We all ought to steal his pencils: an essay

I must admit that I can’t quite get my head around submitting an essay as a blog. Which is why this essay begins as a blog. A blog about an essay. I’m going to start with a stream of consciousness exploration of my thoughts on blogging. Thus far I have not had many. I made my own blog once, a few years ago, and it still exists. It is called Utterances. But it’s strange. Very long winded, contrary to the nature of blogs; contrary to its title. It does not “utter”; rather, it vomits. Not exactly a forum teaming with comments either. But a blog nevertheless.

I was chatting to a friend the other day, and he told me how a friend of his, a young lady journalist here at Rhodes, had recently jetted off to Amsterdam for the weekend for a ‘blogging conference.’ “Well,” I thought. We chatted some more about this, and wondered if the extravagance of travel could perhaps have been avoided by simply holding the conference online? You know, a bit of reflexivity? Kind of like what we’re doing here – blogging about blogs…But then we decided that maybe the conference was all about how to bring blogging to a point of having online conferences. Then again, if it were that advanced, perhaps any such conference would be considered redundant.

I think the notion of blogging is quite fantastic. Primarily because it encourages personal and societal reflexivity, which often results in laughter at our own ridiculous habits and the inescapably hypocritical predicaments we climb into. (Of course, there are some other things worth noting.)

People go out of their way to be funny. I find the web has its own special humour. A kind of universal humour that recognizes who we are as a species and makes the best of our strengths and weaknesses. Actually, that doesn’t make sense at all. Perhaps it just provides opportunity for one to connect with others who have a humour akin to one’s own. For example, a couple of my peers post their essays up some time before the due date, and another, in response, proceeds to post the simple yet sufficiently expressive opinion, “fuck.” I suppose one would have to know something of the spectrum of people studying together in this miniature department within this miniature institution to emit a sly chuckle at this juxtaposition of entries. Or maybe it just appeals to my sense of humour. Either way, it is a lovely example of the freedom that blogs permit. There is a lot of room for wit (and Whitney), for honesty, for play, and for getting over things that are taken too seriously.

I’ve just been reading this article from the Guardian on Damien Hirst getting into a tiz about his property rights. Whilst the article itself is quite entertaining, what interests me more are the comments. Two hundred and fifty four. That seems like rather a lot to me, but then I’m not sure what the norm is. Everyone just had to have their say about the infamous Mister Hirst. I looked at two sites – Art Times, and the Guardian. I didn’t expect to find an African site with anything on this subject, and I didn’t. My guess is that Africans beyond South Africa focus little on the trivialities of British law suits over, say, a box of pencils, and more on problems of their own: identity, racial friction, the dilemma of Diaspora, poverty, etc etc etc etc etc…

I will not describe the story – you can read whatever version you like on the sites. Just click on one of my fantastic hyperlinks (I type this in faith, trusting that when I get to posting this later this morning I will figure out the apparently very basic method of creating a link. If not, you will have to embark on an enormous search in order to find the articles I am referring to.) What I will mention is the approach which these two journalists have taken. Mister Charlie Brooker, who seems to have quite a name for himself amongst people who know, is writing for a general news site with a section on culture. The other writer, whose name I can’t find, is writing for an art newspaper. I’m not sure this makes much difference in this particular case.

Some things I’ve noticed: the South African article is not very well written. It is a little sassy, but a bit trying. Nobody was really interested enough to comment when I last checked. Brooker’s piece, on the other hand, evoked comments which, when combined, would potentially treble the length of his article. Is this because the Brits love Damien, even though they hate him? Is it because South Africans don’t blog, or bloggers don’t visit SA sites? Is it to do with the reputation of the particular journalists involved? I’m not sure. But I did find Brooker’s article a whole lot more enjoyable if that counts for anything. I found the portrait of Damien and his diamond skull positioned alongside the article in the Art Times got me engaged, and thereby interested enough to follow the link to Brooker’s article. Perhaps that’s the whole point of those short Art Times articles? To whet the appetite? But why is there more information on this little irrelevant scandal in a general British newspaper than a South African paper all about art? Maybe it’s just a national thing. Art Times is likely to focus primarily on South African scandals, as art publications so love to do. They just couldn’t resist including a bit of Hirst. He really gets in everywhere. Including our lecture theatre. Which I’m concerned about.

What also interests me is the nature of Brooker’s writing, and who the people are who are commenting on his site. I think he’s more likely to have a much broader audience than Art Times. Many of the comments are not artists or even involved in the art world, but just people catching up on a bit of culture. Because Brooker writes in an easily digestible fashion, he has a bit of a fan club, which is lovely. People are getting involved in silly art scandals, but at least it brings them together over something. I think it’s a good practice to have one’s say in things. Personally I wouldn’t spend my time commenting on such trivial stories as this, but I enjoy the fact that some people do.

Finally, some extracts from a few of my favourite comments, just to prove that a blogger really does take on a certain humourous persona on entering the arena:

“I have a spot on my t shirt from cooking, can it please be sued by Damien for breach of copyright?”

“I love Damien Hirst. But that's because I'm richer than him. If I was poorer then I guess I'd throw my sack in with the rest of you and hate him too.”

“No member of the general public is likely to have the slightest interest in Damien Hirst except as a generic modern art joke, whereas the rich people who buy his stuff might accidentally read this and suddenly start to wonder whether in fact the king is indeed as naked as the day that he was born.”

“And this is what we pay tax for, so that the police can hunt stolen pencils?”

“Damien Hirst is a very useful fellow; like Madonna, he gives the English someone to hate while demanding no engagement whatsoever, and without starting any wars. We need more like him.”

“…Hirst's humourless hissy fits...”

“Anybody can be a Damien, pile a stack of bricks, pickle a sheep or stuff a shark, or call a half demolished building Art.”

And my favourite: “We all ought to steal his pencils. Just think, if enough of us stole a part of a really ugly piece of modern Art, there would be no more modern Art. They couldn't lock us all up…”