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21 Aug 2011

Post 303: Um, modern art appreciation











I remember listening to Jonathan Ross' autobiography 'why do I say these things?' and between bouts of thinking why wasn't it titled 'How did I ever become famous?' or 'Why am I so smug?' the bit about 'the primary importance of pets being to teach children about mortality' made sense but I'd now add that Pets teach us what it's like to feel unconditional love. Now, I don't like to bang on about my cats too much because it makes me sound like a sad person whose only friends are his cats but one of my cats 'Ham' does really make me happy because most days/evenings when I go to lie down she is there napping on my bed, now originally my arrival was disruptive to her doing nothing so she would usually leg it, but she has now got used to my arrival, it probably took me as long to figure out I was mildly allergic to her but this is a mild irritation I put up with (pun intended) as often she'll get lonely and come and see me, and this is no Pavlovian desire for food because she must know by now that I can't feed her. So she jumps up onto the bed and demands that I stroke her, if I'm asleep she rather more annoyingly mews in my ear. I let this go because it is priceless behaviour, she then does that thing all cats do, pushes/nuzzles your hand/nose and has the kind of love in her eyes that only a pet could ever have. It is difficult to replicate this . It must be what it feels a bit like to have your own infant child need you or when your other half just wants you to hold them. I'll not go on lest I get all introspective but I was resting just now just thinking this and felt it needed to be committed to paper (or whatever this is). Much more importantly I wanted to talk in more detail about my trip to the Tate Modern with my mate Jo last week (Thursday), I've been a couple of times (once in my chair) not because I like Modern art, the highpoint for me is the smoothness of the floor, in fact liking modern art couldn't be further from the truth, I think most of it is 'crap'. In fact it reminds me of a time I went to a friends 'fine art' 'finals exhibition', I could barely control myself. Her work was genuinely good (but fancying her a lot helped), there wasn't half some rubbish, two things particularly stood out, apparently by one of the more talented artists, he had simply taken a thick piece of rope and tied a knot in it then laid it on the floor, brilliant, It was a lovely piece of rope it has to be said, whilst another had hired an old man to sit there all day looking longingly at what looked like a glass of Scotch! Maybe I am being a philistine and seeing things too literally without the veneer of 'bullshit' I should, sorry the right kind of 'interpretation' or 'suspension of disbelief'
That is the trouble with the Tate Modern, it seems designed to generate a seemingly bottomless pit of facetious sarcastic comments. I'll give you a couple of examples. I'm not a complete Philistine! I like some paintings but I particularly like works of art I can step in and be part of, which is why I like the turbine hall in the Tate Modern for it's sheer scale. The most incredible thing about the place is the building itself and the view which inspires some mixed feelings. It was from the amazing view from the windows at the top which just show what a delightful day it was. We could just see down to the right where I used to work for HSBC stockbrokers as an awful telecoms analyst and I observed that Natasha (the girl who broke my heart in 2007) and I had started going out in 2000 that we used to meet for a crafty fag on the path under Southwark bridge(far right of this picture). As she was a few years older and an established saleswoman we had to keep things quiet, she could not be seen to be fooling around with a graduate. Those were better days, apart from working hours that would make most human rights lawyers take an interest it was a more carefree time, being independent in London at age 23 was pretty cool.
This doesn't detract from the fact that the Tate Modern is full of a lot of rubbish. I think literally rubbish in some cases, there was one exhibit that I thought would have it's own section at the local dump, there was even a mirror (read this bullsh*t) (words fail me), sadly the turbine hall appeared to be empty, although there might have been an exhibit there called 'gullible fools', but it was just the right place if you like smooth floors, Jo and I chuckled our way around it before it was time to head off to the Soho Theatre at about 5:30.
The Soho Theatre along with any number of places on Shaftsbury avenue is probably the most challenging place to park and get a wheelchair into, but Jo had done her research and knew exactly where the disabled parking spaces in Soho were, and thankfully my long suffering brother who has done a majestic job in the last few weeks putting in a proper brick driveway in front of my house, he was here and able to show Jo how to open the rear door and lock the van in the absence of it working properly and full marks to Jo, she was able to operate it after the hasty tutorial, many less practical people would have struggled.
As it was, we got our second choice parking space about a ten minute wheelchair drive from the theatre just as the heavens opened, by the time I got to the theatre I might as well have been under a shower but seeing Simon Evans was so worth it QUOTE 'I'm sure some of you are struggling to place my accent, it is in fact, educated'. I'm no snob, but that is funny!

I'm supposed to be going to an outdoor music festival on Sunday. More than any other event, this one depends on the weather and I know for a fact that the promoter will be saying 'I hope my deal with the devil still stands'.The SW4 festival has always been one of those events that has supplied me with some of the best moments in my life.

1 comment:

Dom said...

Hi mate, good entry. I agree about some of the art and certainly the floor. Hope weather holds for SW4 - I recall when we went, although not the year. I seem to recall quite a lot of helium too......? Take care, love Domski

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