Images to accompany my recent exhibition review of Maidstone Museum & Bentlif Art Gallery in the county of Kent (Museums Journal, Issue 112 (05), pp. 54-57).
The museum is rightly grateful to that most capacious of collectors, Julius Brenchley (1816-73). This hoarder has been mentioned in an earlier blog posting, which also alluded to the bedroom antics of Maidstone Museum’s former curator, William Lightfoot. See “Brenchley's bedroom benefaction”. The weather in Stockholm today is terrible. This is precisely the sort of thing that kills me. What happens whenever I feel like going for a nice walk where it’s quiet and dry? The rain pours down and flattens my hair, that’s what. I wonder what it’s like back in dear old Blighty? On second thoughts, I don’t really care: I’ve said farewell to that particular land’s cheerless marshes. I swear it’s the last time I sit on a delayed, overcrowded train stuck among the railway arches somewhere between London, Liverpool, Leeds or Birmingham. There’s nothing worse than being hemmed in like a boar. Even so, I’d still like to go back now and then to chat about precious things. But, really, the things you read in the British newspapers! All those jeremy hunts spouting inane rubbish about love, law and poverty. Perhaps it’s just me, but don’t the way things are going make you wonder if the world has changed? I don’t trust anyone these days, not with all the lies they make up. True, people don’t have long hair any more. And all the pubs have shut down together with the churches. But the liars are still at large: everyone’s out to snatch your money or wreck your body. God, my limbs ache. And it feels so lonely, despite being hemmed in by so many bores. And the media doesn’t help either. I read about a gang of kids peddling drugs. Honest to God, I never even knew what drugs were at their age. I was too tied to my mother’s apron strings to worry about incarceration, castration or coronations. Actually, that reminds me of one bright spot to brighten up Blighty’s cheerless marshes. Did you see that picture on the front of the other day’s Daily Mail? I know she only suffered mild concussion, but it was a really wonderful thing to see her royal lowness all bandaged up and with her head in a sling. I wonder what Charles thought when he saw it? He’d probably liked to have been the monarch on the front cover, veiled in some regalia nicked from his mum. Why is it that he of all people should be next in line for regality? I bet if the libraries or archives were still open any one of us could find some historical facts to prove that they are a pale descendent of some old queen from eighteen generations back. No-one cares of course. Especially not those flag-waving patriots hemmed in like boars along their rain-soaked street parties that stretch from London to Liverpool, Leeds to Birmingham. Honestly, the only way to get them to listen would be to break into Buckingham Palace armed with just a rusty spanner hidden inside a sponge. Sneaking past Charles wouldn’t be difficult: he’d be too busy struggling into his mater’s bridal veil and practicing his coronation steps to notice me flit past. And I bet his mother would confuse me for someone else: “Eh, I know you”, she’d rasp, “and you cannot sing”. “That’s nothing”, I’d reply whilst prising my corroded tool from its soft wrapping: “you should hear me play piano”. This won’t happen, of course. It’s raining too hard for me to venture out. So I may as well stay here where it’s quiet and dry. Perhaps I’ll take a surreptitious peek at the Daily Mail online. Oh, look! It says here that the queen has just taken a nasty tumble... Morrissey/Marr (with Mills, Godfrey & Scott)
“The Queen Is Dead (Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty)” The Queen is Dead, Rough Trade / Sire, 1986, 6:24 11. hunt out to expel or drive from cover or shelter by hunting or persistent search; to track out; to arrive at or discover by investigation hunt, v. Oxford English Dictionary, 1989 / 2012 http://oed.com/view/Entry/89514 “Great and congrats on Brussels. Just Ofcom to go!” So goes a text message sent to James Murdoch by Jeremy Hunt, just hours before the Secretary of State for Culture was appointed to oversee News Corporation’s £8bn bid to take control of the satellite broadcaster, BSkyB. Hunt claims that this was entirely consistent with his publicly-stated position. Oddly enough, this is probably the reason why Mr Hunt will retain his job. Because the real issue here is whether Hunt was an appropriate individual to fulfil an impartial, “quasi-judicial” role in relation to News Corporation’s bid. And who was it that considered Hunt to be the “solution”? Step forward Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborne and his boss, Prime Minister David Cameron. If Hunt were to resign these two politicians would be dangerously exposed. Meanwhile, it has today been reported that the cap on tax exemption for charitable giving announced by Osborne in his last budget has been dropped. No surprise there. What is of note is the very deliberate timing of this announcement, coming as it does on the day that Hunt gives his evidence to the Leveson inquiry into media ethics and during a period when parliament is not in session. Words like unethical, incompetent, vacillating, self-serving and undemocratic spring to mind. Now compare those words with the ones spouted by David Cameron when launching a new draft of the Ministerial Code fewer than two years ago: We must be different in how we think and how we behave. We must be different from what has gone before us. Careful with public money. Transparent about what we do and how we do it. Determined to act in the national interest, above improper influence. Mindful of our duty. Above all, grateful for our chance to change our country.(1) So, great and congrats, Dave – there is no doubt about it: you really are changing our country. ___ Note (1) Oonagh Gay, The Ministerial Code, Standard Note: SN/PC/03750, last updated 27th March 2012, available at, http://www.parliament.uk/briefing-papers/SN03750.pdf.
