HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2008-11-20, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 2008. PAGE 5.
Bonnie
Gropp
TThhee sshhoorrtt ooff iitt
Discovering the arts
T he average 16-year old has clocked
more time watching television than he
has spent in school. TV Guide outsells
every other magazine on the nation’s
newsstands.
That’s more serious than venereal disease.
And you know what’s even more serious
than that? That very quote is 31 years old.
John Leonard made that observation in The
New York Times back in 1977.
Three decades later, television is more
ubiquitous and entrenched than Leonard could
ever have imagined.
And not just on this continent. If I lived in
Britain right now I could choose from 883
channels on my television. Germany is a
distant second – I’d only have 300 channels
competing for my attention there.
There are 252 channels on French
television; 199 in Spain. Poor, benighted
Estonia struggles to get by with just 15
different channels.
But Europeans as a group have no cause to
feel underserved when it comes to television
coverage. All told there are some 6,500
television channels up and running across the
European Union.
Yet another excellent reason not to move
across the Atlantic.
Moi? A television Luddite? You betcha.
And I’ve earned the stripes to say so because
I’ve been in front of the boob tube from the
beginning.
Since before the beginning, actually. I’m so
venerable I can actually remember life before
TV. In our living room a piano stood in the
place of honour the TV set would eventually
assume. We actually stood around as a family
on Sunday afternoons and occasional
evenings, singing, if you can believe it, while
Mom or Dad chorded through some old
standards.
A piano in the living room. How quaint.
But television was a force that would not be
denied. Wasn’t long before we got one too, and
the piano was relegated to a back room to
make room for it.
Eventually, I suppose, we sold the piano. I
don’t remember. Like everyone else I was too
enthralled with the new magic box with the big
glass eye.
Actually, not so big. Ours was a squat,
clunky Admiral with a 17-inch screen. Black
and white, of course. And it featured a big
bakelite knob on the lower right hand corner
that was marked just like a clock, with twelve
channels on the dial.
Even that was false advertising. Our TV
could only pull in Channels Two, Four, Six,
Seven, Nine and 11. Channel Four was
Buffalo; Channel Six was CBC. Most of the
channels carried no programming at all, just a
sound track of static and close-ups of
snowstorms occasionally criss-crossed with
what looked like railroad tracks.
What a contrast to the television set that sits
in my living room today. Its screen is about
three times as big as that old Admiral, delivers
full-colour reception and lets me choose
from…
…actually I have no idea how many
channels I get. I hardly ever watch TV
anymore unless somebody else turns it on.
Too complicated.
My channel browser features more dials and
buttons than the dashboard of a Westjet
Airbus, the channels have numbers like
197 and 305, my copy of the TV Guide
has bloated up to the size of a Dickens
novel…
…and every other program seems to feature
either Paris Hilton or Don Cherry. Who needs
it?
Even so-called Public Television has
degenerated into a dreary daisy chain of BBC
comedies interspersed with dispiriting
documentaries about vanishing species.
I’m with Robert MacNeil, the acerbic
Nova Scotian author and broadcaster who
moaned, “Television should be more
than English people talking and animals
mating, occasionally interrupted by
English people mating and animals
talking.”
But I give the final word on television to
Groucho Marx, a comedic genius who both
preceded and subsequently mastered the
medium of television.
But never thought very highly of its tutorial
capabilities.
“I must say I find television very
educational,” Groucho once said. “The minute
somebody turns it on, I go into the library and
read a good book.”
A house with a library. How quaint.
Arthur
Black
Other Views 57 channels and nothing’s on
Liberal Premier Dalton McGuinty is
being criticized for not being as
inspiring and charismatic as Barack
Obama – but he doesn’t need to be to hold his
job.
Ontarians, as long as most can remember
have elected and re-elected premiers who
provided as much inspiration and charisma as
your uncle’s laundry list.
They probably would vote for the statue of
Queen Victoria outside the legislature if they
were told it would provide the programs they
want. They have been less concerned with
flesh and blood
The criticism that McGuinty is not like the
U.S. president-elect has been made mainly by
Progressive Conservatives.
Ted Chudleigh said some may quibble with
Obama’s policies, but he has attributes that
make great leaders, including fresh ideas, a
bold vision and the courage to create change.
Chudleigh said Obama will bring innovative
ideas to counter the current economic
slowdown, while McGuinty has none.
John O’Toole said Obama “is a leader with
vision and hope and that’s what’s missing in
this Liberal government.”
O’Toole claimed his party leader, John Tory,
resembles Obama, because both are inclusive,
consultative and visionary. This may be
slightly exaggerated, because Tory lacked the
vision to foresee his proposal to fund faith-
based schools would cost him last October’s
election.
Conservative interim leader Bob Runciman
added that McGuinty has done nothing to
inspire he can soften the economic slump and
some news media have asked properly where
is Ontario’s Obama?
