FOGHORN The magazine of the Professional Cartoonists’ Organisation (FECO UK)
Issue 35
NEWS
FOGHORN Issue 35
Published in Great Britain by the Professional Cartoonists’ Organisation (FECO UK)
PCO Patrons Libby Purves Andrew Marr CONTACTS & COMMITTEE: Chairman Andy Davey tel: +44 (0) 1223 517737 email: pco@andydavey.com Secretary John Roberts tel: +44 (0) 1565 633995 email: john@mad-badger.com Treasurer Alex Hughes email: alex.hughes @alexhughescartoons.co.uk Foghorn Editor Bill Stott tel: +44 (0) 160 646002 email: billstott@lineone.net Foghorn Sub-Editor Roger Penwill tel: +44 (0) 1584 711854 email: roger@penwill.com Foghorn Layout/Design Tim Harries tel: + 44 (0) 1633 780293 email: tim@timharries.co.uk Website Co-ordinator Noel Ford tel: +44 (0) 7041 310211 email: noel@ford1.demon.co.uk Blog Editor Matt Buck tel: +44 (0) 1962 840216 email: pco@mattbuck.com Festival/Exhibition Coordinator Pete Dredge tel: 0115 981 0984 email: pete@petedredge.co.uk FECO UK Representative Alex Noel Watson tel: +44 (0) 20 8668 1134
FOGHORN The magazine of the Professional Cartoonists’ Organisation (FECO UK)
Well, Foghorn’s done it again- managed to launch its gritty little self after the event – or indeed before if you count my Auntie Madge’s 86th birthday on the 29th of September [cards and flowers please to Mrs M E Heaveover c/o Dreamtime Retirement Home, Punter’s Row, Glossop] and after because the Olympics are over. As I type, China’s won the first gold and a short tedious bloke from Andorra looks like being small bore champion. As expected, the Opening Ceremony was a stunner, but that’s taken for granted these days. London 2012 could break the mould by just having some under–employed minor Royal
cutting a tape and Boris [if he survives that long] getting everybody’s name wrong. Besides, I’ve had enough of personal vests. Its all so unreal. Unlike Foghorn which as ever is very here and now with more philosophication from Madden C; horrid things from that nasty Mr Collins about TV ads; even more TV dissection from Pete D, and a wriggling sackful of very funny gags. Bill Stott, Foghorn Editor
Web info PCO (FECO UK) website: www.procartoonists.org BLOGHORN www.procartoonists.blogspot.com FECO Worldwide: http://feco.info Front Cover: Bill Stott Back Cover: The Surreal McCoy 2 THE FOGHORN
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BLOGHORN
When cartoons and poetry collide Clive Goddard reports on a unique cartooning event. It’s not every day you hear of a comedy double-act show featuring a poet and a cartoonist. I recently got a ticket for such an event at the Cornerstone Theatre, Didcot. The cartoonist in question was Tony Husband, whose work I’ve admired for years, and the poet was TV and radio’s Ian McMillan, (“the Shirley Bassey of performance poetry”) best known for appearances on the likes of Have I Got News For You. The pair have been touring their show around large chunks of the country for several years now. It was billed as “A Cartoon History of Here” which intrigued me as I imagined these two Lancashire blokes would know very little about Didcot, an Oxfordshire dormitory town with a railway station, a power station and not much else. As it turned out, they did know very
little about Didcot – that’s where the audience came in. Right from the off Ian McMillan was very funny. He did an excellent job of making everyone feel very relaxed, which was just as well considering the audience participation which was to follow. We had to wait a while for Tony’s contribution. For the first half hour or so he sat anonymously behind a desk at the back, like the Pet Shop Boys’ keyboard player. The idea, it emerged, was for Ian to elicit ideas (preferably silly ones) about the town from the audience, which were turned into an improvised communal poem, acted out by lucky volunteers and illustrated by Tony’s cartoons. Tony drew on sheets of acetate directly onto an overhead projector so we got to see how fast he drew - and thought (both of which were pretty damn fast). The
style was relaxed, confident and instantly recognisable, which is what you’d expect of someone who has been Cartoonist of the Year several times. At the end of the evening Tony gave away his drawings to an appreciative group of clamouring young fans, which meant I didn’t get one. All in all, a great idea and great fun. As was the remainder of the evening in the pub where we fearlessly grilled the pair on their intimate lives and learned nothing. Well, nothing printable.
