Victorian Art in the Walker Art Gallery

Liverpool - Walker Art Gallery, Victorian Art, originally uploaded by loscuadernosdejulia.

Although I didn't get the chance last year to attend any events during Liverpool's residency as a European capital of culture of 2008, I travelled to Liverpool just a week before Christmas for a meeting. And there I finally got to visit Walker Art Gallery, just in time to catch a retrospective exhibition dedicated to John Moores Prize winners of the past years, as well as the John Moores 25 Contemporary Painting Prize.

Before then, in September-October 2008 I was researching into Art and Poverty when I had to deeply delve once again into the 19th c. European painting, and particularly, the works of Pre-Raphaelites. Earlier in December 2008 I visited the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery that had the stunning Holy Grail Tapestries on display, as well as an exhibition of work of Ford Madox Brown. And between November 2008 and January 2009 I went to the exhibition of work of William Holman Hunt at Manchester Art Gallery. Not exactly because I loved it too much, but because twice I went with friends.

(I didn't have to fill any photography permission forms at the Walker, but this was a requirement in Birmingham. On my Flickr, you can view the Walker set and the BMAG set).

I am posting this photo from one of the Victorian halls at the Walker also with the view to introduce a great blog about Pre-Raphaelites that I found recently: Pre Raphaelite Art. The blog is updated very, very often (something I'd love to do here and elsewhere) and is a wonderful treat to all who love Pre-Raphaelite painting. If you haven't found it yet, I hope you do now. As for me, I'm grateful to the blog's author for using a LinkWithin widget; I didn't know about it.

And to round it off, a cast of William Holman Hunt's hand from the Walker:

Can You Feel It? We Were Hit By Michael Jackson

I only heard the news this morning. I felt very tired last night, I had a headache, slept through the night, and when I turned my phone on, there was an sms from my friend:

"Michael Jackson has died".

There will be a lot of talk about whether the phrase "music has died" is justified; how Google and Bing are catching up on the real-time reporting; and many more things. It could be the day of remembering a Charlie's Angels star, Farrah Fawcett, who passed away on June 25, after a long battle with cancer. Instead, it will be a long string of rememberances of the King of Pop who suffered a cardiac arrest and couldn't be saved.

Back in Moscow, I've got one of his albums/tours in a video cassette. When I watched "Thriller" first few times, I was quite scared (although all horror films scared me back in the day). I was amused by the feminists who accused HIStory of mysogyny or at the very least of sexism. There was this controversial obsession with Elizabeth Taylor that saw Jackson doing plastic surgery time after time. There were marriages, kids, and then a widely publicised court affair over alleged child molestation. Robin Gibb has reportedly compared Jackson's treatment to that of Oscar Wilde's, and many already find it ridiculous, and are unforgivable of Jackson.

Well, you know me... I almost always know too much to stand firmly on one side of the fence - which is why it's hard for me to belong to a group: a group is always on the side on some fence. It was in about 2005 when I had to research for one paper about juvenile delinquency that I noted that according to the UK laws a child could receive a sentence at the age of 8. Consider now that children cannot work until they are 14, and a legal age for sex is 16. Isn't it strange that you can be classed as a young criminal even before you get to earn your first dosh and have sex?

But let's look back in time. Today we are horrified by the custom of arranged marriages in the East - but we have forgotten completely about our own, European and English, arranged marriages that were sometimes concluded even before the future man and wife were born. We probably don't realise that when Romeo and Juliet conducted their affair they were not of "legal" age for sex. As with boy-kings, when we focus on "boy" and forget that he was of the royal stock and hence was well-educated, so do we forget that it was 19th and 20th centuries that imposed on our conscience a concept of a "child", as we use it today. Underneath those lofty ideas runs the "long duree", and in this "long time" children are still no different from adults. So, when we try and "save"or "protect" children, we're doing so against the logic of time, against the deeply embedded pattern that still has the power.

I don't think that Jackson knew this or thought the same. To quote Chesterton, the beauty of an open mind is that you can close it on something. With the child molestation case, I choose to close my mind on jury's verdict. But I would hope the above would be a sound proof of the ambiguity of our attitudes, particularly to children. And if anything else, those quick points certainly prove that Nabokov's Lolita, for all its "indecency", is not the fruit of a perverted mind.

Below are two videos: Smooth Criminal has been playing in my head since this morning; and Can You Feel It is Jacksons 5's song I really love.

The Mobile Art of David Hockney

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It is always interesting to observe how the media presents the "news". When independent artists, especially not well-known, turn to Social Media and mobile technologies, journalists and pundits use them for case-studies. They profile the use of social networks, various online or mobile tools that enable artists to make, publish and broadcast their art to a wide audience, at a potentially low cost. At certain point this even stops being "unthinkable" and becomes something that we almost expect an artist to do: to have a website and some online "profiles".

Then David Hockney takes to draw a painting on his iPhone and emails it to friends - and this instantly becomes the case of one of the celebrated British artists still being "at the cutting edge of art".

To think about it, Hockney is not the only "old master" who explores the new media. Already three years ago I briefly mentioned that both Peter Greenaway and David Lynch proclaimed the decline of "traditional" cinema and turned to the new technology. In this regard Hockney isn't doing anything remotely novel - but it is the conclusion he draws that counts:

One morning recently, I made a drawing on my iPhone while I was still in bed, of flowers through the window, and the sunrise, which I could then [email] to 12 people, without it ever having been photographed or printed, and that's very new.

We are very aware of the instantaneous quality of online publishing, yet what seems hard to register with us is that it's still very new in comparison to centuries of traditions based first on handwriting and then on printing press. And yet it is new, and what this means for the artist like Hockney is that his work could be projected straight on the gallery screen or posted to the website immediately as it was finished. For a writer who posts straight to the blog online publishing also creates the precedent of making the work available for a larger or smaller circle of readers immediately as it was composed. Musicians, actors, dancers, even sculptors can use live streaming to show their work in process and in progress. Arguably, the more this is done in the way that Wollheim and Hockney appeared to do it, the better we understand "how art is made".

Pairing Journalism with Occult

What a Coincidence..., originally uploaded by loscuadernosdejulia.

The photo you see was taken in May 2008 during my visit to Manchester Central Library. It so happened that I didn't visit that very part of library where this photo was taken, so for all we know things may have changed. But a year ago the bookshelves in the main reading room on the first floor saw this precise pair of catalogue subjects: Journalism and Occult. I am tempted to recall how the storm shifted the signboards in Andersen's time, for this should surely be the way to explain such a peculiar coincidence.

Russian Summer

In September it will have been six years since I came to Britain. In all this time the majority of people I met never thought I came from Russia. When we spoke, they appeared to be very knowledgeable, especially as far as the weather was concerned. They thought Russia was cold and snowy. But as you can see below this couldn't be further from the truth. I took these photos in September 2001 with a "soapbox" camera, at the place called Dubrovsky. It could be reached by bus from where I lived, it would only take 20 minutes to get there. At the destination there were a few houses, a horticultural institute, a village, and a sanatorium for pneumonia patients, all scattered across a vast territory.

