Yesterday Rupert Murdoch gave the first of two days of evidence to the Leveson Inquiry. A couple of things stood out that, when tied together, lead to one inescapable conclusion.

The first point of interest was Murdoch's insistence that "politicians go out of their way to impress people in the press".

This, he went on to add, was "part of the democratic process. All politicians on all sides like to have their views known by the editors or publishers of newspapers hoping they will be put across, hoping they will succeed in impressing people, that's the game."

Nevertheless, Mr Murdoch flatly denied ever asking for, or receiving, preferential treatment from politicians.

Is this to be believed? Well, consider this: in 1981, Rupert Murdoch was seeking to acquire The Times newspaper. Despite repeated and categorical denials, there is now evidence to show that he had a secret meeting about the matter with the then British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. It took place on 4th January 1981. Five weeks later her government sanctioned his take-over of The Times and The Sunday Times without referring it to the Monopolies and Mergers Commission.(1)

Now consider something else Murdoch told Leveson: "If politicians want my views they should read Sun editorials".

This is a tacit admission that Rupert Murdoch - as many people have long since argued - exerts a direct and decisive influence on the editorial opinions of his media outlets.

Remember that, aside from The Sun, Mr Murdoch's media empire owns, among other things, The Times, The Sunday Times and (until he culled it) The News of the World. Recall too that Murdoch's News Corp was within an ace of acquiring outright control of the satellite broadcaster BSkyB without the decision being referred to the Competition Commission.(2) This was thanks in large part to his incestuously close links to Prime Minister David Cameron and his cabinet colleagues such as Jeremy Hunt (Secretary of State for Culture, Olympics, Media and Sport) and the former Times journalist, Michael Gove (Secretary of State for Education).

For a single individual to control such a large chunk of the media landscape is wrong for precisely the reasons that Rupert Murdoch set out in his evidence to Leveson: "All politicians... like to have their views known by the editors or publishers of newspapers hoping... they will succeed in impressing people". How right he is: from Thatcher to Cameron via Blair and Brown - all have gone out of their way to impress Rupert Murdoch.

But Rupert Murdoch was fundamentally wrong about one thing: this is not "part of the democratic process".

It is the death of the democratic process.

This is why his media empire should be broken up.

How depressingly appropriate that it should fall to Murdoch's own evidence to Leveson for this case to be made rather than coming from the mouths of any of our fawning, self-serving and inherently unethical politicians.

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Note

(1) Andrew McIntyre, "Thatcher and Murdoch met before Times acquisition", New Statesman, 19/03/2012, http://www.newstatesman.com/newspapers/2012/03/meeting-thatcher-murdoch-times.
(2) The matter was eventually referred - but only because of the phone-hacking scandal at the News of The World.

Two politicians have featured on this blog in recent weeks:

• Jeremy Hunt, the UK's Secretary of State for Culture, Olympics, Media and Sport
• Lena Adelsohn Liljeroth, Sweden's Minister for Culture and Sports

I playful pondered which of the two was least awful, finally favouring Hunt over Adelsohn Liljeroth.(1) However, in the light of today's revelations to the Leveson Inquiry, I now realize that this was misguided. For any Swedes who are dissatisfied with their culture minister should spare a thought for their British neighbours. Hunt has emerged as an utterly inappropriate individual to hold public office.(2) Confidential emails reveal that he completely abused his position in relation to the attempted take-over of BSkyB by Rupert Murdoch's News Corp. For example, in January 2011, News Corp's chief lobbyist wrote to James Murdoch to tell him that he had "managed to get some info" on an announcement that Hunt was to make to Parliament the following day – even though this was "absolutely illegal!"(3)

As it currently stands, Hunt says he did nothing wrong and James Murdoch dismissed the email comment as a joke.

But this is no laughing matter.

Yet don't be surprised if Hunt clings on to his job: the government needs him to stay in post in order to protect the British Prime Minister, David Cameron.* Cameron is just as guilty of unethical behaviour in his dealings with the Murdoch empire.

One positive thing has emerged out of all this. In his evidence to Leveson, James Murdoch conceded that greater efforts should have been made to "cut out the cancer" of phone hacking at his organisation.(4) Good to see Mr Murdoch accept something that Dennis Potter pointed out many years ago: Rupert Murdoch is a cancer that has infected and undermined British society for decades.(5)

The parlous state of Jeremy Hunt’s political health is a direct consequence of that cancer.