Andy Davey was the PCO Artist of the Month for August 2008. Andy’s cartoons and caricatures have appeared in UK publications including The Guardian, The Times, The Sunday Telegraph, The Independent on Sunday, Private Eye, The Spectator, The New Statesman and Prospect. He has wielded his pen for TV too, drawing for the animated satirical cartoon series 2DTV and covering occasional political news events on Channel Five TV News and Sky TV News. Bloghorn asked Andy a few questions including how he makes his cartoons: “I draw with small pieces of broken china, dug up from the garden, while listening to Bach fugues on the wireless. Well, that’s not strictly true. I use pen and ink too … in fact, almost anything which will make a wet and awkward mark really (excluding live crocodiles). I have tried computers, but I’ve reverted to the wet sensuous stuff – lovely large sheets of fat white watercolour paper, ink as black as jet, the rich wonderful unpredictable colours of Messrs Windsor and Newton, toothbrushes, nibs, blots, smells and mess – it’s wonderful. I’ve been working larger and larger lately – untroubled by the trivial annoyances of deadlines … or payment. I love the free sweep of a nib across virgin Imperial sized paper. It’s a bugger to scan though, even with an A3 scanner. I’m sure I’m going the wrong way here – everybody tells me the way forward is digital, digital, digital – in-
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cluding you, Mr Bloghorn – but you’re all wrong, I tell you – do you see? – Wrong! Ha ha ha” (At this point, Mr Davey was heavily sedated under restraint). To read the rest of Andy’s interview, go to http://procartoonists. blogspot.com Matt Buck, Bloghorn Ed
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FEATURE CHRIS MADDEN
Humour as a weapon Chris Madden continues having funny thoughts.
In the previous issue of Foghorn I expounded on the theory that the feeling that we experience as humour evolved in prehistoric times as a way of dissipating tension that had built up in threatening situations. You may recall the scene that I described: of your stone-age ancestor being worried by the approach of the local dominant male, your ancestor’s adrenaline levels rising as the fight or flight impulse kicked in. When the approaching dominant male slipped on a banana skin (real or metaphorical) and skulked away, pride hurt, everything changed. The threat had gone, but the adrenalin was still there and had to be dispelled. It had to have somewhere to go: that place was through the release valve of humour. So it was that we developed the capacity to see situations as humourous – to have an appreciation that we define as humour. If you’re slightly discomfited by the fact that the origins of our appreciation of humour seem to be linked to situations involving potential aggression, such as the approach of an unwelcome dominant male, just wait until you hear about the part that aggression plays in our creation of humour. Having developed an ability to appreciate humour it was only a matter of time before we exploited that ability by actually going out and deliberately creating the stuff ourselves, rather than just hanging around waiting for it to happen accidentally in front of us (such as when a dominant male slips on a banana skin). Naturally, this whole subject has been studied extensively by scientists. A recent study was carried out by Professor Sam Schuster of Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital, who conducted research into humour by cycling round on a unicycle and noting the reaction of members of the public. The difference between the reactions of the male and female passers-by was interesting. While most of the females who reacted to the vision of the unicycling ac4 THE FOGHORN
ademic expressed admiration, wonder, or encouragement, most of the males (75% of them in fact) made their feelings known by deploying humour, a lot of which was mocking, sneering or snide – intended as put-downs. The exact opposite of the females’ responses in fact.
