November 24th

Degenerate art

a procession of mourners

pay their last respects

I was reading about “Degenerate Art” today, the label applied by the Nazi’s to any art which didn’t fit their ideals on realism, classically influenced art or promotion of the Reich. This meant that most modern art would be labelled degenerate, including art by such eminent German artists as Max Ernst and Otto Dix (both first world war veterans). Artists fled Germany, were prevented from working, or were in extreme cases, executed like poor Elfriede Lohse-Wächtler, through forced euthanasia.

The Nazi’s put on a show of Degenerate Art with dismissive labels, to instruct the populace as to why the works were degenerate. As this BBC article states.

An exhibition of confiscated works titled Entartete Kunst, which took place in Munich in July 1937, was advertised as "culture documents of the decadent work of Bolsheviks and Jews".

When I was on a Munich walking tour some years ago, the guide said that the Degenerate exhibition had several times the number of visitors as the officially endorsed Nazi art gallery next door. It seems the German people were not all taken in by this propaganda and were (privately) curious to make up their own minds.

Many art works were sold, many were destroyed.

Hitler himself was a frustrated artist, before taking up politics, he led a life of someone he would have labelled “degenerate” once he’d got into power. He painted detailed architecture and landscapes, his work was fairly boring it seems, lacking in emotion. Paul von Hindenburg, Hitler’s predecessor as Chancellor, one of the military and political heavyweights of the early part of the 20th century called him the “Bohemian Corporal”, due to his failure at becoming an artist and his low rank during World War 1.

It’s interesting to compare Hitler’s work (of which only a few examples of survive or are attributable to him) with Churchill, another keen painter. Churchill, suffering depression, his “black dog” for most of his life, saw art as a way of release, of coping, of coming to terms with the darkness. His book, “Painting as a Pastime” is a treat (D has a copy which is wonderful). You can feel that in his work, which although quite naive, is expressive.

Hitler, you can imagine, with his dedication to detail and buildings seemed emasculated and stifled by his inability to express.

Above: The Courtyard of the Old Residency in Munich (Adolf Hitler, 1913, Watercolour)

Sunset Over The Atlas Mountains (Winston Churchill, 1935).

October 5th

 

eager wind pursues

the huddled ones listening

to the scythe’s rattle

the beating rain and

rumble of the angry clouds

makes the timber wince

anticipating

the October Country guests

…this is their season

 

As it’s October, I’m dipping in and out of this fabulous collection of Ray Bradbury short stories. He died this year of course, but his body of work speaks for itself. The blurb for the book evocatively captures the essence of it:

“…where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnight stays. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country where people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty paths sound like rain…”

My little Haiku conglomerate is my humble tribute to him.

April 25th

 

In the library

a sunny child explorer

is picked by a book

Rainy days are book days. I’m not a kindle person, I feel traitorous to that smell of new books, or the feel and smell of the battered lived in books that adorn my collection. A new purchase of mine is the Magic Of Reality by Richard Dawkins, illustrated by one of my favourite artists Dave McKean. That’s not to say I wouldn’t own the App which goes with it, it sounds fab, but alas I do not own an iPad, otherwise I’d be right there in that interactive world! But it would be to complement the book, not to replace it.

The Magic of Reality has that quality to inform and entertain, to keep you captivated. It covers the science of grand concepts beautifully and of course it is furnished with absolutely lovely art. It fired neurones in my brain which released happiness associated with childhood. Those wide eyed times when a trip to the library was a proper day out. Wandering through the shelves, being drawn to an evocative title, a story of true adventure or books where you could peel away the layers of skin for a subject and understand what makes things tick (literally so in the case of anatomy books).

Those were times where it felt books were precious. When the book chose you.

February 3rd

 

Disembodied head,

Eyes tight shut, I know he’s there,

Waiting by my bed.

 

There was a book club at my junior school. It was a special treat getting a book. Books were luxuries, I had the library of course, but I didn’t have many books of my own, which is why I cherished those I owned, comics (I got one a week) or otherwise. So I was absolutely delighted when I got one of the Usborne Pocketbooks, Supernatural guides. It was the “Haunted Houses, Ghosts and Spectres” one.

