to be as follows.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Blake, for them, was just one of many European artists and
thinkers who saw history in chiliastic terms, and who attempted to reconcile
(or to reintroduce) Christianity with history, often in a mystical fashion.
Blake might have been mad, in other words, but so were plenty of others around
the time of the French Revolution.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The problems start with the best-known images: what do they
mean? For me, and perhaps for many other contemporary viewers, Blake’s art at
its best conveys a dynamism and power that are unique for the art of his day.
His <i>Newton</i> (1795), not in the exhibition, is an example: it is the basis
of the popular image of the scientist. For me, there is something wonderfully
vital and alive in the image of Newton carrying out his scientific experiments.
Yet for Blake, this image of Newton represented, according to the introduction to
the catalogue by Esther Chadwick, “a narrow concern with … ‘Vegetative and
Generative Nature’ (the material world) … as opposed to imaginative inner
vision (connected with faith in Christ, ‘regeneration’, and eternal life”).
That sounds pretty negative to me. Presumably Blake wanted us to condemn
Newton; yet Eduardo Paolozzi, creating a work of public art at the entrance to
the British Library, replicates Blake’s figure, but now as a sculpture
celebrating the way Newton changed the way we see the world. </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvPhLaZRbSJXj9RHAMzYzrpZjwDhCZq6k2Q-fuZSAIA7fKNXDuwNf6M2QYhAEXSbdaeFtPMyp9ytV0459xtlsPvz4P6JCvej9QsoiGClsCe5pFBf7E4fp3uti5cGsnGBTeEUauazCpoIBjT83wT41trU4JqrXuJzIp5Te6gtoZIBkIirA1pbSCVNT_d4vG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="732" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvPhLaZRbSJXj9RHAMzYzrpZjwDhCZq6k2Q-fuZSAIA7fKNXDuwNf6M2QYhAEXSbdaeFtPMyp9ytV0459xtlsPvz4P6JCvej9QsoiGClsCe5pFBf7E4fp3uti5cGsnGBTeEUauazCpoIBjT83wT41trU4JqrXuJzIp5Te6gtoZIBkIirA1pbSCVNT_d4vG" width="400" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoCaption"><i>Eduardo Paolozzi, Newton (1995) British Library, London<o:p></o:p></i></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">When I look at this work, I don’t believe we are expected to
condemn Newton every time we enter the British Library, but to feel somewhat in
awe of him. I don’t imagine the Newton Institute for Mathematical Sciences, at
the University of Cambridge, were delivering a rebuke to Newton for his narrow attitudes
when they accepted Paolozzi’s donation of the model for his sculpture. I can
think of few examples of an artist’s meaning being diametrically reversed in
this way. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">This switch from negative to positive is, I think, rather
telling. At this exhibition, I looked at the famous images by Blake, yet as far
as I could see, I may well have been reading Blake, like Paolozzi, in the
opposite way to that intended. The images are powerful and attention-grabbing,
but what exactly do they mean? Do we know what they mean, and are we bothered
when they turn out to mean something very different to what we think they signify?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWHseRrg6scsKhV8aJ6cg9LzUy7yScihGEo5nJ32ng0R_rohyUOzciu8yhQ3bOlr0fxWIaSFbIHCDuSyLV6MogoaKUKCHGyFoaP3Yh-oY4XgR5PQOqIvPbP3QInCZycOLi94Bsr23z9LkGA0puHVb-BT59aLOPSNPTP8KcolRJ8OHz1OBFHz-jFlGv7ZoA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="763" data-original-width="554" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWHseRrg6scsKhV8aJ6cg9LzUy7yScihGEo5nJ32ng0R_rohyUOzciu8yhQ3bOlr0fxWIaSFbIHCDuSyLV6MogoaKUKCHGyFoaP3Yh-oY4XgR5PQOqIvPbP3QInCZycOLi94Bsr23z9LkGA0puHVb-BT59aLOPSNPTP8KcolRJ8OHz1OBFHz-jFlGv7ZoA" width="218" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>Blake, Europe: a Prophecy, Frontispiece (1794)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">One of the other most famous images by Blake, the frontispiece
to his Prophecy Europe, seems to be similarly misinterpreted. Again, there is a
pair of dividers. According to the curators “Urizen [Blake’s name for the
Creator] is seen with a pair of dividers, his head beneath the line of his
shoulders, emphasising his cramped, inward-looking materialistic vision.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">For me, this image represents one of the most successful
responses to the challenge of how to
express creativity, an almost impossible task for artists to convey. I think it
is a thrilling image. I’d like to ask visitors to the exhibition what they
think of it, and if they agree with the curators’ view (and with Blake’s view).
Do we like Blake for the pictures, without worrying too much about what he meant?
Perhaps, if this is true, Blake can take his rightful place in a museum of art,
which is, after all, a collection of great images celebrating outmoded ideas no
longer taken seriously. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-60048529260175268932024-02-10T18:22:00.006+00:002024-02-10T18:23:34.672+00:00The Cromwell Museum, Huntingdon<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYUP74yjgKMlcPASGcYgc2Rw2cBruO60CsSy733cT46CnnsDf1BZ55eII_rvhroJlmlrBjBTBA2M0lez2uTT2uOIy_72pYAmW_k1pA5OQpmeeaeutwgbSNVqftIAVOYuyOkusOm3KAkuyD1OuM-MFW2U95cgc0CVsV4DhCt0Iyt1fGQzPNQUwARFYQLj1P" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="732" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYUP74yjgKMlcPASGcYgc2Rw2cBruO60CsSy733cT46CnnsDf1BZ55eII_rvhroJlmlrBjBTBA2M0lez2uTT2uOIy_72pYAmW_k1pA5OQpmeeaeutwgbSNVqftIAVOYuyOkusOm3KAkuyD1OuM-MFW2U95cgc0CVsV4DhCt0Iyt1fGQzPNQUwARFYQLj1P" width="297" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Not many museums include the Ladybird book on the subject
alongside primary sources<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">This museum was a revelation: a great topic, fascinating and
informative displays, interested and chatty staff, and the museum packed with
visitors. I’ve been to many small museums in the past few years, and they are usually silent, well-meaning, but out of date. This one is a glorious exception. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You would think that Cromwell is a sufficiently interesting
topic, controversial even today, for any museum, but a contrast with the
Cromwell House in Ely is very revealing. The Cromwell House is kitted out as a 17th-century domestic house, but contains nothing of relevance to Cromwell himself. As the staff in Huntingdon described
it, they’ve got the building, but we’ve got the stuff. And so they do! Just one
room, but packed full of items belonging to, written by, or associated with
Oliver Cromwell. And not just meaningless memorabilia, for the most part. Each of the bays shows a different part of
Cromwell’s life, with the first bay showing a Ladybird book from 1963 about Cromwell,
and the final bay showing his influence, including a model of the British Railways
steam engine, the Oliver Cromwell, built 1951 (at which time it was clearly
acceptable to name an engine after this controversial figure) and the title
page of Carlyle’s Speeches of Oliver Cromwell’s Letters and Speeches (1845). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like many major figures, Oliver Cromwell means different
things to different generations. I was fascinated not only by the way public
opinion seems to have shifted from revulsion (after his death in the 17th
century) to rehabilitation (from Carlyle and others) leading to his statue being
placed in Parliament Square, where it remains today. For much of the 20th
century he was a hero, if the Ladybird book (by I du Garde Peach, 1963) is
anything to go by. The Ladybird book, ostensibly for children, begins: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Oliver Cromwell was one of the
most important figures in English history. In the time in which he lived, a
great man was needed to lead the people of England in their fight for freedom
and to-day we still enjoy freedoms which we won for us. [p4]</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>I'm not sure how many children would grasp this idea of freedom, and it's probably not how we would describe him today, and certainly not how the Irish would describe him, I would imagine. In academic circles, Christopher Hill represented the orthodoxy in the seventies and eighties, but today revisionist scholars such as Ronald Hutton seem to be in the forefront.<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2W34VQHwem858fxOs35l-DWDBalLKePHH8EzazPYHKwpwPZDMVucfhzlxblMvELsvO3n2U3c0SaN9iV4zp1Z_IjSUOD8byEe8GyWBWCaD5GRfUam9p1AZqnq4WEPXL6N1u1kGBJ8ME4o3Ylent0Qq0jViY00IWkPfVKb_3sN43K0_8EpbKrByaan5Xy4Z" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="732" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2W34VQHwem858fxOs35l-DWDBalLKePHH8EzazPYHKwpwPZDMVucfhzlxblMvELsvO3n2U3c0SaN9iV4zp1Z_IjSUOD8byEe8GyWBWCaD5GRfUam9p1AZqnq4WEPXL6N1u1kGBJ8ME4o3Ylent0Qq0jViY00IWkPfVKb_3sN43K0_8EpbKrByaan5Xy4Z" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">As for parallels with other despots, Cromwell appears
to be more on a par with Lenin than with Putin, in that he at least started from a principled and justifiable position, even if he could not justify all his actions, whereas typical dictators act from self-preservation and appealing to the worst instincts of the populace. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjv2kvIdrU-dcbw81MoKb493PgwcFw0NzCmfaYpI5Vf3iHfMKLtcTBV2UepcSB-WquSpKwR-8Po5L9xBYFD4AgcHDwZGAK3ztVD-uM24SLu5PaFCgQHoc7MDIY5npG0sq4Uv0SRwFh2WeG5q30nqsPcw1kJGxMIG1VyjgCUAgfNT1j_djhuQ9bFy9PcT6B" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="732" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjv2kvIdrU-dcbw81MoKb493PgwcFw0NzCmfaYpI5Vf3iHfMKLtcTBV2UepcSB-WquSpKwR-8Po5L9xBYFD4AgcHDwZGAK3ztVD-uM24SLu5PaFCgQHoc7MDIY5npG0sq4Uv0SRwFh2WeG5q30nqsPcw1kJGxMIG1VyjgCUAgfNT1j_djhuQ9bFy9PcT6B" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Valiantly, the museum attempted to cover the historiography as
well as the objects (paintings, hats, letters). In addition, the museum
included a timeline of Cromwell’s life and contemporary affairs, several information
boards, question-and-answer panels (“Did Cromwell abolish Christmas?”), together
with the usual dressing-up items of armour and clothing for children, plus
Cromwell tea towels and fridge magnets, and even ended with an illuminated quiz
so you could compare your view of Cromwell before and after visiting the
exhibition. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Finally, as if that wasn’t enough, the museum had free admission
(compared to £6.50 for standard admission to the Cromwell House in Ely), and stated
it receives no government support. It sets a standard for other museums to try
to match. There will never be agreement about a figure as divisive as Cromwell,
but that’s no bad thing. On leaving the museum, there were campaigners in the
market calling for an end to immigration and to “ideological teaching” in
schools. I can’t help feeling that a museum like the Cromwell Museum generates reasoned
discussion rather than mindless ranting. When I got home and showed my Cromwell
quotations tea towel there was general derision in the household; but you don’t
have to agree with everything he said to take him seriously. <o:p></o:p></p><br /></div>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-5590905828774959262024-01-21T15:24:00.007+00:002024-01-21T15:25:37.980+00:00What the public library means today <p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguux64mFur1NCT0ISZMRkD2IMfFR-S46N_VheDfooUaqwC5JtlOII0dtE5L-8OVKkN0IOsX-hm_3V-siaw-6AMVpsvLN0-Q5z6URBjDEyJ5Il_7_L7yqMIm5j_SEELh8-lHf_DkZsiiNDUjG1N5roTlIkFeYkWmZs5tiP4kzh7ls1wDSMC3zfPqw-j2iXg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="704" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguux64mFur1NCT0ISZMRkD2IMfFR-S46N_VheDfooUaqwC5JtlOII0dtE5L-8OVKkN0IOsX-hm_3V-siaw-6AMVpsvLN0-Q5z6URBjDEyJ5Il_7_L7yqMIm5j_SEELh8-lHf_DkZsiiNDUjG1N5roTlIkFeYkWmZs5tiP4kzh7ls1wDSMC3zfPqw-j2iXg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Highfield Branch Library, Sheffield, opened 1876</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">What do you think of when you hear the term “library”? Proud
representatives of universal education for all; or dreary, soulless spaces
where you were forced to study because you couldn’t get access to the books in
any other way; or passports to a magical childhood world of imagination and
discovery. Buildings with hardback copies of romantic fiction that could be
borrowed in bulk, several books at a time. I’ve seen or experienced all of these, but on
balance, the term library still has optimistic associations for me. Libraries
can be magical spaces, but that is difficult to reconcile with the phot above. </p><p class="MsoNormal">The present-day appearance of many public libraries in urban
areas can be something of a challenge. The sad, unloved façade of Highfield
Library, in the suburbs of Sheffield, covered in graffiti, is an example of the
contrast between the original vision and present-day reality. When it was
built, in 1876, it must have represented a proud expression of civic pride, of
belief in the transformative effect of reading available to everyone. There is
even a sculpture over the entrance (which I didn’t manage to see) showing the
benefits of reading. </p><p class="MsoNormal">From the excellent <a href="https://www.readingsheffield.co.uk/tag/highfield-library/">Reading
Sheffield blog</a>, I was taken back to the opening ceremony of the library, on
1 August 1876, when Highfield Library was opened, the local MP stated: </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Twenty years hence there will be
a new Sheffield – a population almost all of whom will be educated, and more or
less delighting in the enjoyments and pursuits which education affords. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Yet it looks like Highfield Library is providing essential services
to the community, perhaps not quite in the way originally intended, but perhaps
even more relevant today than ever. I see there is a family centre, a children’s
reading section (there was no area dedicated to children’s books when the
library was originally opened – the first children’s library in Sheffield dates
from 1924). There are almost certainly fewer periodicals than when it
originally opened – all the periodicals in my nearest branch library in
Cambridge are provided by local donors. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, we no longer today believe that providing the
most improving books (whichever they are) will mean they are read. That was one
of the less exciting discoveries of Pettegree and der Weduwen’s <i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Library-Fragile-History-Arthur-Weduwen/dp/1788163427">The
Library</a> </i>(2022) – the simple provision of books is usually insufficient.