Obama is admired because he seems
intelligent, confident, articulate and
trustworthy, although he lacks a track record to
prove the latter, broke a historic barrier by
becoming the first black elected president and
prompted the biggest percentage turnout of
voters in the U.S. in a century. Canadians also
would like to encourage more people to vote.
But McGuinty won government, not
because he exuded charisma, but because
voters lost enthusiasm for his predecessors,
Conservative premiers Mike Harris and Ernie
Eves, after they cut taxes but weakened
services.
McGuinty chipped away at them in two
elections, but never made a speech anyone
called inspiring. His most remembered words
are his 2003 election slogan, “choose change,”
but this was copied.
McGuinty has tried to popularize himself by
such strategies as describing how he and his
three sons camp in the wilderness, which
shows family togetherness, and allowing
himself to be photographed on his rowing
machine. But there never has been a
suggestion he has charisma.
The only premier in this period who might
be said to have inspired voters was Harris. He
captured a widespread longing with his
promises to cut government and taxes and
zoomed from third party to government.
But it was Harris’s policies, not any personal
characteristics, that won for him and he was
never seen as warm and attractive. It could not
be said he had charisma.
New Democrat Bob Rae, a Rhodes Scholar,
was the premier most admired for his intellect,
but won government because voters had
turned out the Conservatives after 42 years,
then the Liberals after five years, and were not
prepared to bring back the Conservatives so
quickly.
Rae had the best command of words, but not
much emotion, and there was no suggestion he
had charisma.
Peterson won by looking young and
energetic when the ancient regime of the
Conservatives was ready to fall. Conservative
William Davis gained majorities in only two
of the four elections he won and
acknowledged his lack of oratorical skill by
saying “bland works.”
John Robarts was called “chairman of the
board” and had the stiffness that goes with the
title, and Leslie Frost was genial, but remote.
The only leader with charisma was Stephen
Lewis, whose oratory 30 years later has
university students lining up to hear him
describe the horrors of sickness in Africa, on
which he has become an expert.
But Lewis was leader of the NDP and when
Ontarians had a chance to choose charisma –
there were other issues, of course – they opted
against it.
Eric
Dowd
FFrroomm
QQuueeeenn’’ss PPaarrkk
The car circled slowly into the darkened
lot. Twinkling starlight was not enough
to chase away the foreboding gloom as it
pulled into an empty parking spot.
Four shadowy figures emerge, glancing
around them into the eerie stillness. Vacant
vehicles fill the spaces, hulking hiding places
perfect for sinister skulkers.
The group looks toward the large cheerless
building and to the several dimly-lit windows
on the top floor. A soft glow shows off a set of
narrow steps in a black corner at the back and
they ascend. At the top is a door, which with a
gentle push, eerily creeps open to reveal a
hollow, massive room beyond.
With slight timidity, the group proceeds,
through a series of similar spaces, until one
finally breaks the stillness.
“I feel like I’m in an episode of The
Sopranos,” joked my hubby.
We, of course, hadn’t felt any real tension.
While there was an imposing aura, a sense of
the drama in the setting, we knew more or less
what to expect on this mission. He and I, along
with our daughter and her friend, were attending
an art show and sale.
The artist is a recent acquaintance and this
would be the first opportunity any of us had had
to see her pieces. We entered her studio, a
charming, relatively roomy space at the top of
this abandoned factory. The building is well
maintained, and with its exposed brick and high
ceilings, it’s a lofty setting well suited to the
bohemian nature.
An ‘educated’ artist this young woman
primarily creates collages. But it’s the materials
she uses that make it really unique. Lining the
walls that evening was artwork made whenever
possible from reclaimed, vintage, and recycled
materials. This essentially means custom
designs to retain something of sentimental
value, restorations of aged items worth hanging
on to, or turning something useless into
something that’s worthwhile hanging on the
wall.
It’s an interesting endeavour that allows her to
create not just one-of-a-kind pieces but in a way
that preserves history and protects the
environment.
Yet, how many will ever notice? Probably few
and that’s a shame.
Notwithstanding the earth-friendly appeal of
this particular artwork, I have tremendous
admiration for what she does. This artist like all
right-brained people, are the blessed ones who
see the patterns and shapes in the logical, hear
the tones between the notes that others don’t.
It is the artist, the musician, the actor who put
the colour in life. What they do can take us from
the humdrum. They provoke thought and
dialogue, encourage us to look and see.
Standing before the exhibits the other
evening, I thought the least we could do in
return is seek them out and try to help them on
their way. Standing out and becoming a success
in any of the arts is not always about talent. It
takes dedication, patience, being in the right
place at the right time, and an ability to hang in
there.
Unfortunately, hanging in there requires an
income, which means a day job, which means
less time to give to one’s art. It’s a Catch 22 that
often sees many talented people never realizing
their dream, while others less gifted achieve
success.
In this case seeking her out also offers a bit of
adventure, particularly should you dare to
unknowingly tread that backdoor path after
nightfall.
Premiers lacking in charisma
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