I was in conversation with a wannabe biochemist a few days ago. I say ‘wannabe’ because the gentleman in question is a retired electrical engineer. Well, you can imagine he knows a lot about electrons and a lot less about biochemistry.
The Difference Between Chicken In London And Budapest.
It was a long time ago, when a friend from uni was a little boy and was sent to stay with his grandparents in Hungary. This would be in the sixties, when the eastern part of the capital, Budapest, was still semi-rural. Laszlo – Les to his friends who couldn’t pronounce his name – wondered what the brown fluffy birds were that ran about the streets. He was told that they were chickens. Baffled at this, he asked why they didn’t have plastic wrappers.
There are well over a dozen posts on the topic of the Subconscious, and twenty on my private blog. Yet in all of them I haven’t discussed the subject directly. However, there was a purpose in this: none of us can perceive our subconscious in any way. My rambling around the subject has been on account of this problem: putting the situation backwards meant that it’s been possible to describe the outward manifestation of the subconscious without speaking about it directly.
After all, nobody can see it, so speaking about it directly will imply that I am stark raving mad. Well, no few people think that already; the problem being that in telling me that I am mad, they inevitably demonstrate the nature of the subconscious. They do this by hanging themselves with their own rope (1)
I was chatting with a friend on Facebook, which led me to post his earlier than planned.
It was two weeks ago that I visited the Museum de Fundatie in Zwolle, and their exhibition “Zie de Mens, 100 Jaar, 100 Gezichten” – See the man, 100 years, 100 portraits. I hadn’t really intended to go, it is modern art, after all. There were one or two pictures that were worth seeing – Isaac Israël’s portrait of a woman standing in front of van Gogh’s sunflowers most certainly was, and is to be the focus of an upcoming post.
This post deals with the freedom a painter has when it comes to putting a brush onto canvas. I mean, it is possible to paint practically anything and people from Picasso to Jackson Pollock have pushed the boundaries well beyond the sensible, leave alone the intelligible. Thankfully, this is an exhibition focussing on portraiture.
I was bored, and was looking for a museum to visit. The exhibitions at the Hague were dull; I’ve been to Rotterdam, Zwolle and Groningen in the last month to see their exhibitions. It struck me that I might visit the van Abbe museum of modern art in Eindhoven. One of my less visited galleries because it focusses on modern art. The kind of thing that either bores or baffles. Baffles, that is, if you have no concept of the subconscious. Since I and a few friends do, such exhibitions are just more boredom.
I know that there are many who get excited by modern art: it is conceptually new, breaks new ground by painting in ways that have never been painted before. Doing things that have never been done before.
Which is why Rossella Biscotti ‘Il Viaggio’ – The Voyage – had me in fits of giggles.
Letters are everywhere we go now. A letter is, after all, a depiction, an image of a sound – albeit that this is abstracted from reality in every conceivable manner. Only the vowels have the faintest recollection of the sounds they represent. For the child in the mainstream school, this dislocation is total and complete: teaching a five year old to read will instil this capacity at a time when there is no conscious capacity to reflect. Thus the knowledge of reading will be both unquestioned, and more importantly, unthought of.