Plenty of libraries have been built, yet the public did not come. In fact, I
would argue, although Pettegree and der Weduwen disagree, that an effective
library need not have any books, or at least, the books are only one aspect of
the library provision. Meeting rooms, PCs for those who don’t have access to
them, a place to find out – these are all things a public library can provide. Pettegree
and der Weduwen, both academics, praise the use of library spaces for meetings
and events, but can’t bring themselves to detach the success of a library from
the books in it: </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">It is hard not to think that the
health of the library will remain connected to the health of the book. [p413]<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Their history of libraries, enjoyable as it is, fails, for
me, to capture what the public library is all about. It is perhaps more
difficult today than 150 years ago to keep a public library going. But for me, this
sense of libraries persisting in their mission, despite their woeful and
diminishing funding, is where the excitement lies. The sad decay exemplified by
the façade of Highfield Library but the efforts of the staff to make use of the
space available is an indicator, despite the very visible and shocking decline
of civic investment in the UK, of the willingness and commitment to work for
the community. Children can still find magic in the spaces there. The building
might look sad, but what takes place there is vital. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p>
<br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-82696930358036153792023-12-20T22:18:00.005+00:002023-12-20T22:18:50.654+00:00Art Exhibitions of the year 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0XrGauKblrcGK6c9AGs6_L17uqPdF8idqzXV8cZ5S_SVSlhGmH6VVVqGCSk-RKAKtiC_etOqmrpw1Ki3-9kliVpKgDQc5o4slYA9jHCW3pWbd5BkZQlfahZMtu6NfmPk0B8tHCwjc2Y75PzMPqXt0LI0H-_Lb-E2RTc9iVBHPshLTUymOAmKHDPX-8GH8" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="732" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0XrGauKblrcGK6c9AGs6_L17uqPdF8idqzXV8cZ5S_SVSlhGmH6VVVqGCSk-RKAKtiC_etOqmrpw1Ki3-9kliVpKgDQc5o4slYA9jHCW3pWbd5BkZQlfahZMtu6NfmPk0B8tHCwjc2Y75PzMPqXt0LI0H-_Lb-E2RTc9iVBHPshLTUymOAmKHDPX-8GH8=w400-h312" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elias, Bodegon, 1933</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">This year, I’ve written about ten exhibitions, ordered in approximately
reverse chronological order of viewing: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Frans Hals (National Gallery)</li><li>Real Families (Fitzwilliam)</li><li>Black Atlantic (Fitzwilliam)</li><li>Rubens and Women (Dulwich)</li><li>Morandi (Estorick)</li><li>Labyrinth (Fitzwilliam)</li><li>Sussex Landscape (Pallant House)</li><li>Islanders (Fitzwilliam)</li><li><span lang="ES">Cezanne (Tate)</span></li><li><span lang="ES">Feliu Elias (MNAC,
Barcelona)</span></li></ul><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Of those, my top three were:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Feliu Elias, a painter I’d never heard of before seeing this
exhibition, and what a revelation! A painter who could move confidently between
cartoons, and still lifes and portraits in oil, and impresses by the
seriousness and thoroughness with which he approaches both. The most mundane, everyday objects, such as saucepans, are treated almost with reverence. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rubens, for his ravishing depiction of women – even his
works of classical mythology end up having the same figure as his wife. I don’t
think the TLS review of this show (by Breeze Barrington) did the exhibition
justice. She complained that the women in the paintings are “not the focus”,
and “it would help to say more about who
they [the women in the paintings] were in their own right”. Yet we don’t ask
Frans Hals (or any portrait painter) to tell us all about the characters. The
job of the portrait painter is to bring the sitter to life through their
expression, their form. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Frans Hals, whose paintings stand out so powerfully that you
can recognize then at the other end of a gallery. If portrait painting is bringing
a figure to life, then Hals reveals a whole living world. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">All in all, a great year for art, even if (as I noticed most in the Real Families exhibition) there is an increasing tendency to curate art exhibitions by criteria very different to quality of the artwork - a rather worrying trend. </p></div><div><br /></div><br /></div><p><br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-87448038550284316682023-12-20T21:53:00.012+00:002023-12-20T22:30:02.273+00:00Frans Hals: the man who brings the seventeenth-century to life<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggfpTd77hxqu2ahgg9c0ATvVbKhN9EI4Tjl6FLS3BzWzgKHWTe61m4AOqH25_yoyUldXzCjfz9i3IJePrIXO2W7-LUm1M1rdKPDsBLelnKKTXJF73iJp_-K49TzsECWp3kb0gR845xPQam4LXeEUNjYPGZjBMuG5Lbwx7BHGT9GuGsa3VXy8Q4MkYrKOQ6" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="857" data-original-width="676" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggfpTd77hxqu2ahgg9c0ATvVbKhN9EI4Tjl6FLS3BzWzgKHWTe61m4AOqH25_yoyUldXzCjfz9i3IJePrIXO2W7-LUm1M1rdKPDsBLelnKKTXJF73iJp_-K49TzsECWp3kb0gR845xPQam4LXeEUNjYPGZjBMuG5Lbwx7BHGT9GuGsa3VXy8Q4MkYrKOQ6=w315-h400" width="315" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hals, Portrait of Catharina Hooft with her Nurse, 1619-20</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Frans Hals, National Gallery, September 2023 - January 2024: What a wonderful show! Hals is so unlike the typical C17 Netherlands
artist. Most painted details; he painted people, with little or no background. Most
painted interiors or landscapes; he
painted almost exclusively portraits, and even his portraits are unlike any of
his contemporaries. Nobody had Hals’ spectacularly bold use of brushstrokes,
nor his ability to capture character in a face, both males and (exceptionally)
females. So many of his female faces are real people rather than figureheads,
representatives of a social class, demonstrating their wealth and social
standing. Of course he painted the wealthy classes, but you feel he has caught
something of their character, that he is almost presenting them as an equal. </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Frequently, he manages to capture both social status and character,
as if to say “you commissioned me to paint this person, but the money is only a
small part of it: I have captured who you really are." Frequently, the character
is brought it to life by the angle of the sitter, or a leaning chair, or their
hand on their hips, or, in one case, by introducing another person, as in the
Portrait of Catherina Hooft and her nurse.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">What really hit me on leaving this exhibition was how tame other
painters are by comparison to Hals. I found myself in the Italian Renaissance
gallery, and apart from some late works by Titian, none of the other painters
had Hals’ focus on individual figures, combined with such carefree, lively
brushstrokes. It may simply be the difference between two eras, Renaissance and
Baroque, but what a difference! What unashamed concentration on the single
figure, seeming to breathe in front of the spectator. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtmanQ3wZAZZfRu_sKFBqEewbSGCQZU3Sv8wEmN4FjpMd0ZEKa8XWNEyP5ta2fUyo-3wL8bWk2iiD3R6xh4ZawYfQ0a1-aheksfTnfA-e6kJOvreT9rvqZHt1125bVFqcTQE_LKid2SKq4TG22grGAiybRzv2bXfF4XXf8K3Bob-SrdpMBTVpQPmSQ10MC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="732" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtmanQ3wZAZZfRu_sKFBqEewbSGCQZU3Sv8wEmN4FjpMd0ZEKa8XWNEyP5ta2fUyo-3wL8bWk2iiD3R6xh4ZawYfQ0a1-aheksfTnfA-e6kJOvreT9rvqZHt1125bVFqcTQE_LKid2SKq4TG22grGAiybRzv2bXfF4XXf8K3Bob-SrdpMBTVpQPmSQ10MC" width="394" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hals, Portrait of Susan Baillij, c1645, detail of gloves</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">A very telling anecdote suggest that Hals was anything but
subservient towards his sitters. He abandoned a group portrait after executing
around half the individual portraits, because he no longer wanted to travel
from Haarlem to Amsterdam – he wanted his sitters to come to him. They refused;
he walked away from the commission (and it was completed by another painter).</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Some of his best works are small-scale, children and everyday
figures. Memorable is the portrait of Jean de la Chambre, a calligrapher, who
looks as though he has just been interrupted at his work. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoCaption"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirSITLfuY12Oe83ccaMI9iSKm4zStaxOE0WHOpz5N4bYevETU33vIj1_jI2ZGtG9U1PilLJtLfH2-K6ar9nhqJmP_1dCg-e7dEc32K8TfkJ6mIBb5J7t5FFkCPiJvUJGrC7qiuICnXLidbQYLjlGh7bjK6nBqYv40Wg4l_0o3Ggvi7lSr2GNcjT_m5JOSj" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="584" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirSITLfuY12Oe83ccaMI9iSKm4zStaxOE0WHOpz5N4bYevETU33vIj1_jI2ZGtG9U1PilLJtLfH2-K6ar9nhqJmP_1dCg-e7dEc32K8TfkJ6mIBb5J7t5FFkCPiJvUJGrC7qiuICnXLidbQYLjlGh7bjK6nBqYv40Wg4l_0o3Ggvi7lSr2GNcjT_m5JOSj=w350-h400" width="350" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoCaption">Hals, Portrait of Jean de la Chambre<o:p></o:p></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">While I’m not very keen on the idea of an artist’s late
works being an indicator of great profundity, there is an even looser use of
the brush in some of Hals late works that is simply astounding to observe. You
have to approach these pictures very closely to see just how free the strokes
are. One of the greatest is a portrait of an Unknown Man, in the Fitzwilliam Museum,
painted around 1660. The sitter may be unknown, but his character is revealed
at a mere glance at the painting. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All in all, it felt such a privilege to share the vision and
insight of this remarkable artist, who brings to life his sitters like nobody
else. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-3775816964058712782023-12-11T22:48:00.000+00:002023-12-11T22:48:00.319+00:00Building Jerusalem: The Rise and Fall of the Victorian City (Tristram Hunt, 2004)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyIO_syg37o9g9OiqDn8InMjBAFJUxBMYeaTpjSQHPfWYhha1JTvwoE2YVk5kL9aNYz4kYKwjVWi-73wMkT7BctvmnxogPE1nVmE69MgszRTZC7Y-EEqBL4QHduVb4WBBkMBSI1PwBhMTPhhXTHoDgmqb3dW634WLlJnAOe1_VxgT7Tziwf2RVsnyRsIo8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="938" data-original-width="638" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyIO_syg37o9g9OiqDn8InMjBAFJUxBMYeaTpjSQHPfWYhha1JTvwoE2YVk5kL9aNYz4kYKwjVWi-73wMkT7BctvmnxogPE1nVmE69MgszRTZC7Y-EEqBL4QHduVb4WBBkMBSI1PwBhMTPhhXTHoDgmqb3dW634WLlJnAOe1_VxgT7Tziwf2RVsnyRsIo8=w272-h400" width="272" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">From the first page of this long book, where the author
acknowledges over 20 people, to the last, we are aware that Hunt has read widely,
and is familiar with the literature. However, that’s also part of the problem. Familiarity
with the scholarship is not the only way to address the history of urban
development. And quoting both sides in an argument does not establish that you
are neutral.</span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">This book began life as a PhD thesis, although, to give
credit to author Tristram Hunt, it reads much more fluently and entertainingly
than a thesis. The book attempts is to pull together in one volume the growth
and decline (the author’s words are “Rise and Fall”) leading to the garden city
movement along with, and contrasted to, the municipal triumphs of the the big 19th
century cities such as Birmingham and Glasgow. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Where things start to go wrong, for me, is when what I call
the casual historical style starts to disagree with me. The “casual historical
style” is somewhere between a history monograph and a newspaper article. The
author makes a statement, and provides sources to exemplify this statement. But
far too many topics are introduced with just
one or two quotes by contemporaries to justify the argument. Cleverly, as a
historian, Hunt can hide behind the quotes, as if to say, “Don’t complain to me,
after all, I’m just quoting” – a technique which happens to be widely used by
the populist right in the UK and the USA. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Let’s look at a detailed example. Chapter Eight describes
the triumph of what Hunt calls “The Municipal Gospel”, a phrase he uses as the
chapter title. It’s only in a footnote midway through the chapter that he
reveals that Asa Briggs, in his famous <i>Victorian Cities, </i>calls it the “Civic
Gospel”, meaning the same thing. Chamberlain’s stunning success at buying out
the municipal gas and water utilities for the common good are rightly
celebrated. But abruptly, the tone changes as we move towards 1900 with “Municipal
Socialism”, a switch from running the city like a corporation (under
Chamberlain) to running the city like, well, a socialist ideology. The switch
is cleverly characterised by Beatrice Potter rejecting Joseph Chamberlian as a
suitor, and choosing instead Sidney Webb.<br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">Beatrice’s amorous transition …
can [] be read as an intellectual shift from the municipal gospel of Chamberlain’s Birmingham to the municipal
socialism of Webb and the Fabians. [<i>Building Jerusalem</i>, ch 8] </p><p class="MsoNormal">Hunt is clearly less fond of socialism than of the
corporatism of Chamberlain. he describes how Municipal Socialism was seen by
many as a subterfuge for introducing, well, Socialism. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Does the author remain neutral here? I’m not sure. The
attack by business interests on councils is reported in quotes, but then as
part of the author’s text:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">The increase in municipal trading
was threatening to crowd out private enterprise. Gas and water utilities had
long since surrendered to the councils, but now electricity, tramway and omnibus
companies were all threatened by municipal ambition. </p><p class="MsoNormal">These are the author’s words, not a quote. Terms such as “crowd
out”, “surrender” and “threaten” are emotive, and seem to me to reveal where
the author’s sympathies lie, and they are not with the socialists. From our perspective
in 2023, we are perhaps less concerned about bus companies threatened by
municipal ambition; we have ample evidence of the result of private companies
running competing bus services. Recently
I bought a one-day bus pass (“valid for all buses”) in Glasgow, only to find
the number two bus I tried to catch was another operator’s number two: the competing
bus companies use the same numbers, and don’t share ticketing. My all-day
ticket was only valid for some of the buses. And nobody seemed too worried that
there were several routes with the same number. </p><p class="MsoNormal">But Hunt is too busy following his agenda to consider, I
think, the people involved. Within one chapter we switch from private interests
trying to prevent the incorporation of Birmingham, to Chamberlain implementing
some of the finest municipal development of any city in the UK, then suddenly to
venality and excess, including spending by councillors on cigars and champagne,
as if this one example damned the entire municipal movement. </p><p class="MsoNormal">But the narrative doesn’t stop there. A few pages further, and
we are in a section called “Fleeing the City”. By page 386, “the city was
decreasingly regarded as an arena to be celebrated … but instead as a mode of existence best rejected altogether” and
we move at top speed to the garden city ideal. The justification for the move
out of the city comes from some appalling quotes by Social Darwinists, on the
deleterious effects of city life on “Anglo-Saxons” (by which is presumably
meant the indigenous city-dwellers): </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">Finding himself at a disadvantage
in competition with the immigrants, he goes through many stages before he is
finally eliminated. Irregular labour, odd jobs, sweaters’ dens, prostitution,
subsistence of charity … are only some of the struggles of the dying Londoner
before he pays the debt of nature, whose laws he has no power to obey”. [p398]<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Presumably the “immigrants” described here are the Jews, the
Irish, and the country dwellers who move into London in search of work. Weirdly,
Hunt quotes this contemporary writer without comment, as if this lurid,
offensive argument, similar to some of the rabid right-wing Republican sentiment
around Trump, somehow justified. In practice, many of the people who moved out
of London to new towns such as Harlow and Stevenage had little choice in the
matter. They didn't change their opinion about cities. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I think this demonstrates how Hunt’s text reads well – there
are always plenty of vivid quotes, and the narrative zips along – but, perhaps
in an effort to includes all his reading about a vast subject, the author
is responsible for abrupt changes in
tone which don’t seem to me to be justified. Perhaps for middle-class
commentators, and for a present-day academic working in a library, such instant
transformations might be feasible, but real lives were very different. I’m less
and less convinced by the author’s rather superficial pulling together of a
vast range of opinions about city life and urban planning, while maintaining what
appears to be a neutral stance. He points out how central government, then as
now, did everything in their power to prevent local government tackling the
problems of poverty and inequality, by, for example, attempting to prevent the
city of Glasgow building houses directly (and by so doing “preventing” private
enterprise from its normal business) (the so-called Cross Acts, p360). Today,
it is clear that private house-building companies act to maximise their profits
by hoarding land rather than building on it immediately, yet councils are
prevented from building any new social housing. The situation seems worse today
than it was a hundred years ago. </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Yet from this text, the references to the present-day
suggest that Hunt is happy with the privatised state of affairs we live under today
in the United Kingdom. For me, a historical examination of the Victorian city
is in many ways a stunning demonstration of what can be achieved with an effective
local authority. <o:p></o:p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-54818099456330175922023-12-10T21:21:00.000+00:002023-12-10T21:21:19.172+00:00Water provision in the UK: a historical parallel<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil0zvtoD35PfkysPRU1hg9c3FFIF0G0FhPGROnREFWPpZ4pKUmgZCFvH-zn3vcIhYTVZOrYRGLG-QtfXP4LK1QA-PFLLwJ8peNXvOyZu787iGn41BJ-BpIGVOsVyNcgWDXTV71u7LnkvWtXjsN_JKJUAb60g9aU1CMKRHL0BO5BlUa0twzX6VP7ILBqHr8" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="732" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil0zvtoD35PfkysPRU1hg9c3FFIF0G0FhPGROnREFWPpZ4pKUmgZCFvH-zn3vcIhYTVZOrYRGLG-QtfXP4LK1QA-PFLLwJ8peNXvOyZu787iGn41BJ-BpIGVOsVyNcgWDXTV71u7LnkvWtXjsN_JKJUAb60g9aU1CMKRHL0BO5BlUa0twzX6VP7ILBqHr8" width="400" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>The Goyt Valley Reservoir, Derbyshire (Photo: MU)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">The provision of public water in the UK is, today, an
acknowledged scandal. Some years ago (actually 1989, under a Conservative
government) the UK water industry was privatized. The provision of a monopoly,
the water supply, passed debt-free to private equity, which saddled the water
companies with debt and failed to improve the water supply, in fact worsened
it. </p><p class="MsoNormal">All this is widely known and has been known for some years. The
centre-right Financial Times has called it a scandal, that is not in the public
interest (see, for example, “<a href="https://www.ft.com/content/f752468a-58e2-4928-9e3b-ee5bcce252aa">Privatising
Water was never going to work</a>”, FT August 19 2022). There is an increased
public awareness of the situation, with questions asked by MPs, but no call, as
yet, as far as I know, to renationalise the water industry. </p><p class="MsoNormal">All this bears an uncanny relationship to the situation in
the 19th century, as revealed by an interesting book, <i>Building Jerusalem:
The Rise and Fall of the Victorian City, </i>by Tristram Hunt (2004). Hunt relates how Joseph Chamberlain, newly
elected Mayor of Birmingham, carried out “gas and water socialism”: he took the
gas and water utilities into municipal ownership, and used the profits to fund civic
improvements. The idea was stunningly successful. Success was measured by improved health – the Birmingham
death rate dropped by 20%. Hunt stresses how this was not socialism so much as social
capitalism: running the utilities to be profitable but with profits used for the
public interest. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Admittedly, Chamberlain increased the council’s debt, but
the revenue from gas and water was sufficient to repay the debt in the long
term, and allow for other improvements as well. The Birmingham gas supply passed
to municipal control in 1875, and the water supply in 1876. </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">This stunning example suggests, as so often with history,
how generations seem to manage to forget the progress made by our ancestors. How
did the UK ever move backwards from a utility supply in the interests of the
populace to control for the benefit of a
few investors? And why is there no commitment by any of the major UK political
parties today (2023) to take water and gas back into public ownership? It suggests
to me the theme of reading about how the municipal vision faded during the 20th
century. Margaret Thatcher was undoubtedly on influential agent, but no doubt
there were others before and after her. The existence of historical parallels
such as that of Chamberlain and Birmingham makes the current situation all the
more galling. <o:p></o:p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-67210186745936764222023-11-30T23:00:00.007+00:002023-11-30T23:00:51.469+00:00The Lady Eve (1941, Preston Sturges)<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMgkaCjADIzNnllM3Sc01md0JGxyTw4WT5I-Oy-8tQA-6vjqcHOKs4tp0vSX1sR0hspmdASx_aI1zx1DBiiaD8lJ3hfDjsWqOsBPqCCZpSjIcj2YSEOR4CXr0ekpn5UgufZuKqVixFeXlfe6fAYTz5F5UfqQydmsM7FuUTwtZi_jFo-AJyxz5wjGqBTxFF" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="732" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMgkaCjADIzNnllM3Sc01md0JGxyTw4WT5I-Oy-8tQA-6vjqcHOKs4tp0vSX1sR0hspmdASx_aI1zx1DBiiaD8lJ3hfDjsWqOsBPqCCZpSjIcj2YSEOR4CXr0ekpn5UgufZuKqVixFeXlfe6fAYTz5F5UfqQydmsM7FuUTwtZi_jFo-AJyxz5wjGqBTxFF" width="394" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Lady Eve: Charles Pike (Henry Fonda) and Jean (later
Eve) (Barbara Stanwyck): “You’re certainly a funny girl for anybody to meet who’s
just been up the Amazon for a year.” </i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The first time I saw <i>The Lady Eve</i> (directed by Preston
Sturges, 1941), I loved the basic premise, of the naïve explorer who is seduced
by a confident trickster. After all, he has been up the Amazon for a year, and
she is asking him to change her shoes. </p><p class="MsoNormal">On watching it again, I still enjoyed that part. I watched it
to try to remember what happened later, and, to be honest, it was a
disappointment. This is a film that is magic for twenty minutes. Perhaps for
once my memory actually did the right thing: I remembered the best bit, and
forgot about the remainder. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Yet this is the film that opens Stanley Cavell’s famous book
about Hollywood comedies, <i>Pursuits of Happiness: The Hollywood Comedy of
Remarriage</i> (1981). Cavell’s book makes a very good fundamental point, that several
of the best Hollywood comedies of the forties and fifties are about married
couples coming back together. But, my goodness, how he labours the point. His
chapter about <i>The Lady Eve</i> is almost unreadable for its heavy-handed interpretation
of what is designed to be a very light film. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Let’s summarise the plot, which divides into two parts, or
acts. The first act is on a liner. Charles Pick, known as Hopsy (Henry Fond),
is a fabulously rich but innocent heir to a brewing fortune. He is accompanied
by a minder, a kind of personal security guard, to prevent him being exploited.
