Today’s G2 includes a feature on twenty works of art to see before you die.
If this is strict advice, then it’s not very articulate – mainly because the twenty works of art are printed in the paper.
So technically, I have seen them and I’m still alive.
Luckily, the Guardian asks its readers to choose their own definitive lists of must-see masterpieces.
I say ‘luckily’ because I really do not agree with Jonathan Jones’s choice.
I’m by no means an art critic, but I know what I like and in respect of this, here is my list in no particular order;
1. ‘A Student’ Amadeo Modigliani
2. ‘My Parents’ David Hockney – currently on show at the National Portrait Gallery.
3. ‘John Donne, The Melancholy Lover’ artist unknown. It’s kept in the National Portrait Gallery.
4. ‘Rue Mouffetard Paris, 1954’ Henri Cartier-Bresson.
5. ‘The Virgin Mother’ Damien Hirst – I saw this over the summer at the Royal Academy and it is breath-taking.
6. ‘Christ of Saint John of the Cross’ Salavador Dali
7. ‘The Adoration of the Magi’ Leonardo Da Vinci – ok, so I agree with Jones on this one.
8. ‘Guernica’ Pablo Picasso – oops! I agree with Jones again!
9. ‘Marilyn’ Andy Warhol.
10. ‘Girl with a Pearl Earring’ Johannes Vermeer.
11. ‘Triptych of the Virgin Child with Saints’ Cologne School.
12. ‘Isabella and the Pot of Basil’ William Holman Hunt.
13. ‘The Kiss’ Auguste Rodin – this is on show at the Royal Academy until January 2007.
14. ‘Drowning Girl’ Roy Lichtenstein.
15. ‘The Kiss’ Gustav Klimt.
16. ‘L’Oeuil Rouge’ Joan Miro.
17. ‘Moulin Rouge – La Goulue’ Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.
18. ‘The Great Wave’ Hokusai – this is an absolute, absolute favourite!
19. ‘Birth of Venus’ Sandro Botticelli.
20. ‘David’ – Michelangelo. Just because.
I’m very sorry that I haven’t included any pictures – I promise you that they are all spectacular and it’s a good chance to discover them!
This is all.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Oh My, Private Eye!
Having never ever read Private Eye, Chris Horrie instantly placed it into my hands and told me to blog it.
So this is precisely what I’m doing, although I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing.
Apparently Ian Hislop has been editing the paper for 20 years, something which the central section is dedicated to.
Hislop has chosen his ‘favourite’ covers of the last twenty years to celebrate his editorial anniversary.
The front page of Private Eye is certainly distinctive and famous for its tongue-and-cheek picture of the rich and famous with comical cartoon-esque speech bubbles superimposed.
This weeks cover sees a story board of ‘Macca’ and ‘Mucca’ as the tabloids like to call them – they are more commonly know as Sir Paul McCartney and Heather Mills.
The speech bubbles follow:
Paul: Do you promise to make me look an idiot and take most of my fortune?
Heather: I do.
To be perfectly honest, I’m fed up with hearing about what is possibly the messiest divorce in history – it’s just so full of muck-raking, but a good example here of the kinds of covers Private Eye produces.
Quite rightly however, the paper describes the seemingly never-ending divorce proceedings of the couple as a ‘saga’.
What did interest me however, is that most lawyers actually advise against mud-slinging in divorce cases as it doesn’t have an effect upon the outcome of custody or the division of wealth.
Why, oh why then, can I never escape the image of these two in the news with a fresh barrage of mud having been slung?!
Moving on, some other articles that caught my eye…
The Identity Card Scheme.
Private Eye tells me that the Identity and Passport Service is actually going to recruit interviewers to find out if people really are who they say they are before issuing ID cards.
Is this not the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard?!
I’d genuinely like to know how interviewing people will ascertain something which has been a fact since birth!
What if my personality in interview circumstances doesn’t match my astrological chart and passport photo?
Furthermore, who is going to interview the interviewers to find out if they are who they say they are, and so on…
The Street of Shame.
Some quotes from the Daily Mail caught my attention and gave me a little bit of a chuckle:
10/10/06 – “Let them eat white bread – it really IS healthy.”
20/10/06 – “Eating lots of white bread ‘can raise the risk of cancer’.”
Oh dear.
Political Satire at its Best.
A play on G. Dubya Bush and his many ‘isms’ – “A Message From The Rev. Dubya of The Church of The Latter-Day Morons.”
Some closing thoughts:
I’m not sure whether I’ll be a regular or loyal reader of Private Eye, but it definitely added a little cheer to my evening after a heavy day of presentations.
If you fancy giving it a read, check out the website: www.private-eye.co.uk
And Finally…
The NUJ has warned journalism students “to have their eyes wide open to the fact that graduate trainee contracts from Richard Desmond may not be worth the paper they are written on.”
So this is precisely what I’m doing, although I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing.
Apparently Ian Hislop has been editing the paper for 20 years, something which the central section is dedicated to.
Hislop has chosen his ‘favourite’ covers of the last twenty years to celebrate his editorial anniversary.
