Parodying

Following the discussions about language and retelling the classics, I thought I might put the marvellous Wendy Cope's limericks parodying the Waste Land on the blog, since we studied T.S.Eliot a couple of weeks ago. So funny and mordant, especially the end of the third...


Waste Land Limericks

I

In April one seldom feels cheerful;
Dry stones, sun and dust make me fearful;
Clairvoyantes distress me,
Commuters depress me--
Met Stetson and gave him an earful.

II

She sat on a mighty fine chair,
Sparks flew as she tidied her hair;
She asks many questions,
I make few suggestions--
Bad as Albert and Lil--what a pair!

III

The Thames runs, bones rattle, rats creep;
Tiresias fancies a peep--
A typist is laid,
A record is played--
Wei la la. After this it gets deep.

IV

A Phoenician named Phlebas forgot
About birds and his business--the lot,
Which is no surprise,
Since he'd met his demise
And been left in the ocean to rot.

V

No water. Dry rocks and dry throats,
Then thunder, a shower of quotes
From the Sanskrit and Dante.
Da. Damyata. Shantih.
I hope you'll make sense of the notes.

 -- Wendy Cope

Challenged as I am computerwise, I couldn't find the real thing on the blog anymore. It's linked here.

Also, here's a link to an article which continues on the Rothko-Art-Money discussion. It's the Times Literary Supplement, so prepare for a dash of ponciness, but anyway, it touches upon those topics here and there. And the author used the word 'perfidious', which is a brilliant word that I didn't know existed in English.

Art for the masses?

A few very scattered thoughts on art. I would love to knit them together better but am trying to concentrate on my real homework (honest). Please feel free to comment below.

Following a psuedo-structuralist discussion we had in the smoking area about the marvel, or not, of Rothko "Is it red? Is it Burgundy? Does it matter?" I thought you might be interested to read this. The journalist writes how art is replacing the religious experience in this supposedly 'increasingly unreligious world'.

Rothko himself, who committed suicide in 1970 from anti-depressants, found painting to be a release from the pressures that life placed upon him and at the same time gained comfort from the feeling of solidarity from his admirers: "The people who weep before my pictures are having the same religious experience I had when I painted them.", he said.

Many people ask the questions: what is art? Who gets to say? What is at stake? Is producing and experiencing art a purely aesthetic experience? Is art shaped by the world around us? and many many more...

On a recent rip to the Tate Modern armed with a new found interest in the links between art and politcs I bumped into one of our fellow class mates who had free entry to the Rothko exhibition. At £12.50 a ticket to what was previously a free exhibition in the same museum one has to question whether the next government will keep to their promise of free entry.

As we face the largest economic crisis since the 1930's sales of art are experiencing the same crashes as elsewhere. Read also at Press TV.

When art is produced purely as an item to be sold, rather than as an expression of the artists creativity, art becomes a slave to capitalist competition and consumerist contortions.