Hopsy is returning from a year “up the Amazon” (a phrase he repeats with an
attempt to justify how he is being swept off his feet), collecting snakes (he has
a snake in his cabin). He is expertly manipulated by a pair of card sharks, "Colonel"
Harrington (Charles Coburn) and his ostensible daughter Jean (Barbara Stanwyck),
and falls head over heels in love with her; in fact, he proposes marriage; but
when he discovers their true identity, he recognizes he has been exploited, and
rejects her totally. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Actually, the plot is slightly more complex, a twist that is
important for the remainder of the film. Stanwyck sets out to cheat Fonda at
cards, but finds herself falling in love with him – and she tells him as much. When
she shows him a photograph that reveals her to be a confidence trickster, he is
upset (as you would be), but, crucially, fails to recognise that she is
genuinely in love with him. </p><p class="MsoNormal">In the second act of the film, on land, Stanwyck pretends to
be an English aristocrat called (conveniently) Lady Eve. He fails to recognise
her (and doesn’t seem to notice her unconvincing English accent). She ridicules
Charles, and he repeatedly falls over in front of her. Charles accepts her unlikely
story that this is the sister of Jean, who he met on the boat, and they get
married. Jean/Eve has already stated she is only doing this out of a desire for
revenge. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Once married, on their honeymoon trip, on a sleeper train,
she teases him with tales of her premarital affairs, and he jumps off the
train, distraught. However, she refuses a money-making divorce offer. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Finally, we see Charles back on the ocean liner again, where
he rediscovers what he believes is Eve, the first woman he met, and they head
off to bed, back in love again. He still doesn’t acknowledge, or perhaps even realise,
that she and the English aristocrat were the same person. </p><p class="MsoNormal">What kind of resolution is that? Sturges would like the
knowing viewer to spot the references to Freud (the snake in the cabin), and
Cavell would like the knowing viewer to spot the references to Shakespearean
comedy (Connecticut as the Green World, the equivalent of the Forest of Arden, as
outlined by Northrop Frye). </p><p class="MsoNormal">So there’s the film. Charles/Hopsy is totally manipulated:
even at the end he has no idea what is really going on. She marries him and so becomes
fabulously wealthy, exactly what she and her “father” set out to do in the
first act. Charles the simpleton has learned nothing. He didn’t realise when a
woman was genuinely in love with him; he didn’t recognise her when she pretended
to be someone else. </p><p class="MsoNormal">What about the Shakespearean parallels so carefully and
painstakingly brought out by Stanley Cavell? I’m afraid the film inhabits a
rather different territory to a Shakespearean comedy. The reality of the film
that Cavell doesn’t mention is:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>We enjoy the con-artists doing
their stuff in act one.</li><li>We find Stanwyck far more
entertaining when she is playing a seductive card shark than when she appears
to be sincere. As soon as she states she is genuinely in love, she loses the
glorious wise-cracks. </li><li>In the first act, the eroticism
combines with the manipulation. Quite simply, this is one of the great erotic
moments in Hollywood film, Yet In the second act, the pratfalls take over, and
there is no serious plot behind it: it’s just fall after fall. It’s as if the
film-maker, having set up his elaborate plot, can’t think of any way of
developing it except by repeating the slapstick. Entertaining, but hardly a
great film. </li><li>The most important problem is
that Fonda never becomes aware of his innocence. Even Jack Lemmon in <i>Some
Like it Hot</i> realises the situation and accepts it, at the end of the film;
but Fonda remains blind throughout. He is blind to her manipulation, just as he
is blind to her sincerity. He is far more entertaining when overwhelmed by
events than when he is trying to act sensibly.</li><li>In terms of funniness, the first
act is many times funnier than the second, although the second act has more
jokes. That can’t be right!</li><li>There is another post to write
about Shakespeare’s <i>The Tempest</i>, which may be a great poem, and full of
wonderful lines, but which doesn’t, in my opinion, make a great play in
performance. It has none of the theatricality of <i>Othello</i>, or the
set-pieces of <i>Much Ado about Nothing</i>. The young characters are
simpletons, in love with the idea of love. The old characters are evil and manipulating
(Prospero) or scheming and power-grabbing (Antonio, Sebastian, Trinculo). But
that’s for another time.</li></ul><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">So I will treasure my memory, of about twenty minutes into
the film, with Fonda trying to put Stanwyck’s shoe back on, while she teases
him. Not surprisingly, he is all fingers and thumbs. <o:p></o:p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-63600333094979037592023-11-25T20:21:00.002+00:002023-11-25T20:21:20.160+00:00Learning about the Franciscans in Bury St Edmunds<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8o8AUN0gtbWoagkVFMGzhSN7wPJBqpPjzBovYdvtgsgypZYKxlns3IBMJbtXfbnDkwKPW4tzqG3L5uLvsT5NeXb7aACCLehzkUzpUnjix2ci6tRpxBjcSvp70MCxhsn_1FXn3LTzCMQ_dUmta7R476rdNnScsKZmdX5a4CqVvbLRBdreNAFbQ_Z81AObN" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8o8AUN0gtbWoagkVFMGzhSN7wPJBqpPjzBovYdvtgsgypZYKxlns3IBMJbtXfbnDkwKPW4tzqG3L5uLvsT5NeXb7aACCLehzkUzpUnjix2ci6tRpxBjcSvp70MCxhsn_1FXn3LTzCMQ_dUmta7R476rdNnScsKZmdX5a4CqVvbLRBdreNAFbQ_Z81AObN=w295-h400" width="295" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Franciscan Friar, illustration from Piers Plowman, a manuscript of 1427 in the Bodleian Library, (Douce 104, fol 046r)</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p></p><div>A talk about a no-longer-existing Franciscan Church in Bury
St Edmunds, on a cold winter’s night was, perhaps, not the most enticing of
prospects. Yet Francis Young’s talk was fascinating from start to finish. </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">The talk, at Moyses Hall Museum, was based around Young’s newly
published translation and editing of documents relating to the Franciscans in
Bury St Edmunds [<i>The Franciscans in Medieval Bury St Edmunds:</i> Suffolk Records
Society, Charters XXII, 2023). For those not familiar with Bury St Edmunds, site
of one of the most powerful Benedictine abbeys in England, the presence of the
Franciscans will come as a surprise. There is virtually no trace of their presence
to be seen today: just a street name (Friars Lane) and a few fragments in a
modern hotel (the aptly named Best Western Priory Hotel). The speaker stated
that written records of the Franciscans in England, and in Bury, are very scant
compared to the wealth of documentation available for the Abbey, yet he was able
to bring the Franciscans to life, to provide fascinating documentation around
the charters, and to raise (for me) a whole host of questions. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One moment from their history puts into perspective all my
innocent ideas of medieval monasticism: in 1257, the Abbey monks descended on
the Franciscan quarters in Friar Lane, and pulled the house down, beating the
friars with cudgels, so determined were they that the Friars should not be
allowed to create a base within the town. The speaker explained that the house
was most likely wattle and daub, so not so difficult to demolish, but even so …
Eventually, the Friars were granted an area outside the city, and outside the jurisdiction
of the Abbey, according to Francis Young the largest Franciscan friary in
England by area. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although unwelcome to the monks, the friars claimed they
could manage the spiritual concerns of the town better than the monks. That’s
just one of the startling claims or questions raised. Other fascinating angles
of inquiry include:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>If the Friars were mendicants, surviving from day to day on
donations, how did they manage such a large estate, with around 30-35 friars? If
the Friars were in English for over 300 years, they must presumably have set up
some kind of infrastructure for managing their buildings and land.</li><li>The Friars were very keen to get involved with education,
and so had a presence in Oxford and Cambridge. Does this mean they were more influential
in the universities than the monastic
orders?</li><li>Friars could travel while monks (as a general rule) could
not. </li><li>The Friary in Bury had links with Richard, Duke of York, while
the Abbey was linked to the House of Lancaster. </li></ul><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It seems incredible that records of the early Franciscans
can be so sparse, even if, as Young states, records of the English Franciscans were
almost all lost, while abbey records tended to remain intact after the Dissolution.
I imagine there must exist some records of friary life, just as the monks of
Bury have the account of Jocelyn of Brakelonde, dating from the late C12.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph">I know so little about religious history, limited to
visiting old and picturesque historical sites in the countryside, and I know
even less about English medieval history, so I don’t have any immediate answer
to these questions. But it is a tribute to Francis Young that a sparse set of
records related to a demolished building in medieval Bury St Edmunds should
have raised so many questions, and such a different view of medieval
monasticism than the impression of austerity and devotion that peaceful ruins
surrounded by trees would suggest.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Attacking your religious rivals, and tearing down their accommodation,
is not quite what I expected of Benedictines. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><p><br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-84464502647325783682023-11-12T20:45:00.051+00:002023-11-13T00:49:18.315+00:00Real Families: More about the captions than the pictures <p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZ6cV_de9QmW6uxCjTBaNjoXQ9DUJdnNCHu1iVktPTstm8X4lQrQ6NJuZ5q34Sf92pXZCmnNBsh_5n6ywQ80NcNbGg-y3f2oyaJ2yKDr4WUeyQiCCkfW_DZhx9OClBXRxfZg5GsNflgC4yFmFYgzGZemN8UwlIFBVuJz8ZDXChjSWdEY3DruuF6jf4I0dT" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="786" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZ6cV_de9QmW6uxCjTBaNjoXQ9DUJdnNCHu1iVktPTstm8X4lQrQ6NJuZ5q34Sf92pXZCmnNBsh_5n6ywQ80NcNbGg-y3f2oyaJ2yKDr4WUeyQiCCkfW_DZhx9OClBXRxfZg5GsNflgC4yFmFYgzGZemN8UwlIFBVuJz8ZDXChjSWdEY3DruuF6jf4I0dT=w373-h400" width="373" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alice Neel, Nancy and Olivia: "the fierce protectiveness of mothers, and an infant's feelings of security in being held". <br /> </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps it is the me generation finally reaching the
hallowed territory of the Fitzwilliam Museum. The Fitz usually has exhibitions
on standard art-history topics, such as, in recent years, plein-air landscape, and
Degas; here, in contrast, is an exhibition, <a href="https://fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk/plan-your-visit/exhibitions/real-families-stories-of-change">Real
Families: Stories of Change</a>, which comprises around 100 images related to
families, and curated by an academic, not an art historian. The
classical stuff is there, of course: the exhibition opens with an 18th-century
family portrait, and includes a Durer woodcut, and a Poussin. But I as a viewer
felt there was a very clear distinction between the traditional and the modern pieces.
These are the focus of the exhibition; many of the works date from the 21st
century, and they include photographs, audio and video clips. The difference
between the two groups is very plain: the modern stuff is about me. The artist
depicts their own situation as the subject. The older works are about
classical or Biblical themes, or portraits: they make no claim to be self-referential. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Admittedly, there are a few works that fall slightly between
these two extremes: Winifred Nicholson and Barbara Hepworth, for example, but
we are invited in this exhibition to see these artists as honorary members of
the self-exploration club. </p><p class="MsoNormal">The focus on self is not the only distinction between the
two groups of exhibits. For the modern works, the focus on the message and
situation was, I felt, more important than the aesthetics. I walked past an
exquisite Virgin and Child, where I admired the quality of execution, the
pattern, the arrangement. It was a satisfying composition in its own right. For
the newer content, in contrast, well, Jane’s comment sums it up: “it was more
about the captions than the pictures”. The captions provided the
interpretation, how you were supposed to respond to the work. In some cases, it
would have been difficult to respond the work at all without the help of the
caption. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps this is not surprising, given the background to the
show. It is curated by Susan Golombok, an Cambridge academic, whose subject is child psychology and family relations. She opens the catalogue by describing how overwhelmed she
was to see in the Tate Gallery a mixed media sculptural assembly of a grieving
father with two young children (a piece by Cathy Wilkes, not in this exhibition).
It conveyed the feelings she encountered every day in her professional work. “To
me, the desolate father and vulnerable children … summed up decades of
psychological research on the effects of parents’ adversity on their children.
But unlike academic research, it went straight to the heart” [catalogue, page
9] </p><p class="MsoNormal">In other words, for Golombok, it’s the story that counts,
not the quality of the execution. It’s more about the captions than about the objects.
For Golombok, </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Artists are uniquely placed to
translate their internal representations of family to the outside world.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">This text (which I assume is by Golombok) is displayed as an
introduction to one of the exhibition rooms; I didn’t find it in the catalogue.
It’s a remarkable claim; why should artists have unique insight? Does that
invalidate autobiography? What about fiction? Yet is it on the basis of this
statement that the exhibition has been compiled. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>My traumas – but not those of others<o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">As you might expect from someone who founded and is Director
of the Centre for Family Research at the University of Cambridge, Golombok’s
interest is in families. But the impression I got from the exhibition was of
the artist and their trauma, without reference to the others involved. For her, personal
and family traumas are to be, well, almost celebrated - and in this exhibition, to be interpreted in just one way. One of the two
artists she singles out as being especially moving for her, Stuart Pearson
Wright, describes how he discovered he was fathered by a sperm donor rather
than the man he believed to be his father. He has since devoted his life to tracking
down his father and indeed meeting the donor. Now, I’m sure this might be very
meaningful for the artist, but what about the donor? If you as a donor donate
sperm to help families who could otherwise not conceive have children, do you
expect to be confronted by your offspring twenty years later? I don’t think
that would be a pleasant experience, and indeed could cause great suffering for
the donor: I am pretty sure the donor did not sign up to meet the children he
fathered by this method. </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfj0OwPcPiD-Ffl7alnVwCUh_x_73oBmVLnobtcYoX6hyl3XMmGq6ijbvqcdDE4ErnX505MXYwiswIiTH-7VvXK_9zJL1r24vDJ50-5WdwChXdAM4ufMZ2KgZK-JuazRwkkBD0PZMkI0Zf6yxV9EKvnZg1im8GQWXOvH4ZCZL39LbgJH9nYwYjPNR2uLfn" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="732" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfj0OwPcPiD-Ffl7alnVwCUh_x_73oBmVLnobtcYoX6hyl3XMmGq6ijbvqcdDE4ErnX505MXYwiswIiTH-7VvXK_9zJL1r24vDJ50-5WdwChXdAM4ufMZ2KgZK-JuazRwkkBD0PZMkI0Zf6yxV9EKvnZg1im8GQWXOvH4ZCZL39LbgJH9nYwYjPNR2uLfn=w400-h279" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">One photograph shows what appears to be a celebration, with adults
and children. The caption reads: “Not too long ago, my father had another
child. I should be happy for him, but watching him play with her, feels like a
bruise someone keeps pressing”. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Here is an example of a photograph that could be interpreted
in many ways. The caption imposes one interpretation, and we know nothing of
the others involved. Are we expected to judge this as a work of art? Are we
supposed to take the artist’s view as the only interpretation? </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>I won’t let this trauma define me<o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">This
exhibition focuses exclusively on the former group, and the art is the
depiction of that trauma. In this case, many of the artists define themselves and
their work by their experience in families: donor child, single parents,
step-sibling, gay parent, and so on. What about those people who go through
similar experiences, but don’t talk about it? Does that make them less valid? What
about those in the same situation who didn’t create artworks? Do they not
count? After all, as we are told, artists are "uniquely placed". </p><h3 style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="FR">Didactic captions<o:p></o:p></span></h3><p class="MsoNormal">For many of the objects, the captions are very clear indeed
about how you should interpret the situation. I am sorry to say that many of
those captions struck me as very didactic and one-sided, ignoring the views
of other characters in the scene. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMxgbwwxl5gbuKu1D0slNBm2NKsHlToA4tU_xz6149HcSux5bO6WpfQujKoiKXjB-VJs0-lDqRcaZvQdqhyktcXS3Rb97xz79-O-YwkpUaGheADQmUJsTOiwrdeEz3y-xPOw4ecYg7U1tub-TtgYUlsdpq44ewESEVOCuXdz3Zap84KFTxNyrPt74NN9tn" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMxgbwwxl5gbuKu1D0slNBm2NKsHlToA4tU_xz6149HcSux5bO6WpfQujKoiKXjB-VJs0-lDqRcaZvQdqhyktcXS3Rb97xz79-O-YwkpUaGheADQmUJsTOiwrdeEz3y-xPOw4ecYg7U1tub-TtgYUlsdpq44ewESEVOCuXdz3Zap84KFTxNyrPt74NN9tn=w255-h400" width="255" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">For example, Ishbel Myerscough painted a life-size collective
portrait of her family, including her partner and children, <i>All</i>, 2016. The caption to
the painting states: </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Ishbel Myerscough’s portrait of
her family shows a time when they were particularly close-knit. She reflected:
“I see my daughter growing into an uncanny reflection of my younger self, same
hair, wearing my old clothes. Life is full of echoes.” Family ties remain
important for adolescents, providing them with a foundation for entry into the
adult world. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Whose interpretation is this? There are five people in the painting,
but only one view in the caption. I feel sorry for children when they get
little opportunity to speak, and certainly not here. Did the children agree to
this wording? Did they agree to be represented? I assume the caption is
authored by the artist, but why does she have the right to present her
interpretation exclusively? </p><p class="MsoNormal">It made me very uncomfortable to see several photographs
with tendentious captions like the above: this is a happy child. These are
people suffering. Without the caption, we might not have known; and these are
images selected and interpreted by the photographer. Family photos, of the kind
the are seen on office desks, are often of children in moments of happiness. Or
what purports to be happiness: we don't know. In my opinion, family photos of the children
having fun may well be intrusions into the private world of the child, and should not
be commandeered by parents as a statement of a relationship that tells you more
about the parent than the child. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Quality vs message</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately, the quality of much of the contemporary work
is lacking. These works, if they appeal, have an interest by their situation,
and frankly I don’t go to an art exhibition only to find out about people’s family
situation. I want the artist to convince me that their situation is moving, is
relevant, and that requires some artistic skill. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, this interpretation of the exhibition is somewhat
simplistic. There are some modern works where the quality of execution is
stunning. Lucien Freud’s depiction of his mother, for example, has some remarkably detailed clothing. The caption ignores the textiles, and simply states that the artist couldn’t bear
to see his mother looking at him. But we don’t learn much detail about Freud; in
fact, the artists themselves get a surprisingly good press. The revelations
about Freud since his death reveal him to be one of the most heartless and,
frankly, abusive in his relationship with women – but none of that is mentioned
here. There is a picture of Ben Nicholson with his eldest child. The caption states
that he soon afterwards left Winifred for Barbara Hepworth – but he still
visited the children regularly, so that’s alright, I suppose. No mention of how
Winifred brought up the children by herself. There is no text by Winifred
Nicholson about her situation in the exhibition; just the pictures. Perhaps she
felt the pictures themselves were justification enough to be looked at. We
simply don’t know. The information here seems remarkably selective. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Another exception to the outline above is Paula Rego. My
simple artistic quality versus obsession with self breaks down a little here.
For Rego drew and painted fairy tales, fictional stories, but also depicted figures
from her surroundings. Crucially, however, her work is stunning, and her quality of execution draws us
into the stories she depicts. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Humour<o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Grayson Perry is represented by a beautiful vase. On looking
closely at the vase, you can see it is full of references to his own childhood,
including his teddy bear, Alan Measles. The vase is well executed, and is
satisfying in its own right, before you notice the teddy bear and the other
subject matter from Perry's childhood. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">While I was at the
exhibition, a father taking his child around pointed out the teddy bear –“Look! It’s a teddy!”. The presence of a teddy bear injected
a note of humour into the show, which was noticeably absent elsewhere. I don’t think there would have been much else
for children in this show. This show is intended very much for adults being
told how to interpret and to come to terms with their own experiences – and
traumas, if they have them. The caption leaves no room for doubt about what
this vase means: “ '<i>Vase Using My Family</i>' presents Perry’s strong family unit. He
found that being a father raised questions about his own childhood”. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">To conclude: the subject matter of art is of course important,
but when the subject matter replaces the art, or, in <a href="https://www.ft.com/content/f07129d7-d81a-4b29-8fa7-1b5b02c00842">the
words of Jackie Wullschläger</a>,
when an exhibition attempts to “erode differences between activism and art”,
the results are rarely successful. The exhibition could have been far more impressive
with better art. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-59397115903258568692023-11-01T21:45:00.004+00:002023-11-01T21:56:56.926+00:00Looking at architecture in Antwerp <p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwHTimFEUOAThTBRww8rLqDrcyhgTc63jfIfS2idHxROHRfLpcDc7UY-XZwQfLK0OjCxU-1AyaSbSe9pvhRBwmVQ3E9ZqKE-OW2ZdM3E0TCuDIHjOoHu4qH56grDYVOlFPS_6NpuC2XUN5-fNGPJvrMStkV6DsgeIlcAD63bopvzYYW4ofwGEVBrp3TLLw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="732" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwHTimFEUOAThTBRww8rLqDrcyhgTc63jfIfS2idHxROHRfLpcDc7UY-XZwQfLK0OjCxU-1AyaSbSe9pvhRBwmVQ3E9ZqKE-OW2ZdM3E0TCuDIHjOoHu4qH56grDYVOlFPS_6NpuC2XUN5-fNGPJvrMStkV6DsgeIlcAD63bopvzYYW4ofwGEVBrp3TLLw" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>S Carlo Borromeo piazza</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">One of the things I most enjoy doing in a new city is exploring its architecture. Not just the old buildings, but the new stuff; and, specifically, to see the interaction of the buildings with the environment, to see how
architects respond (or fail to respond) to the opportunities of the
surroundings. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Architecture, for me, is very simple. You can build
something that has no relationship to the buildings and the space around it (an
example is Queen’s Building, Emmanuel College, Cambridge, by Hopkins Architects).
