When Art Comes to the Crunch

Source: The Guardian

 I am at somewhat of a loss as to how to cover this story, which I inexplicably missed when it was published back in July. A well-known and highly controversial artist, Wim Schippers, died earlier this year. His final wish was for the realisation of a piece that, it seems, he regarded as having no meaning other than it being an outstandingly daft idea, namely creating a hexagon of solid peanut butter on the floor of an exhibition space.

I note that the Guardian entrusted the report to their European culture editor. I was tempted to ask our resident food and drink correspondent to compare the sculptural qualities of smooth vs crunchy peanut butter, or to get someone from a cleaning company to put in an estimate for the cost of getting the whole sticky mess off the floor, complete with musings of the efficacies of various chemical agents, but let us stay with the cultural side, and no sniggering at the back please, as we consider it as a work of art.

I have, more than once, defined art as anything that is intended to stimulate the senses and focussed on whether something presented as art can be called good art. As one who loves peanut butter, to step into a room redolent of the stuff would certainly stimulate my taste buds, so art it is. But good art? Let me invoke my three tests 

• Does it transcend the medium? Nope. Peanut butter spread on the floor is just peanut butter spread on the floor. One cannot even try to see patterns in the stuff because the "artist" specified that smooth butter be used and it was applied by the museum staff using plastering trowels. No attempt to make anything in the least bit sculptural.
• Is it original? Perhaps but every household with a toddler has probably experienced the "jam all over the kitchen table" moment. Anyway, I spread peanut butter (crunchy, preferably) over my toast every weekend for breakfast and jolly good it is too, but do I stick a slab on a canvas and rush round to the Royal Academy shouting "Let me in, I'm a sculptor of merit?". No, it's too far and I do not wish to be escorted from the premises and ejected into Piccadilly into an uncaring, possibly jeering, crowd. 
• Does it fill one's head with ideas? Does it fulfil the fundamental criterion of stimulation in a way that gladdens the heart? No. It does not move the emotions or inspire imagination. I don't pause to wonder what it tastes like because I know what it tastes like, there is nothing to look at other than a monotonous sheet of orange and I suppose one could breathe in the intoxicating aroma for a moment but then the only idea that would fill my head would be popping down to the museum cafe for something tasty.

It is not good art. It is just an exhibition of something that the "artist" did not make or interact with in any way, apart from getting others to open a few jars and stick the contents on the floor. Nonetheless the Museum Boijmans van Beuningen in Rotterdam were honoured to follow the instructions of the deceased Mr Schippers and it is curious to read this quote from The Guardian when they interviewed the museum's acting director, Sandra Kisters.

Kisters said the museum shop would also sell smooth peanut butter, so visitors “can make their own art at home”.

I wonder what goes through the head of anyone buying peanut butter from a museum gift shop in order to make art? Do they stop outside their local greengrocer, stroke their chins whilst contemplating cucumbers and think "I could buy 50 or 60 of those, stick them in a giant circle on a sheet of glass and hang them over the fireplace, be a great conversation piece"? When they visit [Ed - insert name of any well known Dutch supermarket here], do they order a gross of red peppers, a few cartons of orange juice and a basketful of  kale, go into the car park and chuck the whole lot at a fence  "to make people think about the futility of conflict"? We already know about how bananas can be used to make easy money and win awards, so it seems that any foodstuff, applied liberally to a wall or maybe just thrown around the room can command a hefty price tag and garner critical acclaim for the bloke who opened the packet.

I do know what goes through the head of museum directors, acting or not. It's the pleasing chink of cash registers as they watch another deluded customer fill a basket with jars of stuff they could have bought for half the price at the supermarket down the road. 

That's About The Size Of It

 

I have commented before on the pleasures of trying to interpret the mangled straplines attached to pictures on the screen that displays when swiping left on my tablet. It's a sort of potpourri of snippets culled from news media. Each story gets the same space so the longer the strapline, the more it is truncated, leaving us to ponder what we are missing.

I, of course, ignored the bit from the Oxford Mail about a non-existent chateau and the bit at the bottom about butterflies and went straight for the jugular. A name hitherto unknown to this column, M. Jean-Luc Mélenchon and his appeal to young French voters. An appeal that is perhaps about to be jeopardised by ... well, this is where we must speculate.  "... realise the size o" is a phrase to ponder, slowly, over a coffee. 

Let us consider the word that begins with "o". I assume it is "of". But the size of what? Here are some suggestions

• his overdraft
• his ego
• his swimming pool
• his new electric SUV
• the beef and pickle sandwich he invariably has for lunch 

Some of our coarser readers will, no doubt, assume that the item in question must be a certain, shall we say, personal, aspect  - we are talking about France, after all - but surely in the 21st century people no longer judge a man by the size of his nose. Indeed, some people with a bit to spare in the schnozzle department have been successful in politics. General de Gaulle had a massive hooter and he got away with it. Anyway, judging by the photo, our man seems normal enough and I really do not see why the next generation of Gallic voters should take exception to it.

