unnecessarily expressful (2007)

One is not entirely certain of the precise title one should apply to this subject. One might indeed argue that mere words and language can never precisely capture the bold and vital skip and gambol of the artist's fascinatingly evasive mind. When pressed, "the unnecessessarily poncey twaddle some galleries feel compelled to write on the little information cards next to exhibits in galleries and the sort of people responsible for such unnecessarily poncey twaddle and who also speak far too loudly in false-sounding voices in exactly the same excessively verbose and desperately polysyllaballic manner and whose presence often irritates people who just want to witness and enjoy and be inspired by all forms of art at festivals and in galleries and who are chiefly responsible for the misconception of high art as strictly highbrow" is offered as a lingual descriptor, capturing the reason for inclusion both of the gentleman in the beige jacket and the small printed card purporting to describe the gentleman's image in the manner of the information-panels cunningly devised to offer insight into Art when arrayed next thereto in the place of exhibition.

Or...

Blokes in beige jackets at festivals: SHUT UP.
People who write the crap on the wee cards in galleries (mostly in Britain - those I've seen in Europe have been fine) purporting to interpret all manner of hidden depth, symbolism and meaning in what is essentially an easily-interpreted image: STOP IT.

__________________________


Went to the exhibition of naked pictures at the Scottish National Portrait Gallery this afternoon. Plenty of decent pictures. Lots of meh pictures. Everything accompanied by a card evidently written by someone whose only mode of communication is Arty Wankspeak with added symbology. I reckon the five main galleries in the city must have one Official Captionificatorer who dare not allow a single image to be exhibited without their sufficiently learnèd interpretational guidance. It would be better if they had one card stating the artist and subject which could be safely read and another (perhaps under an opaque flap) containing the bollocks for those who could read it without becoming angry.

The beige-jacket brigade speak (very loudly) for themselves. The clothing is not a fixed and rigid guide but it's the attitude: these people can be found at the Book festival, outside the Queen's hall, swanning around the Hub and even in the Pleasance courtyard (I say "even" only because I still think of the Pleasance as a student union) talking (as if they've just swallowed three whole plum-filled swans) about the most basic of things in the most florid of language. They unfortunately trip more than one Lever of Dislike with their dress, loud voices and projected air of superiority and are thus fairly visible on my annoyance-detection radar. I also suspect that they're behind the rapidly rising prices of shows in the various festivals.


Grrrr.

Anyway, I've just eaten the Grilled Merguez and Bn*****something Filfil at Phenecia and it was very nice; I'm pretty sure that's what I had the first couple of times we went there. On the secondmost recent occasion I decided to try something different and went for the Lamb tajine without noticing that it contained fruits as well as spices and didn't really like the combination of meat and cooked sweetness. Then again I am quite a finicky eater.