Or you can create something that works with the space, even perhaps improves
the space. I shared a flat with an architecture student when I was at
university and he pointed out the difference between park benches. Some benches
are occupied; others, never. Quite simply, some spaces are appealing, and
others are not. </p><p class="MsoNormal">So here in Antwerp, where were the appealing spaces to sit,
and who was responsible for the buildings around? </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Trying to find out what to look at proved more difficult
than I expected. Standard guide books are not much use, because they tend to
look at buildings in isolation, and ignore much modern work. I needed something
more detailed, and by someone with some taste. I failed completely to find
books with architectural walks around Antwerp on Amazon. I could download
various walking guides, but they had the same problem as the guide books – not enough
coverage of modern designs. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrnzbpR6nEPs9bMT-o9Q_pb-Qt_K6vcGirjmcpb-9JE7jhL1bLQ4hT3j6IZ1TPlPBzWLDudZESAhDybLDNnibaVjcpPOQOnX22Xv6T1hiMhSgyDZ98TRurvvz520Ld8qSUa-KfkYVXnqWBG9qvi74jRLnFMTr7XXLU3oJAgSXIwjEzFBAGrA48ragJ8yJw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="559" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrnzbpR6nEPs9bMT-o9Q_pb-Qt_K6vcGirjmcpb-9JE7jhL1bLQ4hT3j6IZ1TPlPBzWLDudZESAhDybLDNnibaVjcpPOQOnX22Xv6T1hiMhSgyDZ98TRurvvz520Ld8qSUa-KfkYVXnqWBG9qvi74jRLnFMTr7XXLU3oJAgSXIwjEzFBAGrA48ragJ8yJw=w228-h320" width="228" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">In the end, I tracked down a book. It sounded promising: “Antwerp
Architecture”, by Natasha Van de Peer. It was available in Dutch and English, and
I thought it would be easy to find a copy in a local bookshop. That was not the
case. Copyright, the very stylish art and architecture bookshop attached to the
Museum of Fashion, claimed that it was out of print. ‘t Stadt Leest was a very
impressive-looking independent bookshop with a wine bar upstairs. I managed to
resist trying out the wine bar and asked them for a copy. However, they had
never heard of this book. By now, I had developed such a craze for this book
that I emailed the author, who stated on her website that she did guided tours
of Antwerp. I did meet her, and she sold me a copy for €14. She explained that she gave most of her attention to guided walks of the city, although at €200 for two hours, this would have been a very expensive option. </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Armed with the new guide, we set off to explore Antwerp. It
looked home printed, and I was slightly surprised by its size – just 150 x 105 cm.
Still, it would fit in my pocket, which is certainly not true of Pevsner, and if it inspired me, the compact format wouldn’t be a problem. The contents page
showed six main areas in and around Antwerp, and we started with the “Big Five”
walk. As the title suggested, this walk comprised five buildings – an estimated
20 minutes. There was one other guided walk in the book, around the docks.
Apart from that, many buildings were listed on maps, but with no text at all. In
total, just 24 buildings have are described and have a photo, although two or
three times that number are<span style="font-family: inherit;"> indicated on the maps. The average description, for
buildings lucky enough to be described, is around 105 words, This
was disappointing. If you publish the only architectural guide to Antwerp, you
have the chance to be a bit more expansive than that.</span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdNidLA1QqfYAqT-_KZHZxkssuU2eu8bKSrrOjs7pyKqMq3CMmQdFbWO7VN-IzlywsEA8tt5fY6Gvtv8Jx3R6gPIC-aXVM4pQSMZ5PuWaG-H2MTg9y4Kv8sAvuT-3CRVMyNUf0AVnO2WgB6_qLDpKbw4yFz6hhy113G-ImZvgQG2ABoQiHoOc9CQ7bzr--"><img alt="" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="732" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdNidLA1QqfYAqT-_KZHZxkssuU2eu8bKSrrOjs7pyKqMq3CMmQdFbWO7VN-IzlywsEA8tt5fY6Gvtv8Jx3R6gPIC-aXVM4pQSMZ5PuWaG-H2MTg9y4Kv8sAvuT-3CRVMyNUf0AVnO2WgB6_qLDpKbw4yFz6hhy113G-ImZvgQG2ABoQiHoOc9CQ7bzr--=w400-h228" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>Ten buildingsshown on the map, but only three described in the text</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">What of the text? As far as it goes, it is fine. The English
is just about acceptable, and certainly better than my Dutch, but there should
be more of it. I wanted to know much more about the urban redevelopment, about
the old docks and how they were being transformed (a good comparison with Glasgow
and Manchester here), and to learn more about the author’s taste. But that was
all I had, so I had to make the most of it. </p><p class="MsoNormal">For what it’s worth, I did find some exquisite spaces in
Antwerp where you could sit down. One was the piazza outside S Carlo Borromeo
Church, a lovely space with trees and a library, and a café. I wanted to go and
ask all the people sitting outside the café in the square if they realised how
exquisite it was. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoCaption"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgexUTAWjH3Qqc73mOMStgzD01k8FgvzMYN4hnQM0rSRFkn2Q1-Ikp7C1_vnPk2EhlQi478UREmF6Q5Bxxui-daSTVzPn6qLb4br99zC9VyA-ZSp15dBeaNnFOkMw48kPhOTXsvxJj8sYt6amX2ckMLrHAP5-oqKQHE457zFmVodygD-Jbf7banUJA-pZiw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="732" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgexUTAWjH3Qqc73mOMStgzD01k8FgvzMYN4hnQM0rSRFkn2Q1-Ikp7C1_vnPk2EhlQi478UREmF6Q5Bxxui-daSTVzPn6qLb4br99zC9VyA-ZSp15dBeaNnFOkMw48kPhOTXsvxJj8sYt6amX2ckMLrHAP5-oqKQHE457zFmVodygD-Jbf7banUJA-pZiw" width="284" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoCaption"><i>The MAS Museum (2006-2011)</i><o:p></o:p></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">As for buildings, there was MAS, the amazing ten-storey
construction that looked like it was built out of monster Lego bricks placed
together in the most unstable and vertiginous way. It’s a great place to see
all of Antwerp (although it doesn’t do much for the immediate surroundings). It
also has museum collections, but we were between exhibitions, and so didn’t go
in. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">All in all, we found great spaces in Antwerp, but more or
less independently of the guide. I recommend Antwerp as a place where there is
a huge amount of redevelopment going on, but also lots of refurbishment of
existing buildings. There is a buzz about the place. Well worth exploring. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-64659029675882610442023-10-22T23:27:00.011+01:002023-10-22T23:35:14.301+01:00Which were the glory years for Antwerp? <p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi96vyagIIvXAi8JTPGFexYiYuPRKiQzhiGYt945GxiXy_CLYUQeYlL2QaUVMIjFicaABSgLRPBKn57ONZUC9PZv0maJZiZJCn3vl-bNH25sf2Arewi0zn2Vlb-qVM1MCxV8z7z8OvkxaqxHYPPEi2hcWYGmSCtIs3-miWiTA0oz1de-C5IhScSglQoMt3y" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi96vyagIIvXAi8JTPGFexYiYuPRKiQzhiGYt945GxiXy_CLYUQeYlL2QaUVMIjFicaABSgLRPBKn57ONZUC9PZv0maJZiZJCn3vl-bNH25sf2Arewi0zn2Vlb-qVM1MCxV8z7z8OvkxaqxHYPPEi2hcWYGmSCtIs3-miWiTA0oz1de-C5IhScSglQoMt3y=w318-h400" width="318" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>Rubens, portrait of Anna Anthonis, c1615-18. Pious, yes, but what a face Rubens has captured!<br /><br /></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Antwerp certainly meets the criteria for a very visitable city: great
restaurants, great museums, great buildings, very walkable – and one of the world’s
most astonishing station designs. But when I visit any city, I like to create a
kind of coherent story to the city. It is somehow satisfying to explain a city
by looking at major forces affecting it, and to see the results in the built
environment, and in the artistic works that were produced in it. So, for
example, you can explain the sudden reversal of fortune that affected Bruges,
or Rye, or equally, the proximity of strong flows of water and nearby mineral
deposits that enabled regions such as Coalbrookdale to flourish in the Industrial
Revolution. <p class="MsoNormal">What can we say about Antwerp? Its history is tightly linked
to the Scheldt. Antwerp is a great natural port, since it provides safe anchorage,
being a long way inland from the sea. Although the Scheldt is still tidal at
Antwerp, which means locks are required, Antwerp also has container terminals
with direct access to the sea without locks (which must be similar to the
situation at Felixstowe in the UK). But the Scheldt hasn’t always been
accessible to ships. Is this the cause of Antwerp’s rise and fall? </p><p class="MsoNormal">Michael Pye’s recent book, <i>Antwerp: The Glory Years</i> covers
the 16<sup>th</sup> century , when Antwerp flourished as never before. This
weekend I am visiting Antwerp, but I don’t get the impression of a 16<sup>th</sup>-century
city. In many respects, the visible golden age appears to be the 17<sup>th</sup>
century: a hundred years later. Is this
simply my misreading? </p><p class="MsoNormal">Let’s glance at the history books. Few cities can have had
experienced such about-turns as Antwerp. It reached a peak of success during
the first half of the 16<sup>th</sup> century; it was responsible for 75% of
all Low Countries trade in 1549. Yet in 1576, Spanish troops mutinied and killed
some 8,000 citizens. Then in 1585 the Spanish recaptured Antwerp and
incorporated it into the Spanish Netherlands. Protestants were given four years
to convert or leave, and around half the population left. Hence a population
decline from a peak of around 100,000 down to 49,000 at the end of the century. </p><p class="MsoNormal">As if this wasn’t enough, in 1648, under the Treaty of
Westphalia, the Scheldt, the river by which Antwerp traded with the world, was
closed to all non-Dutch ships. This catastrophe ruined the port, until under Napoleon,
150 years later, the port was reopened, and by the mid-19<sup>th</sup> century
Antwerp was the world’s third largest port. Even today is it second only to Rotterdam
in Europe. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">How does this compare with artistic achievement? Antwerp is
exceptionally good for museums relating the city with its inhabitants; the
Rubens House is a great example. One of the best museums is the Plantin Museum.
Christophe Plantin created one of the biggest printers and publishers in Europe.
He founded the company in Antwerp in 1548, and within a year (if you believe
Wikipedia) “he headed one of the most well-respected publishing houses in
Europe” (whatever that means). His greatest achievement was a multi-volume Bible,
the <i>Biblia Sacra</i> or <i>Biblia Regia</i>, published 1568-73. However, the
publishing company appears to have continued to grow thrive for over a hundred
years after that. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Rubens, 1577-1640, the greatest Antwerp painter and one of
the most famous painters of all time, lived in Antwerp for most of his life, and
(together with his vast studio team) produced some 1,400 works, excluding
copies! This sounds like success, by any measure. </p><p class="MsoNormal">While the Rubens House was closed for this visit, we visited
another stunning collection of 17<sup>th</sup>-century work, the Snijders and
Rockox House, actually two houses next to each other, celebrating an artist and
a politician who both flourished in the first half of the 17<sup>th</sup>
century. Incidentally, this museum was a model of how to display a small
collection effectively. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>It certainly seems, by this very simplistic assessment, that
the evidence of the artefacts around the city suggest that, that despite losing
half its population in the years to 1600, the remaining citizens of Antwerp
created some astonishing achievements, both cultural (Rubens, van Dyck,
Jordaens) and intellectual (the Plantin firm of publishers continuing and growing
during the 17<sup>th</sup> century). All this raises, of course, many
questions. Can you make such sweeping judgements about a city on the evidence
of one or two buildings? I haven’t even considered what effect these glory
years, whether 16<sup>th</sup> or 17<sup>th</sup> centuries have on the
present-day city – a subject for another post. Today was the Antwerp marathon,
which meant that 12,500 runners passed the front door of the Rockox Museum,
probably without noticing it was there. </p><p class="MsoNormal">But the evidence above leaves me wanting to know more. For
example: much of the success of the Netherlands following independence has been
attributed to its religious tolerance. But is it as simple as that? Has the
link between Protestantism and economic growth, as formulated by Weber a hundred
or more years ago, been overstated? Was it possible for a city to be Catholic
yet progressive? Antwerp has vast, bloated, Baroque churches, and Catholicism is
still very noticeable in the historic centre: there is a statue of the Virgin
or a saint looking down at you from most street corners. How was it possible,
or was it indeed possible, for great art to flourish in a Counter-Reformation
climate? </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">All this requires more investigation, but, sadly, I don’t think
Michael Pye’s <i>Antwerp: The Glory Years</i> is likely to give me the answer I
am looking for. I haven’t got the patience to extricate a coherent story from
Pye’s account. After 20 pages I had to look to other sources to find out what
was going on. The journalistic style meant that every major event was
introduced by looking at an individual, and only slowly revealing the event
being described. It’s a time-honoured journalistic trick, which becomes annoying
when you are trying to find out what happened. My response is to skip a paragraph
or two to see if the author reveals what the subject really is, later on – a risky
technique. So answers to the question of Antwerp’s rise and fall will take a
few days longer. <o:p></o:p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-89796864164573736132023-10-13T21:40:00.004+01:002023-10-13T22:14:08.415+01:00Black Atlantic: good for you, or simply good? <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyJBV2rBl_inR7mTrvLzSo3DpfjKKRcroQytx4z0qwFS1Qkv7Ma3m5T0hp44KtPPXnbJxrwxEM0pjgDJtYBgfZZ1isKYMPc-viE7012lSF6mbBBDbWStOgRaq5pV9YYElaeQPg11_1xSGJ18WXeu9l20JUhFaAR5qSLsa2L9Ba6-Ux8uOfZjZp1P1Lr4ZB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyJBV2rBl_inR7mTrvLzSo3DpfjKKRcroQytx4z0qwFS1Qkv7Ma3m5T0hp44KtPPXnbJxrwxEM0pjgDJtYBgfZZ1isKYMPc-viE7012lSF6mbBBDbWStOgRaq5pV9YYElaeQPg11_1xSGJ18WXeu9l20JUhFaAR5qSLsa2L9Ba6-Ux8uOfZjZp1P1Lr4ZB=w372-h400" width="372" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal">This is a review of the Fitzwilliam Museum exhibition “Black
Atlantic: Power People Resistance”, viewed in October 2023. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">First, it’s absolutely essential that museums explore the
origins of their funding. Much of the Fitzwilliam collection was acquired by
money from the profits of slavery, clearly. This exhibition, Black Atlantic, starts
from that point and, I assume, sets out to display what it has discovered,
visually. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As you might imagine, there are some real triumphs of
detection. These include a bell, displayed in St Catherine’s College until
recently, when it was discovered that the bell, dating from 1772, had been used
in a slave plantation in what is today Guyana. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The exhibition noted the change in depiction of black faces
from before and after around 1700, when slavery became widespread. Before, black
people were often recognisable, with an identity; later, under slavery, they became
anonymous. But is this entirely true? It’s a thesis that cries out to be
examined visually - perhaps in an exhibition dedicated to that one topic. There
isn’t enough in this exhibition to prove (or disprove) this claim. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Here was the problem. The exhibition was like a scattergun,
covering far too many areas to look at any one of them in satisfying detail. There
is no question of the validity of the topic of Black Atlantic, but was that
exactly the subject? As I walked around the exhibition, I became increasingly
confused: there is no way to cover all the potential exhibition themes in one
show. In just three rooms, the range included:</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Studies by Keith Piper of black masculinity and relating to his
father in the 1980s. The link seems to have been that Piper used the iconic
depiction of slaves in a ship in one of the 14 images – very tenuous. </li><li>A brief attempt to show objects created by the indigenous
peoples (referred to in the catalogue with a capital “I”) of the Caribbean. There
was one map and a few items, but this theme abruptly disappeared. </li><li>Historic scientific instruments, including a sextant and a
chronometer. The link is that such instruments enabled slavery to take place –
which means you could include (by the same argument) ships, the navy, the
history of navigation – the list is endless. It’s a similar situation with
trying to define ESG companies: do we
discount companies that, say, extract oil, or do we discount companies that
provide tools that can be used for extracting oil? Where do we stop?</li><li>Two classical sculptures revealing implied depictions of slavery,
one Greek, one Roman. </li><li>Seven large-scale reproductions of rare plants and birds.
The link was that these specimens had been gathered by black slaves for the
white artist to draw from. The point is taken, but you can’t help looking at the
exquisitely drawn plants and animals, not how they were collected. There is a
tension between the quality of the artwork and the caption. </li><li>A few objects from the Caribbean, because that is where
Fitzwilliam made his money, but not a very thorough or detailed history of the
region or survey of its indigenous art. </li><li>One picture, by Gerrit Dou, is included simply because it
was owned in the past by people involved with slavery, including Fitzwilliam
himself. The picture, The Schoolmaster, has no connection with slavery. One
picture by Rembrandt (or his studio) is included because it is painted on wood
from South America. </li><li>There are pictures of sea battles in the 17<sup>th</sup>
century between the Dutch Republic and England. </li><li>The exhibition include gold weights from the Akan culture of
sub-Saharan West Africa. </li></ul><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">You can see this is enough for several exhibitions, and
putting them all together simply creates indigestion. But there were more fundamental
problems with the exhibition.</p><h3 style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="FR">Limitations of the exhibition<o:p></o:p></span></h3><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8l5P61N3BRStvqnO8rflqPmQQIZ6IoBSnMhI_LguiJfVLhAu_Y-t7Q-0VQIEiYqkQlchP21kdTz-Kvy4mUtnKPvF-UbeaHzgGipF-gOGbeWgxlX31MLSKklT2I4nWJzfgvMrbRpu_hRuZjSxCM4vpUrFlPvbo2BFn-PO1SrcArL0k9TKb5lk42XD8B9_E" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="887" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8l5P61N3BRStvqnO8rflqPmQQIZ6IoBSnMhI_LguiJfVLhAu_Y-t7Q-0VQIEiYqkQlchP21kdTz-Kvy4mUtnKPvF-UbeaHzgGipF-gOGbeWgxlX31MLSKklT2I4nWJzfgvMrbRpu_hRuZjSxCM4vpUrFlPvbo2BFn-PO1SrcArL0k9TKb5lk42XD8B9_E=w330-h400" width="330" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Interpretation replaces assessment. Instead of being told to
look at the objects, we are being told what the interpretation of the work is. Proselyting,
pedagogical captions take the place of appraisal. Imagination replaces
interpretation – the black servant in a portrait by William Dobson is described
as suggesting “a deference he may well not have felt” – but it’s not visible in
the painting itself. </li><li>Several pictures by Barbara Walker, based on her
reimagination of existing works including a black person – she shows the black
character in full, with the other people only in outline. Unfortunately, in the
exhibition we are not shown the original, so we have no way of comparing. In
the catalogue, we see the originals, reproduced at tiny scale. Is this helpful?
</li><li>Similarly, Alberta Whittle’s work in response to 16th-century engravings does not include the original engravings, not even in the
catalogue. No doubt the originals could be found via the Internet, but what is
the point of an exhibition that leaves you to work everything out for yourself?
