6 minute read
NOTES ON A SMALL CITY
Richard Wyatt: Notes on a small city
Columnist Richard Wyatt is surprised at the revelation that young people may be living in two worlds, and takes issue with dogs that don’t tip-toe through the tulips
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You know how it is when you’re half listening to the radio, doing your domestics, or whatever, while it drones on in the background, sounding like a trapped fly buzzing on a window. Suddenly something being said breaks through your self-induced torpor and awakens the senses with the force of a tsunami wave.
This happened to me during a radio discussion recently when someone said something I found to be profound. It was that we must face the fact that today’s youngsters will see themselves as future citizens of TWO worlds. They –unlike us older citizens’ past experiences of life without the internet, social media and video games –will spend their lives co-existing in both the real world and the cyber one.
How much time they will spend in each is open to debate, but it got me thinking about whether a future school curriculum will have to include lessons on how to be a good human being. Instructing the citizens of tomorrow in the rudiments of social behaviour within the reality they rejoin when removing their video masks, and maybe more importantly how they interact with each other.
At the same time, the pandemic with its recurring lockdowns has given the rest of us a lesson in taking more notice of the little things in life, the reality surrounding us in our bubbles of confinement. While the young may have escaped into the alternative worlds of Sea of Thieves, Minecraft Dungeons or Plants Vs Zombies, I, like others, have been out to exercise in country lanes and the occasional city park.
We’ve all been grateful –irrespective of age –for modern technology and social media while the virus has kept us physically apart, but I have often found myself enjoying the fresh air delights of places like Parade Gardens and Sydney Gardens. These urban open spaces have also certainly been a godsend for those people who live surrounded by Bath stone and tarmac rather than open countryside.
It’s a city which has a big dog-owning population too and man’s best four-legged friend also needs to stretch its legs and collect a different set of scents away from the domestic smells of home. Sydney Gardens, originally an exclusive Georgian Vauxhall or pleasure ground, has always been popular with people arriving with a pet on a lead. Unfortunately, for those who come to admire the first signs of spring, Rover being released to roam isn’t always good news for the delicate crocus and narcissus flowers newly emerged from the cold earth and reaching for the sky.
There seems to be a slight conflict of interests when it comes to appreciating the natural beauty of these manmade green spaces. Unfortunately dogs playing with other dogs or chasing balls are not exactly ‘tip-toeing through the tulips’, with broken stems indicating their destructive path through the blooms.
Sydney Gardens is currently in the midst of a multi-million pound National Lottery Heritage funded park restoration project which will restore historic buildings and invest in landscape works, but it will also help create new play areas for all ages. Dare I suggest that it should also create a specific area for dogs to give that first blush of floral spring a chance to open their petals before being trampled under paw?
The trouble is we no longer have park keepers to maintain a watchful eye on daily use and, however much effort is put in by park ‘friends’ –and these people are vital volunteers –they have no authority to keep control.
I noticed a plea in a recent Sidney Gardens Project cyber newsletter for people using the park to pick up dog poo and take their litter home with them. All these open spaces have been under greater pressure during the pandemic. Of course, it’s socially and physically important that people continue to enjoy the benefits of fresh air and exercise when things begin to return to something like normal. However, when you think about it, we all have to share public space with others, whether it’s a park, pavement or highway.
We’ve all missed company and, for the benefit of those cyber citizens of the near future, maybe we should be setting a good example in how to care for the real world and be nice to our neighbours. n
I don’t know much about art
DUNCAN CAMPBELL
HAS BEEN DEALING IN ANTIQUE SILVER SINCE 1986
And probably never will
The prospect of discovering lost treasure is so intoxicating to me that I have made a career out of it. My base desire for something to be the ‘valuable, genuine article’ can dangerously reduce my skepticism.
This quirk of human nature is what fakers rely on. Hilarious results can ensue when the easiest canvases to fake become some of the most valuable paintings the world has even known.
If you have ever stood in front of an abstract impressionist painting and thought,
“Really? I could do that”, you may be interested to know that you are probably right. Perhaps with some practice, you could, and what’s more, with a little imagination, you could also sell it into an extremely wealthy market that would be hard pressed to tell your Pollock from Jackson’s.
I’d never suggest that abstract impressionism is without merit, but with the vast sums of money involved, it isn’t really surprising that this area of the art market is such a magnet for fraudsters. What is much more surprising is that many of the participants don’t seem to care. To a Philistine observer, the dealers and collectors appear to be having such a lovely time watching their daubs go up in value, like some giant kaleidoscopic Ponzi Scheme, that the last thing they are going to do is suggest that the king is in fact naked.
The recent Netflix Documentary “Made You Look” exposes in shameful detail the wishful nonsense that some of the so-called “experts” peddle.
Apparently, the only trusted way to help authenticate an abstract impressionist work, is by using sophisticated scientific analysis. To the best of my understanding, connoisseurship in this field is nonexistent. When those with white lab coats and computers become the only arbiters of what is or isn’t a great work of art, a little reflection is needed.
If the cream of New York’s art glitterati can’t tell a Mark Rothko from a mood board then what chance do we mere mortals have?
In fine art and antiques as in life: If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. n beaunashbath.com; 01225 334234 Follow us on Twitter @thebathmagazine
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