What is in Kelvin's Head?

Culture Catch Up

01/03/2013

I’ve been on annual leave for the last week. It was my (rather late) post-Christmas break. Just after Christmas, I didn’t want to be away from either home or St Mary’s, probably due to having just come back from my three-month sabbatical. Hence, I put off taking time off until now.

This year I threw myself into a culture catch-up with a wee trip to London.

Here are the scores on the doors:

Takin’ Over the Asylum at the Citz in Glasgow – solid reworking of a good TV series for the stage Rating:

La Traviata at the Coliseum – all done with curtains. The curtains open to reveal a set of curtains, which in turn are pushed apart to reveal a set of curtains, which in turn…. All in all a rather good postmodern interpretation. Then end worked well. You need a good seat for this one. Some of the action happened amongst the audience. Rating:

Cocktail Sticks – a new piece by Alan Bennett about his parents. Made me laugh. Made me cry. Rating:

This House – an enormous new play by James Graham about the politics of the 1970s and 1980s. In other words, a play about the politics that I first remember. Rating:

Merrily We Roll Along – The Play. This was a mistake. Booked it at the last-minute thinking I was booking Merrily We Roll Along the Musical. The play is incomprehensible, particularly so in a rehearsed reading. This was a rehearsed reading. Lasted until half time. Rating:

People – another new play by Alan Bennett. This one had the wonderful Frances de la Tour being an imperious old aristocrat. It also had an actress, a bishop and enough trouser-dropping to prove that farce has not died just because Brian Rix is no longer in charge. It is not Alan Bennett’s greatest work but greater than so many other people’s greatest work nonetheless. Rating:

Ice Age Art – the Arrival of the Modern Mind at the British Museum. This one is selling out every day – you need a timed ticket to get in. Fascinating, beguiling show of bits and bobs from Europe made by people we know so little else about. Enigmatic “venus” figurines and a ghostly puppet were my favourites. Rating:

Light Show at the Hayward Gallery. From prehistoric art to the art that depends on the technology of today. (I think we can be pretty sure that none of this will be around in 27000 years). An interesting show. Would perhaps have felt spiritual and holy if one had had the chance to go around it alone. As it was, there were too many other people. (Which was the theme of one of the Bennett plays above, oddly). Rating:

Oh, and I met one or two people I know and one or two I know now.

There we go – not a bad week all told. Four and a half plays and two big art shows. Oh, and I also worshipped last Sunday in a small congregation in the West End (just 19 of us gathered right where London’s heart beats strongest) and at Westminster Abbey on Tuesday evening for a gorgeous Evensong with dozens in the cast and hundreds in the congregation.

God was present in both these services.

And in the rest, I’d say.

Quite a lot of dashing about, not least as I was only in London for three nights.

And that’s what I did on my holidays. Rating:

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

kimberly

12/08/2009

ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

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kimberly

12/08/2009

the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

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kelvin

12/08/2009

Its not just me though, and not just fours.

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Aaron Orear

12/08/2009

I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

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Erp

12/08/2009

I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

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RosemaryHannah

12/08/2009

Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

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Elizabeth

13/08/2009

Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

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Ritualist Robert

14/08/2009

Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

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Steve

14/08/2009

I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

Yet still from Eden springs the root
As clean as on the starting day.
Time takes the foliage and the fruit
And burns the archetypal leaf
To shapes of terror and of grief
Scattered along the winter way.
But famished field and blackened tree
Bear flowers in Eden never known.

Blossoms of grief and charity
Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
What had Eden ever to say
Of hope and faith and pity and love
Until was buried all its day
And memory found its treasure trove?
Strange blessings never in Paradise
Fall from these beclouded skies.

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