</li><li>Difficult to know where to stop when you identify not just
human slavery, but evidence of white domination in, for example, searching for
specimens for natural historians, or the wood used to make furniture, or the
navigation instruments to enable slave ships to sail. It becomes difficult to
draw the line. </li><li>One orthodoxy simply replaces another. The history of the
peoples of the Caribbean now doesn’t mention the Spanish conquest, which is a
bit silly. The artworks by Barbara Walker cleverly show Western paintings that
include a black figure, but with only the black figure displayed. This is fine –
and Walker’s drawing is tremendously accomplished – but we are not shown the
original! The captions refer to the original, so why can’t we those originals,
even just as reproductions? </li></ul><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It felt like this exhibition was the first time the Fitzwilliam
had addressed the issue of where its wealth came from, and in an attempt to
include all possible themes, the resulting show looked very provisional. It was
like a simple search through the entire University collections to see anything
with a link to slavery. Or representation of black people. Or indigenous art in
Africa and the Caribbean. Or the history of navigation. And so on. </p><h3 style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; text-indent: 0cm;"><a name="_Toc148123803">Is it good for you
or is it good?</a> <o:p></o:p></h3>One challenge faced by
exhibitions of this kind Is fundamental. The criterion for display in the Fitzwilliam
is quality. Of course, what constitutes quality will vary from one period to another,
but you feel the curators strive to show
that every object in the collection is satisfying to look at. Of course,
some works are shown because of extraneous circumstances – the subject is of
great historical interest, like portraits of Martin Luther, or there is some association
with a major event. Some years ago, the British Museum opened a gallery
dedicated to the Enlightenment. Having just spent a lot of time reading Diderot,
Voltaire, Rousseau, and Montesquieu, I went to the new exhibition with great
enthusiasm, only to be disappointed because the objects illustrated did not
correspond to my vision. Nor could they, because they were based on what was visually
appealing, rather than corresponding with the ideas of Diderot et al.<div><br /></div><div>In this exhibition, there is a
constant tension between what is good for you, and what is simply good to look
at. The exhibition, in its excitement to communicate a new theme by which to
interpret art history, frequently forgets to check what is good to look at, and
instead relies on work that they believe is good for you. Keith Piper’s work is
an example: I’m sure it’s good for you, but it simply isn’t very good to look
at, and it has only marginal relevance to this exhibition. An example of a works that is both good for you and good to look at is the range of exquisitely decorated plates by Jaqueline Bishop (above). <div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p></p><h3 style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; text-indent: 0cm;"><a name="_Toc148123804">After the exhibition</a><o:p></o:p></h3><p class="MsoNormal">Visitors emerge from the exhibition straight into the Fitzwilliam permanent collection, in this case a room of
20th-century works, but only a few of which are of black subjects, a missed
opportunity. Nonetheless, there is a recent (loan) portrait of William Gates a
stunning example, and hopefully an addition to the Fitzwilliam collection. <o:p></o:p></p><h3 style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">What to make of Black Atlantic?</span></h3><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal">In summary, there is a great theme here, but the execution
was insufficiently thought through. Let’s hope the next related exhibition
(they promise several more) is more focused, and less wide-ranging. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br /><p></p></div></div>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-23187004100845533242023-10-01T18:21:00.005+01:002023-10-02T00:18:20.221+01:00Rubens and Women<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixmmwwW2dAMJK1ERu706niszML0lgDoW_G9ht9LrUbgmF94R4frWt32RfrS25xuJFGPhE7q1oaCVfMKqJscDykj9TCYpMwDIBtZXqlm3SI-zY58utuqbBeHlwFhn-sHvNLVvR970IfQmBIQD3iJ42_kF1tsCMD-Fdh9vgg3ItLC4p9n4uoLp9vEEJtSsRK" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="732" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixmmwwW2dAMJK1ERu706niszML0lgDoW_G9ht9LrUbgmF94R4frWt32RfrS25xuJFGPhE7q1oaCVfMKqJscDykj9TCYpMwDIBtZXqlm3SI-zY58utuqbBeHlwFhn-sHvNLVvR970IfQmBIQD3iJ42_kF1tsCMD-Fdh9vgg3ItLC4p9n4uoLp9vEEJtSsRK=w400-h293" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">This marvellous exhibition at Dulwich Picture Gallery has
one theme, and succeeds brilliantly in conveying that them. Rubens, although
classically trained in the classical idiom (from several years in Rome), created
his best works from life studies of the female nude, specifically, of his
second wife, Helene Fourment. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The evidence for this is carefully marshalled, but is most
visible in some of the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>small-scale
drawings in the show, which are compared to a life-size classical sculpture, a
Crouching Venus, from the second century CE. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Crouching Venus clearly served as a reference for many works
by the painter – you can see more than one example in the exhibition of the
same pose. For example, here is a drawing of Venus nursing Cupids, from 1616:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE1TvNQc0VWlu2UP7gimUYZJSK1LCcJJzFODJ4_G70Vk1Em5N5_Mez4HFCIU3xdc5lDmCkc9G8VjJCl8Lf7pfGkXH5QVOXQVETj6LVVjd5DFVaSA_AmJW8oLVYh0faIbUSngKrdLO6I4yevXE6HQswC3Z6uaLS0FP3zggR5fJudBoAZ8k0aknpkBowSE0c" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="583" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE1TvNQc0VWlu2UP7gimUYZJSK1LCcJJzFODJ4_G70Vk1Em5N5_Mez4HFCIU3xdc5lDmCkc9G8VjJCl8Lf7pfGkXH5QVOXQVETj6LVVjd5DFVaSA_AmJW8oLVYh0faIbUSngKrdLO6I4yevXE6HQswC3Z6uaLS0FP3zggR5fJudBoAZ8k0aknpkBowSE0c=w400-h371" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Yet there is one major difference between the two female
bodies. It is clear by comparing these two works that, while Rubens used
classical poses as a model, he tempered his classical style by reference to the
human body. The key difference is that the Crouching Venus has no folds of
flesh; this is an idealised nude, with a kind of abstracted body and face.
Helpfully, if perhaps a little voyeuristically, the exhibition provides two mirrors
so you can observe the Crouching Venus from more than one angle. In contrast,
what brings the Rubens drawing to life is the sense of immediacy, of actuality,
despite the pose being classical and the woman’s body conforming more to the
classical shape than the present-day ideal. </p><p class="MsoNormal">There are several examples in the exhibition of this unique
synthesis of classical and observation. So vivid is the observation that at
times the ostensible subject is entirely lost in the figure being painted, as
in the Hagar in the Desert, featuring what appears to be a portrait of Helene
Fourment in a stunning blue dress. There is not the slightest sign of her being
uncomfortable in her desert surroundings: she looks to be on an outing in her
Sunday best:</p><p style="text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="background-color: white;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIpJI87m2dD1azyekUu7hAg7yS4zoixXihbxKDe65wMYdSA3A1JBf089co8RKaFvfWUDJY6Uo_Kn_JYELPE_nN4YyurefoK37733Serjbi82n78E8Gi7BCSEEYyXqcp_eLqdSXStUjpDtOvBdPzLb-4ssAeavRpC6IGYxOlkMrqhRFqABUGEqoyl55J05k" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="732" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIpJI87m2dD1azyekUu7hAg7yS4zoixXihbxKDe65wMYdSA3A1JBf089co8RKaFvfWUDJY6Uo_Kn_JYELPE_nN4YyurefoK37733Serjbi82n78E8Gi7BCSEEYyXqcp_eLqdSXStUjpDtOvBdPzLb-4ssAeavRpC6IGYxOlkMrqhRFqABUGEqoyl55J05k=w320-h310" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">An even more extreme example of the conflict between subject
and model is a crazy depiction of Judith with the head of Holofernes, from 1616
(not in the exhibition, but in the catalogue). Judith looks so fetching, and so
pleased with herself, you have to look twice to notice she is holding the head
she has just chopped off.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMY4tTiRq75BAc5dQkHjsWUzHQF444T8lT7S9R8emx7144ho_HMpuoAjZZQCoJjx7mIfcn0OKvhmAZ_rSTtJxmnY81NC7AFM3N9dz5aCRmXoZKGrXU8Mnlqtcq4aipbxYYauAmAJCxJuj6s0p4IbhuiA1iZD0xGHd_prHjVaoZer_N8ujL_yISSu9UiLRe" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="702" data-original-width="732" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMY4tTiRq75BAc5dQkHjsWUzHQF444T8lT7S9R8emx7144ho_HMpuoAjZZQCoJjx7mIfcn0OKvhmAZ_rSTtJxmnY81NC7AFM3N9dz5aCRmXoZKGrXU8Mnlqtcq4aipbxYYauAmAJCxJuj6s0p4IbhuiA1iZD0xGHd_prHjVaoZer_N8ujL_yISSu9UiLRe=w400-h384" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, it is well known that Rubens was a sensual painter
– you half expected the famous portrait of Helene Fourment wearing nothing but
a fur coat, but the exhibition theme was clearly established without this
painting. What is conveyed here is that even in the religious works, there is a
sense of life, of the characters jumping out from the picture, to engage with
you. </p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal">To conclude, there are two examples of just how skilled
Rubens was as a painter. One is a copy by Rubens of the figure of Night by
Michelangelo. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEEAsMlz-_blJ33-RGSuV23qlWw3jeCAU31Tvs-MaRT5eiMX0e2IpGG4Bgagn3A3b6O7i_eGnOIPSyuN4KFyJviebc0zteXds1Ta3wr-6DLo4eBjfGfz4hUyMd5EspLuBSYPMGVBQVFD5cIGxgfQUqGNv5MNetZI13D94J1g7_T5qfpSxN48yM7pD1WeqJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="732" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEEAsMlz-_blJ33-RGSuV23qlWw3jeCAU31Tvs-MaRT5eiMX0e2IpGG4Bgagn3A3b6O7i_eGnOIPSyuN4KFyJviebc0zteXds1Ta3wr-6DLo4eBjfGfz4hUyMd5EspLuBSYPMGVBQVFD5cIGxgfQUqGNv5MNetZI13D94J1g7_T5qfpSxN48yM7pD1WeqJ=w400-h264" width="400" /></a></div><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, in the classical tradition of art, painters learned
by copying, but it seems very unlikely this Michelangelo was modelled from life.
If Michelangelo used a model at all, it looks like he used a male model, and
added token breasts to it. Rubens could paint women, but clearly Michelangelo could
not (at least, not without looking at them). </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The final indicator of Rubens’ talent came unexpectedly
after leaving the exhibition. In the permanent collection at Dulwich, there is a
full-size Gainsborough portrait of two young women, that will be a shock for any
visitor walking out of the Rubens exhibition: </p></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIr65_WJtrlXtOrx0ywSjcbDrt6ldDiYD_tygkWMPaQaM8IZ6r3-KL38_unWqh0foFeCYfvXoIVIsxem95Bp8PCMtMPrknUsWiAiXMKGZEBcbWG8Mhopta9vGhTdhPht03cp5F0FlhodcxbfDBJrxyJjjr7FDKGNDl3RFVD7qVOF1dUez__7Y1tT_qAdcZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="669" data-original-width="453" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIr65_WJtrlXtOrx0ywSjcbDrt6ldDiYD_tygkWMPaQaM8IZ6r3-KL38_unWqh0foFeCYfvXoIVIsxem95Bp8PCMtMPrknUsWiAiXMKGZEBcbWG8Mhopta9vGhTdhPht03cp5F0FlhodcxbfDBJrxyJjjr7FDKGNDl3RFVD7qVOF1dUez__7Y1tT_qAdcZ=w272-h400" width="272" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Don’t believe that it was the French 19th-century that put
an end to the classical depiction of the human form. Here, with Gainsborough,
you can see how we have lost the classical tradition. Here is the full horror
of the insipid modern body: bodies with no limbs, no curves. So lacking in any
substance are the women that it looks like the sheet music one of the women is holding
is likely to slip off at any moment; there is nothing to hold it up. Give me the
classical yet living world of Rubens any day.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-38863436516540570112023-09-27T22:45:00.002+01:002023-09-27T22:46:04.089+01:00In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray, 1950)<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguF8rpznIzMKDr7N6Apdpt51WsmsnNHytwoYXfl9Qis9kxi8lEYnOOPrmE-iamWjAXUMnN_Nwgskp-8xsuuNt4C6eIsKkJi3dNu-z2m9ZcSbHQ7BlTrW_bTvnHytunOfh7OvjRTTzPP2DNSBJBvwuYJSTXCXmoq96M815UDjidLUhQrhH5edPilZf7YaPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="574" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguF8rpznIzMKDr7N6Apdpt51WsmsnNHytwoYXfl9Qis9kxi8lEYnOOPrmE-iamWjAXUMnN_Nwgskp-8xsuuNt4C6eIsKkJi3dNu-z2m9ZcSbHQ7BlTrW_bTvnHytunOfh7OvjRTTzPP2DNSBJBvwuYJSTXCXmoq96M815UDjidLUhQrhH5edPilZf7YaPG=w400-h254" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gloria Grahame and Humphrey Bogart<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>What a curious film. Hollywood movies, at least those of the
1950s, were not expected to end without any resolution. In this one, the hero, Dixon
Steele, played by Humphrey Bogart, is a screenwriter with a propensity to
violence. He is implicated in a murder, which he did not commit, but the suspicion
is enough to make him lose his cool at any moment. He falls in love with a
neighbour, Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame), but her love isn’t enough. At the end
of the film, he is cleared of the murder … but walks away, into the night.<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Why would Bogart make such a film? Even more astonishing,
the film was made by his own production company, so he couldn’t claim he
accepted an inferior part. The part was written for him. </p><p class="MsoNormal">My suggestion is that Bogart recognized the new dimension in
his acting role, a dimension that is the reason why we watch his films today.
As a private detective, Bogart (whether Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon, or Philip
Marlowe in The Big Sleep), played a loner who nonetheless remained principled.
He represented, for the audience, a point of integrity in a world full of evil
and corruption. Bogart must have felt that this role suited him, and if David
Thompson is to be believed, he was far more successful in these roles than he was
as an out-and-out villain (with more than 28 films as the baddie). </p><p class="MsoNormal">So, to Bogart’s credit, he was one of a handful of actors
who could play good or evil roles. Cary Grant, for all his accomplishments, was
a hopeless villain (and I don’t imagine Charlie Chapin would have made a convincing
villain either). In this role, as Dixon Steel, he retains his integrity and
principles, but he is so adamant about not following compassion that he appears
as a oddball, a misanthrope, as well as a misogynist. In other words, he
attempts to carry the private eye role into another area. I assume Bogart’s
intention was that we, the viewers, admire Dixon Steele, but we recognize he is
difficult to deal with (and presumably nowadays would regard him as a classic
case of PTSD). Implicated in a murder, Steele talks to the police captain with
an incredible insouciance, comparing himself to the dead woman’s boyfriend, the
other suspect: </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Dixon Steele: It was his story
against mine, but of course, I told my story better.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, Dick Steele is also a misogynist, but that is what
I would expect of a film made in 1950. This is part of the baggage of the time,
and not worth complaining about now. Unfortunately, the film shows its age by the
abrupt about-turn in Gloria Grahame’s character. For the first couple of scenes,
where she and Bogart are flirting, there is a magic in her dialogue and character
that is only rivalled by the best screwball comedies. Her lines are assertive
and adventurous, but not simply subservient:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Dixon Steele: How can anyone like
a face like this? Look at it...<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">[leans in for a kiss]<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Laurel Gray: I said I liked it -
I didn't say I wanted to kiss it.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Dixon Steele is the man of truth. He is asked to write a
screenplay based on a book he knows h
isn’t going to like, gets a clerk to read the book for him and retell it
to him, and then refuses to congratulate himself when the director likes the
resulting script. Presumably acceptance of the script means success, income,
and reassurance: but not for Dixon Steele, the man of principle, in the middle
of Hollywood (the last place you would expect to stick to your principles).</p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">So at the end, when Bogart walks out on the girlfriend, on happiness,
on being settled, we respect him, yet we hate him. He is a monster, let’s face
it; it would probably be the same if the private detective ever married any of
his lady friends. But in the detective films, the question never arises. Part
of writing a successful film script is not to include the uncomfortable moments:
it kills the fantasy. Elliott Gould, at the end of The Long Goodbye (1974),
doesn’t marry anyone either, but we don’t mind or care. Perhaps we feel instinctively that Gould would never strike anyone in uncontrollable anger, while Dixon Steele looks to be perfectly capable of unwarranted violence at any moment. It makes for uncomfortable viewing. <o:p></o:p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-27871328146133449962023-09-13T22:26:00.009+01:002023-09-13T22:34:43.492+01:00Network: the impossibility of avoiding light entertainment<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhb_T8AtH6hIUf8Umq8t1ZQpYzN6Xa3rusgCKsBs4ozELzR0vQmHVYEAUnKe5YgD8t78KScsxOj89fA2VavjJao65ZAVNEGe6mFnLxnQDUU88Q2UjHE_mrzJsW0vHc7Hirgb86CemXKq2JRPxcIJ4QWPb_KFt_wk_MFw8N4lrLHbRpatge4K35j_7cLqWNc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="793" data-original-width="498" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhb_T8AtH6hIUf8Umq8t1ZQpYzN6Xa3rusgCKsBs4ozELzR0vQmHVYEAUnKe5YgD8t78KScsxOj89fA2VavjJao65ZAVNEGe6mFnLxnQDUU88Q2UjHE_mrzJsW0vHc7Hirgb86CemXKq2JRPxcIJ4QWPb_KFt_wk_MFw8N4lrLHbRpatge4K35j_7cLqWNc=w252-h400" width="252" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal">For much of its two-hour duration, <i>Network</i> (Sidney
Lumet, 1976) was very different to usual Hollywood fare. It was genuinely engaged
with contemporary society. The opening was riveting, with TV anchor Howard
Beale announcing he intends to commit suicide on air. What makes the scene
remarkable is that although we are in the control room while the live announcement
is taking place, none of the executives notice what is being said. The truth is
that they aren’t really bothered about what he is saying. That irony sets the
scene for a remarkable, if not quite unique, movie. Once they are told about Beale’s
rantings, instead of dismissing him, the executives use him to attempt to improve
their ratings. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There is a tradition of biting satire directed at television
in Hollywood, not surprisingly, and other sharply satirical treatments of the
media include <i>Sweet Smell of Success</i> (1956). But this film is, for the
most part, a sharper satire than most. I say for the most part, because while
Howard Beale (a remarkable portrait by Peter Finch) goes steadily mad, the film
turns its attention to the most unlikely of love affairs, in the most hackneyed
Hollywood style. Max Schumacher, head of the news division, has a torrid affair
with another senior executive, Diana Christensen (who looks twenty years
younger). The affair is highly unlikely. Christensen is a woman on the make,
who would stop at nothing to reach the top <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- so why should she bother with a recently
sacked veteran who has no continuing influence in the organisation? I couldn’t
help thinking that the bitterest irony was her denunciation of news bulletins as
just the same as the entertainment shows (“I watched your 6 o’clock news today;
it’s straight tabloid.”). That denunciation loses much of its power in a movie
that sags alarmingly in the middle to depict the same kind of love affair we had
been watching for years: an old man and a young woman, who suddenly seems to
lose all her self-possession in the arms of a man who could almost be her
father. For several minutes, the lovers, now ex-lovers, denounce each other
with grand statements from the pen of Paddy Chayefsky that sound just like
every other sitcom on TV. The trick is to create an impressive-sounding
statement with an air of finality, which is then followed by an equally impressive-sounding
statement, and so on. This is not dialogue, it’s successive one-liners, and it
sounds dreadfully stilted. For example: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Max Schumacher: I’m the man you
presumably love. I’m a part of your life. I live here. I’m real. You can’t switch
to another station.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">Diana Christensen: I was married
for four years, and pretended to be happy; and I had six years of analysis, and
pretended to be sane.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These remarks are not really part of a conversation. They
are set pieces, as shallow as the TV attitudes condemned by the rest of the
film. They don’t belong here (see, I’m learning to use the style myself). Network
would be an even greater achievement if it had managed not to go soft in the middle.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /></div>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-58076698681464100292023-09-13T21:43:00.001+01:002023-09-13T21:43:37.117+01:00The Museum formerly known as the Cambridgeshire Folk Museum<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiksQnPxSHqKcJDJmAn2z6Y5Zh6o7mqyX381O_r_7p-jTRQjX1wVJvr8OAjdwQ5xDGFFSzzq4kdQtGo2DE_gwYTKSmsXBzX54hTuhbSG2C78FHDM5GZ_dtvvOIrz95PCHszbhkKhh1hIBnr3_VkSiGcCkGn4_ZpVD5H11oV_f22diwQvYMzy-oyDsu9hTrN" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="732" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiksQnPxSHqKcJDJmAn2z6Y5Zh6o7mqyX381O_r_7p-jTRQjX1wVJvr8OAjdwQ5xDGFFSzzq4kdQtGo2DE_gwYTKSmsXBzX54hTuhbSG2C78FHDM5GZ_dtvvOIrz95PCHszbhkKhh1hIBnr3_VkSiGcCkGn4_ZpVD5H11oV_f22diwQvYMzy-oyDsu9hTrN=w400-h381" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The collection of traditional Fen objects</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal">Oxford and Cambridge have a similar problem. The university tends
to dominate much of the activity and tourism in the city, with the result that
the local museum has always suffered. By “local” I mean a museum dedicated to
the town rather than to the university. You can appreciate their problems,
since visitors to Oxford and Cambridge usually come for the university, however
intangible that institution might be (I remember visitors to Oxford asking me
where the university was, because you could be in the middle of Oxford and not
notice it). </p><p class="MsoNormal">The Museum of Cambridge has more problems than that of
Oxford. First, it has changed its title, if not its remit. It was founded as
the Cambridge and County Folk Museum in 1936. At some point in the last few
years it changed its name to the present Museum of Cambridge. This is a
misnomer, because it covers Cambridgeshire as well as Cambridge. </p><p class="MsoNormal">The Museum is situated in an historic inn, which partly
dates back to the 16th century. However, nobody would claim the building is highly
significant. The collection, of around 30,000 objects, isn’t highly significant
either. When I visited the Museum last weekend, I didn’t see one object that
would I would describe as unmissable. </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">The Museum has a series of small rooms, covering a
smattering of subjects from Cambridge and the county. One room is devoted to
brewing. One room contains objects relating to the Fens. One room has old
domestic utensils. In other words, it is similar to several other museums
within a 75-mile radius. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5TT9qIiE4hWNJs1frYOIt4kRyqLtW7dV3r5J9AZ012wMzMF6DCtZFSBF0xOEQS2ApU4l2NCq_wCJ0b7Oa2i0Do4y5c_yuiA3CKOZmfomg1zBeyg_sv5kI7sXD1TwWtsU2ktSioFo8o3v4RgFGO0p6KHMnkZJt6pQC-n_K9JlWCBo9vEW0jnlrIthYG2OD" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="732" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5TT9qIiE4hWNJs1frYOIt4kRyqLtW7dV3r5J9AZ012wMzMF6DCtZFSBF0xOEQS2ApU4l2NCq_wCJ0b7Oa2i0Do4y5c_yuiA3CKOZmfomg1zBeyg_sv5kI7sXD1TwWtsU2ktSioFo8o3v4RgFGO0p6KHMnkZJt6pQC-n_K9JlWCBo9vEW0jnlrIthYG2OD=w400-h270" width="400" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">The "I used to have one of those in my house" type of collection</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">The problem with a museum that has nothing distinctive is
that there is no real reason for visiting it. A few years ago, the Museum was
in the headlines because it was threatened with closure, something that seems
to have been averted by appointing new trustees. Yet for me the fundamental questions
remain. Both times I’ve visited the Museum I would be hard pressed to say there
was anything in it worth saving. What is the scope of the Museum? it doesn’t
really attempt to cover the history of anything. There are some scraps from
Cambridge history, but no attempt at explanation or interpretation. There are
even some old oars, from Cambridge college rowing teams; oars on the walls
represent a low point for the individual colleges, and what they are doing in a
museum which covers everything outside the university is beyond my imagination.