Get well soon, Jeremy!

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Notes

(1) "Let them eat cake, Lena", 18/04/2012, http://www.stuartburch.com/1/post/2012/04/let-them-eat-cake-lena.html.
(2) A hint of Hunt's partial handling of cultural affairs is outlined in my blog posting, "Hunt's cunning stunt", 23/03/2012 http://www.stuartburch.com/1/post/2012/03/hunts-cunning-stunt.html.
(3) "James Murdoch at the Leveson inquiry - live coverage", http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2012/apr/24/leveson-inquiry-phone-hacking.
(4) Ibid.
(5) "Dennis Potter and Rupert", 19/07/2011, http://www.stuartburch.com/1/post/2011/07/dennis-potter-and-rupert.html.

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Supplemental
25/04/2012

* Another figure to watch out for is Michael Gove, Secretary of State for Education and a former journalist at The Times. He is apparently "greatly admired by Rupert Murdoch". For his part the politician is less enamoured by the Leveson Inquiry, describing it as having a "chilling effect on freedom of speech". The man is clearly beyond parody.

See Nicholas Watt, "Leveson inquiry has chilling effect on freedom of speech, says Michael Gove", The Guardian, 21/02/2012, http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2012/feb/21/leveson-chilling-freedom-speech-gove.

Precisely one week ago I was a pilgrim.

My destination was a high temple of mammon in the bustling heart of the metropolis. The culmination of my pilgrimage was inside: it lay in silent, pristine isolation within a darkened room flanked by two acolytes.

Such was its sacred value that I was obliged to remain two metres from the object that had prompted my journey. Long had I travelled, yet still there remained a distance between me and the object of my desire.

This, alas, made it impossible to read the sacred text inscribed onto the reliquary. However, I knew what it said because the same prophesy had been reproduced in large letters on the wall of the antechamber: "... I felt a loud, unending scream piercing nature."

It was here that other canonical stories were told alongside portraits of the great creator and reproductions of other icons he had produced. The end wall of the anteroom was entirely taken up with a painted image of a prophetic sky. The flowing lines of red and yellow in the heavens found an echo in the procession of pilgrims waiting expectantly. The long, snaking queue they formed was surveilled by more attendants.

By this stage the congregation had already passed through two layers of security: one at the entrance to the temple and another at the opening to the antechamber. A third barrier awaited us at the very threshold of the relic room. Holy water and other fluids had to be left at the gate. Recording devices were forbidden, presumably for fear of draining the object of its power.

And then - oh joy of joys - I found myself before the one thing that I knew I could never possess. And yet - for the two minutes that I was able to be in its presence - it was mine. The jewel was dazzling in the darkness. The reds burned my eyes. But my troubled soul was eased.

For are we not told again and again that we live in the age of angst? Hell and damnation are just around the corner. The future is to be feared. We find temporary salvation in past perturbations: sunken ships being particularly popular just now.(1)

What better way to silence past pains and future fears than to stand before a silent scream of anguish?

And it was now or never: the relic might never be accessible to me again. This is because it stands at a liminal moment between private ownership and public auction. Perhaps its future owner will opt to be cremated with the relic in a last desperate attempt to disprove the adage that there are no pockets in a shroud?(2)

Surely no public institution could scrape together the requisite sum when it goes to auction in New York on 2nd May? Its financial value is boosted by the knowledge that, whilst there are other versions of the same relic, these all exist in public institutions and will thus never come on the market.

Oh, how I thanked the great auction house for allowing a humble nonentity like myself to enter their hallowed halls. It was an honour to be at the receiving end of the surly contempt dished out by the officiators and the disdain of their fellow apron-clad operatives.

Indeed, it felt as if I had been singled out for special treatment. I stood and queued not once but twice to be in the presence of holiness. On my second visit I lingered longer than my fellow true believers and fell into conversation with one of the acolytes standing guard. I was rather shocked to discover that he was a normal person - a pilgrim like me. Soon the others left. I was alone with the security team and one other person. His accoutrements marked him out as a Very Special Person: around his neck were several cameras. Surely no-one normal could be allowed such equipment, especially of such phallic magnitude as the long lens he held in his skilful hands.

I too held something that, I think, helped ensure I was able to dwell a little longer than the others: a pen and notepad. Moreover, my closely cropped hair and rather ridiculous beard perhaps marked me out as someone who just might possibly be out-of-the-ordinary and important enough not to treat with the usual contempt reserved for "the public".

