BACH MAKES IT BETTER

“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.” - Isaac Asimov

The bombing and shootings in Oslo was the news that we heard first thing this morning. It definitely puts a dampener on one’s good humour and one has to question what it is that makes people bottle up so much hate that they have to kill, maim, demolish and destroy. The gunman who killed at least 80 people at an island youth camp northwest of Oslo disguised himself as a policeman to lure in his victims, then shot them twice to make sure they were dead. Seven people were also killed in an explosion that ripped through the government buildings in the heart of Oslo. Surely these are not the actions of sane persons? That is the only explanation that I can think of…

It seems that this insanity was motivated by political reasons. All the more reprehensible and crazy. To want to kill someone because they think differently to you is one of the most unreasonable and inhuman of acts. The 32-year-old suspected of massacring at least 80 young people at a summer camp and setting off a bomb in downtown Oslo that killed at least seven is a mystery to investigators: A right-winger with anti-Muslim views but no known links to hardcore extremists. This is the golden-haired, blue-eyed, dark angel of death that dragged a whole country into mourning and the world into new depths of despair.

When the world becomes a dark and terrible place, when despair threatens to overcome me, when the burden carried get heavier and heavier, what else is there to do but turn to music? Music will speak to us when words have failed; will ease the mind when it needs rest; music will soothe the heart and heal it when it is broken; music flows from heaven into our soul.

Here is a piece from J.S. Bach, from his Cello Suite No.2 – VI: Gigue (BWV 1008), played by Mischa Maisky. If anything can soothe a troubled mind it is music like this.

ON EATING TO LIVE

“The art of living well and the art of dying well are one.” - Epicurus

There seems to be some world-wide preoccupation with food presently. I wish I were talking about the starving millions who are desperately trying to get some nutrition, but unfortunately it is quite the opposite. It is a morbid desire of the well-fed to gorge themselves even more, and the sick single-mindedness of those with a jaded palate to try and find new taste sensations to tempt their tired tastebuds. The success of programs such as Master Chef on the television, the plethora of cookbooks published and sold every day, the infinitude of food and recipe “lifestyle” magazines available, and the cooking and recipe obsession in our media attests to this conclusion.

Do not get me wrong, I enjoy my food as much as the next person. I like sitting down to have a well-cooked meal, I relish sampling new tastes and I am willing to try my hand at realising some recipes in the kitchen. However, to religiously watch program after program of people cooking or competing for some prize by cooking, buying cookbook after cookbook, or reading recipe after recipe in magazines and papers, is not for me. We eat to live, not live to eat. This simple dictum is something that many people seem to have forgotten, obsessing endlessly with food, cooking, recipes, new tastes and obscure ingredients that will contribute to some novel recipe that they are striving to try.

Despite the overabundance of dietary research and the excess of recommendations of the conclusions of such studies to the general public, it is rather sad to see most people blissfully ignoring the obvious. Dietary excesses, consumption of imprudent amounts of the wrong foods, a blind dependence on foods that are universally acknowledged as bad for our health and wellbeing, all of these are still major problems that beset western nations.

The epidemic of diet-related diseases in western countries is another indicator of the magnitude of the problem of our fixation on food. Junk food is still something that is being consumed in enormous quantities and its pernicious effects on our health can be seen in doctors’ surgeries, our hospitals, clinics and the early deaths of people who have succumbed to diseases that are caused by what we eat. We are what we eat is another well-worn saw, but unfortunately it is true: Eat junk and you become junk…

Something that I personally find extremely offensive is the so-called “molecular cuisine”. This is the creation of “gastronomic delicacies” by utilising processes and equipment that would be more at home in a chemistry or physics laboratory. Complex processes are used to often make the ingredients completely unrecognisable and what ends up on the plate are congealed messes of striking colours, insubstantial foams, globules of sweet/savoury glug, intensely flavoured colloids, aromatic gases trapped into all sorts of edible containers, edible papers printed with designs in food dye and fruit inks, etc. Liquid nitrogen, for flash freezing and shattering can be used, carbon dioxide gas, for adding bubbles and making foams, enzymes, lecithin, maltodextrin, transglutaminase, hydrocolloids and other horrors can be used to make food that surprises (mainly unpleasantly) rather than providing nourishment and a balanced diet. This is novelty food in its worst form.

How difficult it is to cook a simple dish of few ingredients well! It is often these dishes that even the best restaurants are judged by. I have found the humble Caesar salad a good test dish with which to investigate how well a chef can deal with a simple order such as this. And I am talking about the classic, simple Caesar salad, no added chicken or salmon or olives or other extraneous ingredients. One of the best Caesar salads I have had was at Florentino’s Restaurant here in Melbourne, some time ago. Alas, this is no longer on the menu, having ceded its place to some more fashionable entrées, such as beetroot salad with goat’s curd and orange…

Give me small quantities of simple, fresh, well-prepared food eaten in convivial surroundings with compatible company and that is all I require for pleasant and nutritious fare. One enjoys many more meals that way and one’s good health as a consequence, contributes to a long life.

REBORNING SIMULACRA

“Playing a robot is possibly the most difficult role you can have as an actor, because you have to take all your innate emotional responses and completely suppress them. Even the way you walk is affected.” - Kristanna Loken

Photographs are very special to us as they preserve our memories. They help us to conquer time somewhat through their maintenance of the past in a very real and immediately accessible way. Looking through our albums we travel back in time and revisit events, see again faces of family, friends, lovers, or even enemies… One way that is even better for preserving memories, many people would say, is video recordings. To hit the play button and see a piece of one’s personal history displayed in lurid technicolour can definitely transport one back to earlier times, sunlit memories which are vividly played out in front of our ageing eyes once again.

It seems now that we have some more ways of preserving and remembering the past. The process of “reborning” (what an awful word!). A “reborn” baby is a term that originated in the early 1990s and it describes the craft of painting, hairing and weighting store-bought or specialised “'reborning” baby doll kits, to resemble a real human baby. This began as a craft to evolve doll-making into a new area of verisimilitude with the “Reborn babies” bearing an uncanny similarity to real babies. Once you have seen these dolls you can understand a little perhaps the term “reborn”.

The technique has gone a step further now, with the “reborn” dolls being modelled on real babies and children so that a simulacrum is created and preserved for posterity. Parents can now order such a “reborn” copy of their child at any time they choose and capture forever a startlingly real, three-dimensional representation of their child. Seeing the two side by side as in the photograph above can be quite an unsettling experience. The Charles McQuillan photograph (that won a prize in the Press Photographers’ Year Awards, 2011) shows Sara, from Dowhill, Northern Ireland, together with her “reborn” self. This has been created a permanent memento for her parents who thus have a preserved 3D copy of their little girl as she was at that age.

Reborn doll kits, created especially for “reborners”, come in a disassembled blank kit form and are made from a soft silicon vinyl. Kits are available in regular and limited edition runs, for hobbyists and collectors. Each “reborn” doll can easily take 200 or more hours to create. Each layer of heat-set oil paint is baked onto the doll using a household oven at low temperature. By using thin successive layers of paint, the delicate effect of a baby’s skin tone can be created, complete with fine details, like capillaries and veins, milk pimples and newborn pressure marks.

When the painting process is completed, the baby has hand-rooted hair that is applied one hair at a time with a special needle. These details, with different choices of hair and eye colouration, allow for subtle differences that make each baby an original, with no two babies ever being the same. During assembly the babies are weighted with glass beads throughout their head, limbs and body to replicate the weight and feel of a new baby. They are then ready to be dressed. Obviously, if the “reborn” doll is a replica of a real person, specialised casting of the face has to occur so that the resemblance to the original is captured.

Somehow, I find this a little creepy. It is the same type of feeling that one has when one visits a wax museum. This unsettling experience has been investigated by researchers, especially where our reactions to androids and robots are concerned. Being confronted by something that looks human but is not, sparks conflict in our brain. Especially so where motion of the android is concerned. Faced with a gap between how we expect the simulacrum to move and how it actually moves causes the brain to become confused.

University of California in San Diego researchers showed 20 people video of the very lifelike Japanese Repliee Q2 android. This is one of the most life-like in the world and it was shown performing tasks like drinking water, picking up paper from the floor and waving and nodding. They were also show video of a human performing the same actions and then finally a video of the android without its “skin” on doing the same things, but looking obviously like a robot. The researchers found by studying the brain activity of the observers that the parietal cortex of all subjects showed increased activity. This is the part of the brain that connects the region processing body movements with the region that interprets and correlates these movements. The brain was trying to correlate the irreconcilable movements with the appearance of the person or “thing” making them. Its expectations for appaearance and motion to be congruent weren’t met.