My mother and I went there often when I was a child, and one day when I was 11 or 12 I went there with a friend of mine, a girl we went to school together. I knew that my family wouldn't be keen, so I planned everything in secret. My ideal plan would see me going "for a walk", which my parents allowed me to do on my own. My grandma intercepted the plan at the last minute, but she couldn't stop me, and I don't remember now, why. My friend and I went to Dubrovsky and spent a day by the river in the sun, eating tomatoes and boiled eggs, watching other people sunbathing and swimming.

Living Under the Radiance of the Snows

The imperial road to Italy goes from Munich across the Tyrol, through Innsbruck and Bozen to Verona, over the mountains. Here the great processions passed as the emperors went South, or came home again from rosy Italy to their own Germany.

And how much has that old imperial vanity clung to the German soul? Did not the German kings inherit the empire of bygone Rome? It was not a very real empire, perhaps, but the sound was high and splendid.

Maybe a certain Groessenwahn is inherent in the German nature. If only nations would realise that they have certain natural characteristics, if only they could understand and agree to each other's particular nature, how much simpler it would all be.

The imperial procession no longer crosses the mountains, going South. That is almost forgotten, the road has almost passed out of mind. But still it is there, and its signs are standing.

The crucifixes are there, not mere attributes of the road, yet still having something to do with it. The imperial processions, blessed by the Pope and accompanied by the great bishops, must have planted the holy idol like a new plant among the mountains, there where it multiplied and grew according to the soil, and the race that received it.

As one goes among the Bavarian uplands and foothills, soon one realises here is another land, a strange religion. It is a strange country, remote, out of contact. Perhaps it belongs to the forgotten, imperial processions.

Coming along the clear, open roads that lead to the mountains, one scarcely notices the crucifixes and the shrines. Perhaps, one's interest is dead. The crucifix itself is nothing, a factory-made piece of sentimentalism. The soul ignores it.

[...] It is this, this endless heat and rousedness of physical sensation which keeps the body full and potent, and flushes the mind with a blood heat, a blood sleep. And this sleep, this heat of physical experience becomes at length a bondage, at last a crucifixion. It is the life and the fulfilment of the peasant, this flow of sensuous experience. But at last it drives him almost mad, because he cannot escape.

For overhead there is always the strange radiance of the mountains, there is the mystery of the icy river rushing through its pinky shoals into the darkness of the pine-woods, there is always the faint tang of ice on the air, and the rush of hoarse-sounding water.

And the ice and the upper radiance of the snow is brilliant with timeless immunity from the flux and the warmth of life. Overhead they transcend all life, all the soft, moist fire of the blood. So that a man must needs live under the radiance of his own negation.

There is a strange, clear beauty of form about the men of the Bavarian highlands, about both men and women. They are large and clear and handsome in form, with blue eyes very keen, the pupil small, tightened, the iris keen, like sharp lights shining on blue ice. Their large, full-moulded limbs and erect bodies are distinct, separate, as if they were perfectly chiselled out of the stuff of life, static, cut off. Where they are everything is set back, as in a clear frosty air.

Their beauty is almost this, this strange, clean-cut isolation, as if each one of them would isolate himself still further and for ever from the rest of his fellows.

Yet they are convivial, they are almost the only race with the souls of artists. Still they act the mystery plays with instinctive fulness of interpretation, they sing strangely in the mountain fields, they love make-belief and mummery, their processions and religious festivals are profoundly impressive, solemn, and rapt.

It is a race that moves on the poles of mystic sensual delight. Every gesture is a gesture from the blood, every expression is a symbolic utterance.

For learning there is sensuous experience, for thought there is myth and drama and dancing and singing. Everything is of the blood, of the senses. There is no mind. The mind is a suffusion of physical heat, it is not separated, it is kept submerged.

D. H. Lawrence, Twilight in Italy

Keeping a Smile on Your Face

Stockport 6, originally uploaded by loscuadernosdejulia.

When economic crisis struck at the end of 2008, in Russia people were collecting jokes and comic sketches in the attempt to laugh off the looming doom. I wrote about it in November.

And then at the end of January I went to Stockport where I had a nice walk and took some photos - including the one you're looking at now. The sign was adorning a closed eatery, but the owners did their best to keep up the good spirits.

Dons and Students: Examination Practices

I was reading The Times, the article by Mary Beard on examining the Cambridge essays. I am aware of this fundamental difference between the Russian and British education systems (although the Russian one is currently evolving): in Russia, exams are oral; in Britain, they are written. I have rather fond memories of my student life in Moscow, so I thought I would narrate them here.

What do students do?

When I was a History student at the Lomonosov Moscow State University between 1997 and 2002, doing my BA and MA there, we had the following structure: during the year, we'd have lectures in certain subjects, some of which were accompanied by seminars. In a seminar, we discussed different topics, and wrote an essay. There were usually two-three "main" essays per year, on the topics of a seminar, marked. At the end of each semester we had ORAL exams, either with a "pass"/"no pass" mark, or "excellent/good/satisfactory/fail" mark.

My History programme at the MSU saw me attending courses in Archaeology, Ethnography, Palaeography, Latin, Modern Languages, Prehistoric Societies, World and Russian History (Ancient to Contemporary), Philosophy, Art History, Methodology of History, Source Criticism, Quantitative Methods in History, and Computing. Once I started specialising in Medieval and Early Modern History, I had to read not only in my "specialisation proper" (i.e. Tudor History), but also in Source Criticism, Methodology, Heraldry and Numismatics, Onomastics (Onomatology), and Historical (i.e. Medieval and Early Modern) European Geography. On top of that there were "special courses" of my choice: The Bible in the Medieval West; Irish Folklore; Reformation in Germany; The English Reformation.

Just to give you an example, in my 2nd year exam in Early Modern History I had to come to the oral examination with the knowledge of: a textbook (405 pages); lectures (about 50 pages of my A4 notepad); a selection of primary sources (printed in various books and collections, amounting to another 100-150 pages); and a selection of literary works (think of volumes by Rabelais and Servantes). Add to this the compulsory knowledge of Art History for the period, as well as maps...

... and the fact that each of us had to choose an exam ticket with two questions, one usually fairly generic, another more focused. We'd have about 40 minutes to prepare. The exam itself could last anything between 40 minutes and 1 hour, including questions. The duration would depend on both examiner and student. Additional questions could focus on discussing a literary work.

A wonderful writer or a terrible speaker - what to choose?

The oral exams demand that you possess the full knowledge of a subject and can "swim" in it freely. What I personally like about oral exams is that they allow the examiner and student to look each other in the eye - precisely the lack of which Mary Beard as a don seems to be struggling with, when assessing written papers. I also think that oral exams, as well as the focus on developing conversation on a topic, make the very "school of life" that the high education institutions supposedly represent. Why? Consider the following.

When I came to do an MA at the University of Manchester in 2003, in the first semester we sat through the Presentation Skills module, secretly deemed by many students as useless. We were taught "team skills" by predicting how long a paperchain we could make as a team in 10 minutes, and then trying to execute the plan. A lot of groups in that exercise actually cheated. But what stayed with me was the phrase uttered by one of the course leaders in a lecture. She said: "Our academics are known for writing wonderful texts, but when they start talking they are appalling".

