flaminko

Since Saturday, I've been a tad bit busy. Mostly trying not to be busy because I want my time here to never end. But, alas, it must. I only have nine more days here, which is incredibly disappointing to me and I can imagine once I get home all I will long for is to be here again.

Sunday we went to a place called Red House. William Morris lived there for about five years. I'm not sure that William Morris has a very good fashion sense or taste. His houses have motley artwork from very different architectural and historical time periods. For example, a medieval room with white cabinets, pious murals on the wall, red brick and white panels with Asian pictures in bright blue on them. Uh, no. I'm not claiming to have the best taste when it comes to that sort of thing, but I like to think I know that some things are distasteful. It becomes gaudy when you mix so many elements together- too busy.

Today is obviously Monday; we have started reading Children of the Ghetto. It's a decent book, just long and we need to read the 500 pages or so in about three days. In addition to this, by the time we leave, I need to have eight- two page posts written on places I've visited that tie in with our literature and posts actually about what we've read in this class. But that's not all!! Bob, tell them what they've won!! A research paper!!! Yeah...that involves trekking it back to the British Library and ordering books. Oh, plus we have to read one more book and some more poetry. All in eight days...stressed? A tad.

Tomorrow we are going to a Jewish Museum, plus class; Wednesday, I am going with my professor to the SPAB headquarters to research my paper (Society for the Preservation of Ancient Buildings) and then class; Thursday, we have class, then I believe Tracey and I are going to the Museum of London; Friday we are spending all day at Cambridge; Saturday and Sunday are reserved for the library and reading and writing; Monday, class, plus all of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and discuss our papers; Tuesday, probably nothing, but supper with Florence that night; Wednesday we go home. Boo. I don't want to!!!!!!! *Throws temper tantrum*

What I wanted to write the other night but was far too tired to do:

On the tour of Dover Castle's Secret Wartime Tunnels, they did a skit type thing. During that we saw an injured Airman and he needed to get surgery, which they called 'going to the theatre.' Before they could take him there, they talked a little bit about the medicinal aspects while in the tunnels. They said that they really needed penicillin but had a hard time getting it because the American company, Pfizer, took over patent and production rights saying they could produce it more efficiently and effectively. Because of that, the people in England had a hard time getting a hold of it. We also learned that if someone needed stitches and there wasn't anything to stitch them up with, women were asked for their silk stockings. Obviously they didn't use the whole stocking...they just used a strand of silk..duh...Also, if no one had silk stockings, they could also use red hair because it's strong and thing. Interesting, huh?

More about the rest of the day...we got to the castle about 1330 and walked around until 1600, went on the tunnels tour, left about 1650, headed towards the exit of the castle, walked down the mountain, got to McD's about 1745...back at the bus stop at 1805. The bus was supposed to come at 1815, but didn't show up until 1835...as we were getting on the bus Jordan realized that Tracey and I lied to him. HAHAHAHA. We told him that we would be leaving Dover about 1600 and be home by 1800. Yeah, we flat out lied to him because we knew he wanted to come but was far too concerned about getting other work done...=) It was actually really funny that it took him the whole day to figure out we didn't tell him the truth. In our defence though, we both said that 'we thought' we'd be home by 1800...he didn't actually ask us to look for sure. Oh, details and details.

Anyway...the bus driver was really polite and respectful. He just had this really nice look in his eyes that has been somewhat hard to come by in England...When we were on the bus going to Dover, there was this couple sitting behind Tracey and I that were giggling and kissing and I'm pretty sure other things...They were lying all over each other and it was downright disgusting. I put on my headphones and blasted them because this couple (especially the girl's voice) were the last thing I wanted to hear. Her voice sounded something like a high-pitched, frog-in-her-throat, mauled by a British accent. UGH. She kept kicking Tracey's seat and Jordan didn't have headphones to block it all out. Poor thing. I thought if it was any other day that I would turn around and tell them to get a room, but I was too excited to get to Dover to let them bother me.

Once we actually got into Dover, some guy in an SUV screamed at the driver. In England, it's my opinion that everyone cuts everyone off and no one really cares because if you don't push your car into traffic, no one will let you in. It’s sad that everyone is so wrapped up in their own lives and so selfish that they won't let you in the flow of traffic, or smile at you. Mind you, Dover was a complete 180- except for the guy in the SUV. So anyway, this guy thought that it was wrong for this bus to cut him off and started honking and got right up beside the bus and screamed obscenities, which included dropping the F bomb (or some variant) every other word. After the light turned green, we got to the next traffic light and got stuck next to him again. This time, he started throwing things at the bus, still yelling...when the light turned green he just sat there continuing his rage, and then bus drove off. The bus driver just smiled and shook his head yes and kept the door shut. It was quite amusing. I suppose though, that this disproves my theory that Brits don't have road rage! Damn.