It looks as though in the very near future we shall have to get used to more of this as androids and robots are to make an appearance in our everyday life as very visible players. Our brian will just have to get used to it. Still creepy, though…

simulacrum |ˌsimyəˈlākrəm, -ˈlak-| noun ( pl. simulacra |-ˈlākrə, -ˈlakrə| or simulacrums )
An image or representation of someone or something: A small-scale simulacrum of a skyscraper.
• An unsatisfactory imitation or substitute: A bland simulacrum of American soul music.
ORIGIN late 16th century: From Latin, from simulare from similis ‘like.’

POETRY WEDNESDAY - DISTANCE

“Absence sharpens love, presence strengthens it.” - Benjamin Franklin

When the people closest to us are absent our lives suddenly become quite different. We become aware not only of the glaring lack of their presence, but also of the countless ways that these people contribute to our everyday existence and make our lives special. The longer the absence the more miserable we become, yearning for the return of the objects of our affections. When a lover is absent and at a great distance the heart languishes and the acuteness of the lack of one’s partner resembles a physical illness. We miss our other half as if it were torn asunder and the edge of us is raw and wounded.

Here is a poem I wrote while in this very situation. Absence of the beloved increases our sensitivities and our feelings are so much more attuned to pain than joy. In the nearness of our beloved our hearts have wings and they fly high to heaven, while in our beloved’s absence, the heart limps and needs the crutch of poetry and sad song.

At a Distance

While you are away, the distance between us
Amplifies the remembrance of your recent vicinity,
And makes me yearn for your presence
In increasing quanta of desire.

Your news still reaches me and your voice
May sound in my mind, in honeyed tones,
But your touch is what I most need;
The proximity of skin to skin.

The image of your smiling face is ever fresh
As I look at your sunlit photograph,
But what I most long for is the sparkle of your eyes
As you look at me within a breath’s distance.

Your clothes, empty shells, hang limply
In the deserted wardrobe and play with my longing.
I smell, but all I detect is freshly laundered odours,
When I would delight in the perfume of your warm flesh.

My heart beats and marks time while you are away,
It beats no stronger or more quickly, until you are near;
What I wish for is that soon it will beat in synchrony
With yours, as we lie together breast to breast.

Your absence fills my world with emptiness,
The distance between us an infinity unbridged;
On your return my empty soul will be charged,
And your nearness, the panacea for my every illness.

BAD NEWS, AGAIN...

“A man without ethics is a wild beast loosed upon this world.” - Albert Camus

It is becoming more and more depressing and distressing to read the news. Is it a sign of me getting older that I cannot understand what is happening around the world? Or is it a symptom of our declining civilisation? Is it perhaps an indication of the degeneracy of our younger generation? Could it be that we are seeing evidence of a relaxation of morals and a complete loss of the sense of shame and self-respect that allows people to act in ways that hardly qualify as human? The religious amongst us will be prompted to reply that it is due to our loss of faith – godlessness breeds lawlessness and encourages vice, it may be said…

It is hard to open a paper, look at the news items on the internet, or hear the news on the radio or TV and not become aware of numerous reports of heinous crimes, big swindles, sex offences, crimes against children and elderly people, senseless villainy, outrageous acts that people commit not only unflinchingly, but sometimes also take pride in boasting about.

The latest news today was of the 17-year old youth who is accused of bludgeoning his parents to death with a hammer, and while their bloody bodies lay in the bedroom, he hosted a party. This is the terrible case of Tyler Hadley of Florida who has been charged with twin counts of first-degree murder, which apparently happened on Saturday. Blake and Mary-Jo Hadley, his parents, are thought to have been struck with the hammer in their heads and torsos sometime after their son posted on Facebook around 1:15pm on Saturday alerting friends to an evening party at his house, north of West Palm Beach. The bodies of the hapless pair were moved into the bedroom and the door locked, and later that evening about 60 people attended the party, which was loud enough to prompt a noise complaint and a visit by police. When they arrived at 1:30 a.m. on Sunday to warn about the noise, the party was already breaking-up. The police received a tip later that morning that a murder may have taken place. They returned to the home at 4:20 a.m., finding the bodies covered with towels, files, books and other household items, and the hammer between them.

What prompted this reprehensible crime that goes against all that our society holds sacred and lawful? What could have caused this young man to kill in such a violent manner his 47-year-old mother, an elementary school teacher, and his 54-year-old father, who worked for a power company? If one could take look at the family’s photo albums, their family videos, their lounge room, what would they find? Innumerable pieces of evidence of the parents’ love for their child, a record of birthday parties, Halloween costume photos, prizes from school for good work or sporting achievements, marks of an ordinary life full of hope and affectionate reminders of numerous proud milestones of Tyler’s growing up. What went wrong?

In the UK, a father and daughter are facing gaol after they got reunited on the Internet after two decades apart only to start an illicit sexual relationship. Nicola Yates, 26 and her biological father Andrew Butler, 46, confessed to being guilty of incest. They were revealed to be living streets apart in Birmingham for many years and found each other after using a family tracing website. Yates was 20 at the time and Butler was said to be in a relationship with another woman but soon the father and the daughter began living as “girlfriend and boyfriend”. Their relationship reportedly emerged when Yates’s shocked family discovered the pair had become lovers. Four years ago they had been apprehended for the same charges, and Yates was punished with a community order for 18 months and her father had been sentenced four months in jail. The new charges are now for a repeat offence, when the pair flouted the taboos of society, laws of the land, and the sensibilities of the other family members.

Even if one has been separated from one’s parents from birth, surely whatever sexual attraction there may be when one is reunited with them in adulthood, must go immediately cold when one discovers the truth! Such is our social conditioning that this prohibition must become active in our minds whenever there is any hint of an incestuous relationship developing. With good biological reason too, as the risk of genetic disease of the offspring increases greatly in such unions.

The phone-hacking scandal of the Murdoch media empire and the allegations of police payoffs, gross breach of privacy, illicit activities of every kind, reveal a frightening lack of morality and complete disregard of ethical behaviour. Especially so when the profession involved is journalism where honesty, truth and impartiality should be held in the highest regard as ideals to be striven for. Now, with the Murdochs’ most trusted lieutenant, Rebekah Brooks , arrested on suspicion of phone hacking and paying the police for information, the $12 billion bid for the satellite company British Sky Broadcasting bid abandoned, the 168-year-old News of the World closed down, and nine others arrested, Rupert and James Murdoch are to face an enraged British Parliament.

The July 13th triple-bomb blasts in Mumbai, in which 21 people have been killed and many more injured is yet another in a long line of religious and nationalistic violence that has plagued the subcontinent for such a long time now. We must remember that the fifth anniversary of the Mumbai train blasts that killed more than 180 commuters fell on 11 July. Suspicion has fallen on the Indian Mujahideen, an Islamic militant group linked to Pakistan’s Lashkar-e-Taiba that has claimed past terrorist attacks using similar explosives.

In neighbouring Pakistan, The Taliban have released a video that seems to show the execution of a group of police officers. The video shows 16 police officers lined up and killed on a hillside in north-western Pakistan, appears to be authentic said Pakistani police. Taliban gunmen accuse the captives of betraying Islam and killing six children, and then open fire on them with automatic weapons, killing all of the police, who slump dead to the ground. Pakistani security officials say the video was taken last month after insurgents overran a checkpoint in the Upper Dir district near the border with Afghanistan. Military officials have described the executions as merciless.

Economic crisis, crumbling financial situations, nations facing bankruptcy, violent demonstrations, massive protests, unemployment, strikes, discontent…

And that is just a small sample in the last few days. How many more such reports I have read and despaired over! Every day something new, more insanity, more depravity, more loss of our collective humanity. Then again, on reflection, I have to admit that none of this is new. London had its Jack the Ripper in the 19th century. Religious fanaticism is nothing new – look at he Crusades! Wars, murder, sex crimes, incest, deceit, power games, rich and powerful men getting away with illicit activities have occurred again and again throughout history. What we see nowadays of course is the ease of communication delivering every item of news to us relentlessly and continually. What is to be determined is whether this will be for our benefit. Will such an inundation with information and rapidly delivered news make us strive to be better or will it complete inure us and degrade further our crumbling moral sense?

MOVIE MONDAY - BECOMING JANE

“Romance has been elegantly defined as the offspring of fiction and love.” - Benjamin Disraeli

On Sunday, the weather started turning a little nasty in the afternoon and we decided to stay in and watch a film. This was a film that was once again retrieved from the specials bin at our DVD store and which we had missed seeing previously. It was the 2007 Julian Jarrold film “Becoming Jane” with Anne Hathaway and James McAvoy. It is about the youthful years of Jane Austen, before she became a famous novelist. It revolves around her supposed romance with a young Irish lawyer. This is another “chic flick” manufactured in a fictional biographical style by the screenwriters Kevin Hood and Sarah Williams, based on fragmentary references in some letters that Jane Austen wrote her sister, Cassandra.