“[A] rich mixture of foreign influences has entered our homes for centuries and continues to do so today.” So says the introductory panel to the exhibition “At Home With the World”. This is the title of the Geffrye Museum’s contribution to the laughably labelled “Cultural Olympiad”. The temporary display seeks to explore notions of Englishness in the domestic sphere. What – if anything – is nationally distinct about the homes of England given the ongoing patterns of “foreign influence” that pervade our public and private spaces? This question resonates with a line of dialogue from a play that I am going to see later this evening just up the road from the Geffrye Museum: “All I want is the England I used to know... When you knew where you were and all the houses had gardens and old ladies could feel safe in the street at night.” This understandable nostalgia is ratcheted into a gleefully xenophobic rant by a mild mannered man who goes by the name of Martin Taylor. He must surely be the most compelling and controversial character conjured up by the playwright, Dennis Potter. His play, Brimstone and Treacle charts how monstrous Martin wheedles his way into the moribund home of the Bates family. Tensions between the unhappily married Mr and Mrs Bates are exacerbated by the condition of their tragic daughter, Pattie. She lays bedridden and brain damaged following a traffic accident. Martin decides to quite literally lend a hand. The nature of his grotesque physical intervention led to the censorship of Potter’s Brimstone and Treacle. Potter wrote his television play for the BBC some four decades ago. Time, however, has not diminished the shocking denouement of the drama. So it is with a growing sense of guilty excitement that I sit in the sun-drenched café of the Geffrye Museum writing these words and waiting impatiently for the drama to unfold. Until now I have only ever seen Potter’s work through the mollifying medium of television. The chance to come within touching distance of Dennis’ devilishly disturbing world has brought me to London and the Arcola Theatre in Hackney. As luck would have it, the last leg of my journey to the theatre involved the number 149 double-decker bus from London Bridge station. It strikes me that the loathsome Norwegian terrorist, Anders Behring Breivik should be compelled to serve out his life sentence on this bus route. He’d be driven out of his miniscule mind by the glorious microcosm of London life that is played out by a worldwide cast of bus passengers, 24-hours a day. If it were not for the number 149 I wouldn’t have passed by the Geffrye Museum. This marvellous museum has provided the ideal preparation for Brimstone and Treacle. As a “museum of English homes and gardens”, it is filled with stage-set interiors charting a chronological sweep through English domestic history. The Bates’ morose middle class abode of the mid-1970s would fit in beautifully as one of the room sets of the Geffrye Museum. These museumified interiors confirm our collective obsession with “home”. Many people share the sentiments of Mr Bates: they long for a private refuge from the world flanked by a neat little garden and a street outside filled with safe-and-sound old ladies. Of course, these exact same private paradises are all too often the setting for all manner of barbarisms perpetrated by “sweet talking rapists at home”.(1) The domestic sphere is, then, a potent mixture of brimstone and treacle. Dennis Potter makes this shockingly apparent in his brilliant play of that title. I really hope that the Arcola Theatre does justice to Potter’s helping of demonic hospitality. ___ Note (1) The Blow Monkeys, “Sweet Talking Rapist at Home”, Whoops! There Goes the Neighbourhood, 1989, RCA. (After) Brett Murray's "The Spear"
See "Jacob Zuma painting vandalised in South Africa gallery" BBC News, 22/05/2012, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-18159204
What makes an event newsworthy? This is something I've been pondering in the wake of the widespread coverage devoted to Sweden's minister of culture, Lena Adelsohn Liljeroth. She recently attended World Art Day at Moderna Museet in Stockholm. This was initiated by the Swedish Artists' National Organization (Konstnärernas Riksorganisation, KRO) to mark its 75th anniversary. The jubilee celebration featured a panel discussion around the theme of "Freedom of Artistic Expression and Dialogue with Society".