I started a facebook account a few days ago (which I have mothballed) and already knew it was a jumble of nonsense as any form of blogging platform; the local tie-in unwanted was an irritation as were ads which screamed ‘fake’.
An hour or more of my life wasted. Compounded by several logins foiled and insisting on a pic of myself log in after log in. Needless to say it was a random piece of junk submitted.
But ….WTF !
facebook is a crappy cluttered trivial to extreme piece of junk. Yet think of all the lovely analytics it provides. Quite obscene. Life was never meant for such up the arse triviality called facebook. Or surveillence called facebook.
My reason for this post is the irony of trump endlessly hurling the insult FAKE to the Free Press ie journalists of acumen and hard effort yet when it comes to the fakery and nonsense of facebook – his little helper to election – he is silent. We can now see the extent of Russian manipulation via facebook. I’m sorry to say that I don’t hold Zuckerberg in any positive esteem.
Creative play, larking about, playing tiggy, I-spy, rhymes, songs, dancing, singing …. are all abandoned to the analogous nipple of screentime. If I were in charge first thing I’d do is render into black n white. Note how the less advantaged get even increasingly less advantaged, a plague upon us.
Not as some clever trick to deceive but as works of artistic creation of what we ourselves possibly could never devise, visit or speculate upon; the work of talented and clever people than ourselves, of adepts. To provide a reprise from the idiocy of a nasty windbag known as donald; as with an irritating teenager he wastes the time of the grown ups.
Art and books associated thereof, I mean to be able to see back into times past, spanning generations and witness ideas developed from cleverer people than we ourselves, to see how they created and recorded beauty. Blimey, that IS INDEED a staggering statement, creating beauty …. something few individuals are capable of particularly nowadays; kids finish school and many are clueless with their hands, their minds or mouths. Rhetoric one of the most valuable subjects to command as a citizen is reserved for the privately educated.
Art can be a snapshot, a time capsule, can contain great beauty, warmth, human love and virtue, or alert us to problems and why should it be crowded out because of tv, texts and twitter and other such junk?
So where does Art count in our so-called ‘modern’ lives?
Why is it so few people use Art Books to connect with a wider world and pantheon of human endeavour they are ignorant of ? We must include books on archaeological finds, of ancient artefacts, for a hundred thousand years all that remain are tools of flint to tell us how we occupied ourselves, of more recently in a mere tenth of that timespan the hidden ancient hearth, the buried cremation urn. I often wonder at how we interacted, the bonds, the human feeling empathy and communication in those distant days. Useful idea for some role play. To perhaps assume the role of the out of family visitor, stumbling upon an established camp.
In many ways and sadly now due to our sucking upon the papp of the much lauded information superhighway we have denuded ourselves of so much of human accomplishment; as if becoming the donald j trumps of culture ie seeing and knowing so little, existing merely in the here and now and kidding ourselves we know it all. The web should (and can) allow us access to an array of clever and talented minds.
That is a most ravishing image. If it does not sing to your mind and your heart then indeed you are dull.
Below reminds me so much of a favourite place, a now deserted coaching stop from 150 years ago.
In a mad fancy of accomplishment I would think that in my last twenty years were I to capture such beauty and interest with ‘simple’ brushstrokes then it would be time well spent and probably best spent. I have my work which is ongoing but also need recreation less energetic than walking miles with my dog. Years ago I would often visualise and work out how to capture cloudscape, distant horizons, thinking of toned grounds, overlays, colour or warmth. My problem is that I can only paint when I’ve had a drink, or maybe need convincing something worthwhile will result from sober effort. Perhaps if I paint with the intention of conciously keeping it all private it will free me up to make me ‘go for it’. In all my travels in all the pastoral settings I can honestly say I have never once encountered an artist or enthusiast of merit wanting to lay down on paper the form, tones, beauty displayed to them, not one person out of doors enthusing of their activity. Maybe I should? I dunno. Realise too that Lowrys work often mostly is a low-cost set of negatives from Boots; look closely. That explains it all, my own insight.
If we are on David Cox then we have to see the famous one…..
whoops to follow as somehow unfindable ….
My idiocy, i had forgotten its Cotman I need to ask for!
I think I need to go looking for specific books for them both!
Its a bit like the contracted term ‘poetry’ or ‘books’, what we really mean is all that is contained therein ie viewpoint, experience, memory, mindset, knowledge, a way of seeing; so thank goodness for Art, the nourishing kind. I wonder of todays activities of installation, performance and often are grant aided events and as how they will be regarded as of any merit (whatsoever) in one hundred years from now (when possibly we have ceased to exist as a species anyway).