The plot begins in 1795 when Jane Austen was a vivacious 20-year-old living in the country and making do with her rather impecunious family circumstances in the household of her father, a parson. She is an emerging writer who sees the world through young, romantic eyes and having an idealised vision of marrying for love, something that was then almost unthinkable. Her parents wish her to marry “upwards, into money” so that her life will be assured and her social status will be improved. Mr. Wisley, nephew to the very rich local aristocrat Lady Gresham, foots the bill as the prospective match, especially since he eyes Jane with amorous glance.

Jane, however, meets the young Irishman, Tom Lefroy who has been sent to the countryside by his crotchety uncle, Judge Langlois in order to punish one of his indiscretions. Lefroy is roguish, intelligent, non-aristocratic and depends solely on his uncle’s generosity to live. Jane and Tom are initially repelled by mutual antipathy, with sparks flying as sharp repartee and witty ripostes are exchanged. His arrogance raises Jane’s ire, but his intellect, worldly ways and experience attract her. The couple begin to flirt, which flies in the face of the mores of the age, and are soon faced with a terrible dilemma: If they marry, they will risk everything that matters - family, friends and fortune, whereas if they do the “right thing” and follow the advice of their relatives, they will lose the chance of being together and enjoying their love.

Historians and Jane Austen biographers have howled blue murder: The film is historically inaccurate and at best highly speculative and unsubstantiated. At worst it is downright erroneous and historically untenable. It must be stressed that the screenwriters didn’t have much historical material or evidence to work from. A couple of letters written by Jane Austen to her sister Cassandra, and an admission by an elderly Tom Lefroy that he had once been in “boyish love” with the writer are what have spurred the screenwriters to concoct the plot. Historian Jon Spence worked as a consultant on the film and has written a book of the same name, which probably should be read for homework before one sees this film. Spence gives attention to the inspiration he feels Lefroy gave to Jane, but this inference is developed into actual events in the movie.

Hence, on slightly shaky foundations, the film-makers have built a story of repressed passion and defiance of social mores that is a work of fiction worthy of a Jane Austen novel in its own right. Hollywood tends to take such liberties with fiction and biography according to Hollywood holds a terror that would make many a famous personage’s bones shake in their grave. That considered, one must then decide whether this fictitious biopic works as a movie.

It is a handsome film with a strong sense of atmosphere, many an authentic touch in terms of mise-en-scène and quite gorgeous cinematography. The music adds a nice touch and the costumes, little details in terms of the curtseying, the representation of the customs and language of the times are well captured. The two leads are likeable enough, although neither of them is a favourite actor of mine. They do perform their roles well enough, but I had the feeling that it was all contrived. There was no naturalness in their performance. A little a like a dated theatre performance, perhaps.

The story was rather predictable and quite unoriginal, the gimmick being the fame of the author and the temptation to treat her life as if it were one of her own novels. I found some scenes exceedingly soppy and melodramatic, dragged down by clichés. However, all of that said, one must admit that the film is not worthless and is engaging enough to be seen to the end. It is no masterpiece of the cinematic art and understandably, it did not win a “Best Screenplay” Oscar. It is a good enough B-grade movie, certain to appeal to the romantically inclined, maybe even to fans of Jane Austen’s work.

SCHIELE AND EXPRESSIONISM

“Obscenity is not a quality inherent in a book or picture, but is solely and exclusively a contribution of the reading mind, and hence cannot be defined in terms of the qualities of a book or picture.” - Theodore Schroeder

Continuing my Vienna Art & Design blog from last week’s Art Sunday, I am considering today another artist of Klimt’s circle, Egon Schiele (1890-1918). Schiele was one of the prime artists that created art in the expressionist style. Expressionism developed almost simultaneously in different countries from about 1905. This is generally regarded as a northern European development of the Fauves’ celebration of colour, which was extended by a push to new emotional and psychological depths.

This was art characterised by symbolic colours, great contrast and exaggerated imagery. German Expressionism in particular tended to dwell on the darker, sinister aspects of the human psyche. In its broadest sense, this expressionist art raises subjective feelings above objective observations. The paintings reflect the artists’ state of mind rather than the reality of the external world. The German Expressionist movement began in 1905 with artists such as Kirchner and Nolde, who favored the Fauvist style of bright colours but also added stronger linear effects and harsher outlines.

Although Expressionism developed a distinctly German character, the Frenchman, Georges Rouault (1871-1958), linked the decorative effects of Fauvism in France with the symbolic colour of German Expressionism. Rouault’s work has been described as “Fauvism through dark glasses”. Rouault was a deeply religious man and some consider him the greatest religious artist of the 20th century. He began his career apprenticed to a stained-glass worker, and his love of harsh, binding outlines containing a radiance of colour gives poignancy to his paintings, which show a resemblance to stained glass.

Austrian expressionist artist Egon Leo Adolf Schiele, born June 12, 1890, died October 31, 1918, provoked art critics and society for most of his brief life. Even more than Gustav Klimt, Schiele made eroticism one of his major themes and was briefly imprisoned for obscenity in 1912. His treatment of the nude figure suggests a lonely, tormented spirit haunted rather than fulfilled by sexuality. At first strongly influenced by Klimt (whom he met in 1907), Schiele soon achieved an independent anticlassical style wherein his jagged lines arose more from psychological and spiritual feeling than from aesthetic considerations. He painted a number of outstanding portraits, such as that of his father-in-law, Johann Harms (1916; Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York City), and a series of unflinching and disquieting self-portraits. Late works such as The Family (1918; Oesterreichische Galerie, Vienna) reveal a newfound sense of security.

In this “Self-Portrait with Physalis” Schiele’s characteristic style is shown to the foremost. It was painted in 1912 (oil, opaque colour on wood. 32.4 x 40.2 cm, located in the Leopold Museum, Vienna, Austria). The white of the background highlights the curving lines of the Chinese Lantern plant stems and their striking orange fruit and autumnal leaves, while providing a high contrast background for the face. The bust of the artist is off-centre and his quizzical, slightly bemused look with raised eyebrows is hard to fathom, although one can see the trials and tribulations of his young life. Schiele is looking at us with a challenging, yet vulnerable, wide-eyed face – this is the year he was imprisoned for obscenity and one can see the querulous eyes, state: “Obscene? Why?”. His dark hair mirrors his coat and his arms appear to be pressed tensely against his body, his hands (although not shown), one can imagine clasped tightly. His young face is tortured and its colours appear make-up-like, as if we are looking at a grease-painted mask. This is an expression of the artist’s angst-filled soul rather than a true objective likeness of his external appearance. The portrait makes the viewer uneasy and curious, while at the same time exciting a sense of empathy and a need to explore further, beyond the stems of the physalis.

PENTRIDGE, COBURG LAKE & BEETHOVEN

“Mozart has the classic purity of light and the blue ocean; Beethoven the romantic grandeur which belongs to the storms of air and sea, and while the soul of Mozart seems to dwell on the ethereal peaks of Olympus, that of Beethoven climbs shuddering the storm-beaten sides of a Sinai. Blessed be they both! Each represents a moment of the ideal life, each does us good. Our love is due to both.” - Henri Frederic Amiel

After a frosty morning, the day bloomed into a perfect sunny winter’s day, warming up to about 14˚C. We had a leisurely breakfast and then ventured out to go and see our friend in the nursing home. One the way back we stopped at Coburg Lake. Coburg is a northern suburb of Melbourne and in the past one of its most notorious landmarks was Pentridge Prison. Coburg Lake is on the corner of Murray and Newlands Rds and this lake was originally created by prisoners from Pentridge Prison, which is only across the road. Its water comes from Merri Creek, which flows into the lake and then continues downstream past a weir, to join the Yarra River further south.

In the mid-19th century, Victoria’s gold rush brought about a greatly increased crime rate. The government decided to establish a number of penal stockades and also make use of abandoned ships. One of these stockades was set up at Pentridge (the old name for Coburg) to receive, in December 1850, sixteen prisoners from the overcrowded Melbourne Gaol. Pentridge was thought to be a good place for a prison, being near Melbourne, yet isolated from it. Moreover the village reserve was the only Crown Land left unsold. The purpose of the stockade was to provide labour for the construction of the newly proclaimed Sydney Road. There was a lot of bluestone in the area so the prisoners could do “hard labour” breaking up the stone and working on the unmade road.

Residents were frightened and angry because the stockade consisted only of log huts on wheels behind a low 1.2 metre wooden fence with prisoners guarded by an inadequate number of overseers. Because it was so insecure, mounted aboriginal troopers were employed to patrol its perimeter. The first superintendent of the stockade was Mr Samuel Barrow.

