For this relief, much thanks!

It’s off

Well, I have taken my ‘Anything is better than nothing’ philosophy seriously and the pro forma is off for consideration by my tutor.  This is one time when I really need my tutor’s advice.  I will be interested to see how she deals with the well meaning gibberish that I sent off, I only hope that she can make more sense of what I have written than I can!

            Which is not quite true, but I am hoping for substantial help here, if only to point me in manageable direction because I think that I have set myself far too wide ranging a topic for consideration.  Still, ambition is good thing, yes?

            Now, for a shot while, I will be able to concentrate on the next essay which is another substantial piece of work!  And on the outer reaches of modern art!  Should be interesting and should also give me enough information to irritated people for years when I pretend to more advanced tastes than I actually have.

            It is going to be a considerable shock when I travel back in time to the Renaissance for the next course, which come to think of it is nearer than I like to think about.  This course will finish in May, then there is the summer and the production of Flesh Can Be Bright and then holidays followed by the traditional laughing at teachers when they are ready to go back to school in September and then it’s October, the start of my next course and time for the United Nations Day repast.  That little paragraph is one way of travelling through time!  Which does indeed seem to be speeding up!

Where have all the poems gone?

The notes are building up and the pro forma has meant that I have not spent so much time writing my poetry.  But it does mean that I have a stockpile of ideas to work from now that the pro forma has been sent off.

            My attendance at the Barcelona Poetry Workshop usually means that I have something to use at the end of the session – and it also gives me an opportunity to see if two of my collaborators are still up for their contributions to the book.  You can always see what I have written at: http://smrnewpoems.blogspot.com.es/

            My generous deadline of the end of May for all contributions to be in and ready, now seems terribly close and what seemed generous now seems tight.  Still, I seem to thrive on tension and I hope that I put it to good use!

Page turning

Reading through Chris Richard’s blog: http://www.chris-richards.co.uk/blog/

about the books that he has read in 2015 made me realise that the number of novels that I have read this year is limited, and the number of novels that I am prepared to admit that I have read is even fewer!

            It comes to something when the books that I can recommend most easily are art books and a readable guide to philosophy.  The four Skira books on Modern Art are pricy but worth it.  They are hardbacks and they cover and illustrate in a thoroughly academically intelligent way a convincing history of the modern movements in art.  At round twenty quid each I think they are a bargain and if you look around you can get them for less!

            I have just looked them up in Amazon and found that you can get them for a damn sight more as well!  Amazon is now offering them for one hundred and thirty-five quid!  And still worth getting!  The full title is Art of the Twentieth Century in four hardcover volumes (with a 3D slipcase) by Valerio Terraroli and Heinz Althöfer and others.  There are some excellent essays in these volumes as well as some simple to digest information.  Published by Skira, I cannot recommend them enough.

            The philosophy book that I suppose you could say that I bought in self defence as I was struggling to understand some of the basic philosophers that we were being asked to consider was by the ever-readable and student friendly Nigel Warburton.  The volume, A Little History of Philosophy, is a book that I have recommended before and I am more than happy to take another opportunity to recommend it once more.  Of all the books I have read on philosophy (!) this one is the least intimidating and most readable.  And it has little drawings!  Who could ask for more!  If you have no other book on philosophy in your library then this is one that you will read and (more importantly) go back to when you really want to understand!

Be prepared!

I now have to be thinking seriously of my visit to the UK because there are some things that I have to plan for as I cannot expect hem to happen when I get there.  For example, I will have to visit the vaults of the Tate and to do that you need to apply at least six weeks in advance!

            I have visited the vaults before and it was a remarkable experience and I am eager to repeat it.  Not one of the paintings by Alvaro Guevara is on show at the moment and so I will have to look at them in the vaults.

            I also have to future plan my reader’s ticket for the National Library as my book choices will have to be applied for long before I go to Britain.  I have visited the National Library, but not as a Reader (with a capital R) and I will have to use my time wisely if I am to get the benefit from a couple of days set aside to study there.

            I m looking forward to my visit because it is gradually getting filled up with more and more things being squeezed into a shrinking pint glass!

There is always room for something else you don't need

Resistance is useless!

Ah, how those prescient words of the Darleks came back to me this morning!  Actually, they came back to me yesterday, but it was on charge and so it didn’t really count until, fully charged today, it did its thing.

            As Doctor Johnson so very neatly put it when Boswell tried to distract him from playing Candy Crush on his iPad, “A man who is tired of gadgets is tired of life!”  And who am I, a mere poet-taster to go against the Great Man’s words!