When I was asked for feedback at my department, with my usual honesty I responded that there was no opportunity for students to get involved in oral presentations and debates, other than seminars. Why not organise a student conference? Funnily enough, the conference was indeed organised, and I even took part. But, unlike at the Moscow State Uni, here it was open to MA and PhD students only, who were already involved in research to some degree.

Presentation Skills module was designed in a hope to give us, Humanities folks, the chance to survive in the business world, should we come to realise that it was too hard to get a job at the academy and that an art clerk position in a local archive didn't pay well. I'm uttering things, but the module in question tried to teach 20-something (and older) students the skill that I was developing "naturally" in the course of seminars, conference papers and oral exams since I was 16.

It's not just about skills...

Many fond memories of "strange" answers visit me when I think of my life as a student in Moscow. In a short preliminary exam in Archaeology in the first year I was asked why Upper and Lower Paleolithic Period (anthropology) were called so. It was the very last additional question and wouldn't have any bearing on the mark, and yet... Before then I, a person who never camped in her entire life (this still stands true), managed to explain how to best choose a place to lay out a camp: close to the water stream, not too windy, etc. But "Upper Paleolithic" vs. "Lower Paleolithic" was so simple that it got me stuck. My examiner, himself an MA student, came to the rescue: "Well, think about how archaeologists dig..?"

Another example was with the history of the World War One in which Italy was "a defeated one among the victors". I managed to change that into "a victor among the defeated". This came out naturally because my actual question was about social and economic history of Italy in between the Wars, and I wanted to skip to it quickly, but the remark about Italy's status at the end of the WWI was important. Strangely enough, as you may see yourself, my mistake wasn't altogether wrong: Italy swapped sides shortly before the end of WWI, and thus Italy became indeed a victor among the defeated by virtue of defecting from the German alliance.

Yet it wouldn't be wrong to say that the best exam stories happened to other people rather than me. I told you the story of Discobolus that was reportedly sculpted by Homer; and when I was once an examiner I was told that the German Reformation was begun by Martin Luther King. Oh, and I was told that some students called the Habsburg dynasty "the Hamburgers".

Another story, exactly on Mary Beard's subject of Ancient History, says that the Professor of Ancient Greek History asked a girl whose exam performance was far from good or satisfactory to tell him the difference between a prostitute and a hetaira (ancient Greek courtesan) in Ancient Greece. As a matter of fact, he made a point about this during his lecture on Greek culture. The girl mumbled helplessly. Eventually, Professor interrupted her and quickly recapped on the difference, concluding: "With hetaira, it was a high-cultured sex".

And yet another story saw a student explaining the examiner how Monsieur Convent was fighting for the progress of the French Revolution... with his faithful spouse, Mme Convent, of course.

...but, actually, it is about skills

These experiences, however, only look non-sensical or funny. In hindsight, they teach many a valuable lesson. They teach resilience: OK, so I misworded something - what do I do? They teach "working under pressure": imagine reading through all the hundreds of pages I mentioned above - and that is only for one (!) exam, there could be another three or four. They make your reaction sharp and quick: an enviable skill to make one able to work in different routines, professions, and environments. They teach you to structure your answer by making a plan, and to speak coherently. They teach you to come back to where you were interrupted without making a mess of your presentation. An oral exam can develop a wide array of qualities, provided you take your studies seriously.

And the last thing I like about oral exams is that the student stands the chance of proving the examiner that she or he knows the subject they are discussing. Likewise, the examiner stands the chance of seeing how well the student "swims" in the subject's "sea".

Who was the "real" Cicero?

And now I looked again at Mary Beard's article, and I see exam questions like "Why did some Roman emperors punish Christians?" The question sounds almost school-like to me, especially because of "punish". I would rather have it reworded altogether, so that it pointed to the "problem". And the problem, of course, is that Christianity was a new religion that challenged the Old Order - among other things.

The question "do Cicero letters help us understand his "real" feelings and motivations?" runs strongly against Barthes's essay. But I doubt that the examiner would take in nicely a remark from the student that, since Cicero had long been dead, we cannot use his works to "understand" the "real" Cicero.

Most importantly, though, I'm asking: why would a British examiner compare answers to questions one by one, and then student by student? The way I see it, an examiner has already read all Platos, Ciceros and Senecas, to understand their "real" feelings and motivations. They already know why emperors punished Christians. Surely, when they read an answer to the question, they can quickly spot logical flops and the lack of knowledge. Why would they compare the answer of a student A to the answer of a student B? Do they themselves have no clue about what they are marking?

Image is courtesy of CPD Test.

Time to Think - Story of Mennard

A lawyer who blogs over at The Story of Mennard and regularly recommends me at Twitter's #followfriday has written a poignant post - No Time to Think. You can tell from the flow of his text that it came out naturally, and it is the sincerity of it that makes the text very touching.

There is never too much time to think. Apparently even those who teach Philosophy today has to dedicate more time to filling out various bureaucratic papers than to thinking. And of course, there is a fear of thinking. The same kind of fear that Hamlet pondered on in his famous soliloquy. He stated that people are afraid of ending their lives because they didn't know what dreams they'd see in their mortal slumber. Those who live are afraid of thinking because all too often we realise that we have never fulfilled any dreams, or will never fulfil them.

I was reading Mennard's story, and various thoughts were flashing in my head. How the doctors saved my life when I was seven months old - it wasn't either of my parents' birthday, but they, too, spent sleepless nights by my side. How my relative in the UK died through a remarkarble negligence on the part of a host of local GPs. He died in his sleep, and I was late to get home from work. Committed to running the charity and driving his son and wife (and occasionally a daughter-in-law) everywhere, he, too, had no time to think. How I made a decision many people don't make, and decided to be happy alone rather than unhappy together. Many other dreams that I rarely share with anyone - you can put it on my unusual superstition, if you like.

The reason why Mennard's post resonates in many of us isn't just because it is personal or because it is well written, literary. The reason is that because it becomes a human mind to reflect on the surrounding world, and the less time the mind has for it, the more frustrated it becomes. It's not necessarily becoming frustrated over something bad or sad - but even the inability to focus on the beautiful intimate moments starts gradually weighing you down. Perhaps there is a way to get around it, to not worry much, to adjust your mind frame in such way that you only think of good things all the time. For sure, this is possible, and I am one of the those who tries to do this. But once in a while a flood of memories comes out of the blue and engulfs you, and you realise that the walk between "positive thinking" and "not thinking" is probably too narrow...

The Importance of Making a Bunny of Yourself

I don't remember when I realised that one cannot take all things seriously. I think it downed on me soon after I realised that, while I or someone were grieving over something, those who caused the grief couldn't care less. It was then that I resolved to dedicate my energy to something more worthwhile.