Boys up to the age of about ten showed wonder and admiration, just like most of the females. However, between the ages of 11 and 13 things changed. As puberty kicked in the boys’ reactions became gradually more aggressive and jeering. As the youths progressed further into their teens the inarticulate jeering ‘matured’ into the form of jokes (often of the “Oi - you’ve lost a wheel!” variety). The intensity of the aggression (and probably the low quality of the humour) was particularly marked in the case of young men in cars, who would wind their windows down to hurl an abusive remark that masqueraded as wit. This unseemly type of behaviour decreased among older men, who tended to offer more admiring and supportive comments, much like most of the women. The theory goes that the testosterone-
fuelled young men felt threatened by the pedalling professor, who’s unicycling prowess may have mysteriously impressed any attractive young females who happened to be in the vicinity. The young men had to neutralize the impact of the display of cycling skill with a counter display of their own. Their deployment of humour to this end would conveniently both put down the pedaller by mocking his feat and at the same time divert attention towards themselves and their verbal and mental dexterity (“Oi - you’ve lost a wheel!” – very witty if you’re a woman who goes for that sort of man). Of course hurling a joke at a unicyclist is a preferable way of neutralizing this perceived threat to your manhood than knocking him off his bike or throwing a stick into his spokes, but when it comes down to it, the joke is still a display of aggression, camouflaged though it is in the acceptable mantle of humour. The theory that humour is cloaked aggression is often put forward as an explanation of why men tend to use humour more than women do. Because, essentially, humour is a weapon (A custard pie, after all, is nothing less than a missile that’s armed to wound by humiliation). This is one reason why there are more male cartoonists than female ones. It seems that cartoons are a perfect medium for men to channel attention towards themselves and to be subtly aggressive without anyone disapproving. The upshot of this is that the entire magazine that you are now reading is nothing more than a celebration of, and an indulgence in, acts of sublimated aggression. Indeed, the more I think about it, the less I want to do with this whole aggressionmasquerading-as-entertainment cartooning business. In fact I’d change careers right now if only I had another way of showing off. I wonder what Posy Simmonds thinks of this article.
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FEATURE CLIVE COLLINS
Clive Collins
Ads in my life There’s a belief among some Brits that shouting loudly at foreigners in English will make them understand you. It doesn’t work, and neither does being shouted at by TV ads make your desire increase for their products. We now know what we’ve long suspected: that the decibels are markedly increased during commercial breaks.
I don’t mind ads on the whole, I’ve laughed at many of them, been puzzled by even more. Some ads though, irritate not just by having the volume pumped up but by their frequency, and some get so far up my nose as to scratch the inside of the back of my skull. Like: it must be because they believe we all have within us a child with a low IQ, that the Corsa ads are shown so often. With their tiny stuffed, and grotesquely painted dolls prancing around the driver’s area of the car, they really take the crap prize for pointlessness and annoyance. Some ad guru obviously told the client that people wishing to buy a car would be lip-smacking suckers for little Euro-dolls that grunt and are about as witty as haemorrhoids. I know that Americans and us WWW.PROCARTOONISTS.ORG
are divided by a common language but it’s the Europeans and us who are often divided by wit. Another pet hate is Cillit Bang, which sounds like a mechanical sex event. The screen is filled with a nauseous Day-glo pink and a man (sometimes a woman) yells about a product that, from its description, is probably the most powerful substance on Earth, making anti-matter a mere beginner in the destruction stakes. How ever did they find a container strong enough to contain this stuff, that’s what I want to know. Surely, simply having it in the house is taking an enormous risk, with the prospect of meltdown not unlike the climax to the Mickey Spillane film ‘Kiss Me Deadly.’ Women discussing their period pains or digestive tracts is another branch of Ads That Have No Basis In Real Life, when they all sit round like faux Sex in the City girls. I’ve heard women in restaurants discuss sex, or other people’s husbands/wives, but I’ve never heard anyone who was not in a TV ad refer to the ‘transit of food’ – which apparently means from mouth to arse. Of course advertising is not the sole domain of the commercial channel although the news is that in these credit-crunching, austere times (Austerity? They don’t know they’re born…) is that the advertising boom is over. Naturellement, the first programmes to go are the only ones worth watching so maybe the commercial channels will be after a licence fee to cover anything listed under the heading of arts or culture. But getting back to the plot, what about those flyers a while back for ‘Coming Soon’ on the BBC? I lost count how many times I had to sit through a totally incomprehensible Sado/Masochistic commercial for a serial drama (it’s no longer the done thing to refer to it as a ‘soap opera’ apparently) based, it would appear, in Holby City Hospital. I don’t watch the entertainment in question so I have not the faintest idea what they’re on about but I know I’m fed up to the back teeth with it, and all it needed was Max ‘Lash LaRue’ Mosley, and the overall nastiness would have been complete. And just in case you’re asking, no we didn’t watch the bloody Olympics. My home is a zone totally free of sport apart from that which includes the raising of a glass to the lips, and it doesn’t bear thinking about what we’ll have to suffer when our turn comes. I mean, who’s calling the shots in this country now? We survived the recent unpleasantness in Beijing by gathering the family around the piano and singing heart-warming tunes, plus we combined it with nipping down to the local pub (no telly, no fruit machines, no big screen, no nothing) whose allure grew as the weeks went on. So much so in fact that we made it our Poste Restante address: The Crooked Billet, High Street, Leigh-on-Sea. So there. THE FOGHORN 5
CURMUDGEON
Hanging on the telephone The record is 202 rings [counting each ring–ring as one] as of today. The previous record was 156, but that only stood for three days. And today’s hypertension inducer was capped by the eventual reply. “I’m sorry, but she’s been moved to Ward 25”. Ward 25 replied [after only 39 rings] in the person of The Ward Clerk. For those uninitiated in the art of enquiring after the health of loved ones, or indeed ones you might not actually love, but just quite like a bit, trapped in the NHS system by being ill, the Ward Clerk is a person who knows nothing about anybody and says, “Hold on, I’ll get someone who might know” As my mother, 91 and counting, has grown older, I’ve become an expert hospital visitor, skilled also at ringing wards and mostly getting absolutely nowhere. The NHS is a noble institution. There. Got that out of the way. Its also one shot through with bureaucratic pointy heads and suffocates under a blanket of can’tdo, incompetent management. Mostly head hunted from Network Rail. Phoning the hospital my mum’s in is best undertaken after deep meditation or a pint of absinthe but pales into insignifi-
cance when compared to its car parking. There are 27 carparks [25 of them for the disabled] ruled by people, mainly men, quite a few older than my mother, in tabards. These are volunteers. Good for them. They are overseen by younger Polish and Lithuanian men, many of whom were rocket scientists at home, but are here instead, not giving a flying catheter about our hospital carparks’ expensive but useless electronic signs. Join carpark queue. 32 cars long. Go nowhere. Approached by youngish chap in tabard who points to an electronic sign which is indecipherable because its at the wrong angle and is reflecting the sun. Youngish tabard man ; “Is full”. Enter [fairly quickly, considering his obvious age and spectacular limp ] second tabard man. Second tabard man ; “Its full, squire, and you can’t read the Full sign because it’s at
the wrong angle and the sun shines on it. Sorry about that.” Me; “I notice there’s an adjustment wheel just below the bracket” Rocket scientist, “Is full.” Older tabard man; “He’s from Cracow” Me, “Why don’t you adjust the angle of the sign ?” Older tabard man – sucks teeth – “Maintainence’s job, that squire. Sorry, can’t touch it” Thinks; “Of course you can, you silly tabarded volunteer” but say nothing and join the Let’s All Reverse in Convoy game I’ve played so often. Towards the end of visiting, after negotiating the whimsical lift system… ”Doors closing. Lift going Uuurrch…” [need to get that synthesiser sorted, Ted….] I arrive at the bedside and the tiny pale person’s very drowsy… “Oh its you….nice of you to come… you don’t mind if I nod off do you? I think its something they’re giving me”. Probably. Wish I had some.