            Which is a roundabout way of explaining that, as we went out to lunch to add another venue to Toni’s blog (http://catalunyaplacetoeat.blogspot.com.es) I pressed the button which brought my new robot hoover to life.  Toni has christened him with a name that I have instantly forgotten and we sallied forth, leaving said Robot to ‘do’ the second floor.  Needless to say, I had already checked that he had some sort of sensor to stop himself hurtling downstairs.

            When we came back he was bleating plaintively, asking to be fed and was in a different room from the one that I had placed him in before we went out – so that much prove something.  And there was dust in the little container for collecting such stuff.  Tomorrow the living room and kitchen because, after all, the whole point of these things is not only do you not do the hoovering, but also you are most pointedly not there while it is being done.  So we will be forced to go out to lunch again tomorrow, just so the hoovering can be done!

            Toni is still deeply sceptical (though also just as clearly deeply fascinated) and I am delighted.  This happiness will last up until the internal batteries explode or the brushes wear out or both.  And it is only then that I find that the only replacements are hideously expensive and only available from a small village in some outlandish province in deepest, darkest China.  Ah well, as I have always said with gadgets, “Enjoy!  Before built-in obsolescence catches up with you.”  Wise, if sad, words.

Send the bloody thing in!

How many partners of those doing an Open University course have had occasion to voice the deathless words in the title?

            They have had to suffer detailed descriptions of the bureaucracy (and I still can’t spell that word, thank god for Word and its dictionary – though sometimes I so mangle the letters that even the ever-patient Word can offer no suggestions) and, these days the electronic hoops through which one has to jump before the work can get where it needs to go.

            It is at times like this that one of the sayings in my family comes into its own: “Anything is better than nothing!”  I do realise that this is not always true in all cases, but it is sufficient to give a little kick up the academic backside when necessary and so it justifies its existence.  And I think that I would maintain that it is more true than wayward in most cases!

            All the necessary work for my next piece of work has been done.  It is just putting it in words that it the difficult bit.

            I have, as usual, and much to Toni’s amazed disgust, left what I have to do until the last minute.  It isn’t actually, but, as I am going to Barcelona tomorrow I really should get it out of the way before it is due on Thursday at mid day British Time.

            As this piece of work is unmarked and merely a guide to initial thoughts (through compulsory) you would have thought that it would be a relatively easy thing to polish off.  It isn’t.  And continues to be problematic.

            Why, I hear you ask, am I not working at it rather than writing this?  I reject the idea that this is displacement activity – though, god knows, I could write a fairly comprehensive handbook on the subject – it is merely releasing my writing flow.  I regard this in the same way as a sort of ‘freewrite’ where the words flowing from my fingertips will, inevitably, result in the academic stuff that I should be writing being released.

            Perhaps I should put it to the test, as I would like to sleep this evening and not stay awake wondering if I will have the time to get the thing done before the deadline.  And we all know, thanks to the publicity which is given to the American Civil War, exactly what that phrase meant in reality!

To short?

The weather has definitely changed for the better.  It is still blustery and if you are in shadow it is not warm, but on the whole you can imagine summer happening without too much mental activity on your part.

            This being the case the question of appropriate apparel comes to the fore.

            I have, throughout the year, been true to my sandals.  My feet, unlike other extremities I might mention, do not usually get cold.  I hate wearing shoes or sports shoes and so I have worn sandals.  I have rejected the accusations that I am making myself look like an ageing peacenik from a bygone age of innocence and bad clothing, and I have stuck to my footwear of choice.  Catalonia is not warm in the winter, though a damn sight warmer than the UK, and I have allowed myself to be persuaded into jeans.  Now that the weather is, or indeed has, changed, the question of shorts presses itself for consideration.

            If it were merely a question of walking about then I might shortify myself forthwith, but the bike is a complicating factor.  I find that riding the bike is colder than walking.  I don’t really see why, it is hardly because I am whizzing along with the wind tearing at my flesh, but it is colder.

            Needless to say, no one in Castelldefels is wearing sandals, let alone shorts.  It is not the season to do that and Catalans are not ones to throw caution and their clothes to the winds just because it is hot.  If the date is not right then the clothes stay on.  And lots of them.  So if I decided to wear shorts then it will only be me.  Not that that has ever dissuaded me from a course of action, but I do have to put up with Toni who never fails to mention the people I have blithely ignored and who Toni later tells me stared with open fascination at my sandals.

            So this is a decision not to be entered into lightly.  I have picked out a pair of shorts that have been left to one side of late and am considering.  Seriously considering.

Thalassa!  Thalassa!