The front page of Private Eye is certainly distinctive and famous for its tongue-and-cheek picture of the rich and famous with comical cartoon-esque speech bubbles superimposed.
This weeks cover sees a story board of ‘Macca’ and ‘Mucca’ as the tabloids like to call them – they are more commonly know as Sir Paul McCartney and Heather Mills.
The speech bubbles follow:
Paul: Do you promise to make me look an idiot and take most of my fortune?
Heather: I do.
To be perfectly honest, I’m fed up with hearing about what is possibly the messiest divorce in history – it’s just so full of muck-raking, but a good example here of the kinds of covers Private Eye produces.
Quite rightly however, the paper describes the seemingly never-ending divorce proceedings of the couple as a ‘saga’.
What did interest me however, is that most lawyers actually advise against mud-slinging in divorce cases as it doesn’t have an effect upon the outcome of custody or the division of wealth.
Why, oh why then, can I never escape the image of these two in the news with a fresh barrage of mud having been slung?!
Moving on, some other articles that caught my eye…
The Identity Card Scheme.
Private Eye tells me that the Identity and Passport Service is actually going to recruit interviewers to find out if people really are who they say they are before issuing ID cards.
Is this not the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard?!
I’d genuinely like to know how interviewing people will ascertain something which has been a fact since birth!
What if my personality in interview circumstances doesn’t match my astrological chart and passport photo?
Furthermore, who is going to interview the interviewers to find out if they are who they say they are, and so on…
The Street of Shame.
Some quotes from the Daily Mail caught my attention and gave me a little bit of a chuckle:
10/10/06 – “Let them eat white bread – it really IS healthy.”
20/10/06 – “Eating lots of white bread ‘can raise the risk of cancer’.”
Oh dear.
Political Satire at its Best.
A play on G. Dubya Bush and his many ‘isms’ – “A Message From The Rev. Dubya of The Church of The Latter-Day Morons.”
Some closing thoughts:
I’m not sure whether I’ll be a regular or loyal reader of Private Eye, but it definitely added a little cheer to my evening after a heavy day of presentations.
If you fancy giving it a read, check out the website: www.private-eye.co.uk
And Finally…
The NUJ has warned journalism students “to have their eyes wide open to the fact that graduate trainee contracts from Richard Desmond may not be worth the paper they are written on.”
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families.
In yesterday’s Independent Magazine, I read an article about the continuing crisis in Darfur. It got me thinking.
Why is it that we continually appease the often evil nature of humanity? Not just in the present day, but throughout history.
In 1939 the allies went to war with Hitler’s Germany after a consistent policy of appeasement by Chamberlain.
War finally begun, not because of the ‘Jewish question’ and ‘final solution’, but because the Nazis invaded Poland.
The allies knew something of the horrors facing Jews in German occupied territory before the war.
Even so, in 1940 around 50,000 ‘enemy aliens’ were rounded up in the UK because of their German origins. Of these, many were actually Jewish refugees who were very anti-Hitler.
They were still sent away to camps.
After the war, the extent of the atrocities which took place in the concentration camps and extermination camps came more fully to light.
The world looks back in horror at the brutal nature of Hitler’s regime – the millions upon millions of men, women and children who suffered. The millions who died a horrifying death.
The Holocaust is often held as a reference point to any later atrocities as the first modern genocide and an extreme case of racial cleansing.
The 1948 Genocide Convention recognised that genocide is a crime under international law and is to be condemned by the civilized world, who undertake to prevent and to punish such acts from taking place.
It defines genocide as ‘acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group’.
It seems to me that this convention is simply something which hopes to compensate for the lives destroyed during the Holocaust.
Has it really prevented any other horrific act of mankind since?
Stalin’s purges?
Pol Pot’s regime?
The horror of Bosnia-Herzegovina?
The atrocity of the Rwandan people in the latter part of the twentieth century and 1994 especially, is something which often creeps into my mind when confronted with issues such as this.
The seeds of genocide in Rwanda started as early as 1959 and came to a head in 1994 when between 500,000 and 800,000 Tutsi were murdered at the hands of Hutus in just over four months.
The dead of Rwanda accumulated at nearly three times the rate of Jewish dead during the Holocaust, yet the US refused to recognise the events as a genocide.
As Philip Gourevitch records in his book “We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families”, ‘neighbours hacked neighbours to death in their homes, and colleagues hacked colleagues to death in their workplaces. Doctors killed their patients, and schoolteachers killed their pupils.’
In Rwanda, the dismembered skeletons of Hutu Power’s victims remain in the killing fields as a permanent memorial to what happened.
One of the main Internally Displaced Persons camps in Darfur is called “Rwanda”.
This isn’t because of the Rwandan genocide, but even so, the image of this atrocity is immediately called to mind.
According to The Independent, over 2 million people from the Darfur region are ‘living’ in displacement camps on desert land in Sudan. These people are the luckier ones.
These are the people who survived the Sudanese government’s policy which burnt down their homes.
But they live in constant fear of the Janjaweed, who carry out frequent killing sprees.
Since 2003 more than 85,000 people have been killed and 200,000 have died from war-related illnesses.