Random acts of humour
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FEATURE TIM HARRIES
Wired for Sound Tim Harries gets stuck in the Eighties. I hadn’t planned on Cartooning as a career. Not at first anyway. It didn’t seem a very rock n’ roll occupation, compared to ... well ... rock ‘ roll. Fidgeting nervously in front of the school careers counsellor, Mr Dreamcrusher, I merely mumbled ‘dunno - some kind of admin assistant or something’ when asked where I saw myself working, when I really wanted to stand up and proclaim “Actually, I’d love to be Howard Jones! He of the shiny suits, bleepy synthesisers and the kind of hairstyle that takes 10 years off the ozone layer! How I long to appear on Top of the Pops hidden behind a large bank of keyboards while my unfeasibly daft hair mimes along to my latest hit” Of course I never said any of that, choosing instead the safe, sensibly coiffured path of Office Job in Local Council
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Dept. (Cartooning rescued me from that particular route, but that’s a different, equally rambling story) If truth be told, I loved music and I’d have been happy in any band, sitting at the back unnoticed while the flash gits at the front played widdly guitar and strutted around being all needlessly charismatic. I was hampered only by a few minor problems lack of any real talent and a dubious taste in music. There weren’t many groups in my neck of the woods posting adverts requesting “Keyboardist needed - must have shiny suit and be into Kajagoogoo, Johnny Hates Jazz and similar ephemeral crap” This addiction to questionable music started early on with me - the first record I ever bought was ‘Long Haired Lover from Liverpool’. Actually, to be com-
pletely honest, I got my mother to buy it for me since I was five and not yet solvent. I am told by my older siblings that I wore out several gramophone needles, my fathers nerves, and a pair of brown corduroy trousers dancing along to this particular slice of 70’s cheese. I must have spent the next decade recovering from brown corduroy friction burns since the next record I can remember buying and playing nonstop was ‘Einstein-A Go Go’ by Landscape. You’d be forgiven for not remembering this particular song or indeed the band: it hasn’t aged well ( I suspect neither have the band), sounding very thin and dated. It’s the kind of music that I should have left behind long ago and yet, I could barely contain my glee when their album was re-released on CD. My wife, in her infinite taste and wisdom, refuses to be in the same room when I play it. Although that could have been the ill-fitting shiny suit I was attempting to put on. Of course, everyone thinks they’ve got immaculate musical taste. We’ve probably all done it - thrust a cassette tape /
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FEATURE TIM HARRIES
CD / USB stick (delete as applicable, based on age and computer know how) full of our favourite songs into a friends hand whilst shouting ‘You HAVE to listen to this! It’s absolutely brilliant!” Unfortunately, one man’s ‘brilliant’ is another’s aural equivalent of a pencil through the cochlea. Try as I might, I can’t persuade anyone that A-ha’s fourth album is a misunderstood masterpiece. I realise it’s perhaps me at fault - there are probably many superior bands and genres of music I’ve never even heard and would probably love, but I think I know why... Simply put, there’s not enough time in the day to listen to all the new music available. Not that I do myself any favours, mind - I’ve never made the time to listen to a whole Bob Dylan album. Nor Neil Young, Prince, Public Enemy, Al Green, ... I could go on .... yet I own and have listened to 80’s one hit wonders Living in A Box’s album many many times. I appear to be stuck in some masochistic 80’s rut. (The Ruts were 70’s surely - ed) I don’t even have enough time to listen to the music I’ve already got. (How does an 80 gig iPod get full so quickly?) My solution is to listen to only certain sections of songs. (Perhaps I’m alone in this particular musical form of OCD, though I suspect not.) They may last a mere minute or an even merer 5 seconds, but they are the moments that make owning a pair of ears worth it. It could be that bass part in ‘Brown Eyed Girl’, or the middle eight in ‘Senses Working Overtime’, Perhaps it’s the last dying seconds of ‘that classical piece I can never remember the name of’ by Chopin. Even if it’s a 2 minute drive to the shops, (I man the cd player while my wife takes the wheel) I’ll fast forward to these magical musical moments, occasionally augmenting them with some flailing air drums or blistering organ solo on the car dashboard, while Nikki simply shouts ‘Can’t we listen to a whole song for once?’, a not altogether unreasonable request. It’s a fair swap - I drive my wife to the edge of insanity, she drives me to Tescos. Altogether now - “Einstein A Go-Go, la la la la ...”
