HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1998-07-22, Page 5The
Short
of ►t
By Bonnie Gropp
Arthur Black
THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, JULY 22, 1998. PAGE 5.
Stool's gold!
Let me confess right off the top that I am
not a big fan of most Modem Art.
Various experts have assailed me for being
a Philistine and a barbarian not to mention a
crude, unlettered lout who "just doesn't get
it"
Well, sorry, folks, but I don't think I'm the
one who doesn't get it. I believe the Emperor
is buck naked.
I thought Modern Art had reached the
bottom of the barrel — or soup can — back in
the 60s when certified American flake Andy
Warhol proved he could paint a portrait of a
can of Campbell's Soup and have it declared
a priceless masterpiece.
was wrong. I underestimated the
gullibility of the Art World.
But I think the descent may have bottomed
out this summer at Sotheby's Auction House
in London, England. That's where a "work"
by Italian artist Piero Manzoni recently sold
for more than $50,000.
The work? It is entitled Merda d'artista. It
is a 30-gram tin can filled with the artist's
excrement.
And don't feel bad that you missed a
Time for updated
national anthems
There used to be a time when Canadians
knew the music of the Russian national
anthem almost as well as we knew our own.
After all, we had heard it so many times
whenever the two countries were playing
hockey matches.
Alas, the music is long gone and I must
admit that it is getting harder and harder to
know whose anthem is being played. Even
though the Czechs won the recent Olympic
hockey championship and the Swedes the
world championship, (it is hard to distinguish
between the two) I doubt whether very many
people could pick out the anthem of either
country or even that of the current Russian
state for that matter.
I have, therefore, decided to put my fertile
and creative mind to work and find anthems
for the various countries that people will
recognize.
Here, then, are my suggestions.
RUSSIA: Boris Yeltsin and his country
have experienced so many ups-and-downs
that I am sure that he could relate to the old
Negro (oops, Afro-American) spiritual,
Nobody knows the Trouble I've Seen. Maybe
the Volga boatmen could think up some new
words to fit the melody. Or they could have a
national contest. That might take people's
minds off the continual crises.
GERMANY: The Germans have already
got rid of the first verse of their national
anthem since it reminded people too much of
the Nazi regime of Adolf Hitler. They have
opted for the third verse and the music isn't
chance to join the bidding -- there are 89
identical feces-laden cans waiting to be
auctioned off.
Manzoni was an artist who fancied himself
as an anarchist. He created Merda diartista
as a protest against the direction he thought
Art was taking. He saw that artists like
Picasso were selling doodles on serviettes for
huge sums of money, so he started filling up
tins with his personal artistic statement and
labeling them.
His idea was to peg the price of his ...
works ... to the exchange rate of gold —
presumably to see just how absurd art
aficionados could get.
Manzoni died in 1963 — too soon to realize
that he had seriously underpriced his protest
work.
The Modern Art crowd loves Manzoni.
"He has transformed the very nature of Art"
chirrups one critic.
Another — Elena Guena, European Head of
Contemporary Art at Sotheby's, no less —
insists that his work "embodies a rarefied
purity of aesthetic vision."
Not everyone was taken in. One London
Art critic sneered that Manzoni's work
"exemplifies the bowels of degeneracy" to
which art has sunk. But that didn't stop an
institution as venerable as Sotheby's Auction
By Raymond Canon
so bad having been taken from the Emperor
Sonata by Hadyn.
Why not switch to another famous
composer, Mozart, and use his Turkish
March. It will not only give them a less
ponderous melody but will remind them of
all the Turks allowed to enter the country to
do the menial labour, but denied citizenship,
as were their children born in Germany.
ITALY: How many of you recognize the
national anthem of this country? Not very
many! Why not pick a melody from one of
Verdi's famous operas? Actually, there is
one. The opera in question is Nabucco (not
as hard to spell as Nebuchadnezzar, the
English translation).
Most Italians know the melody already, if
not the words, and I would hazard a guess
that a lot of people who are not of Italian
origin would recognize the tune as soon as
they heard it. If they want something
completely different, why not Row, Row,
Row Your Boat (Gondola).
SWITZERLAND: (You knew I would get
around to it eventually). Actually I'm not too
unhappy about the anthem: I get to sing it
only about once a year when I celebrate the
Swiss national holiday.
However, just in case some people think it
is time for a change, perhaps we should
choose something from the opera William
Tell. The only problem is that it was written,
not by a Swiss but by an Italian, Rossini.
Given that Italian is a national language of
the country, however, perhaps we can
overlook that. We will, of course, have to
submit it for a national referendum. Such is
the way things are done in Switzerland.
FRANCE: I have nothing against the
melody of the French national anthem, La
House from leaping at the opportunity to
merchandise the, well, crap, out of Manzoni.