(1) Delegates didn't have to wait long to test the importance of this issue. As part of World Art Day, Moderna Museet provided the venue for a "happening" by the artist, Makode Aj Linde. He produced a large cake in the shape of a naked black woman with his own head peeking out at the top. Aj Linde wailed and screamed as the blood-red sponge cake was cut. The first incisions began at the figure's "clitoris". This is because the artist intended his so-called "genital mutilation cake" to draw attention to women whose lives continue to be blighted by the scourge of female circumcision.(2) One of those wielding the cake knife was the aforementioned Adelsohn Liljeroth. She was subsequently forced to defend her actions following searing criticisms from the National Afro-Swedish Association (Afrosvenskarnas riksförbund, ASR). The image of the laughing politician stuffing her face with cake to the delight of the watching all-white art darlings led a spokesman for ASR to condemn this "racist spectacle" and demand the minister's resignation.(3) Inevitably an affair such as this polarises opinion. But for me its most remarkable aspect is the tremendous global attention it has generated. I can't for one moment imagine that an august publication such as Britain's Daily Mirror newspaper has had much cause to write about Moderna Museet in the past. But its website currently has a large feature devoted to the story accompanied by a series of photographs, including a most unfortunate picture of Adelsohn Liljeroth squealing with delight as she feeds Makode Aj Linde with a slice of his (sic) own vagina.(4) Turning to a source such as Google News reveals that this incident has been broadcast across various platforms and in multiple languages around the world. In the time it takes to cut a cake, Moderna Museet has gained far more publicity than it has been accorded in all the years I have spent analyzing it. Whether this attention is merited is a moot point. The person whose bomb threat led to the temporary evacuation of the museum is unlikely to be receptive to a balanced discussion of Makode Aj Linde's work. However, all this most certainly marks a deliciously apposite high point in Lena Adelsohn Liljeroth's glittering political career. She has been a government minister for more years than I care to remember. Such is her prowess that, faced with the invidious choice of her or Jeremy Hunt for the post of minister of culture, I'd begrudgingly settle for the latter. She really is that awful. Yet hopefully even Adelsohn Liljeroth will have learnt one thing from this fracas: you can't have your cake and eat it (unless, that is, you're Makode Aj Linde and are being fed tasty morsels by a dim-witted politician). Source: http://www.sweden.gov.se/sb/d/7877 Watching Adelsohn Liljeroth scoffing a slice of "genital mutilation cake" brings a whole new dimension to the mantra set out on her official governmental web page: "Culture primarily provides food and energy for the soul" she declares between mouthfuls, before remembering to add in the important bit about making lots of lovely money. ___
Notes (1) "Fira World Art Day och KRO 75 år!" See http://www.kro.se/3561. (2) Luke Harding, "Swedish minister denies claims of racism over black woman cake stunt", The Guardian, 17/04/2012, accessed 18/04/2012 at, http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/apr/17/sweden-europe-news?intcmp=239. (3) David Landes, "Minister in 'racist circumcision outrage'", The Local, 17/04/2012, accessed 18/04/2012 at, http://www.thelocal.se/40312/20120417. (4) Natalie Evans, "'Genital mutilation cake is misunderstood': Artist behind Swedish culture minister 'racist cake' row defends his work", Daily Mirror, 18/04/2012, accessed 18/04/2012 at, http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-news/racist-cake-artist-behind-swedish-798491. My doodle reflects some of the things I learnt when listening to a talk given by Thomas Demand at Nottingham Contemporary.(1) The German artist burbled on about a series of photographs he took of models made by the architect, John Lautner (1911-94). As he spoke, a selection of Lautner's private letters and other ephemera held by the Getty Research Institute (GRI) in Los Angeles were beamed onto the wall. Hence the odd snippets of information from Lautner's life:
The same fate will not befall Mr Demand's own maquettes: he destroys them, thus preventing some future artist from demand-ing that they be co-opted into their own practice. ____ Notes (1) "Thomas Demand in Conversation with Joseph Grima", Nottingham Contemporary, 12th April 2012. (2) This appears to have been his caretaker, Francesca Hernandez. Sketches made using my Sony Reader