But even when nobody is causing you any trouble, it is important to have a laugh at yourself. Not a self-deprecating kind of laugh, of course. As for me, I've always been known for giggling heartily every time I fell on ice in Moscow. Part of the reason was because I saw other people falling on ice, so when I used to fall it wasn't "me" who fell - it was one of those able-bodied people who look funny when they kick the air on a busy street in the centre of the capital city. What not to laugh at?

And this post is really to say a huge thankyou to my friend who deftly and wittingly - I'm not ironic - reminded me of my lighter side, familiar to those who know me personally. I love having a good laugh - and what could be better to laugh at than me wearing bunny ears and making a funny face? The picture pleasantly surprised me this morning, and, as per my friend's suggestion, I am presenting to you my official Bunny face. Besides, after all posts about some very serious things I thought we all - particularly the readers - deserved some light-heartedness on this blog.

With many heartfelt special thanks to my friend, musician and videographer, M. C-ski ;-)

Blackpool - The Walk of Faith

Blackpool - The Walk of Faith, originally uploaded by loscuadernosdejulia.

One of my Flickr contacts asked me if I felt dizzy, when making this photo. I didn't in 2009, and neither did I in 2002 when I stood on it for the first time ever. To this day it is an interesting experience, especially because there are always a few people (usually ladies) who are mortified by the thought of taking to the Walk of Faith.



What they do not know, of course, is that this 2-inch glass is capable of withstanding the weights of 5 baby elephants. Therefore, I had no fear standing on the glass, and one of the visitors to the Tower this May has actuallty lied down on the glass.

In fact, do visit this page, to experience the Hitchcock-style, Vertigo-like, Flash version of the view down the glass when you "click if you dare". But if you do come to Blackpool and climb to the very top of the tower, this is one of the views you are likely to see:

1000 Things to Do Before You Pop Your Clogs

I'm sitting in the living room with a laptop on my knees, listening to Rachmaninov's Adagio Sostenuto from the Piano Concerto no. 2. There is a bookcase in front of me (which I assembled myself, incidentally), and on one of the shelves there is this volume: 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die (general editor - Steven Jay Schneider). I bought it for a friend, but in the end gave a different book as a present.

Back in January 2009, The Guardian initiated a project in the realm of Literature: 1000 Novels You Must Read.

TimeOut published two guides - 1000 Things to Do in London and 1000 Things to Do in Britain.

And of course there is a site which name speaks for itself: 1000 Things to Do Before You Die.

All the above evidently dwell on the following:

Life is too short; the name is a legion to the things/places/people; you cannot possibly do it all; so what MUST you do?

Evidently, the answer is to follow any of the lists. Or to draw up your own, as Listology author Luke tried to do. He was wise enough, though, to start his 1000 things to do before he departs from this profane life with the following:

1. Come up with (at least) 1000 items for this list.

By the look of things, this will be his most challenging of 1000 things.

There is a saying in Russian when they explain in jest why you should do something: "so that you are not painfully ashamed of the wasted years". By extension, the reason for a "1000 things..." lists is to help us, ordinary mortals, to not waste our time. So, in the ideal world we would probably watch one of 1000 films and read one of 1000 novels in between visiting one of 1000 places in London and one of 1000 places in Britain - which will be a fitting entry for a list of 1000 things to do before we pop the clogs.

The only thought cripples in my mind as I write this: there are 365 days in a year. I figure that we can spend 2.5 years going through one 1000-entry list. So, there are already 5 years to spend in order to see and read all films and books on a list. I'm sure there is a similar list of musicians/bands/performers (if not, it must be), so add another 2.5 years. On top of those 7.5 years, there'll be another 2.5 doing all the essential "things": by the look at some lists, these things include making love in all imaginable places.

In total, 10 years of one's lifetime could be confidently dedicated to doing things off the lists of books/films/music/things. And just as I could forget about it, there are 1000 Places to See, and to do that you may put aside at least another 5 years. All in all, the lists could conveniently help to "plan" your life for some 15 years.

Most of us would still go about doing/watching/reading whatever takes our fancy - only to discover that we can tick off the item from one of the lists, or that we experienced something life-changing that the list didn't include. But seriously, have you ever tried to plan your life or education ahead? Say, resolving with yourself that in two years' time you will have read James Joyce's Ulysses twice: first time to just nail it, second time to actually understand it? Did it work?

And, sad as it is, the author of 1000 Things to Do Before You Die, Dave Freeman, died at his home in 2008: reportedly, he tripped over in the hall of his beach house and banged his head. He managed to complete one half of his list.

Some links to 1000 "things" books:

A bit of history

1. The Boy Mechanic Volume II: 1000 Things for Boys to Do
- this book was published in 1915. Just in case we thought that these "1000 lists" have just been invented.

'Geotargeted' "to-dos"

2. Time Out 1000 Things to Do in London (Time Out Guides) - if you are lost for choice in London.

3. Time Out 1000 Things To Do In London for Under 10 (Time Out Guides) - a budget version of the above.

4. Time Out 1000 Things to Do in Britain (Time Out Guides) - if you can see Britain for London.

5. Time Out 1000 Things to Do in New York (Time Out Guides) - if you're eyeing the Big Apple.

6. 1,000 Places to See in the U.S.A. & Canada Before You Die - if New York is not the limit...

7. 1,000 Places to See Before You Die: A Traveler's Life List - if Britain, U.S., and Canada are not the limit...

Age-specific

8. Time Out 1000 Things for Kids to Do in the Holidays (Time Out Guides) - if you're a kid or parent.

9. 1000 Things to Do Before You're 30 - if you don't want to be painfully ashamed of the wasted years when you hit 30. Currently out of print.


Things and Actions

10. Time Out 1000 Books to Change Your Life (Time Out Guides) - if you believe in the catharctic power of Literature.

11. 1001 Things To Do If You Dare - as the title suggests...

12. 1001 Incredible Things to Do on the Internet - if you're tired of Social Media and code-hacking.


Limited availability

13. 1000 Things God Can's Do: a Positive Message to Build Positive Faith - if your glass is half-full...

Currently unavailable

14. 1000 Romantic Things to Say and Do - "we don't know when or if this item will be back in stock".

Publishing Photos of Dead People

When I write a "blog" here, it is about Arts and Culture, and the case of the late David Carradine fits both categories. I have seen him in a few of his B-movies before I watched his performance in Kill Bill One and Two, although I've never seen the Kung Fu series. He also produced and starred in Richard III (2008), so the aficionados of Shakespeare adaptations should certainly check out the film.

This is about Art. Culture comes in when we consider his death. It is widely accepted today that when someone dies we are in for a long reading of multiple stories of their lives and exits. The amount of stories depends on various factors, from their age (e.g. Rhys Jones) through their status (David Carradine, e.g.) to the circumstances of their deaths. The more details surface, the more stories published. Add to this blogs, and now Twitter, to get the idea of how much information is spitted out in no time.

And now something very different happens: a Thai tabloid publishes what is alleged to be a photo of Carradine as he was found in his hotel room. I read the following three posts -

Carradine Death Photo Published in Thai Tabloid

Sick But True: Thai Newspaper Publishes David Carradine Death Scene Forensic Photo, Family Beyond Outraged

David Carradine's Death Photo -

and I am now wondering about the question posited in the post's title:

Publishing photos of dead people - is it OK or not?