According to The Independent, the conflict has become all the more complicated than the straightforward story of genocide carried out by Arabs against blacks.
The peace-keeping in Darfur at present is controlled by the African Union. But their powers of security are limited.
They have all but given up trying to prevent more deaths and now just record incidents.
The UN on the other hand can only enter the region if the government gives its approval. This is not likely to happen.
If on the off chance it does happen, no British or American soldiers will be sent.
Outside the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington are the slogans ‘Remember’ and ‘Never Again’.
But it has happened again.
Of his experiences in a concentration camp during the Holocaust, Primo Levi wrote that ‘it happened, therefore it can happen again … it can happen, and it can happen everywhere.’
We seem to find it so easy to forget these heinous events.
The horror over the famine in Niger lasted for about two weeks.
We aren’t in the same position as these people. We don’t live on a barren wasteland in constant fear that this day could be our last.
We return to our homes and families at the end of a stressful day and moan about how hard life is.
Moan about the weather. Moan about tax. So trivial.
Christmas is fast approaching. The lights have gone up in almost every town centre in the country and the shops are full of the joys of the season.
The season of giving.
The season of hope.
How can we give the people of Darfur a little hope for a future?
Why is it that we continually appease the often evil nature of humanity? Not just in the present day, but throughout history.
In 1939 the allies went to war with Hitler’s Germany after a consistent policy of appeasement by Chamberlain.
War finally begun, not because of the ‘Jewish question’ and ‘final solution’, but because the Nazis invaded Poland.
The allies knew something of the horrors facing Jews in German occupied territory before the war.
Even so, in 1940 around 50,000 ‘enemy aliens’ were rounded up in the UK because of their German origins. Of these, many were actually Jewish refugees who were very anti-Hitler.
They were still sent away to camps.
After the war, the extent of the atrocities which took place in the concentration camps and extermination camps came more fully to light.
The world looks back in horror at the brutal nature of Hitler’s regime – the millions upon millions of men, women and children who suffered. The millions who died a horrifying death.
The Holocaust is often held as a reference point to any later atrocities as the first modern genocide and an extreme case of racial cleansing.
The 1948 Genocide Convention recognised that genocide is a crime under international law and is to be condemned by the civilized world, who undertake to prevent and to punish such acts from taking place.
It defines genocide as ‘acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group’.
It seems to me that this convention is simply something which hopes to compensate for the lives destroyed during the Holocaust.
Has it really prevented any other horrific act of mankind since?
Stalin’s purges?
Pol Pot’s regime?
The horror of Bosnia-Herzegovina?
The atrocity of the Rwandan people in the latter part of the twentieth century and 1994 especially, is something which often creeps into my mind when confronted with issues such as this.
The seeds of genocide in Rwanda started as early as 1959 and came to a head in 1994 when between 500,000 and 800,000 Tutsi were murdered at the hands of Hutus in just over four months.
The dead of Rwanda accumulated at nearly three times the rate of Jewish dead during the Holocaust, yet the US refused to recognise the events as a genocide.
As Philip Gourevitch records in his book “We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families”, ‘neighbours hacked neighbours to death in their homes, and colleagues hacked colleagues to death in their workplaces. Doctors killed their patients, and schoolteachers killed their pupils.’
In Rwanda, the dismembered skeletons of Hutu Power’s victims remain in the killing fields as a permanent memorial to what happened.
One of the main Internally Displaced Persons camps in Darfur is called “Rwanda”.
This isn’t because of the Rwandan genocide, but even so, the image of this atrocity is immediately called to mind.
According to The Independent, over 2 million people from the Darfur region are ‘living’ in displacement camps on desert land in Sudan. These people are the luckier ones.
These are the people who survived the Sudanese government’s policy which burnt down their homes.
But they live in constant fear of the Janjaweed, who carry out frequent killing sprees.
Since 2003 more than 85,000 people have been killed and 200,000 have died from war-related illnesses.
According to The Independent, the conflict has become all the more complicated than the straightforward story of genocide carried out by Arabs against blacks.
The peace-keeping in Darfur at present is controlled by the African Union. But their powers of security are limited.
They have all but given up trying to prevent more deaths and now just record incidents.
The UN on the other hand can only enter the region if the government gives its approval. This is not likely to happen.
If on the off chance it does happen, no British or American soldiers will be sent.
Outside the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington are the slogans ‘Remember’ and ‘Never Again’.
But it has happened again.
Of his experiences in a concentration camp during the Holocaust, Primo Levi wrote that ‘it happened, therefore it can happen again … it can happen, and it can happen everywhere.’
We seem to find it so easy to forget these heinous events.
The horror over the famine in Niger lasted for about two weeks.
We aren’t in the same position as these people. We don’t live on a barren wasteland in constant fear that this day could be our last.
We return to our homes and families at the end of a stressful day and moan about how hard life is.
Moan about the weather. Moan about tax. So trivial.
Christmas is fast approaching. The lights have gone up in almost every town centre in the country and the shops are full of the joys of the season.
The season of giving.
The season of hope.
How can we give the people of Darfur a little hope for a future?