I suppose we should be grateful to Piero
Manzoni and his Merda d'artista.
Surely his odiferous contribution has taken
Modern Art to its final destination in terms of
absurdity?
Or perhaps not.
I read in a recent edition of The Globe and
Mail about a teddibly serious art collector by
the name of Hortensia de la Cruz, whose
mansion is filled with the very latest in
contemporary art works.
Recently, while giving a guided tour of her
collection for a gaggle of New York art
enthusiasts, Mrs. de la Cruz was nonplused
by one spectator who rushed up to a tangle of
electrical wires spilling out of her living
room wall.
"MMMmmmmmm" cooed the spectator,
"this is a new work. Very resonant!"
"It was my safety alarm," Mrs. de la Cruz
admitted later. "I had just moved a painting
to another room, exposing the electrical
connections. There were 20 people in the
group. It would have been embarrassing to
explain. I just kept going and talking ..."
Very wise, Mrs. de la Cruz.
Say — you wouldn't want to buy a bridge,
would you?
Marseillaise, but the words bother me
somewhat. During the song there is talk
about some tainted blood (sang impur)
staining their fields and this is not unlike the
Quebec separatists talk about "pure laine"
(pure wool).
Maybe we should get the concept of purity
out of the way.
They could use the melody of Alouette but
that is Quebecois, not French.
Could they not opt for Frere Jacques? I
will be glad to write the words for them.
IRAQ: Finally we get around to good, old
Saddam Hussein. I don't recall ever having to
stand for the Iraqi national anthem while I
was in Baghdad but, given the fact that
Saddam has been put upon so frequently
during the past decade, it might be
appropriate for them to sing "We're nothing
but old hound dogs" with apologies to Elvis
Presley, wherever we may be sighted these
days.
Well, there you have it! That should
straighten out much of the confusion over
national anthems for the next few years. One
last thought closer to home. Could we not get
rid of the words "stand on guard" in our
national anthem? With all the armed forces
we have at our disposal at the present time,
we couldn't stand guard over Vancouver
Island.
A Final Thought
You cannot have a proud and chivalrous
spirit if your conduct is mean and paltry;
for whatever a man's actions are, such must
be his spirit. —Demosthenes
It's progress, I guess
The dusk was heavy, humidity hung in the
air, its misty presence suffocating, the
silence disquieting. The atmosphere's weight
seemed to push at an underlying portent,
coaxing forth a sense of anxiousness.
As I rounded the corner, he came onto the
path in front of me blocking my way. He
was hideous. Hairless, skin a muddy grey,
his bloated middle carried by grossly
misshapen appendages.
Fear pummeled me, attacking every inch
of my body. My stomach roiled, my
frantically beating heart was choking me.
Trembling, I stood rooted, my breathing
shallow, as I swallowed the scream that
struggled to be heard.
I imagine my terror as tangible, tendrils of
it floating like spider webs through the dense
air alerting my nemesis of my vulnerability.
Knowing my weighted feet would not move,
I anticipated the nightmare of him closing
the distance. He stared at me for what was
likely a brief time...
... then just hopped away.
The little garden-variety toad, which had
moved into my neighbourhood, would
probably be delighted to think of the reaction
his presence had caused in a big, old human.
Even after his departure it took some time
before my breathing returned to normal and
my feet would carry me away.
This fear is irrational and I know it. It is
also extremely intense and, difficult to
convince other people, not amusing. Even
certain grownups have thought it would be
funny to present me with a little amphibian
and watch what happens.
I believe my 'frog-a-' phobia started
decades ago. Though I can recall as a child a
fascination, rather than an aversion to them,
a slap in the face with a bullfrog (long story)
at the age of 16, is what I blame for the
onset.
I am, however, lucky, in that my phobia
does not particularly interfere with life; I
may have to go out of my way from time to
time, but I can usually avoid confrontation.
Others are not so fortunate.
According to the National Institute of
Mental Health, phobias affect more than one
in 10 people, usually appearing in
adolescence or adulthood. They begin
suddenly and become more persistent.
The most effective treatment usually
involves a type of cognitive-behavioral
therapy of exposure. In this phobics are
gradually exposed to what frightens them
until the fear fades.
Relaxation and breathing exercises also
help to reduce anxiety symptoms.
Knowing my fear is not based on any real
threat, I have tried to take control, firstly for
me, but also for my children. The actuality
that I apprehensively skulk through my yard
every summer, certainly prompted serious
effort on-my part to get over this. But, when
my kids were young I worried, too, about the
effect it would have on them. Fortunately,
they have handled it well, all being, despite
me, rather fond of the disgusting creatures.
In all honesty, the fact that I relived the
recent experience for the purpose of this
column, does show some advancement, I
suppose. Obviously, and sadly, my
immediate recoil shows I have not
progressed as far as I would like.
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