Holiday Day 3: Four Museums, Five Exhibitions

28.04.2024

Me standing next to the poster of Mother India, the film I got my name from. In real life, her co-actor Sunil Dutt saved the actress playing Mother India from a fire which broke out. Her name is Nargis, a flower – why women are flowers for me. They fell in love when she looked after her hero Sunil (her son on-screen) in the hospital.

The purple flower is broken – purple for Athens, my identity at school was Athenian in Athens house… 💜

The Valentine’s card made thinking about Helen this year.

Museums and a charity bookshop aside from copious amounts of art history study, where I managed to make myself well into the assignment (still 3 hours of wake time left since it is only 20.38 as I am writing). Here’s the itinerary:

1.British Museum – Greece, India
2.The Wellcome Collection – Jason and the Adventure of 254, The Cult of Beauty
3.The British Library – Beyond the Bassline: 500 Years of Black British Music
4.The National Portrait Gallery – The Time is Always Now: Artists Reframe the Black Figure, Francesca Woodman and Julia Margaret Cameron: Portraits to Dream In

I will write about each of the exhibitions in due time – all except for The Cult of Beauty.

What can I say about the cult of beauty? In reality, Helen is the most beautiful woman in the world to me because she was kind to me. It was her behaviour that I was attracted to. She is beautiful. There is no question. But I did not notice her when I first met her. The effect was over time based on her behaviour. It is the same with all the women that I am interested in right now. Over time. That is the essence of beauty in real life – beauty through relationship.

As I was looking at Greek art and Indian art, I was struck by a curious thought. We all know that the ancient Greeks got a new confidence when they defeated the might of the Persians. It shaped the racism that was to come afterwards. I have been shaped similarly. I have been shaped by the Indian Independence movement when we beat the British. Because the quest for me is still freedom. I don’t believe that India has got it yet. Because the nation is not freedom. The Western law is not freedom. Anarchy is freedom. The village is freedom. Self rule in its unmitigated form. Dharma, not law. Freedom is still to be achieved. Freedom is still to be fought for. The war is not over yet. The scholar is still in the war. I am still being shaped by the past victory to consolidate our position. It is not suspicion – it is fact. The prize is still for the taking. Remain The Tiger. Don’t break. Tiger is still alive. Tiger has been alive for six thousand years and will live until the end of time. For freedom from oppression.

I am shaping to the new layout in my room. A new place to think and to dream and to create. I stare at the bookshelf for inspiration. I stare at it with love. It is what I want to become. So many books to read. So many things to learn. Hope springs eternal. Ambition is undefeated. The dream of education.

I saw the Rosetta stone today. I saw it with Helen. We read it together. I still have my memories if nothing else.

I compared the ‘Crouching Venus’ with the ‘Crouching lions’ in the Nereid monument. The woman is defensive, the lion is aggressive. The woman retreats from the gaze, she is hiding. The lion is fierce display. The woman is shame, the lion attack. The woman looks as though she is not moving at all, the lion looks like it is just about to flash like lightning. Which one, though, is the more powerful? That shame will douse any flame from any man. When you see them shrink from you as though you were a wild beast, all you feel inside is dismay. The lion, you would fight with. With the woman, you have to turn away.

I saw Michelangelo’s Pieta in the shop and I really wanted it. I am looking for a sculpture in my room now there is space so that I can be like Freud who collected these curios. My statues of the Hindu gods and goddesses are in the corner we have made for my mother to worship. I won’t get a female nude because of my mother, of course. The naked Kali she tolerates because that is the religion. I will have to find something else that I am interested in.

I got a finial bangle of some Egyptian cats to wear. One of my friends told me to get a bracelet a while back instead of getting my ears pierced. It was expensive, but what do I work for anyway if I am never going to spend the money? I have wanted one like it since I was a kid but never got round to it. I love finial bangles and torques. I was going to get the lion one first – my middle name is ‘Sim’ which means ‘Tiger’ from the Sanskrit word ‘Simha’ like the god ‘Nar-Simha’ (Man-Tiger). The word is the same for ‘Tiger’ and ‘Lion’. However, I got the cat, because the Tiger is a cat too. And I liked the design better and it was more visible than the lion design. The woman serving me helped me to put it on and take it off, although she actually looked like she didn’t want to serve me. That’s kind of what you expect from a lot of these women. The one in the charity bookshop was exactly the same. Why do you work in retail and customer service if you don’t actually want to even talk to someone when they are engaged in a one minute talk with you?

