The cross of St George

Flag waving and patriotism is the territory of evil manipulators, the gullible and the lazy of mind (those that can only think in black and white); all very worrying really. And, whilst I have no wish to make light of xenophobia, it never fails to amuse me when these lower life forms use the ‘English’ flag. The cross of St George is held up as something that epitomises pure ‘Englishness’; a badge of honour for patriotic Neanderthals.

Of course we know what bollocks it all is, and that it’s funny for so many reasons, but one very good reason why the joke is on the English nationalists is because St George (if he really existed) was from the far east and probably never came anywhere near to these islands. How English is that?

It would appear that St George came from around the Turkey/Lebanon/Syria/Palestine area:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_George

http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/george_st.shtml

Jumpers no longer for goalposts

#jumperrecommendations
Great news!

Along the lines of ‘let them eat cake’ Cameron and his evil mob have decreed that in face of exorbitant fuel price rises the ‘poor and needy’ should wear jumpers to keep warm. So as a public service I thought I’d scour the jolly old interweb for what the Tories might expect us plebs to wear.
Enjoy:

Despite affecting a confident pose Roger still felt like a

complete dick in his Daily Mail ‘readers offer’ cardy

 

 

Betty still couldn’t quite believe that both Wilson and

Keppel were avid fans of Throbbing Gristle

 

 

Slightly confused Ronald had decided that

what would really keep him warm on his

zero hours contract would be a gonad cosy

 

 

Malcolm had decided that precautionary measures

were necessary when wearing his new cardigan to bingo

 

 

Rupert was unstinting in his efforts to try and blend in with the proletariat

 

 

Marjorie had concluded that if the poor refused to

wear jumpers that a sound thrashing would be in order

What’s black and white but read all over?

I have a companion site to this blog: www.of-course.co.uk . It’s a sort of extra resource that I use when I want to expand on things I blog about. The biggest search term, by a long chalk, for www.of-course.co.uk is ‘nothing is ever black and white’. I get hits daily from all around the world. Presumably it strikes a chord. Perhaps it should be the mission statement of the progressive pedant.

People have always craved easy and simplistic answers. It’s why we have religion and why politics is so often reduced to meaningless sound bites and slogans. Sadly too many people seem unable to cope with questions that don’t have easy answers, or horrors of horrors don’t have any answers currently available. The mind of the lazy thinker abhors a vacuum; so when an easy answer is missing one is made up, or sort from a convenient charlatan.

I’m a firm believer that nothing is ever black and white. Nothing is ever that simple. Scratch below the surface and you will always find a multi-coloured myriad of meanings, causes, reasons and answers for what, why are where for. Through my art I endeavour to interpret and convey this philosophy. If you think like me please help spread the word: ‘nothing is ever black and white’.

It’s R&B for me

I was still in short trousers when I was first turned on to R&B. I remember seeing Johnny Kidd and the Pirates on the telly and thinking, nay feeling that ‘this is the most exciting music ever’. The first record I owned, a thing of beauty, jam packed full of 45 goodness, was Hippy Hippy Shake by The Swinging Blue Jeans. R&B was in my blood.

Whilst The Stones can still cut it you may have noticed that they’ve strayed from their roots in recent years. That’s no bad thing. We all need to progress. And since the demise of the original Dr Feelgood line-up we’ve been a tad bereft of a head-and-shoulders-above-the-rest-first-rate-beat-combo. But all is not lost…


…behold The Strypes.

 

This weekend I downloaded Snapshot, the debut album from The Strypes. A bloody good nine quid’s worth of anyone’s money I reckon. For a bunch of young lads they pack a mean punch. R&B has been restored to full health and is back with a vengeance. We in the western world can sleep easy in our beds knowing that music can again save our mortal souls.

These young dudes are the saviours of rock-a-boogie. Not a claim I make lightly.

So you think you are English?

Do you consider yourself to be English?

What does being English mean?

Or, come to that what does being British mean?

I was born on a street named ‘Park Road’. Does that make me a Park Roadian?

I ask all these questions because in my experience very few really question who they are or what labels mean.

There really is no such thing as the ‘English’. If you disagree please tell me what being English is! You will fail.

If you claim to be 'English' I suggest you have your DNA checked. The likelihood is that it will indicate that your antecedents are from far and wide, like the rest of us. The population of these islands are drawn from a well stirred international gene cocktail started many, many centuries ago. The only vaguely indigenous are those with ginger hair.

Nationalism, being proud to be an ‘ish’, is a trait of the stupid. It means absolutely fuck all.

And don’t mention that strange notion of being somewhere first. The Native Americans knew that land ownership was a meaningless concept. You can’t own sections of the Earth. All you can do is prevent others from movement.Nationalism is oppression.

Nationalism/patriotism is just fascism wrapped in a flag. It is a creed of the ignorant and evil. Think about it!

Of course you can substitute ‘English’ for ‘British’; it doesn’t really matter as both are equally valueless.

Get real. We are all people. Celebrate difference instead of inventing meaningless categories.

There’s more to Lowry than matchstick people

On Saturday morning I went to the Lowry exhibition at Tate Britain. Since learning about Lowry as a kid in the sixties I’ve always liked his work. But I had no idea how diverse of range his paintings were.

In the spirit of my previous blog post I will in no way try to explain or critique the works of Lowry. All I will say is I enjoyed it, as I knew I would but I can’t get over how different much of the work on display was from what I thought a typical Lowry picture was. I found the exhibition very exciting.

For me Lowry was a magnificent ‘people’s painter’; a natural successor to the likes of Turner and Blake. Many of the pictures are quite gothic in feel and their portrayal of the torture of working people chilling at times. My opinion you understand. Just my opinion.

If you think you know Lowry, go to this exhibition. You may well be forced to think again.

Art is not a skill it’s a state of mind

Art can only ever be in the eye of the beholder. Art cannot be prescribed or quantified. Art is beyond criticism. The art critic is but a fool. And anyone following the utterances of the art critic is an even bigger fool!

An artist, cartoonist and printmaker that I found interesting and whose work I have enjoyed was Ken Sprague (1927–2004). He once said “everyone a special kind of artist”(which was also the title of a TV series he was in for Channel 4 in the eighties). Now from this I understood him to mean that anyone and everyone is capable of being an artist. I firmly believe this to be true. Everybody can be and is an artist. You create something that you believe to be a work of art then it is art. It doesn’t mean that anyone else has to recognise it as such. But equally they can’t state that it isn’t art or claim it to be poor or worthless art. You may think that this is an opinion of convenience; a metaphorical foil to parry and riposte the judgement of others, and perhaps you are right, as you are entitled to your opinion as much as I am entitled to mine. I remain firmly of the view that art, all art, is down to personal choice and personal choice alone.

Art appreciation can only ever be subjective. This is why I maintain that you cannot criticise art. You can say that you don’t like a work of art but it cannot be judged. There are no measurements of artistic merit. You either like something or you don’t. This is why Art competitions are a nonsense; the instrument of the pretentious. 

Art means nothing, yet it means everything. Does it really matter what the artist was thinking when she or he created their work? Not in the slightest. The beholder should take what they want from a work of art, and they should never take what they are told to take. Art critics, those pompous, pumped up, self-obsessed experts of absolutely nothing know no more or no less than you or I do about a work of art. Believe nothing they tell you.

Art is yours for the liking, if you so wish. No one can tell you what to like. You decide!