From where I sit typing this, if I concentrate hard and the wind is in the right direction and synchronises the movement of some branches I can actually see a small fragment of the sea.  If I use my imagination I tell myself that I can sometimes make out scraps of whitish things that could be parts of waves.

            What I can see, plainly are lots of pine trees.  They are infuriatingly luxuriant and block out a grade one sea view and make it a fourth rate peep-hole sea view on a good day. 

            These trees, after which the area in which I live is named, grow everywhere.  They drop resin on cars which is virtually impossible to get off.  They drop pine needles which sometimes form carpets of vegetation which stop anything else from poking its head above ground.  They drop pinecones like anti-personnel ammo, and they block drains. 

            They also have astonishingly shallow roots and whenever we have high winds (for us) I secretly pray that the ones that block our view will be uprooted.  They never are of course and, given my propensity for writing poems on trees (see: http://smrnewpoems.blogspot.com.es) this praying for destruction smacks a little of hypocrisy, but that is just part of the rich tapestry of contradictory emotions that make us what we are.  I say.

Determination

And now, I can put off working on my outline no more, this is it, a concerted effort, no distractions.  Write!

This and that

. . . and stretch!

If pain at the back of the legs indicates dedication to cycling, then I am dedicated.  I am beginning to think that all this much-vaunted belief in the positive power of exercise is much over rated.

            My knee joints, it must be admitted are not the finest articulating things in the world, but they did work without feeling as though someone has wrapped clumsy weights around them.  Now, after a week of cycling, this is not the case.  The pain, such as it is, is a ‘surround’ discomfort and I am working on the basis that this is merely muscle, rather like the alien I have just been watching in a most unsatisfactory film, suddenly called into action after a considerable time being quiescent. 

            Having been called into more stringent duty that they had heretofore been expected to complete, my muscles are rebelling.  And something must be done.

            I have therefore decided to revert to what I always (usually) [sometimes] did before playing squash or badminton – I will stretch my muscles before I put foot to pedal.  This will be, I am sure, the panacea and all manner of things will be well.

            And anyway, there are only a few more weeks to go and I will be able to sink behind the wheel once more!  At least just before and after I have my swim!

Rebellion!

There are some things you do because you have always done them.  Unthinkingly and with a sense that this is how life should be led.  They are the basics which make up the ethos that propels you through life.  Things that you can sink back on in times of trouble and feel that this, at least, is right.

            So it is troubling, to say the least, that I find myself – after a lifetime – going back on something which I have never even had cause to question.

            As far back as I can remember – and this I know because somewhere I still have evidence of my childish faith in books which I slavishly kept – I drank PG Tips.  It was the tea of choice, there was no other.

            In Spain, one of the first things that I did was search out a place where this need could find the raw material to be satisfied.  And I found it – albeit in a French supermarket chain, but I found a supply of tea bags with the requisite trademark.

            It has taken me some time, but I now realise that I have been denying the truth, the truth that I actually prefer Ty-phoo tea.  How can this have happened?

            I have rationalised it of course, it must, I have told myself be something to do with the quality of water.  I am used to the softness of Welsh water, whereas here in Catalonia, as I am fond of saying, I don’t know how something so full of calcium actually makes it out of the taps.  To say our water is hard is . . . and fit in simile or image of your choice . . . and to be frank it is the same for Ty-phoo as it is from PG Tips, but, there it is, after all these years a change of taste.

            Something I will have to learn to live with as I spit my traitorous cuppa!

Open-ended

The writing of the pro forma for the outline of the work that I intend to do for the end of course module which takes the place of the examination in the Open University for my art course is proving to be a damn sight more tricky that I thought it would be.

            Some things, like my bibliography, seem to have taken on a monstrous life of their own, but the actual title and the fiddly little details are tantalizingly out of reach.

            They will have to come to reach in the next 24 hours as the thing has to be handed in and I have to go to Barcelona on Wednesday.  So, the whip is being metaphorically applied and, as usual, in spite of moaning, I will probably manage to get something winging its electronic way.

            This is a real opportunity for my tutor to come up trumps.  She does know much more than I, and she can make or break my long essay by her suggestions.  She seems to be ‘fairly’ on board at the moment and I only hope that the sense of fellow travelling will extend itself to fairly concrete suggestions for the ‘bits’ in my proposal that I have somewhat glossed over!

            In a strange sort of way I am looking forward to this project becoming reality and words actually making it to the screen, because I am interested to see what the end result will be.  Because I don’t have a clear idea at the moment.  And that, I think, is a good thing.  I hope.

Editing

I am at the stage in my book where I am thinking of the order in which the poems should be published.  Thinking is not doing, and I am justifying my laziness by telling myself that I have more pressing academic problems.  How easy it is to write about problems rather than doing something about them.  It was ever thus and, as I have made that a way of life, don’t knock it!

