Category: Therapy
Love this track by Liverpool’s The 23rd Turnoff. “Ooh look! There goes Vincent van Gogh again!”
The counterculture was, obviously, an intensification of the conditions that created the likes of van Gogh. Aldous Huxley told how that after taking mescaline:
I was taken for a little tour of the city, which included a visit, towards sundown, to what is modestly claimed to be the World’s Biggest Drug Store. At the back of the W.B.D.S., among the toys, the greeting cards and the comics, stood a row, surprisingly enough, of art books. I picked up the first volume that came to hand. It was on Van Gogh, and the picture at which the book opened was “The Chair”—that astounding portrait of a Ding an Sich, which the mad painter saw, with a kind of adoring terror, and tried to render on his canvas. But it was a task to which the power even of genius proved wholly inadequate. The chair Van Gogh had seen was obviously the same in essence as the chair I had seen. But, though incomparably more real than the chairs of ordinary perception, the chair in his picture remained no more than an unusually expressive symbol of the fact. The fact had been manifested Suchness; this was only an emblem. Such emblems are sources of true knowledge about the Nature of Things, and this true knowledge may serve to prepare the mind which accepts it for immediate insights on its own account. But that is all. However expressive, symbols can never be the things they stand for.
“The Doors of Perception” [1954]
Another notable Van Gogh reference comes from RD Laing and Allen Ginsberg’s favourite Antonin Artaud:
Categories
Vincent van Gogh
I was entranced by the Vincent van Gogh exhibition currently showing at the National Gallery. Mrs Ingram, who is a member, has been escorting various people along to it – her aunt, her mother, and now me. She’s taking a friend along next week, which will be her fourth visit. It’s that good that she doesn’t mind.
Last year we went to see the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam together. Truthfully, we were disappointed. We didn’t think much of the selection. I came to the conclusion that, yes, he could paint some wonderful portraits, especially of himself, but people weren’t really his forte. In 2019, we’d seen the Van Gogh and Britain exhibition at Tate Britain. That too was an interesting, but faintly disappointing selection dominated by interiors, portraits, and urban scenery.
This exhibition, however, really seemed to nail it with a focus on pictures of trees and plants. People who follow this blog will be familiar with my interest in this axis of ecology and therapy. More than any of his other preoccupations, it’s in van Gogh’s drawings and paintings of the rural landscape and its vegetation that his work really comes together in spectacular fashion.
Van Gogh, at the time these paintings were made in 1888, had been diagnosed with “acute mania with generalized delirium” and “mental epilepsy”. He made many drawings in the grounds of hospitals and asylums. It seems like the therapeutic power of nature in helping the physically injured, as well as the mentally dislocated, was better appreciated in his era than ours, when it is only just creeping back into serious acceptance.
Van Gogh’s drawings of the countryside have a tremendous intensity. He was a big fan of the Illustrated London News, and in fact tried and failed to get work with my ancestors, who ran the paper. Visually, these drawings of his were inspired by the technical necessity of mark-making in newspaper illustration.
In print production, pictures would have been built up from the mark in the same way that halftone would later become the underpinning of printed pictures. It was not possible to render gradients of shade in any other way. But Van Gogh was fascinated by the technique of this mark making itself. He pulls it to the fore in a way that newspaper illustrators would have tried to make less obtrusive, as though it were an encumbrance forced upon them by the medium to overcome.
Van Gogh tailors his every mark in such a way to respond to what he is drawing: pebbles, grass, leaves, branches, the texture on rocks, everything has its own corresponding style of mark. Van Gogh’s responsiveness makes me think of Bob Dylan’s religious anthem, “Every Grain of Sand.”
In the fury of the moment, I can see the master’s hand,
Bob Dylan
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.
The landscapes, which are of special interest to me, often show fields of wheat, vegetable crops, allotment gardens and orchards at the edge of towns, (after Millet) sowing seed, or ploughing. Van Gogh romanticises this agricultural work. It represents to Vincent some part of his personality that has been broken from him. His paintings of it are an, arguably successful, attempt at spiritual reunification.
There are two of the exquisite sunflower paintings in the exhibition. As one literate in these matters, he must have reflected that the sunflower (Helianthus annus) was not just an ornamental flower but also a crop – and to that extent transcendent.