Prisoners worked, slept and were fed in chains. People passing sometimes talked to chain gangs working on the road and gave them tobacco. Prisoners slept on wooden benches and ate standing outside in all weather. Those who broke rules or refused to work were punished by wearing heavier irons or given solitary confinement on bread and water. Some were flogged. Prisoners could only have one letter or visit every three months. The worst punishment was to be sent to the hulks, the floating prison boats moored at Williamstown.

In the period 1857-64 the stockade was transformed into a typical Pentonville-type prison. Single cells replaced the dormitory accommodation of the earlier stockade, and high external bluestone walls with towers for sentries were built providing a much higher level of security. Prisoners worked in various industries such as the woollen mill, bakery, printery, tailor’s shop, garden, library or in the labour yard rock-breaking. A car number-plate manufactory was established in 1962. By 1945, prisoners were allowed one visit per month and to receive and send one letter a fortnight. In the 1950s and 1960s the prison became a bit more humane. Prisoners could study, join a debating team and some acted and put on plays. By 1970 there were over 1000 prisoners.

With the closure of the Melbourne Gaol in 1926 all executions in Victoria had been carried out in Pentridge. The last man hanged there was Ronald Ryan in 1967. He had been found guilty of killing a prison officer, George Hodson, during a prison escape attempt. Coburg Council tried fro a long time to have the prison moved or closed. From 1984, drugs and general unrest in the prisons gave rise to rioting and strikes. In 1994, the State Government announced its program to privatise prisons. In May 1997 the northern half of the prison was officially closed and the prisoners sent elsewhere. June 1997 saw the beginning of public tours of the prison. The southern part of the prison closed on 28 November that year and in 1999 the site was sold. It has since been developed as housing estates, parklands and a business precinct.

The afternoon walk along the creek and the lake was a very idyllic one and everywhere there people doing the same, or having barbeques along the shores of the lake. Children played in the playground, families fed the ducks, young lovers canoodled and everyone was enjoying the sunshine, while just a few tens of metres away the old prison walls were a stern memorial to old, sadder times – a souvenir unheeded by the majority of people having weekend fun along the shore of the Lake.

A piece of music came into my head while we were there, and it seemed to summarise the history of the place well… It is the second movement of Beethoven’s seventh symphony. Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92, was begun in 1811. He worked on it while staying in the Bohemian spa town of Teplice in the hope of improving his health. It was completed in 1812, and was dedicated to Count Moritz von Fries. At its debut, Beethoven was noted as remarking that it was one of his finest works. The second movement Allegretto was the most popular movement and had to be encored immediately it was finished a the first performance. The instant popularity of the Allegretto resulted in its frequent performance separate from the complete symphony.

BOOST YOUR IMMUNITY WITH YOUR DIET

“The doctor of the future will no longer treat the human frame with drugs, but rather will cure and prevent disease with nutrition.” - Thomas Edison

Now that winter is upon us, people are coming down with all sorts of colds, viral infections and nasty little bugs that make the cold weather that extra little bit more miserable. While taking good care of our hygiene, ensuring that we do not come into contact with infectious people, dressing well and getting vaccinated, it is essential to also take care of our diet, as what we eat can protect us from infections by boosting our immune system and building up our body’s defences.

Oats and barley are two grains rich in beta-glucan, a type of fibre with antimicrobial and antioxidant capabilities more potent than echinacea, as reported by a Norwegian study. When animals were fed beta glucan, they were less likely to contract influenza, herpes, even anthrax; in humans, it boosts immunity, speeds wound healing, and may help antibiotics work better. At least one in your three daily servings of whole grains should be of barley or oats. Excellent in soups, in cereals and in bread made from their flour.

We all know of the health benefits of garlic, especially as they relate to helping lower blood pressure and promoting cardiovascular health. However, this potent relative of the onion contains the active ingredient allicin, which fights infection and microbial growth. British researchers gave 146 people either a placebo or a garlic extract for 12 weeks; the garlic takers were two-thirds less likely to catch a cold. Other studies suggest that garlic-lovers who eat more than six cloves a week have a 30% lower rate of colorectal cancer and a 50% lower rate of stomach cancer. The optimal dose for these health effects is two raw cloves a day and add crushed garlic to your cooking several times a week.

Fish and shellfish have been staples of human diet for millennia and with good reason. Selenium, plentiful in shellfish such as oysters, lobsters, crabs, and clams, helps white blood cells produce cytokines, which are proteins that help the immune response and which clear viruses out of the body. Salmon, mackerel, and herring are rich in omega-3 fats, which reduce inflammation, increasing airflow and protecting lungs from colds and respiratory infections. Two servings a week are optimal, except if you are pregnant or planning to be. In the latter case, consult your doctor.

Tea drinking in China and Japan has a long and venerable history. People who drank 5 cups a day of black tea for at least two weeks had 10 times more virus-fighting interferon in their blood than others who drank a placebo hot drink, as published in a Harvard study. The amino acid responsible for this immune boost, L-theanine, is abundant in both black and green tea (decaf versions have it, too). Try to drink several cups of tea daily. To get up to five times more antioxidants from your tea bags, dunk them up and down while you brew.

The benefits of lean meat for omnivores like humans cannot be underestimated. One of the commonest dietary deficiencies in developed countries is zinc deficiency, especially for vegetarians and those who have cut back on beef, a prime source of this immunity-bolstering mineral. This is unfortunate as even a mild zinc deficiency can increase risk of infection. Zinc in your diet is very important for the development of white blood cells, those immune system cells that recognise and destroy invading bacteria, viruses, and assorted other microbes, says William Boisvert, PhD, an expert in nutrition and immunity at The Scripps Research Institute in La Jolla, CA. a 100 gram serving of lean beef provides about 33% of the daily dietary requirement for zinc. That is enough to make the difference between deficient and sufficient. If you are not a beef eater, try zinc-rich oysters, fortified cereals, pork, poultry, yogurt, or milk.

Sweet potatoes, carrots, squash, pumpkin, honeydew melons and other bright orange foods are rich in vitamin A, as beta carotene. “Vitamin A plays a major role in the production of connective tissue, a key component of skin.” Says David Katz, MD, prevention advisor and director of the Yale-Griffin Prevention Research Center in Derby, CT.  You may not think of skin as part of your immune system, however, this crucial organ, covering an impressive 1.5 square metres, serves as a first-line defence against the entry of bacteria, viruses, and other microbes. To stay strong and healthy, your skin needs vitamin A. One of the best ways to get vitamin A into your diet is from foods containing beta-carotene (like sweet potatoes, carrots and pumpkin), which your body turns into vitamin A. The optimal dose is a half-cup serving, delivering only 750 Joules, but 40% of the daily dietary requirement of vitamin A as beta-carotene.

For centuries, people around the world have consumed mushrooms because of the delicious taste and multiple culinary uses. My grandfather always used to call the wild mushrooms that he used to gather “…the poor man’s meat”. Mushrooms are excellent for promoting a healthy immune response. Contemporary research explains the reason: “Studies show that mushrooms increase the production and activity of white blood cells, making them more aggressive. This is a good thing when you have an infection.” Says Douglas Schar, DipPhyt, MCPP, MNIMH, director of the Institute of Herbal Medicine in Washington, DC. Shiitake, maitake, and reishi mushrooms appear to pack the biggest immunity punch; experts recommend at least 10 to 30 grams a few times a day for maximum immune benefits. They can be added to pasta, in omelettes, salads, soups and sauces.

TECHNOPHOBE OR TECHNOPHILE?

“This is perhaps the most beautiful time in human history; it is really pregnant with all kinds of creative possibilities made possible by science and technology which now constitute the slave of man - if man is not enslaved by it.” - Jonas Salk

The day today was very busy, as often happens after travel. There are always a great number of things to catch up on, people to see, correspondence to reply to and of course emails to read and answer. It was also a day we had to cope with some computer and IT issues, which once again drove home the point how reliant we have become on the omnipresent technology to carry out even the simplest of tasks.

I remember reading a science fiction story many years ago, which had as its basic premise the sudden and complete destruction of everything made of paper. The story explored the unimaginably wide extent of consequences and the near collapse of civilisation that eventuated from this. I guess we would see a similar situation nowadays if the silicon chips inside our smart phones, tablets, computers, cars, electronic devices of all sorts, became irreversibly and completely corrupted, disabling irrevocably our technologically advanced gadgets. It would really create havoc and strike at the very core of our society’s foundations.

Reflecting upon this, one becomes aware of precious little around workplace, home, leisure, business, public service, government that does not rely on technological wizardry. Perhaps we should all devote a couple of weeks every year to some time away from our thoroughly modern lives and go to some remote place, out of reach of technology. Without a mobile phone, no land-line phones, no computers, no clocks, no electronic diaries, no television, no radio, no gadgetry, maybe even no electricity… Does such a place still exist, I wonder? A step backwards in time, where one can indulge in utter relaxation and a detoxification from the “hazards” of modern technology.