Friday, October 27, 2006
Photography
I found Colin Jacobson’s lecture on photojournalism and citizen journalism really interesting today – perhaps the most thought-provoking lecture so far.
I’ve always had an interest in photography and love taking photos.
These photos are usually of drunken nights out or family parties where I’ve been lumbered with the ‘chore’ of documenting said occasions.
It doesn’t bother me though.
I cherish these images that I have collected of my friends and family – people who mean so much to me.
I’m really keen to develop a greater flair for photography. (I’m geekishly interested in the now rather old-fashioned way of developing photos in a dark room)
I love the originality and unique qualities that many photographs have and hope that someday I can bring this to some of the pictures I take.
Last summer I saw an exhibition of my favourite photographer’s work in Edinburgh.
Henri Cartier-Bresson.
I’m always fascinated by the way he captures people in his lens. How he captures events.
(If you don’t know Cartier-Bresson’s work, find Rue Mouffetard, Paris 1954 – it hands on my bedroom wall at home!)
Back to Colin’s lecture – it still amazes me that in this day and age, so many of the images we are shown are actually controlled by the powers that be.
For example, the US staging the control of Haiti airport in 1994 for the benefit of the press.
Forceful propaganda is so often attributed to extremists such as Hitler and Stalin.
In reality however, every government controls what the public sees in order to ensure that we take their side.
In recent times, this was most famously undermined by the Abu Ghraib photographs taken by American troops.
The ‘just’ nature of the second Gulf war exploded just as suddenly as the first bombs were dropped on Baghdad.
It seems that we aren’t living in a democracy at all, even though our leaders are forcing this notion onto so-called undemocratic countries.
Are the governments of America, Britain et al any better than the various autocratic regimes around the world?
Society is Orwellian. We are constantly being watched. Constantly being fed spin. Constantly being undermined in our view of what ‘truth’ is.
“While photographs may not lie, liars may photograph. It becomes necessary then to see to it that the camera we depend on contracts no bad habits.” – Lewis Hine.
I’ve always had an interest in photography and love taking photos.
These photos are usually of drunken nights out or family parties where I’ve been lumbered with the ‘chore’ of documenting said occasions.
It doesn’t bother me though.
I cherish these images that I have collected of my friends and family – people who mean so much to me.
I’m really keen to develop a greater flair for photography. (I’m geekishly interested in the now rather old-fashioned way of developing photos in a dark room)
I love the originality and unique qualities that many photographs have and hope that someday I can bring this to some of the pictures I take.
Last summer I saw an exhibition of my favourite photographer’s work in Edinburgh.
Henri Cartier-Bresson.
I’m always fascinated by the way he captures people in his lens. How he captures events.
(If you don’t know Cartier-Bresson’s work, find Rue Mouffetard, Paris 1954 – it hands on my bedroom wall at home!)
Back to Colin’s lecture – it still amazes me that in this day and age, so many of the images we are shown are actually controlled by the powers that be.
For example, the US staging the control of Haiti airport in 1994 for the benefit of the press.
Forceful propaganda is so often attributed to extremists such as Hitler and Stalin.
In reality however, every government controls what the public sees in order to ensure that we take their side.
In recent times, this was most famously undermined by the Abu Ghraib photographs taken by American troops.
The ‘just’ nature of the second Gulf war exploded just as suddenly as the first bombs were dropped on Baghdad.
It seems that we aren’t living in a democracy at all, even though our leaders are forcing this notion onto so-called undemocratic countries.
Are the governments of America, Britain et al any better than the various autocratic regimes around the world?
Society is Orwellian. We are constantly being watched. Constantly being fed spin. Constantly being undermined in our view of what ‘truth’ is.
“While photographs may not lie, liars may photograph. It becomes necessary then to see to it that the camera we depend on contracts no bad habits.” – Lewis Hine.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Culture Vulture.
For the past few days the marvelous lady that is Mrs. H. has been in London to visit. Not just to visit the city, but to visit me as well.
Mrs. H. is my mum but is generally known among my friends by the former.
Mrs. H. is also a guru. She knows everything and is full of excellent advice. I wouldn’t mind following her example, although she did tell me off for acting like a 60 year old woman in Ikea!
Her mere presence in London paved the way for some rather cultural activities…
Guys and Dolls.
Following a delicious meal at Tuttons in Covent Garden – the crab cakes were amazing – we graced the West End with our presence.
I’m a huge fan of musicals and ‘Guys and Dolls’ is one of my favourites, along with ‘West Side Story’ and ‘Chicago’, so I was really excited about going to see the show.
On arriving at the theatre however, my excitement soon turned to disappointment.
The dishy Nigel Harman no longer appears in the show, and Patrick Swayze was apparently ‘indisposed’ for the night’s performance.
Personally I think he let us down in order to attend the opening of ‘Dirty Dancing’ on the same night. The fiend.
His understudy for the part of Nathan Detroit wasn’t too bad, although I couldn’t help but notice the slightly annoying lisp he had when he sung.
Norman Bowman, who played Sky Masterson, was no match for Brando. Nor how I imagined Nigel Harman to be in the role.