Be that as it may, I was able to witness a miracle. For lo and behold, the ceiling began to slide back and in shot radiant shafts of sunlight. What is more, one of the two glass screens standing between me and the relic was drawn aside. This, it transpired, was because The Camera Man worked for a hallowed organisation referred to cryptically as "The F.T." and he was here to take a photograph of the relic and its current owner!(3) The glass was therefore a hindrance - so too was the darkness.

So I watched in awe as blinding light flooded into the room. I had a sudden urge to gather together the security team and arrange them into a pose plastique of Caravaggio's Conversion of Saint Paul (after all, we all saw the light but heard not the voice).

Surely I could never dream of experiencing anything so wondrous?

But what was this? In the cold light of day I noticed that much of the relic's appeal lay in clever lighting. Any old golden-framed scrap of cardboard would have looked special when exposed to such trickery. As the reds and oranges faded in the sunlight I realised that this was no relic. It was a false idol.

I remained rooted to the spot. More acolytes came. They were evidently getting increasingly anxious because the owner was delayed doing something else. The crowds outside were lengthening. Something had to be done. So The Scream's screen was replaced and the natural light shut out once more. The room's interior slowly disappeared and the relic shone forth again.

Returned to the darkness, I began to castigate myself: Oh, ye of little faith! How could I have doubted my belief in Art? The vision had been there all the time. It was I who had wavered.

Soon the chamber was filled with other pilgrims and the two minute rule was enforced.

I was ejected and found myself amongst other artworks.

But I had been changed by my recent experiences. I began to look more critically at the second-rate relics that surrounded me. These were clearly of a lower order. They were rudely stacked together cheek by jowl. Is it not the case that, when one has been touched by greatest, mere brilliance leaves one disenchanted? This was exacerbated by the fact that I could come as close as I liked to these tawdry things with their million dollar price tags.

I sidled up to other images by the same disciple who had produced the relic before which I had just genuflected. One was described as being "Property from a European private collection". Yet four others, apparently of equal authenticity and appeal, were marked as "Property from an important private collection".(4)

How curious! Value is clearly not inherent in the relic itself; greatness is at least in part conferred on it by the significance of the anonymous owner.

Ownership of a different kind struck me when it came to another work, namely Bridle Path painted in 1939 by the American artist, Edward Hopper (1882-1967). This was described as follows:

"Property of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, sold to benefit acquisitions."

Isn't that a bit like divorcing a spouse in order to save one's marriage?

This got me thinking about the great relic next door. Maybe its cousins in public collections aren't quite as immune from sale as we might suppose? What goes for San Francisco Museum of Modern Art might, one day, apply to Norway's National Gallery or Munch Museum...

In an effort to repress this troubling thought, I started to ponder who was behind the present sale - and why? In search of answers I sneaked back to the antechamber and consulted the oracles on the walls. Its vendor is Petter Olsen, a businessman whose ship-owning father - Thomas Fredrik Olsen (1897-1969) - was a neighbour of the artist, Edvard Munch. Olsen junior skilfully deployed the same sort of logic as the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art: the work was being sold on the pretext of wishing to establish a new museum devoted to the artist.

The text neglected to mention one other interesting fact: the owner's older brother had been disinherited of the majority of the artworks that his father had acquired. This triggered a long and costly legal battle that was eventually won by Petter Olsen.(5) Had his brother Fred triumphed, would he have chosen to flog off his family inheritance like young Petter?

All this sibling rivalry sounds like a Nordic version of the story of Isaac and his twin sons Esau and Jacob. Oh, the religious parallels! And what better way to mask the fact that the saga described here is entirely about earthly power and riches than by dressing it up with pseudo-religious paraphernalia?

Knowing as I do that "even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table" (Matthew 15:27), I assembled a collection of mementos of my visit. These included the thickest, most luxurious napkin I have ever touched. Embossed on it are silver letters that spell the word: Sotheby's. I also retained an apparently free pen and a leaflet with thumbnail reproductions of the things I had seen. I even bought a special book, the cover of which is embossed with an image of the relic.(6)

Eventually I made moves to leave the temple. At the doorway I was met with the anguished cries of those who were told that the queues to see the sacred object had reached such magnitude that would-be pilgrims were being turned away.