But there are other highly distinct plants in these pictures: Plane Trees (Platanus x acerifolia), Cypress Trees (Cupressus sempervirens), Roses (Rosa spp), Ivy (Hedera helix) in the undergrowth, the Iris germanica flower at the top, a favourite of the Arts and Crafts movement and gardeners like Gertrude Jekyll, and the Nerium oleanders directly above. This faithful depiction of botany was at once more normal in those times when the urban/rural divide was markedly less pronounced, but also unusual in van Gogh given his largely urban upbringing.
One sequence of paintings of an olive grove is presented as though a study in light, like Monet’s series of water-lilies. Van Gogh, god’s lonely man, works there in the heat of the summer sun – and only in the last picture do we see other people, and the olives being harvested in the cool of the evening.
“Long Grass with Butterflies” is the last picture hanging by the exit. It might have been my favourite painting in the whole exhibition. Every blade of grass here is sacred. The butterflies, Marbled whites perhaps, pollinators, flitter in the still Provencal air.
The footballer Les Ferdinand got behind our campaign to save the pitches. This footage was shot by the esteemed Richard Blanshard and edited by me.
Both BBC News and ITN picked up the story, both using some of the footage from this film. We were very grateful for his support.
Selling my records on Discogs has been an intense process. I have parted with 1,866 items since August 7th. There have been ample opportunities for reflection on the past, upon the original activity of finding them in shops, and my historic participation in those musical worlds.
Even though carefully considered, many separations were emotional, and inevitably there were a few regrets. I’ve been fortunate to be able to rectify the handful of mistakes I’ve made. Mostly, though, I’ve been glad that they have gone to new homes.
One unexpected result was that, after not engaging with vinyl for over three years, whether I liked it or not, I was thrust back into its universe. Thinking about it all the time became necessary, not just in practical terms so as to deal with the flow of orders, but to stay on top of my own feelings; to be certain I wasn’t making mistakes.
Having to confront actually parting with this stuff, rather than just having it packed away unconsciously in storage, some attachments became surprisingly pronounced. I didn’t know I felt so strongly about certain items (talismans?) – that I would be compelled to rescue things from the inventory at unusual moments (before breakfast) or in odd places (on a walk over Dartmoor). What stood out most was a deep reverence and affection for the dance music of 1989-1996 that I anthologised in mixes. I’m referring to that run through New York House, Chicago House, Detroit Techno, UK Techno, Hardcore, Jungle, Two-Step, and Grime. The demand for these old records is insatiable…
Not, in the strictest terms a dance music record, one of the last items I rescued from the sale was Holden’s “The Inheritors” LP, which I had bought in 2013. I found an old download code for it in the inner sleeve, which actually worked still. From thence I found my way to this his 2023 album. I also read a nice interview with him conducted by John Doran at The Quietus.
Holden is enchanted by this same era of dance music and the possibilities for a new society that it suggested. Indeed, it’s striking how little of the retro-rave music goes deeper than reviving old technology and fetishising old twelve inches. The reason that music glowed, even as it was at the end crushed into tiny clubs and pirate radio stations, was that behind it was a dream.
Nothing can stay the same and mean the same thing, and where “Imagine This Is A High Dimensional Space Of All Possibilities” dazzles is in its invocation of that elevated optimism in a new form. Holden finds a way to channel that spirit in these troubled times.
I really admire Holden not (apparently) being preoccupied by physical formats, as is evident in his sharing of his collection of digital music and his expression in interview of “an idea for a rhizomatic, decentralised, community owned version of Bandcamp”. I bought this album as a 24bit 48khz FLAC. It sounds better than even a CD ever could, and that did give me food for thought.
Since 2007 I’ve been involved with my local community in EC1, mounting opposition to the threatened overdevelopment of the Finsbury Leisure Centre site.
Although three previous mooted developments have failed, as far as we’re aware this had nothing to do with our campaigning. In each case, it was just luck. Over the years, however, the projected developments have got bigger and bigger, with less and less being left available on the ground for the football pitches and in the way of open space.
Over time, I also came to realise that the development affected me less severely than the footballers or my neighbours around the site, who rely on the pitches to be kept as they are for their light and open space. So my objection has shifted to being more about the community’s needs.
