Just look at those curves!
This is the second of two articles, started last evening. Hope you’re sleeping soundly, if on GMT.
That old chestnut about “might not know much about art but I know what I like” might be intended as a joke but I contend there’s much to it … that there’s an innate sense of proportion and “rightness”, such as Magritte, but also a disordered mind, such as Miro.
I’d contend that there’s clever juxtaposition, such as with Escher or even some of the Dada, thumbing its nose at proportion but at the same time, accepting that there are natural rules, codes which keep life possible.
One of the analyses of Stairway to Heaven was that even though that solo was wild and harsh, aching, even screaming, that only matched Plant and there were powerful “rules” imposed by Bonham and Jones on the whole. Now isn’t that weird … bad boys thumbing the nose, prancing about and wrecking things … but they themselves operated within very strict order, which they’d depart from … but always come back to.
The human mind (mine does anyway) rebels against being shoved into neat rows of boxes, it has to break out in order to breathe the free air, it simply must have angularity, lack of symmetry … just as in nature … it must go on chromatic adventures and explore, fill the space. My own home looks a mess, to the point that my “sunroom” was questioned by my mate, who asked if there was anything in those boxes I’d piled up in different places, whilst the centre ground was a cosy and colourful “den”, everything modular, parallel lines, to the point my matess demanded, “Where are the curves?”
On you, within you, darling … and how. Women are walking artforms, which is why they need to respect themselves, not mutilate themselves … mutilating themselves, ruining their minds which is what Woke feminazism has caused … it’s an offence against nature, no less than what’s being done to children now.
After all these words, I’m but saying there’s a happy medium but even that statement imprisons. There are boundaries set in rock, e.g. leave the children alone … and then boundaries which are to be pushed, even broken through … but even an old adventurer, an old sailor, returns to land eventually, just as Peer Gynt did and the Prodigal Son. The Eagles’ Desperado is all about that. Desperado is about too much freedom (that’s me) … Hotel California is about Chateau Marmant, about addiction to sicko, diseased souls, impossible to escape from unless there’s some redemptive way that can save imprisoned wretches like that.
Heavy metal is an offence to the soul, unless it has a distinct set of its own rules, such as with Du Hast. And no, I’m not playing any of it here.
Which brings me back to the original point … I’ll judge aesthetically and politically before I even start thinking of the morality. I will think of the morality for sure after that … we’re all doing that here, in a non-religious way … but the overwhelming, overriding driver for us is observing things and muttering: “No, that’s simply not right, you creeps. You need stringing up.”
There’s a natural order, unlike London’s now vile, modernist skyline, within which there’s a vast amount of freedom to move, bags and heaps of freedom … but there’s also a natural imperative, such as stopping that 14 year old girl being beaten to death by those thugs … and no one steps in en masse, they just film it on their phones.
Don’t miss DAD’s drop here of Citizen Free Press:
Just look at those parallels and perpendiculars! That’s me, that’s my home here.
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