The artwork still has quite an impact for me, it smacks me in the chest with that thrill of fear I used to feel as an 8 year old. I used to be scared of the dark, one particular image stuck with me. It was of a blue disembodied head which haunted someone in an old country house. I used to hide under the covers (a classic ward against evil) terrified to peek, eyes shut fast, thinking if I opened my eyes and looked upwards, he would be there, looking down on me, silent, judgemental, evil, his mouth slowly opening and closing with no sound coming out. My imagination was rampant. I felt if I looked at him, he would literally scare me to death, by floating towards my face, till he was only inches away from me and then enter my face and possess me. I was that scared. Interestingly, the artist must’ve used an image of old horror actor Lon Chaney Jr to base his work on, when he played the phantom of the opera. Years later I saw the image of the Phantom and instantly thought “that’s my ghost!”, I’d forgotten about the book by then. So I went back to my old bedroom at my mums house then and retrieved it.

I still have the book, I’ll never throw it away. It’s beautiful, the artwork is amazing, it makes me feel happy and sad. Sometimes it’s nice to feel like you’re little again. South Harringay infants and junior school, aged 5 to 10 were wonderful times. I was so happy there.

January 11th

Popped into the British Library on the way home. I feel proud that we have such an institution. With an aspiration to collect all of the books ever published, much like the great Library at Alexandria, one of the ancient wonders of the world, before it was razed.

As it’s right near St Pancras station, I sometimes dwell there while I’m waiting for my train home. Enjoy tea and cake whilst making use of the free wi-fi, catching up on work or creative writing. Mostly, I mooch around the exhibits. It’s just incredible. I’ll probably write a proper blog about it someday. At the moment, there is a an temporary exhibition on Charles Dickens. The permanent exhibition “The Treasures” is also astonishing, with the collection rotated every now and then to see more great works or hand written drafts by the authors themselves. And the books are stacked high, mighty towers of books in secure glass, shelves upon shelves, visible from pretty much every part of the central atrium.

There is a copy of the Magna Carta there too. Incredible. This is an artefact that defines our country. Where King John was forced into concessions, where the rule of one was challenged, where human rights were asserted. This clause, the most famous, is still law today (from 1215).

“No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled . nor will we proceed with force against him . except by the lawful judgement of his equals or by the law of the land. To no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right or justice”

Right, the Haiku!

 

Visitations, Ghosts,

Fragile firsts, frayed, dulled, precious,

Dragon scales tower.

 

A copy of “The Cock Lane Ghost” which forms part of the Dickens Exhibition (hastily photographed as I wasn’t sure whether it was allowed or not, there’s definitely no photography in the “Treasures” area and definitely no flash photography anywhere). It refers to a widely reported ghost story in the 18th Century. Dickens was fond of “real” ghost stories (and this one in particular) but was a bit of a sceptic himself. That didn’t stop him using supernatural themes throughout his work.

 

January 4th

I bought a lovely old book on eBay (from the early 70s), a little Christmas present to myself. It’s called the Juniper Tree, it’s 27 stories by the Brothers Grimm selected and translated by Lore Segal, who has made them as faithful to the original German as he can. None of this watered down crap. Fairy stories are violent and frightening, full of foul acts, murders and dubious cruel characters, but with a clear lesson running through them and where normal people can be heroes. Children love this stuff, we shouldn’t patronise them by making decisions on their behalf as to what is disturbing or scary.

What makes it even more special however, is that it’s in two volumes in a solid old slipcase, each story comes with a Maurice Sendak illustration. I read one earlier today, The Poor Miller’s Boy and the Cat. It’s very short, a simple tale that you shouldn’t underestimate anyone, that even someone of supposed limited abilities can make great things of their life.

And the illustration is sublime! Anyway, today’s Haiku..

 

Simple miller’s lad,

Seven years a cat servant,

To become a Prince.