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Wednesday, 22 January 2014

I admit it. I'm a Philistine.

 In all conscience I cannot describe myself as a man of cultured tastes.

 I read a lot, it's true - but most "classic" literature bores me to death. I love the moment when a book carries me off into another world. I just find that hard to do when the author takes 3 chapters to describe in minute detail how nothing interesting is happening. 

Music is a massive part of my life - but  I don't exactly listen to the most sophisticated stuff around. I want something that makes me want to hammer the air drums, tap out chords on my desktop and in extreme cases, take up a battleaxe and go fight Vikings.

I like films where stuff explodes.

I like paintings that look "pretty"

And Poetry... Oh lord. I have a definite blind spot there. While some people can get lost in the flow of words and the images conjured up behind the listener's eyes, for me, poetry mostly sounds like somebody reading a manual on Chaos Theory. The words are coming in loud and clear but I'm not connecting with them.
 The only exceptions are when a poet gets his point across with broad strokes. Very broad.
 Tell you what, how about I share with you my favourite short poem?

 "When Lady Penelope swoons,
Her bosoms pop out like balloons.
Her butler stands by,
With a gleam in his eye
And pops them back in with warm spoons."
Mr Kenny Everett circa 1984

See what I mean? 

 I'm not proud of this. I'm fairly certain my tastes are not due to any anti-intellectual stance or fondness for the simplistic.  I have this horrible feeling that I may just be an utter pleb. 

 I think I can pinpoint the exact moment I realised that Art and Culture are things that happen to somebody else. 
  Late last year I was roaming the galleries of the British Museum. Centuries of art and craftsmanship painstakingly collected in one grand monument to Man's passion for creation and thirst for new wonders.
   I ambled through the displays, suitably awestruck, but then I came round the corner and beheld this:
British Museum Venus

Lely's Venus. 
 A Roman copy of a Hellenistic original, it dates from the second century AD and once belonged to King Charles II. 
  This bashful young lady outlived the Roman Empire and centuries of barbarism, bloodshed and casual vandalism that wiped entire nations from the map forever. It dates from a time when my ancestors were fur-wearing savages in the woods of North Germany. And it's so wonderfully sculpted that at any moment you expect her to rise up and run for her clothes.

I took a moment to appreciate how fortunate I was to live in such a time  that such treasures might be freely beheld by all.  I marveled at the long-dead artist's skill.  I briefly wondered what adventures Venus might have had on her long journey down the centuries and what she might say if science or magic ever gave her a voice.
 I thought all these things and more. 
 But my immediate reaction....
The very first thing I thought when I entered the room and saw Lely's Venus for the very first time was...


I am Big D.
I must confess to you all that I am an utter Philistine and my the gods have mercy on my culture-less soul. 

That's all folks. 


10 comments:

  1. Don't feel bad. I'd have had the same thoughts if I saw that statue in person. Besides that, I'm the same way about art sometimes. I enjoy reading, but I personally hate it when the author devotes entire paragraphs, pages, chapters even, just to describing the scene. I don't care what the trees look like or how the grass is blowing in the wind--I want to know what happens in the actual story.



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    1. Holy crap! Are we twins? With only two exceptions, I could have written exactly the same thing about myself.

      The two exceptions:

      1. I wasn't roaming the galleries of the British Museum late last year.
      2. I'd never seen that poem before. But now that I have, it's my favorite too.

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    2. Sorry, I didn't mean that to be a reply to jkwealth's comment, but rather to the blog post. My mistake.

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  2. You know what you like and that's all that matters. Besides, the clarity, energy and humor of your writing is proof of a pretty sophisticated mind.

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  3. Haha, you're not alone, Big D. Everything you wrote reminds me of observations my husband has made. My ex-mother in law was a librarian, and her take on literature was that people should read what they enjoy, regardless of whether it's the classics or a comic book. I agree with her. Taste is subjective, and just because a piece of work is old or declared a classic doesn't mean it's got quality in the eyes of the beholder.

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  4. I don't mind a bit of culture, however you are right about wanky, overly pretentious description in literature.
    Incidentally, I have just started my first fiction experiment. Was going to see if you wanted a preview, now I'm not so sure...

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  5. Well said BigD. Sometimes culture equates to snobbery.
    (& just between you & I, there are still `culture' loving savages in many of those woods & cities.)
    Cheers, ic

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  6. I know exactly what you mean. There are some levels (quite a lot of levels actually) of art and culture that truly goes straight over my head. I just don't get it Big D. I've been in galleries and the comments people make, are hilarious. They obviously can see things that clearly aren't there or maybe I need my eyes tested :) I do like poetry, but only the stuff I can understand otherwise it reminds me of a certain type of Jazz. Everyone is playing completely separate tunes in a group.

    I prefer to just like it or lump it and move on with life. Enjoy what you like, and like what you enjoy.

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  7. Ha!

    Big D - we are definitely kindred spirits - except I will stand on my soapbox and rant about some of the vomit stains that pass themselves off as "art" in the Tate Gallery and other such pseudo-intellectual hell holes!

    I appreciate the statue you posted - and in terms of skill it is very - erm - "accurate" - I agree.

    But the tripe that is on display in places like the Tate Gallery IS NOT ART!!! It is shit! It is garbage and, somehow the "artists" have convinced a legion of pseudo-intellectuals that it is worth more than just a passing comment like "What the F**K is that doing in an art gallery?"

    Big D - when I become world President I will build a spaceship destined for the furthest galaxy from our own and fill it full of these "artists" and their pseudo-intellectual followers.

    I will now step off my soapbox and retire quietly to bed.

    But what fun ranting AGAIN about "art"!

    Thanks!

    :-)

    Cheers PM

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    1. I may have just spontaneously applauded. I'm convinced that most modern artists are taking the piss.
      I remain baffled as to how anybody can take an unmade bed, call it "art" and not get laughed out of the country.

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