Also, the understudy playing Sarah Brown wasn’t a particularly great actress in spite of her impressive singing.
I think that a few of the numbers would have benefited from more cast involvement, such as the eponymous song of the show which was a little flat with only two voices to carry it.
Despite this, ‘Sit Down You’re Rocking The Boat’ was stupendous – by far the highlight of the entire show!
Samantha Janus was also brilliant as Miss Adelaide, which really surprised me.
Even for the parts which let me down, ‘Guys and Dolls’ was a highly entertaining show and worth going to see.
The Victoria and Albert Museum.
I love that fashion constantly repeats itself.
This autumn/winter I’ve fallen head over heels in love with shift dresses and visiting the 60s fashion exhibition at the V & A wasn’t so much like stepping into a time-warp as it was stepping into Topshop or H & M.
I must find where Biba had reopened – for posterity of course – and I also must find more vintage clothing shops!
We also managed to take a look at the medieval religious ‘art’ while at the V & A.
These pieces are so amazingly beautiful and intricate – they take my breath away just thinking about them.
But I think it’s a shame that many of the objects in the museum seem to have been removed from various churches around the world – they should remain in their ‘homes’.
Also, the Asian pieces on display, as glorious as they are, should be returned to their particular countries.
The National Portrait Gallery.
To be honest, I’m not a massive fan of David Hockney but Mrs. H. loves him and I think I upset her a little because I couldn’t be bothered to wait in the queue at the V & A to see the Da Vinci exhibition.
To be fair though, the queue was probably about 50 miles long!
Despite my general dislike of Hockney however, the exhibition was really good.
His use of colour in certain paintings and simpler sketches is remarkable.
In particular drawings he uses red and blue ink which creates a really unusual but intriguing effect.
Definitely worth a look.
After exhausting Hockney, I quickly dragged my mum to the upstairs of the gallery before we left.
I was desperate to see the portrait of John Donne, the melancholy lover, as he is my favourite poet.
I’d really like to see the full Tudor portraits exhibition at some point, but Mrs. H. had a train to catch.
Mrs. H. is my mum but is generally known among my friends by the former.
Mrs. H. is also a guru. She knows everything and is full of excellent advice. I wouldn’t mind following her example, although she did tell me off for acting like a 60 year old woman in Ikea!
Her mere presence in London paved the way for some rather cultural activities…
Guys and Dolls.
Following a delicious meal at Tuttons in Covent Garden – the crab cakes were amazing – we graced the West End with our presence.
I’m a huge fan of musicals and ‘Guys and Dolls’ is one of my favourites, along with ‘West Side Story’ and ‘Chicago’, so I was really excited about going to see the show.
On arriving at the theatre however, my excitement soon turned to disappointment.
The dishy Nigel Harman no longer appears in the show, and Patrick Swayze was apparently ‘indisposed’ for the night’s performance.
Personally I think he let us down in order to attend the opening of ‘Dirty Dancing’ on the same night. The fiend.
His understudy for the part of Nathan Detroit wasn’t too bad, although I couldn’t help but notice the slightly annoying lisp he had when he sung.
Norman Bowman, who played Sky Masterson, was no match for Brando. Nor how I imagined Nigel Harman to be in the role.
Also, the understudy playing Sarah Brown wasn’t a particularly great actress in spite of her impressive singing.
I think that a few of the numbers would have benefited from more cast involvement, such as the eponymous song of the show which was a little flat with only two voices to carry it.
Despite this, ‘Sit Down You’re Rocking The Boat’ was stupendous – by far the highlight of the entire show!
Samantha Janus was also brilliant as Miss Adelaide, which really surprised me.
Even for the parts which let me down, ‘Guys and Dolls’ was a highly entertaining show and worth going to see.
The Victoria and Albert Museum.
I love that fashion constantly repeats itself.
This autumn/winter I’ve fallen head over heels in love with shift dresses and visiting the 60s fashion exhibition at the V & A wasn’t so much like stepping into a time-warp as it was stepping into Topshop or H & M.
I must find where Biba had reopened – for posterity of course – and I also must find more vintage clothing shops!
We also managed to take a look at the medieval religious ‘art’ while at the V & A.
These pieces are so amazingly beautiful and intricate – they take my breath away just thinking about them.
But I think it’s a shame that many of the objects in the museum seem to have been removed from various churches around the world – they should remain in their ‘homes’.
Also, the Asian pieces on display, as glorious as they are, should be returned to their particular countries.
The National Portrait Gallery.
To be honest, I’m not a massive fan of David Hockney but Mrs. H. loves him and I think I upset her a little because I couldn’t be bothered to wait in the queue at the V & A to see the Da Vinci exhibition.
To be fair though, the queue was probably about 50 miles long!
Despite my general dislike of Hockney however, the exhibition was really good.
His use of colour in certain paintings and simpler sketches is remarkable.
In particular drawings he uses red and blue ink which creates a really unusual but intriguing effect.
Definitely worth a look.
After exhausting Hockney, I quickly dragged my mum to the upstairs of the gallery before we left.