Work has to be done!

A working lunch

The Puritan Work Ethic, which is supposed to buried deeply in such northern Protestant (atheist) capitalist people like my good self, means that something you have worked for must have that added extra that easy-come never gives you.  Which is my way of saying that lunch should have tasted better because I cycled all the way to the take away after having completed my swim (to which I also cycled) without once getting off the bike and walking it!

            The result of such exercise is that my knees feel as if someone has packed them full of slightly blunted tacks.  So much for exercise!

            To my continuing concern, the workmen who slaughtered the twenty trees have done nothing further to the sandy waste that they have created.  Where are the preparations for the laying of the cement – and, more importantly, the re-opening of the car park?  Where indeed!

            If the Fates think that they are changing my way of life by extending the cycling duties that I am grudgingly undertaking until they become second nature and I cycle through my own free will – then I warm them never to let it rain again.  The first sign of atmospheric moisture and I will be back behind the wheel and roaming though the residential areas like an Urban Flying Dutchman looking for a parking space.  And it if ain’t there I ain’t swimming!  Perhaps it’s the atheist bit of me that denies the full working potential of the old ethic!

            I have to admit that I do feel a sense of achievement about the effort that I am now making and my appearance on a sit up and beg, ‘S’ frame, basket carrying cycle has not gone unremarked – and I have not even written a poem about it!

Private faces in public places

The reality of having to make something of my whimsical choice of swimming pool paintings by Alvaro Guevara and David Hockney is becoming a little more problematic now that I am having to turn my whim into something academic.

            I have thoroughly enjoyed hunting around the Internet to try and discover the whereabouts of Guevara paintings and am thoroughly satisfied that I have found a location (that I will visit in a couple of months time) where someone has very kindly allowed me to book a visit to photograph and study the paintings he has!

            My tutor has suggested that I try and contact Hockney, as he is still very much with us, unlike Alvaro who died in the 50s.  But I am not sure that Mr Hockney actually talks to mere mortals any more.  It may well be worth making the effort to find out though as honourable failure is also an achievement!

            The details on the pro-forma that we have to submit giving an outline of what we intend to write about are coming together and my bibliography looks very impressive.  And that, after all, is the main thing!

            It is very difficult at the level of the course that we are studying, to add anything new and indeed, ‘real’ research is not a requirement of the enterprise.  As this piece of work is taking the place of an examination, there is a requirement that we use the scope of the course in the written work that we produce.  So, as the basis of what we are currently studying is Modernism, its development, critical basis and reactions to it, as well as the ‘rejection’ of it as a way of thinking about the more modern manifestations of art, our choices should allow some discussion of this.  That is the difficult bit, on which I am still working!

Politics and Big Brother

It is difficult for me to work out which I have more contempt for: the politics of our present Spanish government which has just promoted a hit-and-run hag as their preferred candidate for the leadership of the government of Madrid, or the Spanish version of VIP Big Brother.  The characters in both ‘drama’ are, to my mind, equally contemptible – though at least the ‘who the hell are they’ celebrities are at least openly doing it for the money!

            I am convinced that Toni only watches the interminable broadcasts of this awful programme in the same way that Wittgenstein used to sit in the front row in cinemas and watch Westerns – it was one way to stop him thinking about what he was doing.  Toni is so immersed in the complexities of installing and working virtual computers inside his computer (don’t ask!) and then making them work and speak to each other, that he sometimes, wild-eyed, needs some relief from the computer screen!

            I always feel a bit of a fraud when I think about my own use of computers.  I am, after all, an early personal computer adopter, but I have rarely used it as anything more than a glorified typewriter!

            This is not stopping me from exploring the possibility of turning away from Apple and embracing the Dark Side and reverting to Windows and PCs.  Even I, a dyed in the wool Mac user, have become disgusted at the single minded, dedicated pursuit of money at the expense of their customers.  The cost of the new version of the iPhone is little short of criminal extortion and has finally opened my eyes to just how callous Apple are/is – for they are legion!

            You can get so much more for your money for a PC rather than a beautiful looking Mac.  I am thinking.  And taking photographs of alluring machines with 1TB or even 1.5TBs of storage.  I know that everything should be in the cloud nowadays but I trust that thing as I would a rabid dog.  In the same way I still buy CDs – which I know appears to be absurdly quaint to those technophiles amongst whom I used to count myself.  But, I know what I know and there are machines that are tempting and yet do not have a logo that lights up on the cover!  Who would have thought it!

Now a little more on my Art course and then bed.  Deserved, I think.