Random acts of humour
Waiting for Godot updated
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FEATURE GUIDE TO SUPERMARKETS
Basically, supermarkets are humungous shops. Foghorn’s had several letters from PCO members in remote areas - including Rockall and certain parts of Birkenhead, asking for information about them. Research suggests that Birkenhead did have several years ago but they were nicked by Scouse daytrippers back in the 90’s. Rockall has never had one because its too slopey and all the trolleys would roll away, killing puffins. Supermarkets are owned by very rich types who hate shopkeepers. Shopkeepers used to sell stuff – food mainly. Supermarkets can sell the same stuff cheaper, so grocery shops have had to reinvent themselves as Tanning Salons or Body Piercing Parlours. Also, supermarkets can collect the food they sell from suppliers in huge lorries. Grocers only had little push carts, old prams, or in poorer districts, a greased sack. Outside supermarkets are big carparks. Shoppers drive around these looking for a space near the entrance, or if the carpark is virtually empty, another car to park next to. Supermarket car parks attract people who find reversing their cars difficult, or indeed don’t know how to turn left or right, or park between two white lines. These are called BMW owners. Unlike old–style grocers who tugged their forelocks [which
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“It’s the only way I can get people in on a Sunday!”
caused blindness in many] and had a lad to carry purchases to your waiting brougham, supermarkets let you push a big wire trolley about and you collect things from shelves as you try to avoid BMW owners who can’t drive trolleys either. Other
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LETTERS TO THE ED
Letters to the Editor Snail Mail: The Editor, Foghorn Magazine, 7 Birch Grove, Lostock Green, Northwich. CW9 7SS E-mail: billstott@lineone.net
Not on your telly Hi!
“These supermarket wars are getting a bit petty”
hazards include family groups which park their trollies across aisles whilst they chat. Children are best avoided too. Especially the screamers. With practice, its possible to discreetly push screamers into carefully built displays of fabric softener. Some supermarkets have automated checkouts, controlled by a hidden android which says, “Place item in bagging area”. Avoid these at all costs because they are demeaning and stupid. Slightly better are the human–manned checkouts, unless you get stuck behind an elderly shopper who [a] can’t find his/her money or, [b] is lonely and wants to gossip with the checkout operator. Worse still is being delayed by a keen voucher collector, an activity avidly encouraged by supermarkets, as is having a club card, the use of which amasses loads of points. Ten billion points = 3p off a jumbo pack of recycled loo rolls. Supermarkets have slogans. One is, “Every Little Helps”. The respected American sociologist Everett T. Hipkiss in his seminal work, “Supermarkets – Today’s Shopping Hell” points out that this slogan is a shorter version of the much more honest original which was, “Every Little Helps Us Get Richer and Provide You Poor Suckers with Less Choice”
My name’s Jem Pippette and I produce Ceebeebie’s popular kid’s show, “Letsallshoutandrunabout!” Thing is, we’ve run out of ideas and we thought it’d be really awesome to get a few ‘toonists into the studio and let the kids scribble all over their work. I mean, you guys churn that stuff out like there’s no tomorrow, yeah ? so its not as if we’d be wrecking proper art, yeah ? Give me a bell if you’re interested. :) Stay happy, Hugs Jem. Competition Time DEAR EDITOR, PLEASE TO ANNOUNCING IN THE FOKHURN MAGAZINE PLACES AVAILABLE THERE ARE BEING TWO AT MUNTZBADEN – BADEN- BADEN SYMPOSIUM OF HUMOR. ENCLOSING BELOW THE FORM OF APPLICATION. NAME ………………………………………… HEIGHT ............................................................... NUMBER OF HEADS …………………………. FAVORIT EUROVISION SONG ........................... PLEASE INDICATE TYPE OF LAUGHTER PREFERRED; 1] LOUD, WITH SMACKING OF THIGHS. 2] TITTERINK 3] BEHIND THE HAND LIABLE ARE YOU MORE TO LAUGH AT; 1] SERIOUS INJURIES 2] SEXUAL PECADILLOS. 3]SEXY ARMADILLOS 4] NOISY FARTINGS. ALSO IS THERE AN EXHIBITION WHERE WE WILL SEE YOUR GLORIOUS DRAWINGS TOO, AS WELL. DIGITAL PIKTURINGS SEND TO INFO@FUNBIP. COM. CARTOONS ON THE PAPER SHOULD BE ABOUT SO BIG AND ARE SENDINGS TO THE ADDRESS BELOW. YOUR FRIEND IN HUMOUR, BIPPY VON PLANCK, [DIREKTOR, MUNTZBADEN- BADEN – BADEN HUMOR AKADEMY 19/25 PANKREASTRASSE, DAFTHAUSEN GDR
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BUILDINGS IN THE FOG