Of all the things to collect and display, university memorabilia should be low
on the agenda.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was fortunate to be shown round the Museum by the chair of
the trustees, Roger Lilley. His enthusiasm and knowledge was infectious, and he
mentioned the impressive online project Connecting Cambridge, which aims to
collect oral histories at a very local level.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">But despite Roger’s enthusiasm, my doubts about the museum remain.
In a city full of attractions like Cambridge, a collection needs to have a distinct
identity. I can find out about the Fens from Wisbech, Ely, and King’s Lynn
museums. I can find old domestic appliances in any number of old houses and
collections. There is no compelling reason to visit this museum: it lacks a big
idea. Even Mildenhall Museum, which has none of the Mildenhall Treasure on show
(all the originals are in the British Museum), still makes an attempt to
explain why Mildenhall is famous by the use of replicas and information boards.
There are very few information boards here.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The Museum could, like the Pitt Rivers in Oxford, emphasise
its folk connections. There are a (very) few objects linked to witchcraft and
folklore. The Museum could try to show the history of Cambridge in a meaningful
way, with references to prominent local employers such as Pye, ARM, Sinclair,
and Chivers (of Histon). The Museum could attempt the difficult feat of a collection relating
to Cambridgeshire, which covers both rolling chalk scenery (in the south) and
the Fens (in the north): two very different habitats and histories. The University-managed
Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology currently has an excellent exhibition relating
to the archaeology of Cambridgeshire.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Saddest of all, there is no longer a café. The first time I visited, there was a very sweet café with old cups and saucers, run by lovely old dears. This time, the café was firmly closed. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Thousands of
people must walk past the Museum every day on their way around Cambridge, yet I can’t
in all honesty recommend that they stop for a visit to the institution still known to most locals
as the Folk Museum. Better to go to a collection with a single theme, such as
the David Parr House. My (admittedly personal) dream would be a museum dedicated
to the history and growth of the town of Cambridge. Not from the point of view
of one college, but explaining how the Roman settlement was located here, why the
town missed out on the industrial growth that Oxford experienced in the 20th
century, but how Cambridge has now become a powerhouse of biomedical research
and IT start-ups. That is a remarkable story: from Sinclair Research, to the BBC
Micro, to the mighty ARM. That, for me, would be a distinctive theme for a
museum. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-73738175820526646962023-09-09T18:51:00.003+01:002023-09-09T18:51:36.474+01:00North by Northwest (1959)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRov0Y4tY2RIIAOMFhfMtxakGJ-i_pqCSsq4PEBi8_jUIPPsyNBDWTHfnqSHybL80Znn70J9-IEyB9USAEIJO-4FJFSbBoXDpXiw6Zz16o48T1TSPXKqSWhEGKpNWcyBGJh8JBgoX3v1rY_9mjLLUtvrwPiGGvtvqX1js68ztm-RXtWG3S_9OyRdMdmZn_" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="344" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRov0Y4tY2RIIAOMFhfMtxakGJ-i_pqCSsq4PEBi8_jUIPPsyNBDWTHfnqSHybL80Znn70J9-IEyB9USAEIJO-4FJFSbBoXDpXiw6Zz16o48T1TSPXKqSWhEGKpNWcyBGJh8JBgoX3v1rY_9mjLLUtvrwPiGGvtvqX1js68ztm-RXtWG3S_9OyRdMdmZn_=w228-h400" width="228" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>North by Northwest</i> (1959) is regularly included as
one of the great films of Alfred Hitchcock. Given the detailed critical appraisal
handed to <i>Vertigo</i> and <i>Rear Window</i>, I expected something far more
dark than this. Instead, I noticed the jokes (including the hospital patient whose room Grant accidentally enters, and who immediately cries out "Don't go!") </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My immediate motivation for watching this film (I had seen
it before, but so long ago that I had forgotten it) was to explore the role of
Cary Grant. David Thompson <a href="https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v42/n21/david-thomson/it-s-me-it-s-me-it-s-me">recently
reviewed</a> two biographies of Grant, and how both of them attempted to get to
the bottom of Grant’s magic. I read with fascination about how Grant’s mother
was incarcerated in an asylum for over 20 years, with what horrific effect for
him I can hardly imagine. I then watched a documentary, <i>Becoming Cary Grant</i>,
by Mark Kidel, which revealed some more interesting facts – but at the same
time clothed this documentary in an annoying cod-psychoanalytic tone that was
more simplistic than Hollwood in the 40s and 50s, suggesting that LSD gave
Grant some insight he had been lacking, and had several shots of a stand-in
playing Grant on the couch with his analyst. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At this point, I thought, let’s go back to Grant himself.
Let’s see again one of his<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>quintessential performances. <i>North by Northwest</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is seen as one of Grant’s best performances.
After watching the film, read the relevant section of <i>Hitchcock by Truffaut</i>,
Thompson on North by Northwest, as well as Robin Wood <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(<i>Hitchcock’s Films</i>, 1965). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Armed with all this background, what did I make of it?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">This is indeed, as Thompson claims, more in the
tradition of the Hollywood screwball comedy than a thriller. Just as Jacques
Lourcelles in the </span><i style="text-indent: -18pt;">Laffont Encyclopedia of Cinema </i><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">states, the film is a
masterclass in presenting life-threatening danger right alongside humour, much
of it self-deprecating, constantly setting up suspense and then piercing it
with humour, often suggesting that Grant is not the hero he would like to
be.</span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Wood compares <i>North by Northwest</i> with <i>Goldfinger</i>,
and claims that <i>NBN</i> is a greater film because of its moral stance. That
sounds like someone who attended lectures by Leavis (as Wood did), but I don’t
think it is a valid distinction between the figure of James Bond and Roger O.
Thornhill (the character played by Grant). James Bond films never include a
role for James Bond’s mother. If there is a moral progress in this film, you
could say it is moral progress shared by many other knockabout comedies – and the
progress is in fact questionable (see below). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>For me, on seeing the film a second time, the
least effective scenes were the most famous: the attack by a crop-dusting
plane, and the final sequence on Mount Rushmore. Why were these scenes so
ineffective? Partly because Grant, like Bond, cannot die. His persona does not
include dying. But perhaps more fundamentally, these are the only two scences
in the film where the humour, so well linked by Hitchcock, is less apparent.
For a moment, Hitchcock concentrates on the action, and pure action is not his
strongpoint. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Nor is heroic action Grant’s strongpoint. Grant
is great at one-liners, looks wonderful in a suit, but starts to lose his
charisma when in a situation of true jeopardy. Insecurity, yes,
self-deprecation, yes, but expressing fear, or looking convincing in a stage fight
is not really what he does. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>In Wood’s view, Grant through the film moves
towards a “proper” relationship with women: from being married twice (he states
they both divorced him) to accepting a “mature” love affair. The problem with
this view is that Eva Marie Saint (Eve Kendall) represents so many conflicting
viewpoints at the same time in the film. She is the sexy, inviting woman on the
train; the cold and calculating temptress who will spend the night with Grant
just so she can send him to a certain death in the interest of her mission; but
the implications of these attitudes leave the scriptwriter with too many loose
ends. You can’t commit your life to someone who sent you to your death a couple
of scenes ago. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There are also questions about Eve Kendall’s morality. How
did she become the mistress of a spy? This predates her recruitment by the US
authorities, so presumably it was a conscious decision, but she describes it
flippantly as <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I had a spare evening, so I decided to fall in love”? Such
talk worked when flirting with Grant, but makes her judgement rather suspect
when she falls for one of the most evil people on the planet. With such
knowledge, could Grant ever really be happy? Would he not suspect her to the
end of his days? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>And what about Leo Carroll, usually the figure
of authority in so many English films, stating in his very appearance that he
is willing to let Grant go to his death in the interest of security? Why, as
Grant points out, is he willing to prostitute Eve Kendall for the same end?
Doesn’t this suggest a lack of morality, rather than a moral focus? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->And why doesn’t anyone notice that Martin Landau
is depicted as the utterly villainous homosexual, who knows things because of
his “womanly intuition”? Such a line would be excised from any film made today.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">No, this film does not have moral gravity, at least, no more
than many screwball comedies. The “secrets” are so vague we are never told what
they are. The villains are stagy. No, for me, <i>NBN</i> remains memorable as
(a) the US remake of The 39 Steps, and none the worse for that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would say the achievement of the film is
Grant moving from shallow and irresponsible (and dishonest) to becoming
responsible, but without losing his self-deprecating humour. He is the man you
most want to go to bed with – and there would be plenty of laughs along the
way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>One final comment in its favour: Grant made this film when
he was 55? Yet Hitchcock managed the great feat of making Grant look at least
ten years younger, and still sexually alluring. A few years later, in <i>Charade</i>
(1963), he looked like an OAP in the wrong place alongside a young heroine.
Here, he succeeds brilliantly. Perhaps that is the mark of a great director: he
maintained the image of Grant as the laid-back, wise-cracking man we would all
like to be (even if we are all held back, like Thornhill, by our mothers).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-80430864196022918552023-08-23T22:34:00.005+01:002023-08-23T22:34:40.035+01:00A visit to the Burrell Collection, Glasgow<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbsLX2fr2H44ijjQYoUIFSAj7_WwWtv0Cs0CK5Aym2NR1vfDmzAjFfQDdh0JFDo5LZbzfRso4VErMhL0Pmi363Iw60q_pSd5L26Lbg3RAgzrsQNVi_2w6j449snikLTjSIyxmD84lIliLHfV15LDsFAN5AUQJIt8W1LJe8gaY7oQYRzQRh8RwHzjH6-6sU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="323" data-original-width="732" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbsLX2fr2H44ijjQYoUIFSAj7_WwWtv0Cs0CK5Aym2NR1vfDmzAjFfQDdh0JFDo5LZbzfRso4VErMhL0Pmi363Iw60q_pSd5L26Lbg3RAgzrsQNVi_2w6j449snikLTjSIyxmD84lIliLHfV15LDsFAN5AUQJIt8W1LJe8gaY7oQYRzQRh8RwHzjH6-6sU=w400-h176" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Glasgow certainly needs trophy buildings. After the glories
of the late 19th and early 20th century, when the University and commercial
centre competed to create the most dramatic and ostentatious constructions, the
next seventy-five years seemed to produce much less of note. When Glasgow
finally found a home for The Burrell Collection, ignoring Burrell’s stipulation
that it should be housed many miles from Glasgow because of the polluted city
air, they did the right thing and selected by competition a very grand building,
not lacking at all in self-confidence. The architects were Barry Gasson, John
Meunier, and Brit Andresen, who seem to have a remarkably low profile - I
haven’t heard of any other notable buildings by them. The project was an
architect’s dream. It was one of those rare opportunities that architects have a
huge budget and a brief to create something without reference to any
surrounding buildings. The Burrell Collection sits by itself, next to a wood on
one side and parkland the other, and the architect was able to do something
very dramatic. He chose a gorgeous pink stone, which reminds me of Philip
Johnson’s choice of stone for the Bielefeld Art Gallery in Germany. </p><p class="MsoNormal">The building was completed in 1983, and extended and
refurbished in 2022. It’s astonishing that a year later, the building looks
entirely new, with next to no sign of wear, and no indication of what was added
or changed in the refurbishment. What struck me when walking around the museum were
the vistas, with stunning corridors in two directions, and a lovely wood close
to the galleries. </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">At the time, the spaces were so breath-taking that the
collection almost took a back seat. Thinking about it a couple of weeks later,
that impression seems more and more a summary of my visit: I think the building
was the most impressive experience from the museum. Trying to make sense of
Burrell’s collecting policy escapes me. After a while walking from room to room,
the amassing of objects with seemingly little coherence becomes tiring. Yet the
building seems to exert a powerful effect on the visitor; it made me more
contemplative, the chairs looked inviting, and the space seemed somehow
special. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9K0ensBykbdKgWNA3b4xVIIxhDQ7qVZ5Dxe3p8yBtO05tVj1FwrnkkMNuXanfVrC-7RoQ-LwUSMe4IRRHnLFdoi1I8AfU-AyeBSzzWxzvka2QyMGrgsYcdJevPFk0t5fkQ-wvOuU9Gri7j6RLr4MjV35wbcaqwLC-daleyttYyWbUeq2mew5InTyyhxCf" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="732" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9K0ensBykbdKgWNA3b4xVIIxhDQ7qVZ5Dxe3p8yBtO05tVj1FwrnkkMNuXanfVrC-7RoQ-LwUSMe4IRRHnLFdoi1I8AfU-AyeBSzzWxzvka2QyMGrgsYcdJevPFk0t5fkQ-wvOuU9Gri7j6RLr4MjV35wbcaqwLC-daleyttYyWbUeq2mew5InTyyhxCf=w400-h314" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">We visited on a summer Sunday, when the museum, park and
café were full. Clearly, this was a popular outing for people in Glasgow. In
response, the museum staff had certainly worked hard to try to make the
collection accessible. So hard, in fact, that the usual principles of museums
had been forgotten. To be specific, some of the objects lacked a caption. You
could buy a guide at the desk, but that wouldn’t necessarily tell you what you
were looking at. For me, it is a basic and necessary part of the museum
experience to label what you are looking at (unless there is good reason not
to). </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The rooms with partial captions were the very rooms that
attempted to recreate the Burrell’s living spaces. But these rooms didn’t for
me recreate the Burrell home. They were too close to being a gallery – and yet,
at the same time, incompletely captioned. Items out of context. From
contemporary photographs, it looks like Burrell and his wife were surrounded by
artefacts of different periods and styles. Here, for example, is an angel with
organ:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhj4vb73SVhSuMsOD9XiUD4AbKerHO1LEYC6rGH7umddWSxyHwKqDMzpS3lAwo_9pI4yLAfmjqj-B6xIHc55eeV7ydXz9vs5bigWGUfY7DPPujmNXaWOmvALTvAha3dk8asZwhfpeTRlJSmaPYnOMkyrc1CECGK59iNnZ9McHRvFNp3ORQYaBxqsXL8gTkh" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhj4vb73SVhSuMsOD9XiUD4AbKerHO1LEYC6rGH7umddWSxyHwKqDMzpS3lAwo_9pI4yLAfmjqj-B6xIHc55eeV7ydXz9vs5bigWGUfY7DPPujmNXaWOmvALTvAha3dk8asZwhfpeTRlJSmaPYnOMkyrc1CECGK59iNnZ9McHRvFNp3ORQYaBxqsXL8gTkh=w208-h400" width="208" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">According to the caption, “Burrell displayed this angel, one
of a pair, in his grand dining room”. I couldn’t imagine anything more awkward
to explain to visitors for dinner. At least the Pierre Loti house in<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rochefort is so crazily inauthentic that the
tastelessness becomes interesting. Burrell, in contrast, gives me the
impression of a collector’s dead hand, removing the context and hence the ideas
and thinking behind the objects when they were created, and leaving them in a
collection that resembles in many respects a junk shop. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we read the captions that were present, they were
frequently dreadful. One reason is simply Burrell’s eclecticsm (to put it as
politely as I can)> Burrell appears to have been a typical 19th-century
collector for whom the amassing of objects was perhaps more importance than
understanding their context. No attempt has been made to add that context, so
the result is that many objects look torn from their surroundings in the
crassest way. Here is a fragment of a Roman mosaic:<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhI9cPY4Q88YVWeNJWF5JEM-tVoHZ2yED7IMWantTwWg6RrlVrisRy1Hykm3MXDFnALsiWjOk4cs5rfEJQETIvVIIv99ISEqSjjog6h0-U0vw9rxOvmescf7oiAy7TEslr1QtL8M4mPR_JN0kqIcB6VRotgeuaXZ1jDh5MVWz_FhZ4CjuqwCBZ0PFgqHZtK" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="673" data-original-width="723" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhI9cPY4Q88YVWeNJWF5JEM-tVoHZ2yED7IMWantTwWg6RrlVrisRy1Hykm3MXDFnALsiWjOk4cs5rfEJQETIvVIIv99ISEqSjjog6h0-U0vw9rxOvmescf7oiAy7TEslr1QtL8M4mPR_JN0kqIcB6VRotgeuaXZ1jDh5MVWz_FhZ4CjuqwCBZ0PFgqHZtK=w400-h372" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">The caption simply states when Burrell bought it (1954), and
that it was made in Italy. Such an object is a curator’s nightmare. Are there
other depictions of animals in Roman mosaics? Are there any comparable pieces
in other collections? We don’t know. Even with this comparatively late addition
to the collection, many years have passed since the bequest, and the museum
staff should have had time to say something meaningful about the objects. Too
many captions reveal a lack of attribution: “possibly France”, for example. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_konlHLBvspOIJC-YAfT4au6CyO10qJESfdf31jcbgvl10L1ZzXbd8GB5nrIeREWbRSN13SldXN-7mL6n0TqbC7C7UdGnQFh5NH_bNZrVw1b8D2XtHEWXAq7uwMUL_Md7goc-H6bQRhssHHr5FFwWq_K4qk0W6oh_sWf41soIvgPlKrgWcw1ukxK8MXbX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="655" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_konlHLBvspOIJC-YAfT4au6CyO10qJESfdf31jcbgvl10L1ZzXbd8GB5nrIeREWbRSN13SldXN-7mL6n0TqbC7C7UdGnQFh5NH_bNZrVw1b8D2XtHEWXAq7uwMUL_Md7goc-H6bQRhssHHr5FFwWq_K4qk0W6oh_sWf41soIvgPlKrgWcw1ukxK8MXbX=w257-h400" width="257" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">Here is an example, a door. What does the caption tell us? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72.0pt;">Portal<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72.0pt;">About 1175-1200<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72.0pt;">Probably made in Northern England
or Scotland<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72.0pt;">This grand doorway was probably
once part of the entrance to an important building. The are lots of different
types of fancy carving on the stonework. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Is that all that can be said about this door? The
surrounding objects have no connection with the door. Most visitors will
probably barely notice they are walking through a wonderful piece of carving. Yet
such a notable door must have a provenance, and could be tracked down. To say it
was “probably” part of an important building is ludicrous. Any building with a
door like this would be important. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dreary political correctness<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I could give many examples of crass captioning. Many of them
are an attempt by the museum staff to drag the collections into some kind of
topical relevance. This attempt sometimes fails woefully as the images seem frequently
at odds with the kind of impression the staff want to give the visitors.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Let’s face it, a sculpture celebrating the vocation of a nun,
and created after the Reformation, is rather challenging to present to a
21st-century family audience. Here is the museum’s attempt: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72.0pt;">St Walburga of Eichst<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ä</span>tt with nuns<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72.0pt;">about 1600-25<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72.0pt;">As nuns, we spend our days in
prayer and helping those in need. Joining our home, the convent can also bring
new opportunities not often given to other women. You can learn to read, write
and help the sick. You could become a respected abbess – looking after your
fellow nuns and running the convent. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, the sculpture to me looks like a conventional image of
collective piety. Piety may not be very fashionable today, but that is what the
work of art celebrates. It doesn’t excite me very much, but I can’t ignore the
theme. I might mention the colouring, and the lively gestures of the remaining
limbs, which gives the piece a memorable animation. I hadn’t thought to examine
becoming an abbess as a career choice for the medieval woman.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In fact, the caption tries its best to ignore what the piece
is about. Where do I start with this caption? Are the nuns “we” or “you”? How
can a convent join a home (“Joining our home, the convent can bring
opportunities”)? St Walburga, or Walpurga, according to Wikipedia, is famous as
one of the earliest women authors - she
wrote the life of her brother, something not mentioned here. But she also spent
26 years in a convent in Wimborne, most probably making lace – not, perhaps,
the female vocation the museum staff would want to promote.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To be fair to Burrell, he did collect some work by
contemporaries. But for every locally produced work, there seem to be several
miscellaneous items from the ragbag of art history. Even when he selects a
contemporary work, I’m not always convinced by his taste. For example, I learn
that <i>A Mallard Rising </i>(1908) was one of his favourite paintings. Although
he failed to buy it, the Burrell Trustees finally acquired it in 2022. It might
be a nice gesture to Mr Burrell, but it’s a lousy painting. There seems to be a
collective attempt by the museum not to question the founder’s taste. Even the
descriptions of the servants, in the recreated living room, describe an
unlikely utopia where everyone, servants and masters, lived in peaceful
harmony.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So that’s my reading of the Burrell Collection. It might
seem outrageous to condemn the collection, but I don’t feel the way it is
presented has done it any favours. The best exhibit is the building itself;
after all, it’s the only item in the collection that doesn’t feel as though it
has been torn from its context and lost its meaning. The building itself is fulfilling
its original function, to inspire and excite the visitor, and it achieves that magnificently.