at the Hayward Gallery's David Shrigley and Jeremy Deller exhibitions. jerrican | jerrycan, n. http://oed.com/view/Entry/101102 "A five-gallon (usu. metal) container for petrol, water, etc., of a type first used in Germany and later adopted by the Allied forces in the war of 1939–45." pasty, n. http://oed.com/view/Entry/138659 "Originally: a pie of seasoned meat, esp. venison, enclosed in a pastry crust and baked without a dish (obs.). In later use: a small pastry case folded to enclose a (usually savoury) filling, similar to a turnover." I am a republican with little interest in the pharmaceutical industry. This summer will therefore be a testing time for me, what with London hosting the Olympic Games and the British monarch celebrating her diamond jubilee. Fortunately these two events are only temporary. They will, however, leave lasting legacies. One such is the 175,000 m2 Westfield Stratford City shopping centre. Britain’s gold medal haul would really rocket if the "Retail Relay" were to become an Olympic event. Heaven on earth is now a reality for the shoppers of London. Meanwhile, another legacy project has yet to be accomplished. And, in an effort to help ensure that it remains that way, I have rushed to my keyboard with the same zeal as a drug-fuelled athlete reacting to the boom of the starting pistol. For it grieves me to report that a group of cretinous politicians are proposing to turn the Houses of Parliament's "Big Ben" into the "Elizabeth Tower" in honour of our dear old queen.(1) Now, a number of arguments can be deployed to support this obsequious suggestion. Firstly, the name change wouldn't really matter. The vast majority of locals and visitors would continue to mistakenly refer to it as "Big Ben". Its proper – and far more mundane title – is simply "the Clock Tower". Big Ben alludes to its great bell, which in turn is probably a reference to the politician and engineer, Sir Benjamin Hall (1802-67). Secondly, the re-christening would bring this iconic symbol in line with the Victoria Tower on the other side of the building. This erection takes its name from Queen Victoria, Britain's erstwhile longest-serving monarch. Ditching Ben in favour of Liz would add yet another royal epithet to the Houses of Parliament – or, to give it its formal designation: the New Palace at Westminster. This title reflects the fact that Sir Charles Barry's architectural fantasy arose from the ashes of the old palace. Only Westminster Hall survived the inferno that engulfed this ancient edifice in 1834. The centuries-old Westminster Hall is skilfully integrated into Barry's neo-gothic design. Earlier this month the queen paid it a visit in order to witness the unveiling of a stained-glass window to mark her jubilee.(2) As she looked up at this glittering tribute, I wonder if she spared a thought for Charles I? For it was in that very same building way back in January 1649 that this soon-to-be-beheaded monarch was put on trial – and sentenced to death. Charles's nemesis was Oliver Cromwell. Cromwell was still causing a right royal rumpus two centuries later. This was in relation to the decorative scheme planned for the New Palace at Westminster. If you look carefully you'll see that parliament's façade is festooned with statues of the various kings and queens that have ruled England and Britain through the ages. This carved history posed a dilemma to its designers: what should be done about Cromwell? For the sake of historical accuracy and completeness he ought to have been slotted in between Charles I (executed in 1649) and his son, Charles II (restored to the throne in 1660). But placing a regicide in a royalist pantheon proved to be a commemorative step too far.(3) Cromwell was sculpturally excised from British history. Not until the very end of the 19th century was the Lord Protector rewarded with a statue. He stands there to this day: at one remove, deep in thought and with his back turned to parliament.(4) So, whether you like it or not, Cromwell is part of Britain's political and monarchical history. If "Big Ben" must have new nomenclature, then it should from this year on be known as "Cromwell Tower". What better way to mark Queen Elizabeth's jubilee? A silent admonition not only to this monarch but to all her heirs: they occupy positions of privilege and power not by right but by accidents of birth. Other, far less anachronistic and slightly more democratic systems are possible. The Cromwell Tower will remind the House of Windsor and all their subjects that we should not take the status quo for granted. God Save the Queen! ____ Notes (1) James Chapman, "Bong! Will Big Ben tower be renamed after the Queen? MPs call for the London landmark to be renamed for the Diamond Jubilee", Daily Mail, 