However, I am sure that many of us would have severe withdrawal symptoms! Speaking personally, after a couple of days I would be over it all and would begin having a wonderful time! Reading, drawing, painting, playing or composing music, writing (with my fountain pen on handmade paper!), walking! What an opportunity for many of us to rediscover the lost art of looking inward and reflecting, being influenced by our surroundings such that we are moved to create. Such an environment would have us connecting more actively with our companions, enjoying simple pleasures: Nature, companionship, food, wine, real music, conversation, thinking!

It all sounds very idyllic and wonderful and I am sure that I would really enjoy it. However, did you notice I specified that this flight from technology was to be only for a “couple of weeks a year”? I am too much of a creature of comfort and too much of a technophile to be able to wean myself permanently off my high tech “toys”. And just as well that I don’t have to! The microchip eating bug still hasn’t appeared, thankfully!

microchip |ˈmīkrōˌ ch ip| noun
A tiny wafer of semiconducting material (like silicon) used to make an integrated circuit.
verb ( -chipped, -chipping) [ trans. ]
Implant a microchip under the skin of (a domestic animal) as a means of identification.
ORIGIN from Greek mikros ‘small’ + Middle English: related to Old English forcippian [cut off.]

POSTCARD FROM BRISBANE

“Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind.” – Seneca

I was in Brisbane for work today and it made for a long day considering I was on an early flight going there and a late flight coming back. Commuting about 1500 km a day can be rather tiring, but more than anything it is getting to and from the airport and on/off the plane that really piles on the hours. The actual flight time is the least time-consuming… Nevertheless, I got much done and the main purpose of the visit which was regulatory was successful.

The weather in Brisbane was gorgeous after a cold morning. Sunny, clear blue skies and a temperature in the low 20s. Back in Melbourne it was a gray, cold winter’s day with a top of 13˚C. I can certainly see why many elderly people choose to retire to Queensland. Mild winters and lots of sunshine! I even had the opportunity to enjoy some of the sunshine as a couple of the meetings I had were at an external venue.

For Poetry Wednesday today, a “travel” poem by Hilaire Belloc. The rhythm of this poem is wonderful and the descriptive title says it all. Despite the jocular beginning and the driving rhythm, the poem towards the end pauses and descends into introspective and nostalgic resignation with the doom-laden words: “Never more”…

Tarantella

Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteeers
Who hadn’t got a penny,
And who weren’t paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of a clapper to the spin
Out and in –
And the Ting, Tong, Tang, of the Guitar.
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
Never more;
Miranda,
Never more.
Only the high peaks hoar:
And Aragon a torrent at the door.
No sound
In the walls of the Halls where falls
The tread
Of the feet of the dead to the ground
No sound:
But the boom
Of the far Waterfall like Doom.

Hilaire Belloc 1870-1953

VERONICA, BASIL AND SPEEDWELL

“A man’s interest in a single bluebird is worth more than a complete but dry list of the fauna and flora of a town.” - Henry David Thoreau

This day’s birthday flower is sweet basil, Ocimum basilicum. It signifies hatred for the other sex (misogyny if you are male and misandry if you are female!), and also poverty. Basil is from the Greek basilikos, meaning “kingly” or “regal”. Astrologers classify it under the sign of Scorpio and basil is ruled by Mars. It used to be said that if a woman was given a sprig of basil and the herb died quickly as she held it, she was “light of love” and of questionable morals.

Legend tells that this day was declared by the archangel Gabriel as the luckiest of the year. Healing, planting, building houses, beginning travels or even declaring wars were all thought to be crowned with success if they were begun on this day.  Children born on this day were supposed to be clever, able scholars and enjoy great wealth.

Today is the birthday (amongst others) of:
Julius Caesar, Roman politician (100 BC);
Clement X (Emilio Altieri), Pope of Rome (1590);
Josiah Wedgwood, potter (1730);
Henry David Thoreau, naturalist/author (1817);
William Osler, physician/author (1849);
George Eastman, inventor of Kodak camera (1854);
Anton Stepanovich Arensky, Russian composer (1861);
Stefan George, German poet (1868);
George Butterworth, composer (1885);
Oscar Hammerstein II, lyricist of Rodgers fame (1895);
Pablo Neruda (Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basualto), Chilean Nobel prize winning (1971) poet (1904);
Edward “Weary” Dunlop, Australian POW doctor (1907);
Milton Berle, actor (1908);
Andrew Wyeth, artist (1917);
Van Cliburn, pianist (1934);
William Cosby, actor (1937);

Today is also St Veronica’s feast day. She was a pious matron of Jerusalem who, during the Passion of Christ, as one of the holy women who accompanied Him to Calvary, offered Him a towel on which he left the imprint of His face. She went to Rome, bringing with her this image of Christ, which was long exposed to public veneration. To her likewise are traced other relics of the Blessed Virgin venerated in several churches of the West. The belief in the existence of authentic images of Christ is connected with the old legend of Abgar of Edessa and the apocryphal writing known as the "Mors Pilati". To distinguish at Rome the oldest and best known of these images it was called vera icon (true image), which ordinary language soon made veronica. By degrees, popular imagination mistook this word for the name of a person and attached thereto several legends which vary according to the country.

In Italy tradition has Veronica coming to Rome at the summons of the Emperor Tiberius, whom she cured by making him touch the sacred image. She thenceforth remained in the capital of the empire, living there at the same time as Sts Peter and Paul, and at her death bequeathed the precious image to Pope Clement and his successors.

In France she was said to be given in marriage to Zacchaeus, the convert of the Gospel, whom she then accompanied to Rome, and then to Quiercy, where her husband becomes a hermit, under the name of Amadour, in the region now called Rocamadour. Meanwhile Veronica joined Martial, whom she assisted in his apostolic preaching.

In the region of Bordeaux Veronica, shortly after the Ascension of Christ, is said to have landed at Soulac at the mouth of the Gironde, bringing relics of the Blessed Virgin; there she preached, died, and was buried in the tomb which was long venerated either at Soulac or in the Church of St. Seurin at Bordeaux. Sometimes St Veronica has even been confounded with a pious woman who, according to Gregory of Tours, brought to the neighboring town of Bazas some drops of the blood of John the Baptist, at whose beheading she was present.

Speedwell, Veronica chamaedrys, is the flower dedicated to St Veronica. Speedwell, is a roadside plant with masses of pretty blue flowers that “speed you well”. In Ireland, a bit of the plant was pinned onto clothes to keep travellers from accidents.

MOVIE MONDAY - THE ROAD

“Only after disaster can we be resurrected.” - Chuck Palahniuk

Yesterday we watched John Hillcoat’s 2009 movie of the Pulitzer Prize-winning Cormac McCarthy novel “The Road”. This is a challenging film and it is not easy to sit and watch it as it confronts us with ideas that we may have thought about, but quickly banished from our mind as they are too horrible to entertain.

The plot revolves around a Father and his Son who walk through a devastated USA. This is a grim tale set in a post-apocalyptic world where destruction has been wrought on an unimaginably huge scale. We are never made aware of what the destruction is due to, nor is it important to the plot. No living thing moves in the despoiled landscape and all that is left is ruined cities, burnt trees, ash drifting in the wind, gray skies, dirty snow, and gashed earth. Other survivors roam the ravaged land in lawless cannibalistic bands that will hunt other weaker humans as prey. The Father and Son are the “good guys” and they retain enough of their humanity to starve slowly rather than be reduced to the same barbaric state as the cannibals. The duo walk towards the warmer south, although there is no guarantee that anything better awaits them there. They have nothing except a pistol with two bullets to defend themselves, the ragged, dirty clothes they are wearing, a dilapidated shopping cart of scavenged food, and each other.

A quote from the book: “The clocks stopped at one seventeen. There was a long shear of bright light, then a series of low concussions. I think it’s October but I can’t be sure. I haven’t kept a calendar for years. Each day is more gray than the one before. It is cold and growing colder as the world slowly dies. No animals have survived, and all the crops are long gone. Someday all the trees in the world will fall. The roads are peopled by refugees towing carts, and gangs carrying weapons, looking for fuel and food… 

Within a year there were fires on the ridges and deranged chanting. There has been cannibalism. Cannibalism is the great fear. Mostly I worry about food, always food. Food and the cold and our shoes. Sometimes I tell the boy old stories of courage and justice, difficult as they are to remember. All I know is the child is my warrant, and if he is not the word of God, then God never spoke.”

The film is amplified by some flashback scenes of a pre-apocalyptic paradise when the Boy’s Mother was alive and life was good and full of sunshine and nature verdant. But overall, this is a bleak and distressing film that paints a disturbing picture of a future that may well eventuate before not too long: Whether it is destruction by a massive, accelerated climate change, a nuclear winter, an asteroid impact, world-wide warfare or a shift in the earth’s orbit, the dire fate that may await mankind is an appalling scenario that we should be aware of. The psychological state of the survivors is the focus of the film. All of the spectrum of responses to a mind-destroying apocalyptic end of the world are explored: Suicide, cannibalism, scavenging, madness, the self-preservation instinct. More than all of these the film is a paean to the bond between father and son and the love a father has for his child.