The first thing we must do, which will serve justice to the argument and all parties involved, is to determine why the photo needs to be published at all. As you know, I originally came from the country that was invaded during the World War Two. The Nazi atrocities across the invaded territories of the Soviet Union were commemorated in both photographs and documentaries. While Soviet photographers were taking photos of the killed citizens, Lee Miller, Vogue's correspondent during the war, was snapping the killed Nazis and taking a bath in Hitler's tub.

My tone above is not very serious but reflects well my attitude to those images until 2003. I sympathised with the victims, but as I said elsewhere, this past was already quite distant. Then the Iraqi war had started. Suddenly I felt very deeply about the citizens who were inevitably going to perish. And then I saw the photographs of casualties on the Al-Jazeera website, and for the first time, looking at the picture of a dead young boy, realised that, physically, we are nothing but tissue that can be violently torn into pieces.

I wholeheartedly believe that photos of war atrocities must be published. The photos of victims of terror attacks must be published. There may be certain considerations and some sort of guidance - but the pictures of humans killed by other humans for whatever lofty goal must not be hidden behind some cowardly assumptions of appropriateness. There is nothing appropriate about mass murder.

And, of course, there may be political victims, like John Lennon, and publishing or distributing their photos at death will depend on the impact the parties involved want to achieve.

But then, sadly for today, people can simply be killed - as was the case of Rhys Jones. Or, as with Carradine, they can be found dead, chained in their closet in a hotel in a foreign land. Speculations abound, but now that the Thai tabloid has released the forensic photo, the question rises: why? Even if Carradine's death wasn't accidental, what does publishing the photo serve to illustrate?

I will never tire of citing the concerns BBC Manchester Blog raised amidst the Virginia Tech tragedy in 2007: how appropriate is it to encroach on one's private life? And in case with Carradine we, after all, are talking about a private individual, however famous, who evidently had his secrets. But, by the look of things, secrets they are no more: if the published photo is authentic, then the dead actor is likely to be denied every bit of posthumous privacy. This makes sense in our gossip-driven, link-baiting world. But does it really make any sense?

The Professional Fallacy of Historians

Back in 2006, when I wrote Tudors, Me, and an Elusive Ghost, I explained why I chose to specialise in 16th c. history, or even more narrowly, in Tudor history:

I chose to specialise in Tudor history because I loved England, the English language and culture, and because I adored Medieval and Early Modern History, but wanted to be closer to the modern times, thus I opted to research into the 16th c. It was an absolutely amazing period of time, as far as I'm concerned. The geographical and scientific discoveries, Renaissance and Baroque, the beginnings of cartography and research into the Solar system, on the one hand, - and Reformation, the Wars of Religion, the Inquisition, and slavery, on the other. The co-existence of the opposites has made the 16th c. irresistibly attractive. I don't think I would want to study any other time, had I been given the choice once again.

In 2009 I am to admit that there are some corrections to be made. For example, I've always loved France and French language, and with my interest in 18th c. and the Enlightenment I could well go and study 18th c. French history. Arguably, as far as using the Russian archives goes, this would be a better period to study. But, looking back and around, I think I am the kind of person who never (or rarely) follows the beaten track. Sometimes it makes life harder, but usually yields good results in the long run.

I remember about the English Quinquecento - I purposely use the Italian term as it better denotes the exact date - each time I look at my watch and see "15:47". 1547 was the year when Edward VI Tudor ascended the throne at the age of 9, upon Henry VIII's death. From what I remember, it was my supervisor in Russia who offered me "The Privy Council under Edward VI" as a possible topic. The volumes of the Privy Council papers that I needed were not available either in Moscow or in St. Petersburg. But there were other sources, and my research turned into a "personal" history of the Privy Councillors. It surveyed their background, education, and cultural activities.

Little did I know, though, that I would find myself in the midst of the debate that is, frankly, somewhat ahistorical. To put it succintly, to this day there is bickering among historians regarding the degree of political skill and involvement on the part of Edward VI. He ascended the throne when he was 9, and died at the age of 15. It is difficult for our contemporary's mind to ascertain a degree of intellect to this age, let alone any veritable raison d'etat.

Taken in the context of studies, this is a reverse of the situation when we explain things in the narrative by the almighty Author's intent or life. Edward VI has long been hailed "the boy-king", so in this scenario things are explained by the influence of his tutors and uncles. The paradox is that, as with the Author, if he or she is long dead, there is no way whatsoever to "know" anything exactly about the text, be it the meaning or composition. To state that whatever Edward wrote was influenced by his uncles means to be oblivious to the fact that people of all ages can be influenced by someone. Historical studies are influenced by other studies, as a matter of fact. But there is little doubt that Edward's manuscripts were written with his own hand, and there must be the point when this begins to matter more than his age.

What an historian must also understand is that, although a boy, Edward VI was no ordinary kid, and not only because he was the only son of a father who had seven wives of which two were beheaded. He was an heir to the throne and a king in the making, and, comparing him to other young or less capable royal heirs, Edward VI's life at court was rather fortunate. To understand how much worse it could be, we only need to consider the fate of Edward V in 1483.

And once again, Nietzsche's phrase comes to mind: "Lack of historical sense is the family failure of all philosophers" because they "had the common failing of starting out from man as he is now". Looks like, as far as Edward VI studies are concerned, the lack of historical sense happened to be the family failure of historians themselves. It will never cease to amaze me how many academics were oblivious to this, as they were trying to wriggle past Edward's works, and indeed Edward himself, because they didn't see the forest for the trees - or the king for the boy. And so they turned a blind eye to the fact that this royal youngster was miles better versed in languages and history than the Royal Highnesses of today.

It's not all that bad, of course: there is a posthumously published study by Jennifer Loach; a mammoth book on Edward's involvement in the Reformation by Diarmaid MacCulloch; a provocative study by Stephen Alford that was laughed off by one established scholar. Thankfully, Prof John Guy did Alford's study the justice:

It is bold, even radical, in its determination not to be distracted by conventional narratives of politics, and it explains extremely well how previous narratives have been constructed and why they don't work. At the same time the book is sensitive to its competitors, and is skilfully positioned in the space between Diarmaid MacCulloch's Tudor Church Militant and Jennifer Loach's Edward VI (quoted from Copac).

However, the attitude seems to continue following the statement from an official review at Library Journal: "The subject, however, is not one of universal interest, recommending this book for academic libraries with collections in the area of English history and the Reformation" (about MacCulloch's book - JD).

Of course, there's more to Tudor Studies than Edward VI - likewise, there's more than Elizabeth or Reformation to Tudor Studies. But somehow mid-Tudor scholars have to keep reminding their colleagues that without Edward and Mary the English Quinquecento would perhaps be too grand - and too dull. And so, not unlike their subject, those who study Edward's reign are sandwiched between their genuine interest in the topic and the duty of explaining why they are fascinated by something that is not of "universal interest".


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Note:
On Amazon, there is an error in publication date: Alford's book was published by Cambridge University Press in 2002, not 2007 - check the bibliographical record at Copac.