Finding myself on the streets once more I came face to face with a reproduction of the relic. This too had a certain majesty, courtesy of its glassy, golden architectural surround. People walked by. Yet even these non-believers - who clearly had no wish to enter - murmured to each other in knowing recognition of what they glimpsed in the window.

I decided to make my way to another temple known as Forbidden Planet. I arrived to the plaintive cry of a young boy aged about six or seven. Oblivious to his father's attempts to placate him he wailed repeatedly: "I just want to buy something!"

This young lad had already learnt one of life's crucial lessons: we consumers are fated never to be satisfied because we know that there is always something better just beyond our reach. That's why Edvard Munch's The Scream is so important. It is at the apex of the consumer market. The ultimate commodity. Tastes will change but its values are - we are led to believe - eternal.

Pilgrims of the past used to acquire souvenirs to show that they had been on a pilgrimage. I have a reproduction of one such pilgrim badge depicting the early British Christian martyr, Saint Alban. He is shown in rude health despite having just being decapitated. The scene is all too much for the Roman soldier standing alongside: in his hands he holds his eyes, which have literally popped out of their sockets in disbelief.

I travelled to Forbidden Planet to acquire a little memento of my day. And I found the perfect thing: a plastic pigeon complete with plastic pooh.(7) A bargain at £44.99 ("How much?" cried my wife!) This foul fowl will decorate our new home, greeting unsuspecting visitors as they enter. These guests may very well think that they are looking at a pathetic plastic toy acquired by an immature weirdo. Yet they will in truth be in close proximity to pure genius: a plastic piece of the true cross. Just like my battered version of The Screaming Scream seen in the video above.

Because, I scream, you scream, we all scream for Edvard Munch's many, many, many Screams.(8)

___
Notes

(1) Two such ships currently being commemorated are RMS Titanic (sank 15th April 1912) and HMS Sheffield. The latter saw service during the Falklands War. It was attacked by an Argentine Lockheed P-2 Neptune aircraft on 4th May 1982 and sank six days later. Ten crewmen died - as I heard this morning in a very moving episode of BBC Radio 4's series, The Reunion (http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01dmdnb#synopsis).
(2) This is a reference to the Japanese businessman, Ryoei Saito. In 1990 he acquired Vincent van Gogh's Portrait of Dr. Gachet for the then record-breaking sum of $82.5m. Rumours have since circulated that he issued instructions for it to be cremated with him when he died in 1996. Its location remains uncertain.
(3) The photographer in question appears to have been Charlie Bibby. His highly amusing image was used to illustrate the following article, Peter Aspden, "So, what does The Scream mean?", Financial Times,  21/04/2012, accessed 22/04/2012 at, http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/42414792-8968-11e1-85af-00144feab49a.html.
(4) These are, respectively, Edvard Munch's Summer Night (1917, see Woll, Vol. 3, No. 1235); Woman Looking in the Mirror (1892, see Woll, Vol. 1, No. 270); Clothes on a Line in Åsgårdstrand (1902, see Woll, Vol. 2, No. 529); Night in Saint-Cloud (n.d., see Woll, Vol. 3, No. 287); and The Sower (1913, see Woll, Vol. 3, No. 1043). See Gerd Woll's four-volume catalogue raisonné, Edvard Munch: Complete Paintings (London: Thames & Hudson, 2009).
(5) Gro Rognmo, "Lillebror Olsen tok siste stikk", Dagbladet, 06/06/2011, accessed 20/04/2012 at, http://www.dagbladet.no/nyheter/2001/06/06/261987.html.
(6) Sue Prideaux, Reinhold Heller, Adam Gopnik & Philip Hook, Edvard Munch: The Scream (New York: Sotheby's, 2012).
(7) This is a  Kidrobot Staple Pigeon. See http://stapledesign.com/2011/11/kidrobot-staple-pigeon.
(8) The famous phrase "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream" is from the brilliant film Down by Law directed by Jim Jarmusch (1986):

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).

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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:

• "Do I have to give up brie?"
• "I married a Mexican after my second wife died."(2)
• "The magic is reality. Therefore there is no reality."

Demand informed the audience that Lautner's models were currently rotting away in the arcane stores of the GRI.

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.

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Notes

(1) "Thomas Demand in Conversation with Joseph Grima", Nottingham Contemporary, 12th April 2012.
(2) This appears to have been his caretaker, Francesca Hernandez.