Churches 2: Two good ‘uns Moving onto specific churches I can commend to you for your edification, the first is a chapel in Ronchamp, France, built in 1950-4 by the architect Le Corbusier. It is in the Alsace region near the Swiss border. You won’t see it driving by; it’s hidden away in a glade on a hill. It’s building as a piece of sculpture. It is a rare one-off, in concrete, and it is sublime. That said, I now swiftly divert your rapt attention to Spain. In the 1880’s, the folks responsible for the small Church of the Holy Family in Barcelona commissioned architect Antonio Gaudi to oversee it’s development. If they wanted a quick job done, they didn’t make a great decision. It has become the longest building project over-run ever, requiring a contract extension of over a century to reach the estimated completion date, which is 2026 at the earliest. Money is no problem though as the whole caboodle has been, and continues to be, funded by public donations and subscriptions. The Sagrada Familia, as it is commonly known, is still being built, but in that time it has become the iconic symbol of the city. If it is ever finished it will be one of the tallest churches in the world. It is also arguably the most remarkable building one man has ever conceived. Gaudi worked on the church, and lived on the site, for over forty years until he was hit in the Ramblas in 1926. That’s not the best place to be struck, especialWWW.PROCARTOONISTS.ORG
ly by a tram. He suffered complications immediately following the accident, the main one being death. As cartoonists, we should be able to admire imagination and original thinking. Well, Gaudi had both in bucketloads. He started his career by combining gothic, Moorish, Catalan and Art Nouveau influences in some elegant projects. He also found himself a lifelong patron in the form of the rather well-heeled Mr. Guell. Gaudi was fascinated by nature and the structural forms found in it, particularly trees and skeletons. He realised that living things are good and efficient at holding themselves up and coping with the elements, something that buildings have to do. He was building most of his projects in stone and understood the great gothic building solutions using that material (see the previous article) but he was able to use the material in a way no-one had used it before or, indeed, since. Throughout the years he worked on the church the design evolved and changed. He used he other projects as prototypes to solve the problems that his main project threw up. The Guell Chapel in Parc Guell is one such test-bed and an extraordinary building in its own right. As
a result in the Sagrada Familia, columns bend and twist and change form, emulating nature (“Well dang me breeches, they must be helicoidal!” I hear you say). Vaults are hyperbolic and non-uniform: the whole thing seems alive. To work out the shapes his columns, arches and vaults he created a large flexible wire model which he hung upside down from the roof of his studio. To this he tied at strategic points small sacks weighted to correspond to the loads he had calculated. Once loaded, the wires of the model bent to support these loads. The model was photographed and the photos inverted, which then showed the resulting building form the right way up. By studying the arrangement of the wires Gaudi could design the structure of his building. What’s more amazing is that it worked. Genius or what? It’s all too much for modern brains, so the completion of the church now requires computer aided design and manufacturing techniques. The stone components are precision cut off site rather than craftsman formed on-site as it had been done - to continue in that way would have added further century or so to the construction period. As the building was constantly evolving in Gaudi’s mind, he refused to commit the design to paper. Models were built by his apprentices under his guidance. Should he have coped better with the tram/architect interface and somehow managed to live to the ripe age of 170, the final building would certainly have been significantly different to the one now being built. The importance of this amazing building only began to be recognised in the early 1970’s. It had no influence on architectural thinking outside of that part of Spain until then. It is a total one-off, a rare achievement indeed. However it, and Gaudi’s other buildings in Barcelona, almost certainly influenced Picasso as a yoof. If you get a chance to visit the church I recommend you read up on it before you do; it will repay the effort. And watch out for the trams. Roger Penwill
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THE CRITIC
The Critic Milked no sugar.