The Lonely Shepherd (James Last and Gheorghe Zamfir)

Update:

There is a wonderful arrangement of The Lonely Shepherd by Zamfir and Nana Mouskouri that I wanted to share with you. Also this is one of the top posts on the blog, and I think it will be interesting to many new readers. Unfortunately, the way YouTube works these days, not only the embedded video may become unavailable, it may not be showing in your country due to copyright restrictions. But let's hope most of you will be able to watch this beautiful performance and once again listen to the enchanting melody.

Most importantly, as you know (or will know) from the post, this melody has accompanied me throughout my life, so it is touching in its way to hear your comments and to realise that we all share something so dear. Thank you all very much for this.



In hindsight... could Mother Nature's Son be the Lonely Shepherd?

I've had this thought for a while, but never took it very seriously... The answer is, of course, that he could well be. Either the protagonist of Beatles song could be the Lonely Shepherd; or the Lonely Shepherd could be Mother Nature's son. Paul McCartney wrote another of his solo songs when the band was in India, and reportedly it was inspired by a lecture by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. As a matter of fact, it was 40th anniversary of this song release in 2008.

Having said that, the vision McCartney conveys in this song is that of a dreamy, poor but fairly happy child. I dare say the image I've always had in my head when listening to The Lonely Shepherd was that of a young man. I've never contemplated much the meaning of "loneliness", neither did I consider The Lonely Shepherd to be primarily a love song. But, of course, as boys grow older, Mother Nature's Son could very well develop into a romantic young man...



Original post - 09 December, 2006

I remember loving this melody since I was three or four, but my mother told me recently that I was humming it to myself when still in a pram, and that was long before I was even three years old. In all these years it has always been my favourite piece of instrumental music. It's kind of shame to think that on YouTube and elsewhere it is often defined as a soundtrack to Kill Bill, considering for how long even I have known it. I love the melancholy and grace of this melody, and it was nice to see it performed by the James Last Orchestra (which I adore) and Gheorghe Zamfir. Unfortunately, I used to have two YouTube videos embedded here previously, first one, then another, and both are no longer available (see the explanation below), so I decided to take the picture down, as well.

You can still, however, scour YouTube, and, judging by some of the comments, this amazing music and a fantastic inspiring performance don't leave anybody unmoved. Myself and everyone who visits this page are, I am sure, very thankful to all of you who have already shared their appreciation of this wonderful composition. As before, if you have any special notes or memories about this music and don't mind sharing them, leave a comment! :-)



Links:

Official site of Gheorghe Zamfir (English, French and German versions)
Wikipedia entry for James Last Orchestra
James Last and His Orchestra - fansite created by Last's German fan, Günter Krüger (English and German version).
An excerpt from The Lonely Shepherd on Last.fm.

Update:

This is a poem by Johann Wolfgang Goethe, called The Shepherd's Lament (1803). I think there may certainly be a connection between this poem and the melody that we all love.

THE SHEPHERD'S LAMENT.
On yonder lofty mountain
A thousand times I stand,
And on my staff reclining,
Look down on the smiling land.
My grazing flocks then I follow,
My dog protecting them well;
I find myself in the valley,
But how, I scarcely can tell.
The whole of the meadow is cover'd
With flowers of beauty rare;
I pluck them, but pluck them unknowing
To whom the offering to bear.
In rain and storm and tempest,
I tarry beneath the tree,
But closed remaineth yon portal;
'Tis all but a vision to me.
High over yonder dwelling,
There rises a rainbow gay;
But she from home hath departed
And wander'd far, far away.
Yes, far away bath she wander'd,
Perchance e'en over the sea;
Move onward, ye sheep, then, move onward!
Full sad the shepherd must be.

And one more update:


Unfortunately, I noticed lately that many of the videos I've blogged about, including this (now former) performance of The Lonely Shepherd, have been removed from YouTube. I have no clue as to what the reason is, especially because many more videos have been suspended that I used to watch a lot (I don't have a YouTube account myself). I doubt the issue is in the copyright, since some versions of those video clips still exist in other users' folders, but of a much poorer quality. Whether or not it may have to do with YouTube and Google merge, I don't know, if you are familiar with the problem and know what happened, please do leave a comment and put my angry mind to rest.

In the meantime, there is a different version on my blog; if one day it stops working, we'll know, why. I do hope this won't happen - The Lonely Shepherd is a popular melody in every sense of the word: many people like it, and it's very well-known. And because this is a televised version of the performance anyway, I cannot see the reason why the fans of Zamfir and James Last should not enjoy the chance of watching it - it is quite obvious that sitting in a concert hall listening to a live performance would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, incomparable to any video recording.

The Circle Club - What Is Social Media For

The Circle Club - What Is Social Media For, originally uploaded by loscuadernosdejulia.

I know I vowed some time ago not to post "proper" Social Media articles, and I certainly wouldn't want to make this a post about marketing, advertising, "Twitter potential", "campaign velocity", and whatever jargonism you may like to think of. Instead I'll be very straight to the point and address the main problem I often notice at the debates like this one.

For me, The Circle Club debate of the subject of "What Is Social Media For?" was a last-minute discovery. I nonetheless registered and went to Barton Arcade in Manchester where I saw a few familiar faces. Two of the speakers were well-known to me, namely Dr Paul Taylor and Prof Ben Light; Gary Copitch I am less familiar with, but it was great to see and hear all three of them speaking about Social Media...

...and never actually giving any definition to the term. This is the first problem I find about debates like this: it throws a topic at you, and you have to pretend that you had a lovely time listening to a cacophony of opinions. Better yet, sometimes we're invited to think, in what may be presumed to be the "true" spirit of Social Media, that we have arrived to a consensus, made the proverbial Facebook friends with each other, created a dialogue, and built a community. I am very sure that the truth is often the exact opposite of this.

Because no definition is given to a term, it is assumed that all people share the same view of things. This couldn't be further from the truth. By definition, Social Media means one thing to a web developer, another thing to an advertiser, and a totally different thing to an average user. In fact, an average user may not even realise that the sites or tools they are using are called "Social Media". In case with The Circle Club debate, my criticism is that it lagged significantly behind the developments in the field of Social Media. Whatever we may want to make of it, these social tools are not limited to community journalism.

This was a deja-vu moment for me, as I felt like being taken as far as back in time as 2006 when I was at CSV Media Clubhouse, doing "community radio journalism". Back in April 2006 I already attended a similar debate at Cornerhouse that focused precisely on connecting people and giving them the voice. Cornerhouse's gallery space was connected with a studio in Tijuana in Mexica, and we talked about communities, people TV, and citizen journalism.

You can easily put yourself in my shoes: three years later I am listening to the same talk about "empowering the community", and how good Social Media is for this. I cannot disagree: citizen journalism is about empowering the community, and Social Media as tools or means are paramount in giving the community a voice. But the facts that three years later communities are still not exactly heard, and that the leading organisations are still extremely elitist and centrist, raise doubts about how really empowering Social Media is.