I was desperate to see the portrait of John Donne, the melancholy lover, as he is my favourite poet.
I’d really like to see the full Tudor portraits exhibition at some point, but Mrs. H. had a train to catch.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Energy Saving Week
This morning I woke up at some ungodly hour. Apparently its called 5 am.
For the next hour or so I willed myself to go back to sleep. Perhaps I willed a bit too hard because it wasn’t happening. I turned on the light and squinted through the painful brightness to turn the radio on.
Listening to Radio 4, like a good girl, I had an epiphany – I’ll go for a run. What a brilliant idea!
So, I got dressed into my sportiest gear, scraped my hair back, filled my bottle of water and was on my way. I even took care to turn my radio off at the mains rather than leave it on standby after hearing a bulletin about energy waste and efficiency.
When I got outside, I realized that I’m actually stark raving mad – “What the hell am I doing?! It’s still dark!”
It was tough, but I had to go through with it after clambering down three flights of stairs in my still dreamlike state.
After a brief warm-up, I began my only exercise for what will probably be the next month. Luckily, the pigeons were still asleep and therefore couldn’t scorn at my feeble effort.
For once, I wasn’t too bad at this exercise lark. Perhaps because no-one could see me looking daft. I’m ALWAYS better at things when nobody’s watching.
However, for all the so-called ‘benefits’ of cardio-vascular exercise, I’m not feeling all that special. My legs are a little shaky and feel as though they could give way at any second.
Moral of the story – stay in bed next time!
For the next hour or so I willed myself to go back to sleep. Perhaps I willed a bit too hard because it wasn’t happening. I turned on the light and squinted through the painful brightness to turn the radio on.
Listening to Radio 4, like a good girl, I had an epiphany – I’ll go for a run. What a brilliant idea!
So, I got dressed into my sportiest gear, scraped my hair back, filled my bottle of water and was on my way. I even took care to turn my radio off at the mains rather than leave it on standby after hearing a bulletin about energy waste and efficiency.
When I got outside, I realized that I’m actually stark raving mad – “What the hell am I doing?! It’s still dark!”
It was tough, but I had to go through with it after clambering down three flights of stairs in my still dreamlike state.
After a brief warm-up, I began my only exercise for what will probably be the next month. Luckily, the pigeons were still asleep and therefore couldn’t scorn at my feeble effort.
For once, I wasn’t too bad at this exercise lark. Perhaps because no-one could see me looking daft. I’m ALWAYS better at things when nobody’s watching.
However, for all the so-called ‘benefits’ of cardio-vascular exercise, I’m not feeling all that special. My legs are a little shaky and feel as though they could give way at any second.
Moral of the story – stay in bed next time!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Ikea
Ikea is amazing – a magical wonderland of stuff for the home. Although I strongly advocate individuality and non-conformity, which Ikea is not with its mass produced Swedish style, it is my guilty pleasure; a Primark for the home.
My most recent trip to Ikea was initially met with disappointment. Having traipsed along the first floor admiring the furniture which I can never possibly hope to afford in the near future, I finally found the haven of the ground floor.
As a 22 year old, I feel rather ashamed at how excited I became by the treasure trove that is the kitchen accessories department. I became utterly lost between the shelves of miraculous pans and sparkling oven dishes. As if that wasn’t enough, the gloriously colourful Tupperware made this lady incredibly happy.
I often wonder that part of my brain is actually a 60 year old woman who is a practical homemaker juxtaposed with a 16 year old adolescent who needed a ‘Maccy D’s’ to complete the day trip, and cure the hangover which had clung on all day from the previous nights debaucheries.
I sincerely hope that I’m not alone in such random flights of fancy. Psychologists often refer to various mental and emotional ages – if this is a scientific fact, then perhaps I am both a 60 year old woman AND a 16 year old girl trapped in the body of a 22 year old.
For all three of my ages, I still have fun – one of the most important things in life, I think.
My most recent trip to Ikea was initially met with disappointment. Having traipsed along the first floor admiring the furniture which I can never possibly hope to afford in the near future, I finally found the haven of the ground floor.
As a 22 year old, I feel rather ashamed at how excited I became by the treasure trove that is the kitchen accessories department. I became utterly lost between the shelves of miraculous pans and sparkling oven dishes. As if that wasn’t enough, the gloriously colourful Tupperware made this lady incredibly happy.
I often wonder that part of my brain is actually a 60 year old woman who is a practical homemaker juxtaposed with a 16 year old adolescent who needed a ‘Maccy D’s’ to complete the day trip, and cure the hangover which had clung on all day from the previous nights debaucheries.
I sincerely hope that I’m not alone in such random flights of fancy. Psychologists often refer to various mental and emotional ages – if this is a scientific fact, then perhaps I am both a 60 year old woman AND a 16 year old girl trapped in the body of a 22 year old.
For all three of my ages, I still have fun – one of the most important things in life, I think.
Friday was an incredibly strange day...
One of those days that you look back on and wonder whether it was actually a dream rather than an evening fuelled by copious amounts of vodka and the onset of a nasty cold.