When we got off the bus and looked at a map, we originally thought that we wouldn't get to see the White Cliffs of Dover because the map showed them a mile or so away from the actual castle. This was a little disheartening because I was really excited about them! Even when we got to the castle and could see the English Channel we figured it would take us a long time to get there and we probably wouldn't have enough time. But, once we got to the other side of the castle, we noticed that we were only like a fourth of a mile off!! In the Secret Wartime Tunnels, one of them ended with a window facing out towards the English Channel. This was where Ramsey's lookout was during the Dunkirk rescue. They have since close the window off, but that's how close we were...It was so great...

The whole WWII aspect made me think of hanging out with the WWII vets at work. I couldn't help but think of a story that Charles Dixon told me. He said that his unit was preparing to invade Malay, and during preparations, they were told to prepare for 9:1 casualties: nine dead to every one person living. That was just on the American side. They obviously didn't make it that far to invade Malay, but my God, could you imagine? Could you imagine even living in those tunnels for months upon end? Could you imagine looking at nine other people around you and know that only one of you would survive? That would scare me white. Yet, here I am, waiting to join the military- ready to volunteer to fight or die for my country at the drop of a hat. I'm so interested in history and the soldiers and the military that I feel I have a good grasp on their trials and tribulations, so wouldn’t a normal person be scared and not want to join the military? Seemingly so…but of course I'm scared...I don't want to die...However, if I did...my parents would never have to worry about money again, my student loans would be long paid off, I would die with honour and maybe post mortem, someone would publish everything I'd ever written. Lord knows I have enough of it...Maybe I want to join to commemorate those who have fought in the past, because I'm thankful for what they've done, for the rights, country, people they've defended, because they are my heroes, because I'm just too curious and want to be there too, because I feel I owe something to my country. Whatever the reasoning behind it is, I'm sure it wouldn't make sense to anybody, I’m not even sure it makes sense to me.

I feel like I've been a part of a lot of first time things this year. I was part of a group of the first people to do the internship in Des Moines, the first people to take that class, the first people to go on this trip to London, etc. This was also the first time I'd lived alone in my own apartment, the first time I auditioned to sing the National Anthem at a baseball game, the first time I started to care about school and put effort into it, the first time I've been so determined, the first time I've been with somebody I would consider my equal- the first time for so many things and not just new experiences. The first day that we arrived, our taxi driver told us that we would learn a lot about ourselves on this trip. I think I’ve learned a few things, but more or less realized a lot of others: I can actually get along with other people, I was entrusted to lead others and didn’t fail, I do actually have strong morals, my expectations aren't too high, I am outspoken, I stick to my guns and I do catch on to things a lot quicker than previously thought. I thought I knew a lot about myself, but perhaps I underestimated myself to such a degree that I had gotten lost. I've always been the aforementioned things, but with all the other problems and blah blah of this game of life, they had been forgotten. It’s a game of pure chance, but I should always remember the final goal: to get to the end knowing I tried my best.

So, I suppose this is where I blow and roll the dice and prepare myself for next move.

Good night world, pleasant dreams..til morrow

Kelsi

***a few stanzas of my new favourite poem***

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.

- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

written by

flaminko on June 11, 2007 from Dover, United Kingdom

from the travel blog: 'Ello Guvnah

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The inside of that forsaken Tate Modern Art Gallery

I have officially been to the worst place in London...The Tate Modern Art Gallery. From the outside one could easily mistake this shoddy brick building for just another dingy hole in the wall on this side of town. Nothing about it stuck out or could catch somebody's eye- except for the fact that there was an ice cream truck...and that's bound to catch everybody's eye..ICE CREAM!!! To put it blatantly, the outside was a foreshadow of what I was actually about to see...Walking in the door there is a decline that you walk down to get to the gallery...Upon first glance I thought I was at the YMCA in downtown Chicago; cement floors, construction workers and their noises, scaffolds, exposed supports. I thought to myself: This IS the museum, right? Everything was in plain black and beige with outlines of sea foam green. If there is one colour I hate...it is undoubtedly sea foam green. From my critique thus far you are probably wondering why I even went...Because if I wouldn't have, I wouldn't have been able to write this =) I really did think it was going to be decent, and I'm trying to see everything I can while I'm here- regardless of whether I want to go or not. Don't get me wrong, not all of the artwork in the building was terrible...but a majority of it was.