I have done a lot already, even in this round, to put my shoulder to the wheel: tallying up bookings on the pitches, establishing the group’s relations to a chartered surveyor expert in rights-to-light, and attending heated meetings with Islington Council elders. However, I thought that a short documentary would really help get the message out there. I’ve come to know and admire my fellow campaigners, a more diverse bunch you could not imagine, and it was a great opportunity to talk to them all on camera.
If, as we suspect, the council does grant themselves planning permission (what a joke, right?) then having a memento of how this magical space once was, and evidence of how hard we fought to keep it, will be worth something.
If you have a moment – please object here. No need to be a local resident.
The climax of this Biodynamically-packed day was a visit to Emerson College itself. I had a little snoop around, checking out the bookshop, where I found a few reduced-price bargains in a box on the floor.
The previous day I had discovered that the celebrated author and herbalist, Kirsten Hartvig, who is resident at the Rachel Carson Centre at Emerson College, was running one of her amazing nature walks.
Kirsten took us out into the countryside around Emerson College, where we nibbled and chewed an amazing range of local wild plants. In many respects it reminded me of the blogger’s walks we undertook twenty years ago along the Lea Valley (with K-punk and Heronbone), but somehow occurring on a more profound level as our group were truly integrated into, and understanding, the surrounding nature – not just observing the city’s dislocation and rewilding at the periphery.
The star of the tour was the Yarrow which Kirsten swears by and drinks in an infusion many times every day. I bought three plants from her and put them in a large pot on my roof garden. I think one might have been enough because their growth was out of hand, and they ended up choking each other. I’m hoping next year, when it grows back, that I can manage it better.
Categories
Pharaoh Sanders
Lulu discovered this event at the Lisson Gallery and we both hastened there. Playback of a forthcoming reissue of Pharaoh Sanders’ eponymous LP, once on the hip and tiny India Navigation label, now set to become more widely-known on the hip and substantial Luaka Bop.
Luaka Bop have done some amazing reissues over the years. They’ve been as reliable as Strut. A purist, I don’t even mind their repackaging. I have a particular soft spot for their World Psychedelic Series, and should probably be all over this sister series.
I’m not entirely convinced by “the artist” Devon Turnbull’s spiel here (see PR sheet below) but I like the cut of his jib (magical hippie upbringing). He’s also made this stereo himself which shows some serious technical ability. Respect.
Ultimately though, getting to listen to a great, rare, spiritual jazz LP for free on an excellent sound system, I mean, what’s there to complain about? I feel like I ought to reach out to him with my “The “S” Word” book…
At the start we were spoken to a woman from Luaka Bop who explained that Pharaoh Sanders was aware of the playback project before he died and took a keen interest in it. That lent proceedings a nice devotional air.
It’s a hipster jam.
That’s the Devon feller in the peaked cap.
Harvest Time. Such a wonderful piece. Never heard it before so I was in for a treat. It has a definite No Wave feel. Shades of influence from the young bucks of the day, James Blood Ulmer and The Music Revelation Ensemble no doubt. The guitar by Tisziji Muñoz, liquid, is prominent and the backing was been described by the reissue label as having the feel of rock group (though on close inspection they all seem to be jazz heavyweights…)
Nice press shot of the man. I’m hoping I will get the CD given to me at Christmas. Thanks to Lulu for bringing me along.
My son Sam’s biology teacher gave him some Nigella seeds. I sowed them in October 2022 over where I had previously grown Buckwheat. The Buckwheat, which is leguminous and puts nitrogen back into the soil, was with a view to restoring the container to use. Before the Buckwheat I had grown Broad Beans, itself also leguminous.
Over the past three years I haven’t dug up any containers or pots. This has been to see whether the no dig principles work in this context. I have never pulled old plants out by the roots (unless they have been Beetroot or Carrots!), only cut them off at the base of the stem, and have just dressed over the previous patch with some compost.
Over the course of a season the soil level subsides. This is partly owing to compaction through gravity but is also because the plants’ growth is the soil’s output of matter, of carbon. So it does make some room for compost to be layered on top. So far this has worked fine for me.
In January 2023 I could see some slight signs of growth, but really I thought these were weeds, or possibly the Buckwheat growing back. I’m not expert enough to identify plants at this size.
