Thursday, August 30, 2012
Arts high and low
Municipal authorities have become rather fond of putting sculptures & other artifacts in their public spaces, some of which work well and some of which work not so well. I suspect that the public served by these authorities is generally far less enthusiastic about this sort of thing than those responsible and have a tendency to regard ornamentation by passing pigeons and seagulls as entirely appropriate.
We learned while on holiday that Ilfracombe is no exception and the area in and around the Landmark Theatre has a number of these installations. There is, for example, a rather odd memorial sculpture of a girl on top of Capstone Hill, memorialising a young Russian girl. But it is decent and it is small; it does not greatly detract from this hill of outstanding natural beauty.
But North Devon has the distinction of being one of the many homes of the artist-butcher - butcher for his love of cutting up animals - D. Hirst. Some might think this entirely appropriate given the large number of butchers who used to operate in this cowish county. A D. Hirst who appears to have decided that he is not to be upstaged by a memorial to some Russian and wants to install a 20m high statue of a very pregnant naked lady, legs akimbo and holding a large sword aloft in one hand, in a prominent position at the end of the harbour pier. An installation which I regard as a rather gross intrusion into a quiet and peaceful harbour. At least one local that we talked to about it described it as rubbish (her exact word was a little more robust) but went on to point out that the artist-butcher had spent a few of his many quid on worthy causes - such as the recent firework display at nearby Combe Martin - and perhaps had earned his slot on the pier. With an eye to business, she went on to point out that the thing will probably attract people and their attendant money to the area. While I wondered about the extent of Hirsty involvement: did he just provide the concept and leave design and execution to others? Far too important a person to have to bother with the dirty detail.
For the record, I record that if this statue comes to pass, I and my attendant money will avoid visiting Ilfracombe. There is quite enough unpleasantness knocking around the world without gratuitous additions.
Until such time as it comes to pass that the thing is toppled over one quiet night and vanishes from further view. I imagine that there are plenty of DSS types living in the town who would think that such toppling would be good sport.
Nearer home, I was interested to read that the Tate, having removed many of their treasures to the basement (see my notice of June 22nd), are now recycling them in the form of a special exhibition. Inter alia, meaning what used to be free and comfortable will now be expensive and crowded. But at least they will be visible, albeit temporarily. And I suppose that the trustees can say that the treasures are, at least, being looked at, which may well not have been the case before. We need a properly promoted special to keep us on our toes.
Even nearer home, I have been busy with the culinary arts and made a treacle tart, something which we used to have quite often. Something which I had never made before, generally deferring to BH in the matter of puddings - although I did used to make cakes. I used the recipe from our Whitworth's recipe book, a sadly battered freebie from the days of our engagement and for the filling I elected to use both bread crumbs (bought express in the form of some kind of French loaf from Waitrose) and porridge oats, with only a modest five tablespoons of golden syrup. Not at all sure that I would care for a treacle tart made with treacle - the stuff which comes in red and black tins rather than yellow and green ones. This all went down quite well, although not all that like the BH product of former years. I was quite impressed with my short crust pastry, despite pressing it onto the (white enamel) plate instead of rolling it out.
But the tart was completely unlike the far more complicated - and far more syrupy - confection described in our Radiation cook book. Perhaps BH will rise to the challenge and knock out one of these last, one of these fine days.
We learned while on holiday that Ilfracombe is no exception and the area in and around the Landmark Theatre has a number of these installations. There is, for example, a rather odd memorial sculpture of a girl on top of Capstone Hill, memorialising a young Russian girl. But it is decent and it is small; it does not greatly detract from this hill of outstanding natural beauty.
But North Devon has the distinction of being one of the many homes of the artist-butcher - butcher for his love of cutting up animals - D. Hirst. Some might think this entirely appropriate given the large number of butchers who used to operate in this cowish county. A D. Hirst who appears to have decided that he is not to be upstaged by a memorial to some Russian and wants to install a 20m high statue of a very pregnant naked lady, legs akimbo and holding a large sword aloft in one hand, in a prominent position at the end of the harbour pier. An installation which I regard as a rather gross intrusion into a quiet and peaceful harbour. At least one local that we talked to about it described it as rubbish (her exact word was a little more robust) but went on to point out that the artist-butcher had spent a few of his many quid on worthy causes - such as the recent firework display at nearby Combe Martin - and perhaps had earned his slot on the pier. With an eye to business, she went on to point out that the thing will probably attract people and their attendant money to the area. While I wondered about the extent of Hirsty involvement: did he just provide the concept and leave design and execution to others? Far too important a person to have to bother with the dirty detail.
For the record, I record that if this statue comes to pass, I and my attendant money will avoid visiting Ilfracombe. There is quite enough unpleasantness knocking around the world without gratuitous additions.
Until such time as it comes to pass that the thing is toppled over one quiet night and vanishes from further view. I imagine that there are plenty of DSS types living in the town who would think that such toppling would be good sport.
Nearer home, I was interested to read that the Tate, having removed many of their treasures to the basement (see my notice of June 22nd), are now recycling them in the form of a special exhibition. Inter alia, meaning what used to be free and comfortable will now be expensive and crowded. But at least they will be visible, albeit temporarily. And I suppose that the trustees can say that the treasures are, at least, being looked at, which may well not have been the case before. We need a properly promoted special to keep us on our toes.
Even nearer home, I have been busy with the culinary arts and made a treacle tart, something which we used to have quite often. Something which I had never made before, generally deferring to BH in the matter of puddings - although I did used to make cakes. I used the recipe from our Whitworth's recipe book, a sadly battered freebie from the days of our engagement and for the filling I elected to use both bread crumbs (bought express in the form of some kind of French loaf from Waitrose) and porridge oats, with only a modest five tablespoons of golden syrup. Not at all sure that I would care for a treacle tart made with treacle - the stuff which comes in red and black tins rather than yellow and green ones. This all went down quite well, although not all that like the BH product of former years. I was quite impressed with my short crust pastry, despite pressing it onto the (white enamel) plate instead of rolling it out.
But the tart was completely unlike the far more complicated - and far more syrupy - confection described in our Radiation cook book. Perhaps BH will rise to the challenge and knock out one of these last, one of these fine days.
# posted by Jim @ 8:42 AM 