Are we so desperate to create and inspire that we can believe an epiphany will arise from two different coloured squares on the wall? or that we are expressing our souls and changing social order from a slash mark in a canvas? What ever happened to talent? You know...the kind where it took someone YEARS to create a masterpiece and when it was completed, every little detail was perfectly in place and perfectly significant of an important issue or feeling. Nowadays, these "artists" paint a canvas the same colour and call it a day. What? My four-year-old niece can do that and no one is putting her "artwork" in a prestigious gallery. Maybe I should find her an agent or something if this is how it's going to be. Matter-of-fact, I'm pretty sure half of the stuff in the gallery is somewhere in my basement in a Memory Box...stuff that I drew in art class in elementary school. I think the term for modern "artists" should now be: No talent ass-clowns. (Thank you Office Space)

These "artists" come with explanations of their art. I wonder, why? Let me answer my own question...because no one can understand it!!!! There is no longer any reason to try and interpret artwork, simply because it can't be interpreted. Modern art is the artists' way of making up a new language or way of thinking that no one understands but yet everyone does and begs to be part of. Loaded statement? You bet! It's some sort of status of your intellectual ability..."If you can't understand Lucio Fontana, then you must be dense. We studied in France and speak French and drink coffee while discussing the newest artists that no one has ever heard of. We make big deals about nothing because we honestly have nothing better to do and are so pompous that we simply MUST come up with someone that can make a squiggly line. Our often-exaggerated respect for artists makes us look like we know what we are talking about and then we can fit in with the art community. We intellectuals feel the shapes in our souls and the colours ricochet throughout our inner core..." and the bullshit continues.

To further my point, I will now show you examples, some of them with what was written in the gallery next to them, and some with my own commentary (which I'm sure you are all dying to hear)

Lucio Fontana- Waiting

In 1959, Fontana began to cut the canvas, with dramatic perfection. These cuts (or tagli) were carefully pre-meditated but executed in an instant. Like the holes, they have the effect of drawing the viewer into space. In some, however, the punctures erupt from the surface carrying the force of the gesture towards the viewer in a way that is at once energetic and threatening. Although these actions have often been seen as violent, Fontana claimed ‘I have constructed, not destroyed.’

You're kidding me...un-freaking-believable

Henri Matisse- The Snail

The Snail is one of the last and largest pieces in Matisse’s final series of works, known as cutouts. Confined to bed through illness, he had assistants paint sheets of paper in gouache which he then cut. The shell of a snail inspired the spiralling arrangement of roughly cut pieces of paper. Compared to his earlier paintings, Matisse believed that he had gained ‘greater completeness and abstraction’ in the cutouts. ‘I have attained a form filtered to its essentials’, he remarked.

"Form filtered to its essentials" what??? You cut out pieces of paper and glued them on a bigger piece of paper..there is nothing extravagent or amazing about what you did!

Robert Mangold- Redwall

Red Wall was one of a series of works inspired by the industrial loft architecture of New York City. Combining painting and sculpture, they were constructed using standard-sized sheets of plywood-backed masonite, fitted together to suggest portions of walls, doorways and windows. They were then painted using a spray gun to create a neutral, uninflected monochrome surface. According to the artist, the choice of colours was intended to evoke ordinary objects, in this case ’brick-red’.

I will evoke an ordinary object, and I guarantee you're not going to like it...I feel so 'brick-red' right now with englightenment...I'm glad I saw this...

Barnett Newman- Adam

From the mid-1940s Newman had been preoccupied with the Jewish myths of Creation. The vertical strips in his paintings may relate to certain traditions that present God and man as a single beam of light. The name Adam, which in the Old Testament was given to the first man, derives from the Hebrew word adamah (earth), but is also close to adom, (red) and dam (blood). The relationship between brown and red in this painting may therefore symbolise man's intimacy with the earth.

Normally in paintings that symbolize or represent traditions dealing with god, there are more than two lines in it...I could be wrong, (which I highly doubt), but this required no talent.

Ellsworth Kelly- Black Square with Blue

Once again, two squares put together...What does this even mean????

Gerhard Richter- Grey

Grey is the epitome of non-statement’, he has observed, ‘it does not trigger off feelings or associations, it is actually neither visible nor invisible... Like no other colour it is suitable for illustrating ‘nothing’.’ Such observations go hand-in-hand with the artist’s frequently expressed resistance to ideologies of any kind.

I like to talk for no reason and put words together that sound good, too.

Dan Flavin- the diagonal of May 25, 1965

This is the worst of them all. A light, that he did not make, screwed at an angle to a wall and called art. I couldn't find the blurb next to his "art" that was in the gallery, but I do know it said that Dan Flavin thought first using a flourescent light was a 'personal breakthrough.' Uh...of what? How could that possibly even be seen as a personal breakthrough??

I hope the next genre of art requires a little bit more talent and little less gullibility.

On a good note though...I saw some Monet and Warhol and some Pablo..and that was neat.

Millenium Bridge

Ciao

written by

flaminko on June 2, 2007 from London, United Kingdom

from the travel blog: 'Ello Guvnah

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Trips:

Shorthand link:

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