It is one of those buildings where you walk around viewing vista after vista,
leaving you with a heightened appetite for fine visual experiences.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIhaOsvG5yARmsBA5wYwCpnnxKB_TNqcCO7zAmo5qx9-FXjANF15quk3Fv0oe_KEaov5PCuzBvh6wX_9uTm4TS_38y2jKtvK0xAA4QTLlyPU02bn5GIIESOQ11XEMv656mbDxUwNSweUOsfxVIbR6W4rX1-4RfjhHbteknX1LjP4JdVEqRA_eqMnPPj9hI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="732" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIhaOsvG5yARmsBA5wYwCpnnxKB_TNqcCO7zAmo5qx9-FXjANF15quk3Fv0oe_KEaov5PCuzBvh6wX_9uTm4TS_38y2jKtvK0xAA4QTLlyPU02bn5GIIESOQ11XEMv656mbDxUwNSweUOsfxVIbR6W4rX1-4RfjhHbteknX1LjP4JdVEqRA_eqMnPPj9hI=w400-h301" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7kr3TwOvdpYDxp4fwiw3W4WlotlYrhHNWFCgwK4OFnQKXYFAsjV1hTHsgRkidUXmmyo9Ii-d6SCrr-cITDLAacyKycJ77ERwj10ZTqkndE74eywTEAXT6ksxV343F11ZjcB6QlmiEZm4zJ1wHtmEYZzsz9xlCDNJTpz5oZ4veH3sLwg9T7muL6Fqvkhbr" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="652" data-original-width="732" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7kr3TwOvdpYDxp4fwiw3W4WlotlYrhHNWFCgwK4OFnQKXYFAsjV1hTHsgRkidUXmmyo9Ii-d6SCrr-cITDLAacyKycJ77ERwj10ZTqkndE74eywTEAXT6ksxV343F11ZjcB6QlmiEZm4zJ1wHtmEYZzsz9xlCDNJTpz5oZ4veH3sLwg9T7muL6Fqvkhbr=w400-h357" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;">To be honest, this view would look better without that old door in the way</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><p></p><p class="MsoCaption"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-74039768133753029652023-05-30T23:11:00.009+01:002023-05-30T23:13:04.899+01:00The secret of Giorgio Morandi<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFKRkDjZUyeN2L4EUKzBs3r2VPvZfClDZSvj7yemX28KGhiT_VIJOTTgksZNa2Zw4qQ4OfbxxG0veM237gi9cPPE7Mb1AW52F_Z7DHXtnW9gQiV2e_X35KWupOpLzLu7QkAW7JnXfvNjb_cfmu3qxIK_RfSNKpbj8UxPEtUMw28HqCfua59nyVougG5A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1012" data-original-width="1620" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFKRkDjZUyeN2L4EUKzBs3r2VPvZfClDZSvj7yemX28KGhiT_VIJOTTgksZNa2Zw4qQ4OfbxxG0veM237gi9cPPE7Mb1AW52F_Z7DHXtnW9gQiV2e_X35KWupOpLzLu7QkAW7JnXfvNjb_cfmu3qxIK_RfSNKpbj8UxPEtUMw28HqCfua59nyVougG5A=w400-h250" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morandi, Still Life, 1948 </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">An exhibition at the Estorick Collection comprised some 50
paintings and etchings by Giorgio Morandi, all from one collection, that of Luigi
Magnani. My response to these works was instinctive rather than rational.
Before examining the works in detail, I experienced a feeling of calm, of
concentration on an everyday object, of turning one’s back on the modern world,
since Morandi lived and worked through two world wars, without any sign in his
art of what was happening around him. Still-life and flower painting remain
today some of the most common themes of art. Many artists, like Morandi, reached
a successful theme and then painted many variations on that theme. Would I have
had the same response from looking at the work of any other still life and
flower painter? Clearly not. What is it that is exceptional about Morandi? Is
it that the viewer’s imagination is triggered by the very simplicity, even
banality, of the themes?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Morandi’s work is so concentrated around a small number of
subjects, perhaps one way to appraise it is to see if there are any exceptions.
He painted one self-portrait, which was very competent, and one work that
appears to me a failure, apparently the
only work that Morandi was ever commissioned to paint. Asked to depict some
musical instruments, he apparently changed the instruments he was asked to paint,
but still produced a very indifferent work. Why? Because the relationship between the
objects seems non-existent, and because the objects lacked the sense of
three-dimensional shape provided by bottles. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What did he paint? Possibly the most restricted range of
subjects of any 20th-century artist. All he painted (and did prints of) was
landscapes, still lifes, and flowers – and there are very few paintings of
flowers. There seems little evidence of Morandi talking about art in grand or
theoretical terms. His letters to Luigi Magnani seem to be exclusively
preoccupied with practical matters. He lived at home with his three sisters,
collecting them from mass every Sunday morning (although he didn’t attend mass
himself). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Morandi mixed his own paints, and stretched his own
canvases. His preferred format was almost square. He would adjust the objects
he was painting if they did not provide the shape or colour he was looking for,
so clearly his goal was not the exact depiction of what was in front of him; his
painting is not realistic, even though every one of his paintings appears
representational. He never painted a single object by itself, always multiple
objects next to, in front of or behind each other.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfUQHd46OhHGb6SAGsMRHdK1hm7jkYWd3QBdLLkuA9d7XQ7QK8FFEH9dUptZnpNgRy6gYhHkKd6a5jih5CBzDfAEYLyRW-lImfWltqKJ1ELf15_xC7zx5Q1u2zCCAjXtOSEU1mkNevC9cATfSO70vetjQpk3ZFwbIiz4bDZl7w24EqvAdhrHh_ITKQJA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1386" data-original-width="1620" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfUQHd46OhHGb6SAGsMRHdK1hm7jkYWd3QBdLLkuA9d7XQ7QK8FFEH9dUptZnpNgRy6gYhHkKd6a5jih5CBzDfAEYLyRW-lImfWltqKJ1ELf15_xC7zx5Q1u2zCCAjXtOSEU1mkNevC9cATfSO70vetjQpk3ZFwbIiz4bDZl7w24EqvAdhrHh_ITKQJA=w400-h342" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morandi, Still Life, 1936</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Are these works of stillness? There doesn’t appear to be
much struggle going on from his letters, nor much that critics have been able
to identify. Nonetheless, there is something going on with these pictures. Morandi
himself stated: “a painting should tell us about the images and emotions that
the visible world ignites in us [the painters].” There is certainly something
powerful being expressed, which, if it is not the objects themselves, is the
relation between the objects. His works are usually signed, in a clearly visible
way, so they are clearly a personal statement.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What surprised me on looking at the works in detail is their
rough-and-ready execution. There is no attempt to get the verticals straight, or
the handles of the jugs precise, or the perspective exact. In several pictures,
the background appears to extend impossibly into and over the space occupied by
an object. Sometimes the objects have weight, and are arranged as if in a
photograph, but in others, the objects are off-centre, not arranged in a very
realistic way, and the background is almost lacking in any perspective. Yet the
works have a powerful impact, as if these objects in themselves have a vital
significance. Remarkably, several etchings of still lifes have the same
quality, even though the etchings appear to be more conventional – following rules
of perspective and a more orthodox cross-hatching to express distance and
proportion. In one or two of the landscapes, which are usually etchings,
Morandi achieves the same arresting effect, forcing you to look at a view that
in itself is not distinctive, until you notice the relationship between the buildings.
There is one etching with a blank white wall on the right of the image – powerful
because left blank. Is this just a standard etching technique or is this
Morandi’s distinctiveness revealed again?</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilCTGlYQMuSm9iTslAUQlykzk3gsHE-URsRhzvJ4oZfWbG23Z9XBQeikbJgXygEDIAgTG7iCf2suOq1jQoTuZQUdBq9eb5mBv9nfu6I6LeMWdxZrg9Sm08FmDJ8seO9beONaqvMY4afJlcvIUY4TnpVAv8xbZfGF6hdtXYlE6DHJy9YyEh23TqgHJPuw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1541" data-original-width="1517" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilCTGlYQMuSm9iTslAUQlykzk3gsHE-URsRhzvJ4oZfWbG23Z9XBQeikbJgXygEDIAgTG7iCf2suOq1jQoTuZQUdBq9eb5mBv9nfu6I6LeMWdxZrg9Sm08FmDJ8seO9beONaqvMY4afJlcvIUY4TnpVAv8xbZfGF6hdtXYlE6DHJy9YyEh23TqgHJPuw=w393-h400" width="393" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morandi, Landscape (Chiesanuova) 1924</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Critics suggest a relationship between Morandi and Cézanne, but for me, the most similar
artist to Morandi was Chardin, who would paint some simple objects against a
matt background with the utmost respect, and almost a feeling of reverence for
them. As with Chardin’s still lifes, Morandi’s paintings are not ostentatious, drawing
attention to the execution; in fact, their details are somewhat sketchy.
Instead, they capture your attention by the sheer force of their execution, the
artist’s expression of the idea of a bottle, a jug, some fruit, next to other,
similar objects. In the end, as a viewer you start to reach for grand ways to
describe such small-scale works.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-86729537862952406872023-05-27T22:33:00.008+01:002023-05-27T22:34:17.594+01:00Identifying trees: no aliens here<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhcXgUgA7LZvz4MZ24kXOqPyke2WvwFWeh-Vp7c0jvtDVu-V0Gzz7fAeNFvArpVXkLYCNwFvDHrQRNvhOjDvj12FunNAUfVN64HnnGOBhFxYMlcLRkWgazxkMRQt1elOA2UC3nF4xrLVtmCq2t6WzsJVTCk5sTx8XALRaYW8Kcq6z6zJVF6juTMph75g" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhcXgUgA7LZvz4MZ24kXOqPyke2WvwFWeh-Vp7c0jvtDVu-V0Gzz7fAeNFvArpVXkLYCNwFvDHrQRNvhOjDvj12FunNAUfVN64HnnGOBhFxYMlcLRkWgazxkMRQt1elOA2UC3nF4xrLVtmCq2t6WzsJVTCk5sTx8XALRaYW8Kcq6z6zJVF6juTMph75g=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">London plane trees in Berkeley Square (image by Richard Croft, CC BY-SA 2.0 </span><span style="text-align: left;">(</span><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13601556" style="text-align: left;">Wikipedia</a><span style="text-align: left;">) </span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div>I attended a course on tree identification at the Cambridge
Botanic Gardens. The course was exceptional: it provided everything I could
wish. I am a perpetual amateur when it comes to natural history: I see things,
but I always forget what they are called, and all I want from a course on
identifying trees is to give me some simple method for working out which tree
is which, so even if I have been told the name in the past, I can re-discover
it. I am surrounded by people who tell me “that’s a hornbeam”, or “that’s a
sycamore”, without telling me how they reached that identification. I want to
be able to work out the name for myself.</div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The tutor, Ros Bennett, produced a simple key to all 52
species of British trees. identifying them via their leaf structure – what
could be better? To keep the experts and beginners on a level playing field, she
covered up the labels of the trees we were trying to identify, and asked those
who knew which tree we were looking at to keep quiet while we tried her key. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the most part, the identification key worked. This was a
major step forward for me; my interest in tree identification means I have bought
several identification guides, but never found one that I could use on a
regular basis. In an attempt to describe many species, perhaps they provided
too many choices. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLjqYUgoa4gaNlWkg3vLEhh1Wn6n9WtUabfWEims8wL6oJBL7YCJWfSWvrsxF396x-eMRqHrcRwuiPw6gEKZM9ZMJagRCzeU4wCZ2lPfbpRFeAMIO0KaLPturQGL95Lo96bYd0ilEI1uQ5oK2Wq0cEBYh4wQVKuqOLrTZyqp1tU0o3k_AGo6y38ZMH3Q" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="633" data-original-width="732" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLjqYUgoa4gaNlWkg3vLEhh1Wn6n9WtUabfWEims8wL6oJBL7YCJWfSWvrsxF396x-eMRqHrcRwuiPw6gEKZM9ZMJagRCzeU4wCZ2lPfbpRFeAMIO0KaLPturQGL95Lo96bYd0ilEI1uQ5oK2Wq0cEBYh4wQVKuqOLrTZyqp1tU0o3k_AGo6y38ZMH3Q=w400-h345" width="400" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoCaption">Some of the 55 different leaf types described in the
Collins Complete Guide to British Trees (2007)<o:p></o:p></p><div>This key, in contrast, worked very well for the limited
species described. Like all the best keys, you were only contrasting one or two
things at a time.</div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, what’s to complain about? Given that the course was only
one day, the tutor had to be limited in setting goals, and this course only
covered deciduous trees (although she
told us there are only three native species of conifer in the British Isles).
