Down Dog
I’m deeply traumatised by the election result and the prospect of 56 SNP-ers coming to take all our English money away and leave us defenceless against Russia et al, so tonight’s blog will be short and hurriedly written (no change there then, I’m tempted to write – but I won’t because I’m trying to avoid cliche).
House of Leaves, Mark Danielewsky
Now a hundred or so pages into this experimental horror(?) novel, with several hundred more to go – but since many of these pages are blank or nearly so, might just make it. The experimentation, so far at least, consists of a labyrinthine structure of textual references, many obviously fictional, some probably real authors but fictional works, some probably the other way round. There are “windows” of text which is reversed on the obverse page, as if the paper were transparent; some of the refs continue over numerous pages and are printed upside down.
At the core of this playfulness are two continuous narratives, one an intermittent commentary on the other, which can be read in a conventional way – so the “experimentation” forms a sort of packaging for the story and as such, can be more or less ignored – you still get the gist. One of the narratives is rather flat and impersonal in tone, an “objective” report of events; the commentary is slangy, wild, peppered with expletives and full of graphic sexual and chemical encounters, real or imagined. It reads a bit like the Stephen King of The Dark Half.
So, an experimental novel, rather like most of BS Johnson; odd- looking textual things going on, little jokes and metaphors dancing around – but a solid central narrative core provided by identifiable narrative voices (so far).
NOT Finnegans Wake, then; Joyce’s dream language retains the power to subvert, corrupt, or, at least, to flavour anything else you choose to read after putting Finnegan down.
Ravilious at Dulwich Picture Gallery
Went round this in half an hour, as the gallery was about to close; the pictures – and there are plenty of them – have a delicate beauty and cleanliness, but can be rather bloodless in bulk. The best ones. I think, are those where he has used darker hues, obviously night ones like that below. His other weakness, to my mind, is the human figure; his people tend to be stiff and cartoon-ish. Great illustrator though, reminiscent of Paul Nash and maybe Ben and Winifred Nicolson.
Force Majeure, Ruben Ostlund
A funny film, looking at the aftermath of an avalanche threatening (apparently) diners at a ski resort restaurant; how one’s behaviour stands up to examination when the danger has passed. As is the convention, male behaviour is unheroic, selfish, foolhardy, self-justifying, self-obsessed, vain, pathetic and consequently very funny. The women tend to be relaxed, responsible, caring, t0lerantly amused – perhaps stressed by the demands and insecurities of the men, but basically proper people. The Scandinavian norm.
There is a terrifying sequence in which an incompetent (male) coach driver attempts to get his laden vehicle round hairpin bends above a chasm – couldn’t watch it.
This is Moscow Speaking, Yuli Daniel
I first read this in 1970 at university and just re-read it; it’s fantastic – tough, poetic, fearless. It’s 1960 in Moscow – the authorities announce August 10th to be Public Murder Day. All citizens over 16 can kill who they choose, certain categories (police, prison officers) excepted…
It got Daniel 5 years in prison, along with Andrei Sinyavsky. Alexander Ginzberg also got 5 years for protesting at the imprisonment – and eventually, Daniel’s wife got 4 years for opposing the invasion of Czechoslovakia.
Tate Modern, Painting After Technology
Club Foot, Amy Sillman
Great “new” works on display at Tate Modern, notably by Amy Sillman, Albert Oelhen, Christopher Wool and Mark Bradford. And a most wonderful huge Sam Francis; see it through the arch, it looks much better from a distance.
And nearby, in the Geometric bit, two great Pasmores and a black-based, coloured Mary Martin sculpture.
Blackpaint
10.05.15
Tags: Albert Oehlen, Amy Sillman, Christopher Wool, Eric Ravilious, Force Majeure, James Joyce, Mark Bradford, Mark Danielewsky, Sam Francis, Stephen King, Yuli Daniel
Blackpaint's Blog 
August 5, 2015 at 7:53 pm |
Have only just got round to Ravilious in Dulwich; chief impressions were a) admiration at his sheer consistency and almost industrial work-ethic, and b) while I yield to none in my love of cool English understatement, after five rooms of pale greys, blues and greens I was aching for a splash of colour! That lurid red Norwegian sun in the final painting was a blessed relief! Would he have developed further had he lived, or had he already painted himself into a “Minor-Master” corner…?
August 6, 2015 at 1:19 pm |
Totally agree about the colour thing – then again, lots of artists are a bit wearing when you see loads of their pictures together in a gallery. I would guess he was set in his working ways by the time he was killed.