Viggo Mortensen and Kodi Smit-McPhee play the main roles and overall, their acting is very good, with the chemistry between them just right. Charlize Theron as the Mother puts in a  cameo role as a woman cracking under the strain of the world collapsing around her and her last poignant scene is a haunting one. Robert Duvall playing an elderly wanderer does much with his short scene and his world weary survivor’s senility is a good foil for the innocence of the young boy who pities him.

The film forces us to examine our lives and question ourselves as to what is really important to us. What could we lose and still manage to survive, what do we need to have left to go on fighting? What more would we need to lose in order to finally give up and let ourselves go? Different characters in the film have answered these questions differently and we see the contrast between the weak and the strong, the “good guys” and the “bad guys”. We ask ourselves to what extent we would go in order to preserve our lives, but perhaps more importantly the lives of those we love. At what point does our instinct of self-preservation overcome our humanity? When does selfishness overcome altruism? What need happen in order for us to revert to our ancestral animal instincts and the barbarism of the uncivilised beast?

One of the brightest and most hopeful of scenes in the movie was towards the end when the man and the boy find a beetle in a thrown away can. Their astonishment and delight as the beetle flies away is a ray of sunshine in their otherwise gray world. The shimmering of the wings of the beetle as it flies is the only sign of life and a promise of a future recovery.

The film is worth seeing, but it does take some work to be actively engaged by it. There was some poignancy in the film, but strangely enough I did not get drawn emotionally into it. I watched as a detached observer might do, but it was hard to be really moved by it. The situations were perhaps rather contrived, the development too slow, the plot too predictable, the action too laboured. A friend of ours has read the novel and has the highest regard for it, but refuses to see the movie. An acquaintance has read the novel and has seen the movie and liked the movie better. Perhaps I should read the novel myself and make up my own mind…

ART SUNDAY - KLIMT

“A museum has to renew its collection to be alive, but that does not mean we give up important old works.” - David Rockefeller

We are currently being regaled with a special exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne. We are very proud of our gallery, easily the best in Australasia, and I would even be presumptuous enough to say the best in the Southern Hemisphere, in terms of its breadth of coverage, richness of the collection and the significance of its art pieces. Not to mention its excellent curatorship, its constantly expanding collection and the extremely good conservation work that is always being done. Add to that regular special exhibitions from all over the world and you have a world-class gallery!

The current special exhibition of note is the “Vienna: Art & Design” exposition. It looks at the period of about 100 years ago, when a group of radical young artists and thinkers in Vienna, Austria, broke all the rules and created a new wave of creativity. The exhibition at the NGV explores this amazing period, bringing together some 300 works by the greatest Viennese artists of the early twentieth century. Four of them are especially well-represented: Artists Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele, and architects Josef Hoffmann and Adolf Loos who were central to this artistic revolution, known as the Vienna Secession. Their work transformed Vienna into a modern and forward-looking metropolis at the forefront of new and often shocking ideas that created controversy and revitalised art.

Gustav Klimt is the most well-known and approachable of the group as his paintings are colourful, rich in pattern, pleasing to the eye, yet still startle with their originality and their grandiose scale in terms of subject matter and breadth of concept. Gustav Klimt was born on July 14, 1862, in Baumgarten, Austria, the second seven children, the son of a poor jewellery engraver. At the age of fourteen he entered the University of Plastic Arts in Vienna and it was there that he discovered and began to develop his talent as an artist. He graduated from this the University at the age of twenty, at which time he had been commissioned to create several decorative works, making use of his training in modernist craftsmanship.

At that time he founded the Künstlercompanie (Company of Artists) studio with his brother Ernst, and Franz Matsch, a fellow student. The three found much success as mural painters, obtaining contracts from museums, theatres, and contracting other decorative artwork from wealthy patrons.  The company eventually ceased to exist, following the death of Ernst, and a falling out with Franz Matsch. During his years as a decorator, Klimt finely honed his personal style, which was a product of his artistic training, and the engraving skills his father had taught him. Klimt’s paintings often included gold and silver paint, metal, and ceramics, and as much attention was given to ornamental details as to their subjects. Very few of Klimt’s paintings were done on canvases, as he preferred to paint murals.  Klimt also found inspiration in Byzantine mosaics, which he discovered while exploring Vienna.

In 1897, Gustav Klimt took an interest in politics and rallied other artists to found the Vienna Sezession (Secession), an Art Nouveau movement whose goal was to give young, innovative artists a chance to get exposure, and to revolt against the conservative attitudes of the academic art world. He organised several exhibits, attracting thousands from around the world to view their revolutionary art, and even published “Ver Sacrum”, a monthly magazine about the movement and its artists.  His own personal style came to represent the movement's aesthetics, and in 1902, he painted the “Beethoven Frieze”, a mural for the Sezession building.

In 1905, following a series of disagreements with other members of the Sezession several others left the group, and formed a new association called the Kunstschau (Art Show). Klimt’s most famous painting, “The Kiss”, was created between 1907 and 1908, but it is still associated with the Sezession.  Klimt was a very popular artist, but he was also quite controversial.  He was renowned for his womanising, and often used prostitutes as models.  Many of his works were considered too sensual for the mores of early 20th Century Vienna, and even his more historical, or mythical works featuring nudes were often criticised for being too erotic.   Fortunately, the scandals only served to heighten Klimt’s international recognition, if not his notoriety.

Klimt often travelled to the outskirts of Vienna, and to Italy where the countryside inspired him, particularly autumnal landscapes, which showed the rich golden hues of his own decorative designs.  From the opulence of the Viennese Bourgeoisie to the mythological, from eroticism to the simple beauty of nature, Klimt’s artwork always maintained its highly stylised feel, but what remains one of its most fascinating traits is that while concentrating on the superficial, its depth cannot be ignored.

In 1917, he was made an honorary member the Viennese Academy of Fine Arts. On January 11th of the following year, at the age of 55, Gustav Klimt suffered a stroke while working in his apartment.  Weakened from the stroke, and suffering from pneumonia, he died less than a month later, on February 6th, 1918.

The painting above is “Death and Life”, which in 1911 received first prize in the world exhibition in Rome. It typifies in many ways Klimt’s work in that it juxtaposes colourful, flat decorative elements reminiscent of enamelwork, Byzantine mosaics and art nouveau tilework, with rounded lush forms of human figures and voluptuous females. The canvas is divided into two uneven areas by a green expanse, which could just as easily be a tree trunk as it could be a field or a grave, covered with grass. The larger part of the canvas is devoted to life with women of all ages occupying pride of place, the muscular male and the baby boy almost tokenistic afterthoughts. The women exemplify Klimt’s fascination with the female body and his fixation with sex and pleasure. The smaller part of the canvas on the left depicts death as a skeletal figure lying in wait ready to strike, seemingly at any one of the figures on the right. Death wears the garb of religion, the numerous crosses on the patterned cloth disguising his bones with priestly vestments. The message is clear, life is a bacchanalian orgy, where the “old” religions of the sensualist polytheism hold sway, while death is associated with the Christian religion, laden with sin, guilt and divine wrath.

STIRRINGS OF SPRING

“Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!” - Wallace Stevens

A beautiful fine and warm day today. We took the opportunity to walk by the banks of the Merri Creek. The trees were mainly bare and thrust their naked branches almost defiantly up into the blue of the sky and their fine twigs were like exclamation marks, punctuating their resistance to the wake up call of the strengthening sun. The creek flowed swiftly, its waters grey and one could imagine its coldness despite the sunshine, as the gusts of wind carried some bite.

And yet, the first stirrings of Spring were in the air and the buds were swelling. Some of the first blossoms were out. Flowering gorse bushes with their chrome yellow flowers, the wild onions with exploding sprays of pure white bells, the oxalis with lemony yellow blooms expressing the acidity of the plant’s sap. The humble speedwell with its delicate light blue flower echoing the wintry blue sky, the majestic wattle – all green and golden, and the rich purple and lilac of the wild pea looking like bright paint drops on the verdant green of awakening vegetation. Here a clump of fragrant violets, a happy garden escapee, there a deep blue Salvation Jane (or Patterson’s Curse, if you must!).

We needed the walk after visiting our friend in the nursing home again. She was feeling poorly today and was grateful for our visit, even though her weakening mind was filled with confusion and fuzziness.

For Song Saturday, a song by Edvard Grieg, “Våren” which is about a dying man and his view on his last spring. It is sung by Sissel, a fine Norwegian soprano. This is an rare perfomance from 2001. In the period between 1877 - 1880, Grieg produced a set of songs as his Op. 33 on texts by a man some called the peasant-poet of Norway, Aasmund Vinje (1818 - 1870).