Or maybe it takes us back to the original question - what is Social Media? What do people who vow to give voice to communities know about the very tools they try to use to this end? I'm all for the benefits of Social Media, it can yield you great results. Think of Susan Boyle's YouTube success, or take yours truly for an example: I was interviewed on the radio three months after I started writing this blog in 2006. Suffices to say, neither Susan, nor I expected those things to happen. But it is precisely the years of using various tools that sobered my enthusiasm and ultimately made it clear that instant success stories are few in the Internet world. Not only the whole Social Media effort involves much hard graft, the positive outcome is usually impossible without advertising.

I promised not to speak about advertising, but the point I want to make concerns its promotional side, rather than monetisation. Now and again, especially when we talk of charities, non-profits and arts organisations, we see this desire to conceal the fact of promotion. It's almost like not admitting that you receive money for your work: somehow we prefer to dispell what is actually of outmost importance.

The question I asked at the debate was about a person actually being heard in the online world. It's great to talk about broad definitions of empowering people, building communities, that "content is king", blah-blah-blah. But if social equals "me first" (to quote Stowe Boyd), then who is REALLY listening to their neighbour? I was told that clicks or views were not important, that readership could come later, and from a different direction... which is all fine by me... except that in the response to the next question the same speaker was talking about distribution of content - and this is already a form of advertising. This leaves one wondering what is happening here. Is this the case of answering a challenging question by making an idealistic statement? Or does the statement attempt to disguise the fact that distribution depends largely on the network and strategic vision?

Speaking for myself, there are many problems I have with Social Media these days, and its being poorly understood and used doesn't help. "Me first" is fine, as long as it goes along with some humanly possible humility - but when it's merely bragging about yourself, then it's rather annoying. Lastly, there is too much ado about Facebook and Twitter, and again this makes my heart sink, especially as I'm writing this post by way of blogging a photo straight from Flickr.

I went to the debate with no idea of what I was going to hear or take away with me. Sadly, I have to say, I have left with no such idea, and you would agree that this isn't great. The debate was good for me because it made me think of different things, but if I was one of those people who are thinking of how to give voice to their community, then I honestly wouldn't get any closer to the understanding thereof.

The conclusion? I'll once again get back to the point of lagging behind the developments. In his keynote at Futuresonic 2009 Social Technologies Summit, Stowe Boyd showed a screen grab of his last email newsletter he wrote in 1999 before switching to blogging. It was in 1999 that he coined the term "social tools", although I suspect that many a young Social Media enthusiast today has no idea where the notion came from. At the turn of 2008/2009 I came across at least ten articles that all, like one, uttered the phrase "2009 is the year of Social Media". Add to this the 10th anniversary of LiveJournal that is increasingly rarely used and isn't even considered a blogging platform by some - despite the fact that it has the deeply embedded community functions. What this means is that it has taken 10 years to properly wake up to the call of what was announced in 1999. It is taking years for Manchester communities to find the means to forge the voice, the presence, and the impact. They tried online radio and TV, now they're turning to blogs, Facebook, and Twitter. And on top of this, The Circle Club that is known for organising some really good debates somehow manages to make this one appear as if Social Media was only incepted a week ago.

So, what is Social Media for, then?

Related reading:

Content, Value, and Valuable Content: What Is It That You Need?

Creative Staff: Pricing William Turner

Creative Staff, originally uploaded by loscuadernosdejulia.

Earlier this year someone asked me if I could kindly find them a book of William Turner paintings. I finally did find it, and that saw me sitting in a comfy chair at Deansgate Waterstone's, flicking through the pages of some 6 or 7 books.

This book by Taschen was good (although I didn't buy it in the end), but little did I expect it to leave me speechless. And yet, when I turned the last page and closed the book, my eyes fixed on this very image. Upon my word, I've never seen anything like this before, so I had to reach out for my cameraphone.

Waterstone's is regularly visited by many a celebrity, and at the start of June the Deansgate branch was graced by Ken Loach and Guillermo del Toro. It seems, though, that the branch emloys some really creative people. Those who love Turner will think of this as a blasphemy; some forward-thinking folk will sigh with relief: for once someone has used a price sticker in an engaging way!

Mademoiselle Chante Le Blues: Knowing Why You Are There and Trusting Yourself

As we know, sometimes the greatest thoughts visit us in the bathroom. Following in the footsteps of Archimedes, I realised, while taking my shower, that giving advice to people like Susan Boyle or anyone who have found or could find themselves in a situation similar to hers isn't particularly helpful. Some artists suggested to rely on people who can willingly support you. It is a good thing, but while it is undoubtedly important, there are decisions in life that you have to make alone, without retreating to your support circle. Besides, a support circle is only as good as it enables you to have faith in something that you feel exists in you. At one point or another, though, we need to step out of that circle and act completely or relatively on our own.

Instantly as I thought about this, I remembered the famous Mademoiselle Chante Le Blues by the French singer Patricia Kaas, particularly the line: "elle a du gospel dans la voix, et elle y croit". The song is actually about the young lady who prefers to do little else but sing blues - although other ladies should not be envious. This song indicates the ultimate choice for any artist, writer, actor, singer when they make their work public. Do they do it because they want their 15 minutes of fame and "after us the deluge"? Or is it something bigger, like knowing that there is something that must be expressed, that pushes them out of their habitat? If it is the second, then 15 minutes of fame don't really matter.

Susan Boyle, Talent, Trust, and Emotions

I don't know if this is an appropriate statement to make at the start but it's been over a year that I lived without a TV in my flat. And I don't watch TV on my computer. This isn't a claim - it is a statement. If a paparazzi were to visit my flat, he or she would find lots of knitting yarn there - but no TV set.

So be that the tearful story of Jade Goody or the sensational story of Susan Boyle or something else, TV coverage passed me by. Or I passed it by, however you may like to see things. Yet, of course, there is YouTube, there are publications in the print and online media, there's Twitter... but sometimes you only get a glimpse of things.

Speaking of Susan Boyle, I noted the frantic search for a proof that a 40-odd Scottish singer was kissed. First, it was a magazine story about her neighbour who habitually gave her a peck on the cheek. Next, I came into a YouTube video posted on Twitter: in it, Boyle was singing Mary Magdalene's part from Jesus Christ Superstar in the presence of someone half-drunk or half-wit. This male entertainer crawled and rolled on stage, then at the end of the part he grabbed Boyle and mouthed her. I cannot call that a "kiss" - and if I were in Boyle's shoes, I'd certainly not count that as a "kiss" either. But the public and media seemed to be paralysed by disbelief that the parable of "40 year old virgin" has so suddenly manifested itself off screen. And so to fight the paralysis they were twisting meanings of the words.

On the eve of the finale I was too busy with work, but I couldn't help noticing stories that were looking at Boyle's mental state. Some of them claimed that Boyle has suffered breakdown or similar because the judges predicted she wouldn't have any longevity as a singer. So, when I started watching this CNN video of Larry King talking to Amanda Holden about Susan Boyle and surprise finale win, I thought: Amanda says they were all so supportive of Susan and other contestants, but it was her who said Boyle had no longevity!