Foghorn’s resident critic Pete Dredge watches telly so you don’t have to. I’m not sure when all this ‘dumbingdown’, formulaic, format-lead,’let’s milk it for all it’s worth’ tv programming started? Was it “Changing Rooms” or “Groundforce”? Maybe it was “Bargain Hunt” or perhaps “Location,Location” ? Whatever? The malaise of churning out endless variations on a theme seems to have gripped the schedulers in a ‘let’s play safe’ straightjacket mentality. Lazy television for lazy people seems to be the depressing mantra, despite the nation’s momentary late summer enthusiasm for all things Olympic, albeit from a couch viewpoint! However my view may change if those production meetings were to come up with the following programme idea…hold on, I’m feeding it to them on a plate, here!… CELEBRITY TV PRESENTER SWAP! The idea, like all the pure gold, surefire winners, is quite simple. You simply pair off someone like Bruce Forsyth and Jeremy Paxman and swap programmes. Brucie presenting ‘Newsnight’ and Paxo ‘Strictly Come Dancing’. By not playing it for laughs (almost impossible for Brucie,I know) the outcome would be hilarious. Simon Cowell and Sir David Attenborough could swap ‘The X Factor’ and a Borneo Rain-forest documentary, although the primitive lifeform may prove a step too far for Sir David to contemplate. Let’s not let TV’s ‘Mr and Mrs’, Richard and Judy, off the hook either. They could swap with ‘Match of the Day’s’ Alan Shearer and Alan Hansen. The thought of Richard arguing the merits or otherwise
“Nice to see you - to see you nice! And on tonight’s Newsnight...” of the current off-side law with a befuddled Judy would be almost ‘car crash’ tv and the “Hansen and Shearer Show’ wine club slot not-to-be-missed tv at it’s most cringeworthy. Hey, this is fun! Alan Carr and Justin Lee Collins from the ‘Sunday Night Project’ could swap with ‘Crime Watch’ presenters (er…whoever they may be post Nick
Ross/ Fiona Bruce). And last but not unleast …Ant and Dec (let me just sit down for this one). Let’s give them any one of the myriad shopping channels on cable tv on which to stretch their presentational skills. Whichever of the ‘never-was’s ‘ they swap with should stroll through whichever ‘Ant and Dec’ vehicle is currently running this Autumn.
The Gallery
12 THE FOGHORN
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THE LAST WORD
Transports of Delight
As the Big Draw heads to St Pancras International, the PCO gets in training. October 18th is a date for your diaries, as that particular Saturday will see a two pronged art attack on St Pancras International Station by the PCO. Yes, due to the overwhelming success of last year’s Big Draw in Covent Garden, and the fact that we actually turned up, the PCO has been asked to once again organise the workshops and take part in the Battle of the Cartoonists. Thankfully, under the expert stewardship of our Festival and Exhibition Coordinator Pete Dredge, a crack team of volunteers has been assembled for the
Crowd control to Major Tim ...
WWW.PROCARTOONISTS.ORG
day’s activities. Workshops by members Paul Hardman, Chichi Parish, Robert Duncan, Tim Harries and Terry Christien (plus guests) will take place between 10am and 5pm, where you can learn the art of satire, ‘the strip’ and face stretching. (Or at least that’s what the official blurb says) ‘Battle of the Cartoonists’ kicks off at 3pm and for 2 hours the PCO team, featuring Robert Duncan, Kipper Williams, Royston Robertson and captained by Pete Dredge, will take on Private Eye, The Guardian and the Independent. Previous attendees at the Big Draw will know that the winning team is decided via extremely vocal public approval, so please come along and do bring any loudhailers and male voice choirs you have lying around. The theme for this year is ‘Transports of Delight’ (alternative themes ‘Train Journeys of Delay’ and ‘Tube Rides of Unpleasant Odour’ were apparently rejected) so the Workshops and Battle will be tailored around the subjects of travel
Alex Hughes adds the finishing touches
in all it’s forms (as long as it’s delightful.) Activities will take place in The Circle - 2nd side entrance on St.Pancras Rd and opposite the German Gymnasium (the what? - ed) The dedicated area will be marked out with artificial grass and picket fencing for that Summery October feeling. Hope to see you there. Tim Harries
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