Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November

Today is Guy Fawkes Day (or Night) in merry old England, a holiday that is unapologetically nationalist, monarchist (in the best English tradition of that form of government) and Protestant Christian.  There’s something fun and refreshingly patriotic about a holiday dedicated to burning a treacherous Papist in effigy.  Not to make everything about America, but it smacks of the Fourth of July, albeit without the anti-monarchist undertones.

Most Americans will be familiar with Guy Fawkes Day and the iconic mask from the film V for Vendetta (2005), in which the meaning of Guy Fawkes focuses on the man’s role as a would-be freedom fighter for English Catholics against an oppressive Protestant regime.  In the context of the film, the titular V dons the mask in the context of a freedom fighter against a fascistic, quasi-religious British government.

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The Beatles in Buxton

Somehow, yours portly ended up following the WordPress-powered website for the Buxton Museum and Art Gallery in Buxton, United Kingdom.  Apparently, the cool little museum is closed temporarily due to some structural damage to the build that houses their enigmatic collection, but it still maintains a fairly active blog, with posts about Death’s Heads Hawk Moths and their summer programs (featuring an artist called “Creeping Toad“).

They recently posted a fascinating little piece about The Beatles performing in Buxton twice in 1963, featuring black-and-white photographs from the Buxton Advertiser.  Attendees apparently sat on the floor, and girls who fainted were dragged to a changing room recuperate.  According to the piece, “This was one of the last small gigs they played before playing to over 50,000 people in Shea Stadium in 1965.”

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Guest Post: Brian Meredith: There’s No Such Thing as Bad Art

We have a new contributor here at The Portly Politico, a chap from jolly old England, Brian Meredith.  He’s a graphic designer by trade and is Internet friends with our own senior correspondent, Audre Myers.

In this piece, “There’s No Such Thing as Bad Art,” Brian makes an essentially semantic argument:  if we glorify pieces we like or appreciate as “art,” we conversely consider “bad” pieces as “not art.”  Ergo, we cannot have “bad art” if art is definitionally whatever we define as “good.”

As Brian noted in an e-mail to me:  “I would like to make it clear that my intention was to write something about the use of language rather [than] about art itself and in particular the commonly-accepted assumption that the very idea of art confers status.”

It’s an interesting argument, and one that I think has its merits.  I disagree with the underlying premise, in that we can create things broadly termed “art” that are, indeed, quite poor in quality, either because of aesthetic choices or merely a lack of craftsmanship on the part of the artist.  There can be “art” of varying qualities.

But I think Brian is correct when we look at “art” as a term of social categorization—as a form of judgment.  In that regard, anything that we think is worthy of praise—even if from an objective or technical standpoint it is not very good—could be elevated to the status of “art,” as his argument is that society uses the term “art” almost exclusively as a term of praise.  As such, if enough rubes agree that, say, an ashtray is a work of art, it is merely laudatory “art,” and not “bad art,” which—again—cannot exist in this usage of the word.

That explains why there are plenty of poor craftspeople whose work is lauded as “art” because they are well-connected (as I have written about before on this blog).

Ultimately, this subjective, linguistic/definitional argument results in the kind of postmodern garbage we see coming out of art studios today.  I do not think Brian would agree with the sentiment he points out—he seems to be a diagnostician, not a physician, of this problem—but its existence is certainly real.  As such, because lay persons exclusively use the term “art” in a laudatory context, the result is that we do end up with a great deal of bad art, even if definitionally that’s impossible.

It’s an intriguing semantic argument, but like most semantic arguments, it seems like it too easily devolves into postmodern nonsense.  Again, I don’t think Brian is advocating for that, but is merely diagnosing the problem.

With that, here is Brian Meredith’s “There’s No Such Thing as Bad Art”:

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SubscribeStar Saturday: The Folly of King Edward VIII

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One of my favorite passages of Scripture is Proverbs 31:10-31, the famous passage about the qualities of a good woman.  As verse 10 reads, “Who can find a virtuous wife? For her worth is far above rubies.”  The implication is that a true “Proverbs 31 Woman” is a rare and precious thing.

Based on earlier chapters of Proverbs, which extensively detailed the dangers of a wanton floozy, it’s pretty clear that a bad woman can be quite destructive.  Proverbs 7:6-23 is an entire cautionary tale about a foolish young man who dies when a harlot stabs him after a night of passion!

Too many men (myself included) fall for the allure of a pretty face, which is probably why there are three or four chapters in Proverbs warning us off of them (and only one chapter about a good woman).

Such is the potentially corrosive effect of a loose woman that one nearly destroyed a monarchy.  The short-reigned King Edward VIII, who ruled in 1936 for barely eleven months.

The controversy over King Edward VIII’s decision to marry a twice-divorced woman (still married at the time of Edward’s abdication in December 1936), Wallis Simpson, threatened the House of Windsor, and nearly resulted in a constitutional crisis for the British Empire.

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Myersvision: Goblins and Faeries

No, dear reader, this post isn’t another screed against ghoulish sexual perverts, despite what the title might suggest.  It’s a fun installment of Myersvision, the intermittent series of whimsical posts from our senior correspondent, Audre Myers.

I reached out to some of my regular contributors to see if anyone had anything for me, and Audre whipped up this short, charming piece about alleged goblins and faeries—well, pixies—roaming the English countryside.  She notes that one YouTuber has around 400,000 subscribers, and asks, “So who’s crazy?”