It started as a normal evening – getting ready to go to the pub and a house party whilst singing and dancing to the songs on the radio. No-one can see me dance like an idiot, but they can probably hear me sing – terribly. I’m sure my flat mates are perfectly at ease with this now after more than likely being woken up by my incredibly loud singing in the shower for the past four or five weeks. That’s entertainment!
Slight digression.
Anyway, Sarah and I went to the supermarket, got some vodka and went to a nearby pub to watch a friend sing and play guitar. This public house has an amazing name and fabulous interior décor, including an Austin Powers pinball machine! Tremendous.
We were sitting enjoying our drinks and singing along to Sam’s music when suddenly, a rather weird man appeared from no-where and asked to sit with us. Sarah said yes. Not me.
He was talking about anything and nothing but fortunately I couldn’t hear him and was trying to avoid eye-contact at all costs.
A little while later he asked if he could come with us to the house party, even though Sarah had casually mentioned that she studies martial arts at university. (She doesn’t)
This guy would not get the hint, even after we told him that it was a family party and that my ‘boyfriend’, who happens to be built like a brick shithouse, is coming to pick us up.
I was a little apprehensive to say the least.
After making a b-line for the toilets, we managed to hide at the back of the pub. Scary man was sitting near the door just staring into space while we hid/spied for about 20 minutes until he got up to go to the bar. We seized our chance and ran.
I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast.
Needless to say, I kept looking behind me all the way to the house party in case he had followed us. He didn’t! Phew! I wonder if he even noticed we had disappeared?
So the house party…
It was lots of fun but vague. I remember there being a big black Labrador which licked my leg and a little tiny dog, a huge chalk board and two grown men handcuffed to each other.
I also got a little upset at one point. The man in the take-away said he couldn’t sell me cheesy chips. I don’t think he even knew what I meant – are cheesy chips an exclusively northern thing?! I had to settle for chips and mayonnaise, which didn’t really do anything to help the beast of a hangover I had the next day.
I did manage to suppress it with an exciting trip to Ikea, but more on that later…
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Vegas, the American Dream and a Hell of a lot of Drugs.
"Nobody had learned anything ... all I learned was that the National District Attorneys' Association is about ten years behind the grim truth ... of what they have only just recently learned to call 'the Drug Culture' in this foul year of Our Lord, 1971"
Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is a fast-paced hybrid of reportage and fiction in which Thompson, aka Raoul Duke, and his attorney drive to Las Vegas to find the dark side of the American Dream.
Drugged up to the eyeballs on a lethal combination of ether, mescaline and alcohol to name a few, the two enter a manic and surreal world.
Whilst on this ‘trip’ they stumble across the district attorney’s drug conference, adding to the many bizarre events written about in this book.
Thompson himself calls Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas ‘a vile epitaph for the drug culture of the sixties’ and his ‘reluctant salute to that decade’, which amazingly has a certain resonance even today.
This is reinforced in the constant striking imagery and warped romanticism from the very beginning.
Indeed, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is so unbelievable in the story it tells that you can’t help but believe as you are drawn into this crazy drugs frenzy and the many extreme situations.
A brilliant read and a must for anyone with even the slightest interest in gonzo journalism.
Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is a fast-paced hybrid of reportage and fiction in which Thompson, aka Raoul Duke, and his attorney drive to Las Vegas to find the dark side of the American Dream.
Drugged up to the eyeballs on a lethal combination of ether, mescaline and alcohol to name a few, the two enter a manic and surreal world.
Whilst on this ‘trip’ they stumble across the district attorney’s drug conference, adding to the many bizarre events written about in this book.
Thompson himself calls Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas ‘a vile epitaph for the drug culture of the sixties’ and his ‘reluctant salute to that decade’, which amazingly has a certain resonance even today.
This is reinforced in the constant striking imagery and warped romanticism from the very beginning.
Indeed, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is so unbelievable in the story it tells that you can’t help but believe as you are drawn into this crazy drugs frenzy and the many extreme situations.
A brilliant read and a must for anyone with even the slightest interest in gonzo journalism.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Book Review?
I'm supposed to be writing a book review but I have no idea what to do - its been so long since I've written one that I'm not even sure I remember how!
The task is to review one of the course books I've read. Truth be told, I've only actually read 2 1/2 and I didn't really pay that much attention!
Uh oh!
What to do...
The task is to review one of the course books I've read. Truth be told, I've only actually read 2 1/2 and I didn't really pay that much attention!
Uh oh!
What to do...
Friday, October 13, 2006
On Exercise
Running is a ridiculous sport.
Even though I wear a sports bra, my boobs still manage to jingle jangle up and down and all over the place.
This will not be a good look at 40.
The unsightly nature of such physical exercise continues in the actual process of running itself.
I truly am the most unfit person in world. In fact, make that the galaxy.
I'm not too proud to admit that when I run, even pigeons can tell that there's something wrong. They probably think I should run straight to a local weight watcher's club or into the arms of a personal trainer. Failing that, a hospital.
When I run, I turn red. Not a rosy, healthy red but an 'oh my god I think I'm dying' red. This is very often accompanied by a certain amount of hyperventilating and sweating. Very attractive.
