Drone / Piano?

Check out this bit of rather one dimensional musical landscape mash up malarkey!


For a bit of info head over to the good old BBC, http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p03yj8z3


The Great Loneliness Above

The great loneliness above me
Turned, as each of the golden gods
Looked down with their small bright
Old eyes, and told me I was merely
Alone. But of course now I could
Hear them, see them, feel them,
I wasn’t just alone, I was alone
As everything is alone, in its own
Place as real and needed and valuble
As everything is, and knowing this
Means you can just sit and listen
To those ancient songs that sing
Our lives and with that freedom
Reach out with warmth, just as
Each of those distant gods blazes
On, just as our own old bright god,
Alone for many times has warmed
And cared for us, so that we can
Look up with delight and say I am
Never alone.

Roses of Heliogabalus

Les-roses-dHÇliogabale-Alma-Tadama1Look at this striking picture from Lawrence Alma-Tadema from 1888. I found it on a rather amusing feminist site talking about women in Western art having bad times at parties!

But look at the colour! The texture of the rose petals and the delicate shine on the column on the right. It’s an extravagant scene, Roman or Greek in setting and clearly rather a well to do establishment. But then one finds the story the painting is trying to depict; Roman emperor Elagabulus is trying to smother his guests with rose petals which have fallen from a false ceiling! But I don’t buy it. Clearly the people at the back, presumably including the Emperor himself are looking on wit great interest but the others in the foreground supposedly suffocating don’t look too bothered. In fact to me, they look like they’re having a great old time rolling around in the soft duvet of pinkness. The woman in the middle still has hold of her mirror, hardly the time to check her hair with such impending terminal breathlessness!

This does bring to light a contradcition in the form of the delicacy and beauty of colour and form of the picture and the narrative that is trying to be depicted, that of a scene of mass murder. It doesn’t seem to add up. The laughing faces of the people at the high table could be seen as a mocking macabre attitude but the women at the bottom look rather non-plussed, not fearing their own immediate mortality.

The figues I find most interesting are the ginger chap on the right and the young lady at the top who, oddly, also seems to be a redhead! The flow of the petals seem to follow her, as if her she is controlling them with her pipe playing, as they unfurl around the room. The ginger fellow, rather more rustic in appearance than the other guests also seems somewhat removed from the immediate procedings. In fact the ginger fellow is looking at the pipess, and they are both somewhat ignored by the rest of the crowd. They seem to be bringing the natural into the domestic. He is wild and she, draped in a leopard skin, brings flowers, roses yes, a domesticated species, but one that is thorny and fragant and needs to be cut back every year, a homage to their wild past.

Going back to my own past, that of my inner archaeologist, I’m reminded of Hodder’s domus:agrios opposition. Perhaps the ginger fellow is acting as a foris, a boundary between the two, the wildman in the court of the king?




The gentle violence of the clouds caressing the hilltops,
I carefully look back through the mists of my youth,


Hedge Britannia

I’ve been going all a bit pastoral of late. I’m reading about the medieval field systems around Cambridge and even been dipping into the writings of Richard Jefferies. And now as I lie in bed as still as a Devon Bank (which is nowhere near as effective as it’s Cornish counterpart) Radio 4 are about to serialise ‘Hedge Britannia’ by Hugh Barker as their Book of the Week.

Alas, I have not read this esteemed volume, what with my busy Life in the Fields of Cambridgeshire, but after just the first episode listened to, I may, and this is in no way a promise dear readers, get myself a copy.

Mr Barker starts his book looking at the start of his life wherein he asserts one of the first things we learn as children is that boundaries exist. His external boundaries were walls, fences, roads, alleyways and at the bottom of his parent’s garden, of course, a hedge. The ancients knew a hedge as a hecg, hegge, haga or even a haw; but what indeed is a hedge? A line of closely planted shrubs or trees is the dictionary’s answer, the law goes on to say this forms a screen or a barrier but does not necessarily mark a boundary, disconcerting. Are a couple of bushes a hedge? What happens to our non-boundary barrier hedge when a few holes appear? If a hole becomes a gap? Is there some metaphysical hedge that hides behind the real, asks Hugh.

A hedge has an element of human agency behind it, rather than just being a random collection of bushes. This could be from assarting, the historic clearing of woodland often leaving a relic forest as a hedgerow; planted hedges as boundaries; or a fence row hedge which brings us back dangerously close to our beloved Cornish Banks. And on we go through Hugh’s historic hedges from Caesar to more recent colonial collisions on the battlefields of Europe.

Over the next four days the BBC assures us we will learn how modern humans are practising the ancient art of coppicing invented by our Neolithic ancestors which led to their fall from grace and our own ecological endangerments, how topiary became so fashionable, how to annoy the neighbours with hedges and other more mundane uses of the parochial hedgerow.

And finally, Hugh reminiscences about returning to England and seeing the checkerboard of field and hedgerow from the aeroplane window as it was coming in to land. This echoes my own experience of returning from a 6 month sojourn in the russet orange heat hazed mountains of Spain, my sunbaked eyes were soothed by the subtle shades and hedgey hues not of Jerusalem, not of Blake’s England but of our own landscape of green and pleasant pastures.

Being the widely read, polymath renaissance being that I am I was recently reading an article on the BBC News website about supersymmetry,  http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-14680570.

Rather liking the image further below of the particle collision tracks,

I dragged it to my Google search bar and used the ‘search visually similar images’ function to generate a page of results, here, and what a result! A cacophany of pinks and purples predominate with some vague, and not so vague, hints at circles and spirals.  I’m going to have a look at these this afternoon and see if I can put into words the fascination I feel towards these pictures. It must have something to do with the various objects and textures shown, from woolly scarves to bins, deer and quiches!

Prehistoric Cornish Pasties

Been a while so lets warm up with something amusing…The Cornish Pasty has been granted Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) status, meaning it must have been produced in the county. This is good, one of only 19 foods in the UK to have such status, but following this the BBC News website refers to the classic cave paintings on the Lizard showing a prehistoric woman eating a pasty. ‘What cave paintings?’ You may ask, well yes, good question Les Merton author of the The Official Encyclopaedia of the Cornish Pasty apparently knows about them, anyone else? I shall email him.

See ya soon.