23/03/2012, accessed 25/03/2012 at, www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2118999/Big-Ben-renamed-Elizabeth-Tower-Queen.html. (2) Jon Craig, "Westminster To Honour Queen's Diamond Jubilee", Sky News, 20/03/2012, accessed 25/03/2012 at, http://news.sky.com/home/politics/article/16192187. (3) The phrase "A regicide in a royalist pantheon" appears in the fifth chapter of my PhD, which concerned the commemorative history and symbolism of parliament and the adjacent square. See Stuart Burch, On Stage at the Theatre of State: The Monuments and Memorials in Parliament Square, London (Nottingham Trent University, 2003). (4) The stupendous statue of Cromwell - with bible in one hand and sword in the other - was made by Sir William Hamo Thornycroft RA (1850-1925) and completed (without an unveiling ceremony) in 1899. Ever since 1950 he has stood face-to-face with a lead bust of Charles I inserted into a niche on the façade of St. Margaret's Church opposite... ... as can be seen below: "Every day is a new day. Tomorrow isn't that important, yesterday wasn't that important. I really am thinking about today." Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol: From A to B and Back Again Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1975, p.6 william C burroughs william U burroughs william T burroughs william burroughs william U burroughs william P burroughs
Sculptor: Sir William Wilson (1641-1710), c.1680
William Cavendish, the First Duke of Newcastle-upon-Tyne is notable in Nottingham not Newcastle on the site of a slighted castle that has been unfortified upon the façade of a fired house that is no longer a home above a door that is now a window that looks into a room without a floor of a pioneering public art gallery which has now been privatized behind a paywall. assaulted, belittled, castigated, decapitated, emasculated, flayed, goaded, hobbled, incapacitated, jinxed, kiboshed, lacerated, maimed, nobbled, ostracized, pelted, queered, rubbished, slated, traduced, usurped, vilified, whacked, xoanoned, yoked, zapped Sculptor: Joseph Durham ARA, FSA (1814-77) _ JULIUS LUCIUS BRENCHLEY, BENEFACTOR, BORN at KINGSLEY HOUSE, MAIDSTONE, 30th NOVEMBER, 1816, DIED at FOLKESTONE, 24th FEBRUARY, 1873. After many years of travel, returning to England, he bought, laid out, and transferred to the Maidstone Local Board the adjacent Public Garden, and at his death bequeathed his collections of Natural History, Books, and Works of Art to Trustees, with an Endowment for their preservation and exhibition in this Museum. Alternative plaque:
Llareggub, by Dylan Thomas (detail) _ Now the town is dusk. Each cobble, donkey, goose and gooseberry street is a thoroughfare of dusk; and dusk and ceremonial dust, and night's first darkening snow, and the sleep of birds, drift under and through the live dusk of this place of love. Llareggub is the capital of dusk. Dylan Thomas, Under Milk Wood, a Play for Voices (London & Melbourne: Dent, 1954 / 1986), pp.79-80 Barbara Burch's funeral was conducted by the Reverend Richard Birch at St Mary’s Church (Teynham) on Friday 10th February 2012 at 1 o'clock. The order of service is available here, as is the eulogy I gave. At 2 o'clock her body was lowered into plot 166 of Deerton Natural Burial Ground (www.kentnaturalburials.co.uk). Barbara Burch __ 11:55 am, Monday 30th January 2012 Evan Jones (1907-69) Coronary care unit (CCU), St Thomas' Hospital, London Barbara Burch in memoriam __Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise women at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good women, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild women who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave women, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my mother, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. by Dylan Thomas (with slight modifications) |
Para, jämsides med.
En annan sort. Dénis Lindbohm, Bevingaren, 1980: 90 Even a parasite like me should be permitted to feed at the banquet of knowledge
I once posted comments as Bevingaren at guardian.co.uk
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Note All parasitoids are parasites, but not all parasites are parasitoids Parasitoid "A parasite that always ultimately destroys its host" (Oxford English Dictionary) I live off you
And you live off me And the whole world Lives off everybody See we gotta be exploited By somebody, by somebody, by somebody X-Ray Spex <I live off you> Germ Free Adolescents 1978 From symbiosis
to parasitism is a short step. The word is now a virus. William Burroughs
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