These were taken in March and April. I was excited about the growth, but was still pretty sure that this was a weed or the Buckwheat growing back (itself sometimes viewed as a weed!).
By mid May the growth was looking luscious and I was beginning to be hopeful that I’d had some success with the Nigella seeds.
Then it became clear from their alien bulbous heads and magnificent flowers that this was Nigella and that the experiment had worked.
These two images below taken on my phone through a magnifying glass I got for my birthday. There’s a pretty chromatic aberration and a lovely background blur from the shallow focus. The architecture of these flowers is just exquisite.
In the first week of June things really took off. There is some kind of ecstacy at this time of year. Indeed in the period leading up to the summer solstice on June 21st one’s garden is truly magnificent. Thereafter the promise of the summer feels like it is ebbing away quite dramatically.
Before I gardened I definitely got the feeling of summer as being a longer phenomenon. It’s interesting how the practice connects you to the seasons. In London it might still be hot, giving the sense of a perpetuating season, but the reality is different.
I’m still planting new seeds though now directly outdoors: Rudbeckia, Hyssop, Buckwheat, Lady Di Beans, Courgette, Lettuce, Leeks. But this maybe with a view to hopefully squeezing a crop in before the end of the year, and expecting less growth.
This was taken on the 8th June – not a great shot but shows the full flowering.
And this on 21st June at the solstice. As you can see all the petals have fallen away.
With the flowers giving up the ghost I got a bit more relaxed about the cats wanting to wander in the bed. Here’s the Grey Cat enjoying herself. I love her expression in the second photo: “I am not here. You can not see me!”
At the start of July I cut the flowers and hung them to dry in my study window. The day before yesterday I noticed that the seeds had started to drop from the heads onto the window-ledge.
This morning I put the whole bouquet in a large, clear, plastic bin bag and shook it gently. Then I decanted the seeds into a jam jar.
Nigella Sativa, to give it its fancy name, is an ornamental flower but its seed is also used a spice (sometimes called Black Caraway or Black Cumin) and is also implemented in traditional medicine systems, Unani and Tibb, Ayurveda and Siddha. In this sense it’s also a crop. I will probably try eating some, maybe as a spice on some of carrots, and then sow the rest in the autumn.
With thanks to Julie.
At Luke Davis’ poetry book launch last June I met the writer/musician/activist Ben Watson. He is chiefly famous for his artist-endorsed writings on Frank Zappa. Ben has been a friend of Luke’s for a long time. I knew beforehand that Luke and his fellow poet Jim Clarke had participated in Ben’s improvised music events on Friday at lunchtime at the Betsey Trotwood on the Farringdon Road.
Ben is a force of nature. He’s one of those rare people you encounter in life who is truly an individual. Very friendly, he’s not shy of taking a controversial position. I really enjoy his company even though I don’t feel I bring a tremendous amount to the table having given up being “an expert” on music, being too uptight to drink, and preferring at the times I’ve been along to the Betsey Trotwood to sit in the audience and enjoy the experience rather than participate. They make a tremendous sound at the BT and the collectivity of the action is truly thrilling.
As far as I’m concerned the best thing about improvised music is that it entirely eliminates the need for technical abilities. To talk about famous improvisers is to some extent miss the point. When you do so you are entering the domain of the appreciation of musical virtuosity. That’s ok but maybe it’s not its real value? To some extent that explains the DIY punk edge to AMMAS, Watson’s improvising group.
Since childhood, out of total incompetence, I’ve improvised on a range of instruments: hours tiny at the piano at my grandparents’ house, for many years alone in rooms doing so when I should have been practicing violin (or even in the middle of the second orchestra’s performances at school when I was entirely lost from the score), and on the flute. Then later, more recently, on electronic keyboards, electric guitar, bass guitar, drums. All the while making a horrible racket mainly for my own appreciation. And that’s the way it will stay with me, as a private negotiation. Right now I’m quietly mucking around with a recorder. That seemed like a sufficiently disparaged instrument to want to play. Though, as I now appreciate, there’s a lot to be said for it as an activity you can practice in a group.
Ben is in fact a pretty serious musician, with I believe, some degree of actual musical talent. If you’re curious check out this recent piano improvisation which has garnered well-deserved recognition.