Years of alcohol, cigarette and chocolate cake abuse have turned me into an unhealthy mess.
I really should repent - give up all the crap that is so so nice, trading it for a torturou regime of healthy food and exercise. The kind that Gillian McKeith inflicts on a regular basis.
I need to change my ways.
I must change my ways.
But would one more vodka really hurt?
Even though I wear a sports bra, my boobs still manage to jingle jangle up and down and all over the place.
This will not be a good look at 40.
The unsightly nature of such physical exercise continues in the actual process of running itself.
I truly am the most unfit person in world. In fact, make that the galaxy.
I'm not too proud to admit that when I run, even pigeons can tell that there's something wrong. They probably think I should run straight to a local weight watcher's club or into the arms of a personal trainer. Failing that, a hospital.
When I run, I turn red. Not a rosy, healthy red but an 'oh my god I think I'm dying' red. This is very often accompanied by a certain amount of hyperventilating and sweating. Very attractive.
Years of alcohol, cigarette and chocolate cake abuse have turned me into an unhealthy mess.
I really should repent - give up all the crap that is so so nice, trading it for a torturou regime of healthy food and exercise. The kind that Gillian McKeith inflicts on a regular basis.
I need to change my ways.
I must change my ways.
But would one more vodka really hurt?
Blogging culture
I was a little dismayed to learn that Chris Horrie had posted a link to my blog page without even telling me. That was nice of him, but i've decided to sweep it under the carpet and not get wound up about it.
Usually I would be wound up and demand that he take down the link. But, I changed my mind because I can't be arsed with the bother to be honest.
So, if you do happen to read my blog please have the courtesy to do what I do and sweep it under the carpet!
I do post personal things on here from time to time which i'd rather not talk about in the 'real world' - ie. outside the internet.
Usually I would be wound up and demand that he take down the link. But, I changed my mind because I can't be arsed with the bother to be honest.
So, if you do happen to read my blog please have the courtesy to do what I do and sweep it under the carpet!
I do post personal things on here from time to time which i'd rather not talk about in the 'real world' - ie. outside the internet.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Thought For The Day
Have you ever been surrounded by people and felt totally alone?
My gran died almost two years ago and this is how I felt. Breathless.
For some reason I've been thinking about her a lot today. I miss her love and wisdom. I miss her.
I remember visiting her in hospital in the weeks leading up to her death. She didn't look like my gran. She was thin and drawn - had lost so much weight. She seemed almost ashamed that she was ill and didn't want to be seen.
The last time I saw her she was unconscious.
Her eyes were closed but every now and then you could see them roll back in her head as her body jerked uncontrollably. I really hope she wasn't in pain.
I held her hand.
Even at 82, her skin was incredibly soft. Silky.
Later that day, she had died.
I've never felt so alone and so scared.
It felt like my whole world and my whole family had fallen apart, and it sometimes still feels that way.
I can safely say that I will never miss anyone as much as I miss my gran.
She was amazing.
My gran died almost two years ago and this is how I felt. Breathless.
For some reason I've been thinking about her a lot today. I miss her love and wisdom. I miss her.
I remember visiting her in hospital in the weeks leading up to her death. She didn't look like my gran. She was thin and drawn - had lost so much weight. She seemed almost ashamed that she was ill and didn't want to be seen.
The last time I saw her she was unconscious.
Her eyes were closed but every now and then you could see them roll back in her head as her body jerked uncontrollably. I really hope she wasn't in pain.
I held her hand.
Even at 82, her skin was incredibly soft. Silky.
Later that day, she had died.
I've never felt so alone and so scared.
It felt like my whole world and my whole family had fallen apart, and it sometimes still feels that way.
I can safely say that I will never miss anyone as much as I miss my gran.
She was amazing.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Are Newspapers Dying?
The future of journalism, and newspapers in particular, looks shakey. Shakey but interesting.
Word has it, the internet is the future with vlogging, digital tv, podcasts, interfacing and video journalism. But does this mean that newspapers are going to die a slow and excruciating death?
Surely there will always be some sort of market for news on paper? For periodicals and magazines?
I'd like to think that this is the ideal, but I can see our lives being controlled by the internet and it's users. Even now.
I rarely buy newspapers these days. I just read the news online, or in some cases watch it. Is this a bad thing?
I don't think so because its the modern thing.
Why then, are people still being taught specialist periodical writing? Wouldn't it be better to evolve and learn many different skils relevant for the future of media? Be a jack of all trades and a master of none?
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Who the Dickens is David Cameron anyway?
I'm actually mentally and physically fed up of this politics debacle.
What a bunch of no-hopers!
The reason people don't care enough about politics is because politicians don't care enough about policies. They seem to think its more relevant to drag each others names through the dirt to gain kudos.
Well, give them all a Blue Peter badge.
More policies, less snobberies please.
What a bunch of no-hopers!
The reason people don't care enough about politics is because politicians don't care enough about policies. They seem to think its more relevant to drag each others names through the dirt to gain kudos.
Well, give them all a Blue Peter badge.
More policies, less snobberies please.
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