Well, my money is still on the people that think CGI pixies are real, and the only Goblin I believe in is the Italian synth rock band.

At least, for now.  I’ll never forget learning about the Scottish researcher in the nineteenth century who went looking for faeries, because if he could prove faeries and other supernatural or folkloric creatures were real, he could prove God’s Existence.  After all, if God Exists, there is surely a rich world of supernatural entities—angels and demons (of which I am thoroughly convinced are real), but also all manner of other creatures.  The Bible speaks of giants and Behemoth.  Who’s to say dragons (clearly dinosaurs) weren’t swooping around causing trouble?  The Bible speaks of dragons, too.

All things to consider for another day.  For now, here’s Audre, taking us on a tour of the mystical English countryside:

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SubscribeStar Saturday: The Queen and 9/11

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Queen Elizabeth II, the long-reigning, dignified, Stoic monarch of Great Britain, passed away this week at the age of 96.  The news was shocking, not because of the tragedy of her death itself, but because I’d always assumed she would live forever—even though I knew that wasn’t possible.  Queen Elizabeth was just always there, and it seemed like she would be.

To be honest, I’m surprised she was only 96; I thought she’d already hit 100.  As it was, she was pretty close.  Her seventy-plus-year reign is the longest in the history of the British monarchy, and the longest any woman has been a head of state in all of recorded history.

The Queen’s passing, as other commentators have noted, truly marks the end of an era, an era in which the West, while fumbling a bit, still reigned supreme, and took itself seriously as a civilization.  Her death marks the final page of a long chapter in the book of Western Civilization, as her reign was the last vestige of the Old England so many of us, even here in the States, loved so dearly.

It is, then, perhaps apropos that the Queen’s death came so close to 9/11, a day of infamy which, sadly, seems to have receded further and further into the collective imagination of our divided and bickering nation.  Both the Queen and 9/11 were once symbols of national unity and patriotism, but the latter marked the death of American liberty.  Queen Elizabeth’s death, on the other hand, is a coda, the last few measures of a piece that lost its orchestra some time ago, but which managed to maintain a few dedicated musicians to play her out.

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Ponty’s Pics: Blakeney and the Morston Marshes

It seems that flattery motivates contributors, at least 39 Pontiac Dream/Always a Kid for Today/Mike Fahey, who has sent along some lovely photographs of a recent trip he and his significant other took to Blakeney and the Morston Marshes, both places with distinctly British names.

I won’t offer much more by way of preamble, and instead have included the body of Ponty’s e-mail to me, which explains a bit more about the pictures in detail.

They remind me a great deal of the salt marshes around Beaufort, South Carolina, and the outlying barrier islands on the way to Fripp Island.

But enough from me.  Here’s Ponty:

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Monday Morning Movie Review: The Electrical Life of Louis Wain (2021)

In continuing with my movie reviews of requested films (see last week’s review of 1999’s Bicentennial Man, which I reviewed at the request of Audre Myers), I’m reviewing 2021’s The Electrical Life of Louis Wain at the request of my Aunt Marilyn.  She recommended the film, which stars Benedict Cumberbatch as the eccentric title character, enthusiastically.

I love Benedict Cumberbatch—one of my favorite current actors—and just about anything about eccentric creative types in Victorian England; needless to say, I loved this film, which details the quite tumultuous, tortured life and mind of Louis Wain, the man responsible for normalizing the keeping of cats as pets.

Viewing the film was a bit tricky at first.  As far as I can tell, it is only on the Amazon Prime Video service.  When I would pull up the movie on there, the only option I could see required an Amazon Prime membership, but my aunt assured me I’d be able to rent it (probably all I had to do was click on that subscription button and I’d be given the option to rent).

It occurred to me that I might still have access to Prime Video through my ex-girlfriend’s account on my Roku; sure enough, I was able to watch the movie—for free!—using those surreptitious means.

Logistical nonsense aside, I should probably review the film, rather than talk about how I had to access it.  All this blogging is going to my head.

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English Sunrise

My good online friend and photographic contributor 39 Pontiac Dreamer has sent in some lovely pictures of an English sunrise.  To my discredit, he e-mailed me these photographs two months ago, and I am only now finding the time to post them, after repeated apologies, delays, equivocations, and plain excuses.

It’s been so long now, it escapes me what the genesis of these pictures were.  I believe Ponty and I were carrying on a conversation in the comment section of a post about rising early in the morning, and that it’s the best time to get work done.

Regardless, here are some gorgeous photographs of a hazy English morning, just as the mighty sun peeks itself over the horizon:

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Halloween in England

Good ol’ 39 Pontiac Dreamer, one of my regular readers, is as big a fan of Halloween as I am.  To that end, he e-mailed me a TON of Halloween pictures over the weekend, including his and his wife’s Jack O’Lanterns.  He says hers is the more elaborate one, while he goes for a simpler, more classic approach (like me).

Per Ponty:

We had a few trick or treaters over the evening but, thankfully, not at a crucial point in any of our films…. The films in the pictures by the way are Ringu and the Romero classic Dawn of the Dead.

Ponty also sent me some excellent photographs of an English sunrise—in September!  I’ve been so slammed, I keep forgetting to upload them.  Look for those next Tuesday.

For now, here are the pictures of Ponty’s British Halloween:

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