FOOD FRIDAY - QUICHE

“Not what we have, but what we enjoy, constitutes our abundance.” – Epicurus

I am quite relieved it’s Friday, as it has been a very busy week. It is one of the best times of the week, Friday evening, as it is just before the weekend and the work of the week is over. Many people like to socialise with their work colleagues on Fridays after work, having drinks at some pub, or even go out for a meal. However, I couldn’t think of a worse time of the week to do that – perhaps it’s a sign of my middle age. Nevertheless, at the risk of appearing unsociable, I do not join my colleagues for drinks on Friday evenings. The thought of home is too much of a strong attractant and the cares of the week too great to protract them with the inevitable “talking shop” types of conversations that tend to occur at these functions.

The evening meal at home on Friday is also quite special as it is once again a dinner that anticipates the weekend and tends to be accompanied by some wine, dessert and is a very relaxed affair. I particularly like Friday evenings in winter because to get home quickly and savour the cosiness is a wonderful way to end the working week. And so it was this evening. While some colleagues went off to have their customary Friday evening drinks, I hurried home where we had a wonderful dinner, some wine, music and pleasant conversation. The food is not as important as the company one enjoys at mealtimes. As Epicurus said: “To eat and drink without a friend is to devour like the lion and the wolf.”

Another seasonal recipe today, perfect served with some wine and a fresh garden green salad. Follow with a creamy cool yoghurt and fruit dessert. Perfect wintry Friday night dinner!

Potato Quiche
Ingredients
•    3 cups grated hash brown potatoes
•    1/2 cup melted butter
•    1 heaped cup diced, cooked ham
•    1/4 cup chopped onion
•    1 cup grated tasty cheese
•    3 eggs
•    1/2 cup milk
•    1/3 cup cream
•    salt to taste
•    pepper, ground nutmeg, mace and mixed dried herbs to taste

Method
•    Preheat oven to 220˚C.
•    Press hash browns onto the bottom and sides of a 25 cm pie dish, at an even thickness. Drizzle with melted butter, and sprinkle with salt.
•    Bake in preheated oven for 20 minutes, or until beginning to brown.
•    In a small bowl, combine ham, onion and shredded cheese.
•    In a separate bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, cream, salt, herbs and spices.
•    When crust is ready, spread ham mixture on the bottom, then cover with egg mixture.
•    Reduce oven temperature to 175˚C.
•    Bake in preheated oven for 20 to 25 minutes, or until filling is puffed and golden brown.

BIBLIOPHILY

“O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world! That has such people in it!” – William Shakespeare

I visited Borders Bookstore in Melbourne Central today as it was its last day before it closed down. This is only one of the 123 Borders and Angus and Robertson bookstores that are closing down across Australia, with a loss of more than 1,800 jobs. They were all part of the REDgroup Retail chain, which is winding up its physical book retailing outlets, as no buyer was found for the bookstores. The administrators, however, have secured a deal to sell their online businesses. This is a situation that seems to be reflecting worldwide trends and is causing great apprehension amongst retailers of all kinds who rely on shopfront sales. Yet another well-known Melbourne bookstore, “Reader’s Feast” closed after operating in the City for the last 20 years.

I always enjoyed visiting and shopping in both Borders and Reader’s Feast, especially the latter. This bookshop is down an escalator on the corner of Bourke Street and Swanston Street in the heart of the City of Melbourne. One could go downstairs and spend many happy hours browsing, looking, sampling and of course buying one’s favourite books. There is something special about a bookshop, especially when it is a large one where they have a great selection of all sorts of books, like this one. One can find treasures that one wasn’t aware existed, be absorbed by something unlikely, and discover odd, engaging books that one wouldn’t even bother clicking on to obtain more information online.

There is something about the ambience of a bookshop that is immediately appealing. The smell of the printed paper, the quietness, the rows of book cases, the other customers – people of the same ilk… But most of all the books! Shelf after shelf of delights of all sorts, fiction and non-fiction, weighty tomes of philosophy, copiously illustrated natural history, handsomely bound literature, colourful paperbacks, children’s books, delightful travel books, cookbooks, science fiction, history, romance, computer books, music books, art, craft, geography, science, biology, linguistics, gardening, photography and the list goes one and on!

Now don’t get me wrong, if you have been reading this blog, you’ll know I am a little bit of a technophile. I love the smart phones and the iPod, computers and new software, the web, the iPad and therefore eBooks. It is so immensely convenient to have hundreds of books in a single iPad, not to mention the convenience of buying a new book or magazine anywhere at any time through the web bookstores online. This is the key to so many people switching to the electronic versions of books and magazines. Technology is changing our lives in countless ways, and this is just another one of these. Our lives are changing faster and faster as advances in technology, electronics, medicine, science, biology are constantly surging ahead at lightning speed.

Is it any surprise then that bookshops are struggling to maintain their businesses running profitably? They do less business and they have to compromise themselves and try and sell other things too, like DVDs and CDs, homewares, gifts, even coffee and sandwiches! That is, unless they also have an ebookshop – the success of Amazon as a business vouches for this. We are flocking to the web for all sorts of things because it is easy to do so. We are creatures of comfort and convenience and we can shop expediently and at our leisure online. Are all sorts of shops now on their way out? I know that DVD hiring shops are becoming less and less common. The ease of access of entertainment via technology is taking its toll there also.

Somehow, I think the bookshop will survive. And thankfully here in Melbourne we have many small bookshops (especially the second-hand variety) that still flourish. They stay in business because of bibliophiles like me! There is nothing like spending some time in such a place and immersing oneself in the books, wandering around and sampling the treasure trove, like a child taking a package out of a lucky dip. Nothing like sitting down and leafing through a book, revelling in the touch of the pages, the smell of ink and paper.

Vale, Borders! We are witnessing the end of an era. Welcome to the new generation who will look at real books as relics of an age gone by. The same as a generation of children nowadays who even view CDs as a trifle quaint, not to mention those ancient things: Vinyl LPs! In thirty years the world has changed so much, I dread to think what lies ahead. Images of “Fahrenheit 451” spring to mind and they are scary. Will books only be published in electronic form in the future? Will real books be soon relegated to the same fate as vinyl LPs? Appreciated by only a small group of aficionados who search high and low to find them and treat them in an almost worshipful manner once they have them in their possession? Oh, brave new world, indeed!

bibliophile |ˈbiblēəˌfīl| noun
A person who collects or has a great love of books.
DERIVATIVES
bibliophilic |ˌbiblēəˈfilik| adjective
bibliophily |ˌbiblēˈäfəlē| noun
ORIGIN early 19th century: From French, from Greek biblion ‘book’ + philos ‘loving.’

AN INDIAN POEM

“The land of dreams and romance, of fabulous wealth and fabulous poverty, of splendour and rags, of palaces and hovels, of famine and pestilence, of genii and giants and Aladdin lamps, of tigers and elephants, the cobra and the jungle, the country of hundred nations and a hundred tongues, of a thousand religions and two million gods, cradle of the human race, birthplace of human speech, mother of history, grandmother of legend, great-grandmother of traditions, whose yesterdays bear date with the moderate antiquities for the rest of nations – the one sole country under the sun that is endowed with an imperishable interest for alien prince and alien peasant, for lettered and ignorant, wise and fool, rich and poor, bond and free, the one land that all men desire to see, and having seen once, by even a glimpse, would not give that glimpse for the shows of all the rest of the world combined.” - Mark Twain

In the news these last few days is a report about the fabulous treasure found in an Indian temple in Kerala State, in southern India. The treasure trove was found in the subterranean vaults of the 16th-century Sri Padmanabhaswamy temple that honours Lord Vishnu in Thiruvananthapuram. The vaults of the temple that had been sealed closed for over 100 years were opened on the instructions of the Supreme Court following a complaint from a local advocate alleging mismanagement by the temple trust. It is believed that most of the treasure was deposited by the royal family of Travancore. The family’s descendants still control the temple.

The treasure includes bags of gold coins, diamonds and other jewels and solid-gold statues of gods and goddesses. It is estimated that the valuables are worth about 22 billion dollars, and this without including the contents of the still sealed Section B, a large space expected to reveal another sizeable collection of treasures. Temples in India often have rich endowments, mainly derived from donations of gold and cash by pilgrims and wealthy patrons. This temple, however, has assets that dwarfs the known fortunes of every other Indian temple. Temple wealth is meant to be used by administrators to operate temples and provide services to the poor, but the administration of the temples’ wealth often become the subject of heated disputes and controversies.