I suppose I could click on the link and undercover the mystery. But, dedicated though we at Ramblings Towers are to the thorough examination of the facts, I think I shall just leave it hanging and let you, my loyal readers, have your say.

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READERS! What is M. Mélenchon hiding? How big is the mysterious thing that everyone is getting so worked up about? Send in your suggestions, with pictures or diagrams if you must, to the usual address. The most entertaining and yet, somehow, plausible will win an Editor's Award. 

Terms and Conditions most certainly apply. Amongst them is the bit that says that the Editor's Award shall be an attestion that the Award has been given. It may or may not be written on a scrap of paper or could just be emailed, or perhaps posted somewhere obscure on social media. No other prize, voucher, docket, token or item of value shall be awarded and it's no use protesting and organising flash mobs, the decision has been made. 

 

 

 

The Farage Defence

Source: BBC

Older readers may recall the now-infamous trial of Ernest Saunders and associates. They were accused of fraudulently manipulating the share price of Guinness plc during the 1986 takeover battle for Distillers Company plc. Saunders and co were found guilty but he later appealed on the grounds of having Alzheimer's disease and was left off the remaining part of his prison sentence. However, as Wikipedia and other sources baldly state "he subsequently recovered".

The thing is, the recovery rate from Alzheimer's is zero. You don't recover from it. The best you can hope for is to control the onset.  

The "Saunders Defence" has become a byword for falsely pleading insanity to evade or mitigate criminal responsibility. But of course, once one selects this option, one must go through with it. You cannot, as a high-profile individual, say "Yes, I may have chucked that brick through the jewellers and scarpered with a fistful of diamond rings, but let me off, Your Worship, I'm a raving loony" and continue as Bishop of Slough, whether found guilty or not. 

Forget the Saunders. We now have a much more elegant way to commit certain crimes and get away with it. And what a wonderful example we have. Nigel Farage MP was recorded in a conversation about breaking UK electoral law by receiving money from persons not eligible to vote here. He cannot deny the evidence. Is he bang to rights? Of course not. Our Nigel has the perfect Get Out of Jail Free card. He wasn't listening. He didn't hear a word. He may have nodded here and there, smiled appropriately, maybe even fist-bumped or made other exulting gestures, but his brain processed not a jot of potential skullduggery. There is no case to answer. 

If only this had been known before....

Scene: Tower of London, November 7th 1605

Sir Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury: "Guido or Guy Fawkes, you were present at a meeting with Robert Catesby, Thomas Winter and other conspirators in a tavern earlier this year. Did you conspire to use gunpowder to blow up the Houses of Parliament when his majesty the King would be present?"

Guy Fawkes: "Yeah, I might have been, I went to a lot of pubs. Can't always remember who was where, you know, have a few drinks, memory gets a bit hazy, know what I mean?" 

Cecil: We know this meeting took place. We know the names of the damned rebels and their advisors, the Jesuits acting directly on the orders of the anti-Christ, the so-called Pope of Rome.

Fawkes: If you say so, guv. Didn't really notice.

Cecil: Treason was discussed, the wickedest kind of violence against the sacred person of our King, and you fail to recall it? You ask me to believe that?

Fawkes: Well, I wasn't really listening, was I? You see, I had a lot on my mind, there's this bird down Pudding Lane and her and me, well, I was all right for that night, if you get my drift, Your Worship.

Cecil: Damnable treason, mortal sins are being talked out but you did not hear it? I..I suppose it is possible. Yes, that must be the case. But you were found skulking under the Parliament House with a lighted match amidst thirty eight barrels of gunpowder. Is this not treason?

Fawkes: Oh that. Yes, you see the thing is, this gent Thomas Percy, he asked me to check everything was all right, just tidy up a bit and that. I didn't really hear what he was saying because I had this groat bet on the bear in the baiting at Southwark tomorrow, and I thought, if I won, I might get my bird something from the fish market, bit of eel, few cockles, lovely stuff, eh your Exaltedness?

Cecil: I see. Your pleading is unanswerable. You are clearly guilty of no crime. Very well, you are free to go.  to himself I don't think the king is going to like this.

 

 

 

Spot the Sport

 

Source: BBC

The leader of the Conservative Party, Kemi Badenoch, was quoted today in a speech attacking government policies as having said that "defence spending is being kicked into the long grass".  We here at Ramblings have a fondness for inappropriate, sporting clichés (for example, this piece) but usually one has some idea as to the sport being referenced. For example, the ever-popular, and usually misunderstood, "stepping up to the plate" does refer to baseball (and not to the bravery of a waiter stooping to collect an item of crockery covered in gravy and spat-out bits of gristle).

However, Ms Badenoch's phrase has us stumped, if I may switch to a British sport. What activity is she referring to? It cannot be football, whether association, rugby union, rugby league, Australian rules or Gaelic, for none of these have areas of long grass as part of the playing area, and should the ball be kicked out of the playing area then the other side usually gain an advantage. Badenoch seems to think that kicking the ball into the long grass means attention shifts elsewhere. It does not, it shifts to the opposition.