In addition, she revealed that, although
she has published her key in a recent book (<i>Tree Spotting</i>, 2022), she
was only using one of the keys in that book. She didn’t make any use of the key
to differentiating trees via their buds, which is also found in her book. In addition,
we noticed that of course there are other simple clues to identifying trees, such
as last year’s fruit hanging from the tree.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The final limitation, and the one that intrigues me, was
that the course was restricted to “native” trees. She confidently stated there
are 52 native species, but immediately relaxed that criterion to say she was
including sycamore, which is not native. Yet we would not consider London
plane, which is introduced, rather than native.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Hang on a minute! As a keen amateur taxonomist, I’m always
fascinated to discover classification rules that are broken as soon as they are
stated. If we are including sycamore, then what exactly is the criterion for
tree identification? I realise that we were sitting in the classroom of the Cambridge
Botanic Garden, which is full of an incredible variety of trees from all around
the world, but we know as well that a botanic garden is not a typical
environment. We don’t expect our simple key to cover everything in the Garden,
but I would expect it to include sycamore, and I would expect the course to
include very common trees that are found in streets and gardens, such as London
plane. I was also alarmed by the terms “native” and “alien”. What is going on
here? Two days later, I was walking in a London street only to discover it was
populated with gingko trees. Not so exotic, then, if they are widely used as
street trees.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Consider the flowers in our garden. Cambridge Botanic Garden
has a fascinating set of beds containing flowers that were introduced in each
century. Many of these flowers are widely grown, and it seems almost irrelevant
to try to distinguish which flowers were present at the last ice age and which
were not.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The tutor’s definition of “native” corresponded with that in
other sources:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">It is widely accepted that
‘native’ trees and shrubs are those species that have occurred naturally in
Britain since the last Ice Age. The more recent introductions that have
established themselves in the wild are referred to as ‘naturalised’ or
‘archeophytes’. [Royal Horticultural Society]</p></blockquote>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some other definitions allow to “natural” entry to Britain: <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">A native plant is either a plant
that arrived naturally in Britain and Ireland since the end of the last
glaciation (i.e. without the assistance of humans) or one that was already
present (i.e. it persisted during the last Ice Age). [Botanical Society of
Britain and Ireland] <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Other definitions, from outside the UK, are wider:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">A plant is considered native
if it has occurred naturally in a particular region, ecosystem, or habitat
without human introduction. [US National Wildlife Federation] </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Does this matter? It certainly jars when current debates in the
UK Parliament are all about controlling the level of migration to the UK. Terms such
as “native” have rather nasty connotations for a liberal like me. I would have
thought the most appropriate definition of trees I would like to identify is: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">All trees that either were
present at the time of the last ice age, or which have become widely
established since that date, regardless of how they were introduced. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want a definition that covers the trees I am most likely
to see occurring in the wild in the UK, as well as the most widely planted
trees in streets. Instead of 52 species, that might go up to around 80 (the
number included in the Woodland Trust’s “<a href="https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/trees-woods-and-wildlife/british-trees/a-z-of-british-trees/">A-Z
of British Trees</a>”,or the 114 contained in John Kilbracken’s <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Easy-Tree-Recognition-Godley-Kilbracken/dp/0862720400">Easy
Way to Tree Recognition</a> (1983, but still in print). That list includes
London plane, the Holm oak, and turkey oak. John Kilbracken describes the
situation very well: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt;">With trees it’s very different [compared
to birds]. Many species grow wild – by which I mean they are self-sown – but more
often they have been planted. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like it or not, the trees you see around are very frequently
the result of human choices, unlike birds, for the most part. I’d like to
include therefore a larger list than Bennett’s 52 species – and I’d like to
change the title, while I’m about it. It’s no doubt my hyper-sensitivity, but I
much prefer the idea of “trees that are common in Britain”, to any other
criteria of “nativeness” that seems to me arbitrary and not linked to common
knowledge. I’d like to have a more flexible definition of native – and if we applied
the definition “present at the last ice age” to humans, we would get into all
kinds of difficulty. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p><br /><br /></p><p><br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-6705446977514446842023-04-30T17:47:00.001+01:002023-04-30T17:47:12.427+01:00Labyrinth: Knossos, Myth and Reality (Ashmolean, April 2023)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbUUgBJvg4Nsu9VDzMKAt-wBOt_-tpfDOUI3u0W_4pCb6yiTE4POg0GoZNTItGoZghAb8DXD-dx8dcKl_k_OLGws25TjUiYsTjzLnFBHJk4CG-HJJPWDACI-A8Kwmdi_x-07WvJMtm5jxUV78FqyggKQckUjN3MOVrXQNfxlxrtCjO2aaGfmwzhV6Hg/s1920/Theseus%20and%20the%20Minotaur,%20Roman%20copies%20of%20Greek%20originals,%20NAM,%20Athens.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1551" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbUUgBJvg4Nsu9VDzMKAt-wBOt_-tpfDOUI3u0W_4pCb6yiTE4POg0GoZNTItGoZghAb8DXD-dx8dcKl_k_OLGws25TjUiYsTjzLnFBHJk4CG-HJJPWDACI-A8Kwmdi_x-07WvJMtm5jxUV78FqyggKQckUjN3MOVrXQNfxlxrtCjO2aaGfmwzhV6Hg/s400/Theseus%20and%20the%20Minotaur,%20Roman%20copies%20of%20Greek%20originals,%20NAM,%20Athens.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Theseus and the Minotaur: Roman copies of Greek originals, National Archaeological Museum, Athens (although you won't find Theseus in this exhibition) </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>
“Labyrinth” is a good word to describe this exhibition. For anyone like me, coming to Knossos for the first time, the exhibition does not clarify much. By the end of the exhibition, just three or four rooms, I felt more in a muddle about Knossos than when I started.
Now I have bought the guide, and I am reading the Wikipedia entry, and I hope to have a better idea of the subject at some point. But I don’t expect exhibitions to push me back to the literature to try to establish what was going on.
The exhibition lacked: </div><div><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>a chronology of main events </li><li>a comparison of how Minoan civilization related to other ancient societies such as ancient Athens or Egypt </li><li>a full assessment of what Arthur Evans did at the site that was controversial, and how archaeologists might do things differently today </li><li>detail about many of the locations and objects. </li></ul>For example, the throne room of the palace is the subject of many debates, but these were barely mentioned in the exhibition.
This was a show that left you wanting more. You could say the exhibition was trying to cover too much, but it wasted some of the resources it had. There was a looping video that purported to be an account by curators to manage collections, but that seemed so tendentious that I skipped it. It was by Elisabeth Price, and is listed in the Exhibition catalogue but without any description. There was a video of the computer game <i>Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey</i>, but no explanation of why this might be relevant to the myth of Knossos (apart from it being set in a mythical palace resembling the Minoan city).
All in all, this was a paradox: an exhibition about a topic that the Ashmolean could cover better than any other institution (given that Arthur Evans was keeper at the Ashmolean for many years, and many of the notes from the excavation are held by the Ashmolean. Yet the exhibition left you wanting more information. Perhaps what was lacking was an overall theme. Was this the story of Arthur Evans? Was it the story of Knossos? Was it the fascinating of a myth (the bull and the labyrinth) even in the modern world? Was it a comparison of how archaeological techniques have changed in the last 125 years? The combination of all these simply caused confusion. </div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">The Exhibition Catalogue </h3><div>I didn’t find the catalogue very helpful. It begins with an irrelevant paragraph about Arthur Evans as Ashmolean director, rather than excavator of Knossos, and then goes on to state “hundreds of thousands of visitors … [will] know Knossos as the location of the Labyrinth” [introduction, page 16]. Is this established? Was Knossos really the site of labyrinth? I thought this was by no means certain. The next section of the guide, “Introducing Knossos” begins with a chapter on the conservation of the site – what happened to the background and overview of Minoan civilization? We have to piece together for ourselves that Evans studied one small part of Knossos pre-history. None of the essays in this section introduce Minoan Knossos; they are all about conservation and museology (despite the Ashmolean’s director asserting on page 7 that “museum organisation and management … is not the stuff of exhibitions” – it certainly seems to be more important in this catalogue than anything telling you what Minoan civilization was. Typical of the catalogue is the statement:
Regardless of the various interpretive approaches followed over the course of time [ref 34], the material remains of the Minoan world and the masterpieces of its art continue to enchant and fascinate all who visit. [Catalogue, p33]
Quite what the “interpretive approaches” might be are relegated to a footnote – not worth discussing here, clearly.
Even the depictions of the Minotaur cause confusion. Picasso’s etching La Minotauromachie “seems to represent the artist’s own inner turmoil” - what is meant by this? Later, the description of the impressive sculpture of the Minotaur, by Despina Ignatiadou, from the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, replicates word for word her own text on the NAM website. However, on the NAM website, both the Minotaur and Theseus are illustrated, while in this exhibition, the text refers to both figures, but there is an illustration of only one.</div>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-73172473091530270572023-04-29T21:55:00.005+01:002023-04-29T21:55:50.244+01:00Mr Deeds goes to Town (1936)<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahPFVPZj8OprbNVWoSVQ8M3XcQ3zQ0qwZ05kzG3mIQSmPccYyZ7f66FlWfXy5FVLegkDdKxwDcOQTdK04YC-Nk2k20gSzT7BcXu605I9vmLpJrdGTXoea3ZJiq1SODTxOBCtM7IcBzQwKj6IeXzUFZZGA04EQEtOKxT7vfJdGO-cx9Zdd8qJN_t3xrQ/s352/Mr%20Deeds%20goes%20to%20Town.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="234" data-original-width="352" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahPFVPZj8OprbNVWoSVQ8M3XcQ3zQ0qwZ05kzG3mIQSmPccYyZ7f66FlWfXy5FVLegkDdKxwDcOQTdK04YC-Nk2k20gSzT7BcXu605I9vmLpJrdGTXoea3ZJiq1SODTxOBCtM7IcBzQwKj6IeXzUFZZGA04EQEtOKxT7vfJdGO-cx9Zdd8qJN_t3xrQ/w572-h381/Mr%20Deeds%20goes%20to%20Town.png" width="572" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoCaption">Deeds held high by his many supporters<o:p></o:p></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Watching this film struck a note of horror in my brain. I’ve
always been wary of Hollywood populism, but this film, which seemed almost to
replicate scenes of the storming of Congress following the Trump defeat, made
me feel very uneasy indeed.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have complaints about the film as film, and about the
story. Let’s begin with the story:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">We are expected to believe that a small-town
poet can outsmart the best legal brains in America simply by the conviction
that he is right. Longfellow Deeds (Gary Cooper) embodies the American values
most praised by Hollywood: simple, unsophisticated, uncultured, belief in instinct
rather than reason, belief in fists rather than argument. In other words, “right”
overcomes “might”.</span></li><li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">At the same time, the simpleton Deeds has to
demonstrate to that he can size people up w</span></li><li>A lawyer claiming to represent
the common-law wife of the deceased is literally sent kicking; yet Deeds accepts
at face value hundreds of people waiting at his front door in the expectation
that he will give them a hand-out. There is no suggestion that Deeds might want
to take advice before he gives his fortune away. There is no suggestion that those
requesting funds might not really be in need. No, under the film’s populist
ethos, if Deeds thinks they are honest, they are honest.</li></ul><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->There is a revealing scene where Deeds is elected
chair of the opera company. When he learns they have a deficit, he says they
should trade so as to make a profit. He doesn’t have any time for the argument
that opera is the kind of cultural activity that requires some kind of
financial support to survive. Funny that small-town Deeds nevertheless has a
very clear attachment to American capitalism, as if there were no subsidies in
the United States. The Metropolitan Opera, by the way, has more than half its
funding via private donations. No doubt if Deeds were running the Met he would
increase ticket prices further. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And now for my comments on the film:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Gary Cooper looked far too intelligent to be playing
this role James Stewart could have done it better. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->A film that is supposed to be screamingly funny
had some surprisingly dull moments. The courtroom scene at the end dragged,
unsurprisingly, since the leading actor said nothing for almost the entire
duration of the scene. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->We are expected to believe, for the resolution of
the plot, that Longfellow Deeds overcomes his abhorrence for the reporter Babe
Bennett (Jean Arthur) who has shamelessly exploited him and made money from his
behaviour. A few days later, he marries the very same reporter. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->The story of Babe Bennett is so full of holes it
is impossible to believe. She appears as a homeless down-and-out in front of
Longfellow Deeds, who looks after her. 24 hours later she is revealed to be a stenographer
in a steady job, and a few hours after that Deeds visits her house and her ‘sister’.
None of this tallies with her purported background as related to Deeds. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->It’s never clear how Deeds got his money in the
first place. He doesn’t appear to do much other than write poor poems and play
tuba in the local town band. Perhaps, like Trump, he inherited money, which enabled
him not to have to worry about earning a living. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->The film is full of inconsistencies. Deeds is
adamant that nobody should bend down to help him put on his trousers – a very egalitarian
idea. But Deeds subsequently has no problems being waited on by not one but two
servants. Not so egalitarian, then. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Overall, Mr Deeds goes to Town demonstrated the truth of
Gramsci’s idea of hegemony: that the United States produces more powerful propaganda
in defence of its system than repressive states where any dissent is punished.
To think, people paid to watch this film! To be honest, I watched the film for
free on YouTube, via an excellent copy that had been restored thanks to some funding,
something we all benefitted from. <o:p></o:p></p><p><br /></p>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3564401252924117747.post-62882171828181779192023-03-11T17:38:00.005+00:002023-03-11T17:38:25.864+00:00Steve Jones, Darwin's Island<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBESJR0nLDMlLNfGpqTNe8lgLM5_cpKRxvFR19JjceGFwCk7lFZoN38JMwWaus22QNxzdaGblmq9KEf7ivwLqlA3dmGZC7w8lF2NLnCGh_Nw7Txs_Ln3rKFzP_Ta6ihAlMSAPQWdUwkZwJqy8_3d-0B1SheBXmjfgl04lT1XoanpHgY1OzhrB5RStsw/s781/Darwins%20Island%20cover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="496" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBESJR0nLDMlLNfGpqTNe8lgLM5_cpKRxvFR19JjceGFwCk7lFZoN38JMwWaus22QNxzdaGblmq9KEf7ivwLqlA3dmGZC7w8lF2NLnCGh_Nw7Txs_Ln3rKFzP_Ta6ihAlMSAPQWdUwkZwJqy8_3d-0B1SheBXmjfgl04lT1XoanpHgY1OzhrB5RStsw/w254-h400/Darwins%20Island%20cover.png" width="254" /></a></div><br /><div>This book proved to be an ideal follow-up to reading Darwin’s
<i>Voyage of the Beagle</i>. It covers the research Darwin carried out after he
returned after five years on the expedition: he never left the UK again. Jones
seems to have read all of Darwin’s many other books, including, it would appear,
his several books on barnacles. To have an expert on present-day genetics taking
Darwin’s work seriously and describing its relevance – what’s not to like? </div><div>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was an interesting idea to base this book, not about the <i>Origin</i>
or <i>Voyage of the Beagle, </i>but on the Darwin books that most people
haven’t read: the books Darwin wrote about biology from his back garden, no
fewer than eleven titles (and some of them in multiple volumes). Darwin could
never be accused o not being sufficiently productive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It turns out I am reading the fourth book in a series by
Jones. The first was <a href="https://goodreads.com/book/show/17287595.Almost_Like_a_Whale" title="Almost Like a Whale by Steve Jones">Almost Like a Whale</a> (1999),
a modern retelling of <a href="https://goodreads.com/book/show/22463.The_Origin_of_Species" title="The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin">The Origin of Species</a>,
followed by <a href="https://goodreads.com/book/show/447408.Y_The_Descent_of_Men" title="Y The Descent of Men by Steve Jones">Y: The Descent of Men</a> (2002),
based on <a href="https://goodreads.com/book/show/185407.The_Descent_of_Man" title="The Descent of Man by Charles Darwin">Descent of Man</a> (1871).
The third volume was <a href="https://goodreads.com/book/show/828874.Coral_A_Pessimist_In_Paradise" title="Coral A Pessimist In Paradise by Steve Jones">Coral: A Pessimist In
Paradise</a> (2008), describing Darwin's work on coral reefs. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As you can see from the titles of Jones’ other books, descriptive
titles are not his speciality. What does this book cover? The serendipitous
chapter titles mean we have to guess what each chapter is about. For the assistance
of future readers, here is my look-up table for the chapter headings – giving a
further indication of Darwin’s vast range of interests:</p></div><div><table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
<tbody><tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td style="border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Chapter One<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 106.3pt;" valign="top" width="142">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Queen’s Orang-Utan<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 195.3pt;" valign="top" width="260">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Descent of Man<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Two<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 106.3pt;" valign="top" width="142">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Green Tyrannosaurs<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 195.3pt;" valign="top" width="260">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Insectivorous Plants<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Three<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 106.3pt;" valign="top" width="142">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Shock and Awe<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 195.3pt;" valign="top" width="260">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Expression of the Emotions in Man and other Animals<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Four<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 106.3pt;" valign="top" width="142">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Triumph of the Well-bred<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 195.3pt;" valign="top" width="260">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Orchids and The Effects of Cross and Self- fertilisation the
Vegetable Kingdom<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Different Forms of Flowers<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 4;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Five<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 106.3pt;" valign="top" width="142">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Domestic Ape<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 195.3pt;" valign="top" width="260">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 5;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Six<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 106.3pt;" valign="top" width="142">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Thinking Plant<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 195.3pt;" valign="top" width="260">
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Movement<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>… of Climbing Plants </span></i><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">(1875),<i>
The Power of Movement in Plants </i>(1880) [covering hops and other climbing
plants]<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 6;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Seven<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 106.3pt;" valign="top" width="142">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">A Perfect Fowl<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 195.3pt;" valign="top" width="260">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Books on Barnacles (four volumes)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 7;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Eight<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 106.3pt;" valign="top" width="142">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Where the Bee sniffs<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 195.3pt;" valign="top" width="260">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Orchids (1862)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 8; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; width: 49.4pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Nine<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Worms Crawl In<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Formation of Vegetable Mould<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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</tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Clearly Jones has fluency as a writer. I got the impression
this book could have been twice as long without the author drawing breath. Many
of the insights were startling and fascinating. Yet, although the book was a terrifically
entertaining read, it had limitations. Firstly, the book contained no references.
Secondly, and linked to the first, it makes some assertions that even to my less-scientific
mind look very questionable. And without references, I am forced to challenge
what Mr Jones states. In fact, some of the things he says are so alarming that
I would not reprint the book as it stands. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These assertions typically appear when Jones brings his
argument up to the present day. For
example, describing present-day Kent, formerly a centre of oyster and salmon
fishing: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">Bucolic pursuits have been
replaced by that invaluable product, “services”, which account for three-quarters
of the country’s contribution to the nation’s wealth … The flow of people, power
and cash has carved up the county’s landscape with motorways, rail links and
webs of power lines.” [p299] </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Where did all this come from? What does it have to do with
evolution? Is Jones a closet rural-England protector? Why complain about
services, when they represent such a large proportion of the UK’s wealth? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At several points in the book, the author’s casual tone
makes it not quite clear what he is intending – and I don’t like some of the implications.
For example, on page 137: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">For both plants and animals, sex
usually involves another party. Almost always, he or she must choose … from a
pool of potential mates. This calls for hard decisions. Some are obvious: whites
tend to marry whites, and blacks, black…All this means that for any man or
woman the number of possible partners is far smaller than it might be. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Is Jones saying (I hope not) that for whites to marry blacks
is not possible? I don’t think he means that, but that is what his phrasing
implies. Other infelicitous phrasing includes:<o:p></o:p></p>
</div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The belief that the children of
cousins are bound to be unfit … still fuels a jaundiced view of the joys of sex
within the household. [p119] </p></div></blockquote><div>
<p class="MsoNormal">I find this kind of misplaced humour very uncomfortable. Is
he suggesting as a good Darwinian that incest is not advisable on biological
grounds? Or is he dismissing the incest taboo as a kind of harmless social
prejudice? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is where Jones brings the argument up to the present day
that I feel most uncomfortable. </p>
<h3 style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="FR">Minor issues<o:p></o:p></span></h3>
<p class="MsoNormal">Firstly, inevitably, the book is already out of date. Although
Jones writes perceptively about the obesity crisis in the West, in other areas
he seems to be curiously unaware. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the most part, Jones writes fluently, but I noticed what
looked like a reach for the thesaurus, for example referring to Darwin as a
savant: “The savant’s attraction to earthworms ‘[p264]. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, in conclusion, a great read, particularly the chapters
on earthworms and on insectivorous plants, but at its weakest when the argument
is extended to present-day humanity. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /></div>Michael Uhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12103606889308003732noreply@blogger.com0