The Supreme Court ordered the opening of the vaults at Padmanabhaswamy to assess the wealth of the temple after a local activist, T P Sundararajan, filed a case accusing administrators of mismanaging and poorly guarding the temple. The apex court has proposed the appointment of a museum curator to catalogue, photograph, and preserve the treasure. Two former judges of the Kerala High Court appointed by the Supreme Court are supervising the inventory of the treasure. The court would also decide which items should be conserved, which displayed in the museum and which others to be kept in safe vaults. Representatives of the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) and members of the temple trust were present when the treasure was unsealed.

The court warned of serious consequences if any party claims ownership of the treasure. Kerala State would not seek control of the temple or its treasure, a step that some activists have recommended. The Supreme Court will decide what happens to the treasure and the rest of the temple, which sits in the heart of Kerala’s capital, Thiruvananthapuram, once it has established the total value of the holdings (this could take months to finish).

Kerala has been a spice-trading centre for millennia and P.J. Cherian, director of the Kerala Council for Historic Research, said: “Traders, who used to come from other parts of the country and abroad for trading in spices and other commodities, used to make considerably generous offerings to the deity, not only for his blessings but also to please the then rulers.” The treasure trove is hard to imagine, including hundreds of kilos of gold coins issued by the erstwhile kingdom of Travancore, the British East India Company, the erstwhile princely state of Venice, Mysore and even some of Australian origin; a four-foot-tall gold statue studded with emeralds; jewel encrusted crowns and 15-foot-long gold necklaces.

Quite apt then to have an Indian poet provide the poem for today’s Poetry Wednesday offering:

Alabaster

LIKE this alabaster box whose art
Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart,
Carven with delicate dreams and wrought
With many a subtle and exquisite thought.

Therein I treasure the spice and scent
Of rich and passionate memories blent
Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove,
Of song and sorrow and life and love.

                            Sarojini Naidu (1879 – 1949)

Sarojini Chattopadhyay was born at Hyderabad on February 13, 1879 the eldest of a large family, all of whom were taught English at an early age. At the age of twelve she passed the Matriculation of the Madras University, and awoke to find herself famous throughout India. Before she was fifteen the great struggle of her life began. Dr. Govindurajulu Naidu, later to become her husband was not a Brahmin, even though of an old and honourable family. The difference of caste roused an equal opposition, not only on the side of her family, but of his; and in 1895 she was sent to England, against her will, with a special scholarship from the Nizam. She remained in England, with an interval of travel in Italy, till 1898, studying first at King’s College, London, then, till her health again broke down, at Girton. She returned to Hyderabad in September 1898, and in the December of that year, to the scandal of all India, broke through the bonds of caste, and married Dr. Naidu.

During her stay in England she met Arthur Symons, a poet and critic. They corresponded after her return to India. He persuaded her to publish some of her poems in 1905 under the title “Golden Threshold”. After that, she published two other collections of poems, “The Bird of Time” and “The Broken Wings”. In 1918 the collection “Feast of Youth” was published. Later, “The Magic Tree”, “The Wizard Mask” and “A Treasury of Poems” were published. Mahashree Arvind, Rabindranath Tagore and Jawaharlal Nehru were among the thousands of admirers of her work. Her poems are in English, but their soul is Indian.

In 1916, she met Mahatma Gandhi, and she totally directed her energy to the fight for freedom. She would roam around the country like a general of the army and pour enthusiasm among the hearts of Indians. The independence of India became the heart and soul of her work. She was responsible for awakening the women of India. She brought them out of the kitchen. She travelled from state to state, city after city and demanded rights for women. She battled long and hard for the self-esteem of the women of India.

In 1925, she chaired the summit of Congress in Kanpur. In 1928, she went to the USA with the message of the non-violence movement of Gandhiji. When in 1930, Gandhiji was arrested for a protest, she took the helm of his movement. In 1931, she participated in the Round Table Summit, along with Gandhiji and Pundit Malaviyaji. In 1942, she was arrested during the “Quit India” protest and stayed in jail for 21 months with Gandhiji.  After independence she became the Governor of Uttar Pradesh. She was the first woman governor. She passed away on March 2, 1949.

DISTANT WARS

“War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other’s children.”-  Jimmy Carter

I saw a middle-aged man on the train today, and he immediately attracted my attention for a number of reasons. One could immediately tell he was an ex-soldier from the medals he wore on his lapel, an RSL badge, and thrown in for good measure a red poppy – a relic from Anzac Day, no doubt. Although he wore a suit (which had seen better days), shirt and tie, he was still wearing his military boots. He was carrying a large bag, a rolled up display poster and a folding table. He was getting into the City early, and would be setting up a table to sell something or other for RSL fund-raising. His gaze more than anything was what transfixed me. An intense gaze and a serious countenance, eyes that were looking out, yet strangely unseeing. He stared straight ahead and his lined face was grave, while his calloused, gnarled hands that were holding onto his baggage firmly had obviously been through a lot.

The reports of more Australian soldiers being killed in foreign conflicts immediately came to mind. This man was one of those that had served and obviously survived. The row of medals on his coat indicated that this soldier had been through battle, had taken part in many missions, had killed, had seen some of his comrades injured, or perhaps worse. His presence on the morning commuter train was incongruous. However, the way that he looked out of his seemingly disciplined and imperturbable façade indicated that all was not well inside. There was a rawness of soul that still managed to seep through the chinks of his armour.

Whoever has seen active duty, has fought in a war, has confronted violence of that magnitude first hand is forever changed. I looked at his hands again and imagined them holding a gun, pulling the trigger, could see the bullet travelling with lightning speed through the air, finding its target with lethal accuracy. I could hear the repeated gunfire, the explosions, the shouts of the people, the cries of children. War is an ugly truth that we try and push out of our minds as much as we can. It is easy in countries like ours that are far removed from conflict and where we are able to live our cushy lives in pursuit of our self-indulgent goals whatever they may be. This ex-soldier’s presence on the commuter train jarred and forced people to acknowledge these foreign conflicts that Australia is involved in. I wasn’t the only one who had observed him…

News just in tell us of a decorated Australian commando on his fifth deployment to Afghanistan that has been shot dead in a firefight with insurgents. This is the eighth commando to die in the conflict and the 28th Australian soldier killed there since 2001. Sergeant Todd Langley, 35, from the Sydney-based 2nd Commando regiment, died from a gunshot wound to the head during the battle in southern Afghanistan on Monday. His death follows that of another decorated veteran commando, Sergeant Brett Wood, 32, killed by an improvised explosive device in May. He was on his third tour of Afghanistan.

We live in peaceful times in a country ostensibly at peace. We work, play, shop, pursue our pleasures, laugh and carry on with our lives, cosily insulated from adversity, civil unrest, conflict or all-out war in other parts of the world. Our media bombard us with inconsequential inane “news” about sports, celebrities, new products, fashion, food and entertainment while “feel-bad” news like war, disease, conflict, anti-government demonstrations are relegated to second place, something to mention as quickly as possible and immediately forget. The “serious” newspapers and magazines are obligated to carry more extensive articles on these “bad news” items, but there are big colourful advertisements right next to these, about luxury cars, watches, perfume, jewellery. Yes we acknowledge those “bad news” items, but we move on quickly to the glossy advertisements – much more appealing…

Here is such an item that fails to register in most people’s mind any more: “Twin suicide attacks ripped through the city of Taji north of Baghdad, killing at least 35 people, after Iraq suffered its deadliest month so far this year in June. Thirty-five people were killed and 28 injured when a car bomb and an improvised bomb exploded simultaneously outside a government office where national identification cards are issued, and the provincial council offices.” We glance at this and most people would not read further than the first sentence. “Iraq, bombs, death – what’s new?” the reader would ask and move on to something more engaging: Princely weddings perhaps, or the latest sexual escapades of some Hollywood celebrity…

I wonder what news the ex-soldier on the train is interested in? Is he one those who keeps up with what our troops are doing in foreign conflicts? Does he and his comrades get together and reminisce, comment on these latest news items, have a view, lobby politicians perhaps? Or maybe they would want to forget? Would they immerse themselves in the mundane inanity that whitewashes our attention daily in such an aggressive manner? The wearing of his medals and his fund-raising activities for the RSL would suggest to me that he would do the former. His presence behind his stall, the poster above him and the fund-raising merchandise on his portable table would be a reminder for the rest of us that somewhere on some battle front, an Australian soldier is pointing his gun across some expanse at some enemy. Someone’s son, brother, husband, uncle, cousin, boyfriend, colleague, mate is facing death daily. Someone who may become one of those pesky little news items that we glance at and move on from: “Australian soldier shot dead in a firefight with insurgents…”

The soldier got off one station before mine. A young man who was also getting out offered to help him with his baggage. The soldier looked surprised and turned half-smiling to the young man to thank him and politely refuse his help. “You’re a gentleman,” he said to him, “Not many people would be offering to help. I appreciate it, but I’m fine. I’ve been through worse…”