Other grass-based activities are even harder to incorporate into the "kicking away" theme. In lawn tennis, when played on a grass court, one does not kick the ball away unless prepared to be docked a point. In golf, where there is plenty of long grass, kicking the ball during play would mean a one-stroke penalty (and perhaps being disciplined) and kicking it between holes would achieve nothing bar requiring the hapless caddy to run after it. Similarly with netball, basketball, lacrosse and hockey, should there be any long grass handy, kicking the ball into it is futile.

As to other ball-based sports, I am struggling to accommodate long grass, or grass of any length, to snooker, table-tennis, marbles or beach volleyball. 

Badenoch could perhaps have said "he's playing for time", or "he is arguing with the ref but he'll get no comfort from that quarter" or "Long shout there but the umpire is not interested", or "he's putting on even more sails but is still steering straight for that whirlpool" (from a yet-to-be-invented sport of dangerous yachting). But she could actually have said in clear English what she wants us to understand - in her opinion key decisions on spending are being delayed to the detriment of our national defence. There, not a cliché in sight. Certainly smashed that one for six.

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Readers! Can you assist Kemi Badenoch with some sharp and relevant sporting metaphors with which to browbeat her opponents and win guaranteed headlines in the media? Send in your suggestions to the usual address. In the opinion of the editor, the metaphor packing the punch, the one that really hits the ball out of the park and produces the most incredible finish will win the much-coveted Ramblings Right Between The Sticks award, a certificate that says so and a chance to meet [Ed, put some suitable name in here and remember to delete this bit].

Terms and Conditions apply, subject to the adjudication of a fourth official who is required to review anything the President of the United States tells her to review, the wishes of the sponsors and the whims of the CEO. The chance to meet [and here, Ed] is dependant on them being happy to do so on our behalf for a pittance. You will definitely receive a certificate once we get the photocopier working.

The Ratings Game

 Nearly 10 years ago I wrote a whimsical piece about an insurance policy. Actually, not so much about the policy, of which I could say very little having only just purchased it, but the request from the insurers for me to rate it. I did my best, being particularly taken with their choice of typeface for the all-important Terms and Conditions.

Today I purchased some coffee online from a regular supplier. They sent me an email to confirm it. And they asked me to review and rate the email, giving it marks out of five. They did not ask me to review the coffee, which would be reasonable. It was the email that bothered them. This is how they presented their request.  

 

I don't understand modern business at all. What on earth will they do with my reply, should I bother to make one? If I give it one star, will the hapless clerk who composed it be summoned to a meeting with a grim-faced manager and an impassive lady from HR, who makes copious notes during the grilling? If I award a generous five, does the whole customer relations department get the afternoon off and a special mention at the monthly office get-together? For something in the middle, do they shrug and console each other, perhaps on the following lines?

"Never mind, Amanda, we'll do better next time, I'll move that bit about 'not responsible for damages and defects' two lines down"

"Fantastic, Rodney, that never fails. And I might just put a smiley face next to 'Pay up on time or Big Harry will be paying you a visit'"

"Actually I've had an idea" pipes up the intern, soaking up the wisdom and experience of his mentors "I could colour the heading bright green with three underlines.".

"It's good, Taz¹. I'm not saying it isn't. But research shows that orange is more penetrative, audience engagement wise. You see the way we have done the stars?" 

"Oh, gosh, really? Shouldn't we do the whole text in orange then?"

Amanda and Rodney shake their heads gently and smile at each other. Oh, the enthusiasm and oh! the ignorance of youth. 

 Or will they send me another email? 
"Dear Ramblings, please tell us exactly why you rated our last email with just two stars. We've had a jolly good think and we cannot imagine where we went wrong. Amanda is very upset and we're sure you wouldn't wish to ruin her day. So do please get in touch. By the way, please would you review this email as well?"

What happens when, after a few days, they realise that I have not awarded a rating? Do Amanda and Rodney face each other in a windowless office, wait for Taz to bring in three coffees and then schedule some really important meetings, group presentations and the engagement of outside consultants to get to the bottom of this issue? It is, surely, no less than it deserves. 

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Readers! Your feedback matters! Kindly take a couple of minutes out of your busy schedule to review this article. We need to know if you are happy with the use of exclamation marks, whether the sentence lengths are just right or confusingly long, and whether more quotes from classical authors would raise the tone. Do please write in to the usual address. The best reviews, you know, the ones that say we have made you the happiest person in Acacia Avenue, so pleased that you have already placed an order for the next article, may win a valuable prize, to be awarded at a glittering night out in London's West End.

Terms and conditions apply, and we draw your attention to subsection 4, clause 19 where it mentions, in very small but perfectly legal print, that the judges opinion as to what constitutes 'value' is final, that the night out may not necessarily conform to EU standards on 'glittering' and in the event of unforeseen circumstances may be relocated to Croydon's West End, or somewhere cheaper.

And don't forget to send in your review of the T&Cs. The winning entries will be submitted to Terms & Conditions Monthly where they will be scrutinised, criticised, pilloried with contumely and printed with deliberate spelling mistakes on a blurry page at the back. No prizes will be awarded.

 

Footnote

1. He's back! This was the previous sighting.