@ Yahoo! Video

How I Write: Structuring a Narrative

This can be a never-ending story, and I saw other writers contributing posts on the topic... so I thought I'd add my two cents.

Doubtless, there is - and must be - some structure. Orwell said that the statement that art was for art's sake was political, in that it asserted a specific idea. To paraphrase that, to render no structure to a text is also a political decision, for the structure will then rest in other, perhaps less obvious, components of the text. To take Memento for an example, it is seemingly without a structure, but as the film progresses, through multiples repetitions, the structure begins to manifest itself precisely through these repetitions that gradually help us to piece the story together. A broken structure, as in Bad Education, calls on our attention. To me, it was fascinating to notice that in Bad Education we had two films in one - but unless we pay attention, this fact may well escape us. In Vertigo, it is already in the middle of the film that we can see that the protagonist has stopped suffering from vertigo: Hitchcock points the camera down the spiral staircase, and we see that it is stale, yet the protagonist is too distressed to notice this - so we have the story starting anew. And, of course, Irreversible turns any conventional film structure on its head and gives us a narrative that unravels from the end to the beginning.

In literature, we can cite What Is to Be Done? by Chernyshevsky that started from the middle of the story; or Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter by Vargas Llosa that was interjected by excerpts from the young author's scripts. Vargas Llosa is certainly fond of these complicated texts, as The Notebooks of Don Rigoberto, with letters and fantasies that break a storyline just as much as they enrich and help understand it, loosely follows the technique he used before in other texts.

The Death of the Author, and The Birth of the Reader

To illustrate how a writer can write something unintentionally that later fits into a broader context, I'll look no further than my own essay that I wrote at Cornerhouse in July 2007:

"I came here with the intent to carry on with my musings on self-identification and categorisation. I spent the most fulfilling half an hour on the train spilling the words out on the lined pages of a reporter's notebook, where I'm now continuing with this. Henry Miller - and with him many a writer - would call this "dictation". It's this wonderful state of things when you feel as a tool in someone's hands who, somewhere afar, is whispering these words into the tip of the tool, and they pass at the speed of light to land in your head to be heard and discovered" (Exercises in Loneliness - IV).

As you can see, I was aware of Henry Miller; but I wasn't aware of the passage quoted below. In spite of knowing of the ideas spelt out in Barthes's famous essay, I never read the essay itself - until recently.

"For him [writer], on the contrary, his hand, detached from any voice, borne by a pure gesture of inscription (and not of expression), traces a field without origin — or which, at least, has no other origin than language itself, that is, the very thing which ceaselessly questions any origin... [...] The writer can only imitate a gesture forever anterior, never original; his only power is to combine the different kinds of writing, to oppose some by others, so as never to sustain himself by just one of them; if he wants to express himself, at least he should know that the internal "thing" he claims to "translate" is itself only a readymade dictionary whose words can be explained (defined) only by other words, and so on ad infinitum. [...] Succeeding the Author, the writer no longer contains within himself passions, humors, sentiments, impressions, but that enormous dictionary, from which he derives a writing which can know no end or halt: life can only imitate the book, and the book itself is only a tissue of signs, a lost, infinitely remote imitation" (Roland Barthes, The Death of the Author).

What is "Real" Writing?

I know a friend of mine will probably see this title as a reference to something he said to me recently, about writing online and real writing. I'd love to reassure him that this post is not a critique of him. Instead, I only want to chart some generic points about the "real" qualities of writing, and he and all of you are very welcome to start a discussion.

In fact, I know what he was trying to say - and both of us, being very busy at work recently, share the same feeling: we're not writing enough literature. While being writers, we don't compose enough poetry or prose.

First point is - what is "enough" in the world of literature? Five poems a day? One short story a day? As good as this task-setting may be, to what extent does it take into account a literary merit of these compositions? If the merit is to be taken into account, then perhaps one poem a day is quite enough. Or even one poem a week. Or does "enough" have to do with our expectations of ourselves, with the knowledge of what we have in drafts but cannot research and expand because our creative power is all but slurped by work?

Alexander Pushkin: Anniversary and Language

The role of Alexander Pushkin in the development of the Russian language is similar to that of Dante: both men introduced vernacular to literature. The report from Russia Today gives a very quick idea of Pushkin's life and legacy.



I wrote about Pushkin before; and on the day when literary world and its Russian-speaking part are celebrating the 210th anniversary of his birth I cannot avoid making a contribution.

My discovery of Pushkin occurred, as with many a Russian, in childhood. I read "Eugene Onegin" when I was 8. It was my grandma who prompted me. We were watching a TV programme where the high-school students had to answer a question somehow related to Tatiana's letter. They didn't know the asnwer; my grandmother did. Although it didn't matter much, I was amazed and proud, but she was very modest about this: "My dear girl", she said, "this is "Eugene Onegin" by Pushkin, every educated person must know it".

As befits an approaching full Moon...

They say that full Moons and the periods that lead to them are the moments of heightened emotion and restlessness. Indeed, despite a heavy rain outside, I feel like I'd like to catch a train somewhere. Of course, "to catch a train somewhere" also entails taking a camera - but how much are you really going to snap, if it's raining cats and dogs? I'm also waiting for a delivery from Graze - thanks to the amazing generosity of Paul who shared a promotional code and waxed lyrical about how good the products were. But now I have to wonder, of course, at what point during the day I am going to lay my hands on this natural goodness. On another hand, I'd feel immensely deprived, if the door bell woke me up at 6am. Yet if it woke me up at 7.40, I wouldn't mind because I was already awake then.

So, as you can gather, I'm anything but certain about what to do, and the fact that I took a couple of days of holiday at work doesn't help make things clearer. I also know that I need to buy a book for a good friend, although I could possibly do that in any Waterstone's.

Perhaps, the best course of action forms itself as I drink my morning coffee.

Jodrell Bank Touches the Stars and Stars in Euro Space Mission

At Futuresonic 2009, the visitors to the opening gala performance on 13 May 2009 were treated to a very special project co-commissioned and co-ordinated by the festival and the University of Manchester's Jodrell Bank Observatory. In the picture on the left you can see Teresa Anderson introducing Touch the Stars - a collaboration of the musician Mark Pilkington and astrophysicist Tim O'Brien, to mark the International Year of Astronomy and the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11 Moon landings. As the short description of the project tells us, "in space nobody can hear you scream, but that doesn't mean it is totally quiet". And although the sound in this YouTube extract leaves a lot to be desired, you can nevetheless tune in to the sound of space - or even possibly, the sound of silence, received directly from space via Jodrell Bank Observatory. The blog entry by Kate Adams at Futuresonic Community powerfully conveys both the bedazzlement and the amazement at the experiment. For my part, I'm glad to have recorded this very extract because on a couple of occasions you can hear Mark turning the sound of the cosmos into a melody. The melody is very fleeting, but, if I am to take the comparison to the sound of silence further, then I should first say that silence can indeed be melodic, but once you take a notice of the melody's presence, it disappears. This is what we possibly have experienced in the dark space (sic) of Contact Theatre.