Books I’m interested in that I saw:

How to be a Renaissance woman – the role of women in chemistry and botany as they made make up for themselves
Plant Life – laser cuts and flaps in this children’s book

I was watching the dancing hands of an Indian woman as she was talking to her husband or boyfriend on the tube as I got back. It was an energetic dance. I had my headphones in and wouldn’t have understood her language anyway. All you can do is observe as an outsider and speculate on what they are talking about and why her body was moving like that. Next to me, a very beautiful Indian woman was sitting there. She was the most beautiful woman I saw all day. She looked at me as I was getting off, then walked past me as I stood on the escalator. As I passed through the barriers, I saw her walking towards the end of the tunnel. Believe it or not, I started walking fast – it was a race. I wanted to see if I could get past her. Before she finished going up the stairs, amazingly, I managed to get past her. I won the race. How could she beat me? I have the body of an athlete. I can walk as fast as some people can run. Why did I race her? I’m an athlete. I’m competitive. I don’t like anyone beating me. Helen has won. She beat me. But that is something I can’t do anything about. Because in the arena of choice, the women are the queens in this country.

Astounded by how silent London is when you are a lone bachelor around the town. The only people that talk to you are other men – quite a few in the tube today and then one in the shops on the way home as I was carrying flowers. No wonder so many men are desperate for female company. Luckily, I work in the industry that I work in which is full of beautiful women to talk to.

Why don’t I just buy myself a wife from India and the children will come? People have asked me. People tell me to do it all the time. Why not? Because I have principles. Because I am a lover, not a buyer. I am not going to buy someone with my British passport and my superior wealth to them. Despite this culture calling us Indian men misogynistic pigs (when they are misogynistic themselves), I believe in choice. Not arranged marriage with its casteism and its inequality. And because I want someone that I can talk to things about – someone who has had access to art and culture and the frame of reference that I know about and have studied for them to talk to them. I would rather go it alone than compromise on love and my principles. But what do I get for having principles: the treatment I get from women here in this country. You can’t win, whatever you do. Not if you have been raised like an Indian man in a white culture.

Shiva’s Ability to Withstand the Flood of Woman’s Power

10.04.2024

Woman in the male imagination is the awesome and sublime power of nature. Uncontrollable, devastating.

The other name for Durga the Mother Goddess, the one with the tiger, is Shakti or ‘power’. Kali, her other face, is unchecked rage and blood lust. The beserker. Total carnage.

Amongst the gods, there is only one that can control and shape the flood of woman’s power. Over and over again in the myths. It is Shiva, the lord of the beasts (pasupati).

In one myth, Shiva is the only one powerful enough to funnel the flow of the river Ganga (Ganges) from heaven as she falls to earth. Devastatingly she floods down with raw energy. Serenely, he takes her force into his untamed head of hair to bring her down to earth.

In another myth, Kali’s dance of blood lust is only brought to an end when Shiva lays down before her so she dances upon him. It is the cosmic dance – the creation of the universe. Shiva’s control that channels the raw power of woman, the flood of her rage and power.

In both myths, there is one striking aspect of Shiva. That he is completely inert and still, passive. This is his power. Where woman floods with elemental force, Shiva sits down quietly to let the flood enter his hair, or he lays down before it. It is with stillness that the flood of woman’s power is channelled to create life – whether through the water or through the creation of all things. In response to total emotion, like Kali’s, in response to being moved, like in emotion, like the movement of the flood of the Ganga, Shiva is meek and unemotional. Unmoving. Unmoved.

Have you ever argued with the woman you love in the heat of her passion? You cannot fight them. Because you cannot hurt them when they are already hurt. It is wrong. It goes against the responsibilities of being a man. It is dishonourable. So you have to become inert. In response to fury, you reply without emotion. In response to provocation, you are still. In the face of accusation, you are silent. Shiva embodies the only way to act: with absolute restraint and self-control. The one you love is attacking you with everything she has got. She wants to kill you. The only one that can hurt you is hurting you. And you? You have to put your head upon the sword that she offers, and offer her your naked throat. You have to become Shiva. It is the only way forward. Psychologically, even if you are losing the argument, but your opponent is getting more and more heated, by becoming cooler and cooler, you win. That is what it means to be Shiva. Absolute stillness. Stillness in war, as personified by Yudhishthira in the Mahabharata, the leader of the hero brothers (Yudhishthira means ‘still in war’).

You can read more of my poetry and my other books including fiction and prose on my personal blog which features the Open Access MEHMI PRESS:

https://lnkd.in/eP2auKX3

Day Off – How Do You Capture a Distinctive Portrait?

09.04.2024

The Cosmic Dance – Kali dances on Shiva as this is the only way to contain her bloodlust and destruction.

What can I say? I love Kali. So every woman I love becomes Kali. And I become Shiva. It is fate. It is the cosmic dance.

……

Easy. Simple. Unimaginative. There is a preconception amongst some of the non photographers that a portrait is nothing much. Not a real exhibition of skill. Especially the selfie.

Yet the way that you pose and the way that you present yourself to convey your identity is a skill. Whether you want to look appealing or hostile, whatever emotional bond you want to create with the viewer through the craft.

Today, I took it to the basic level. I held the camera at arm’s length in front of me and pushed the button. The magic of technology.

How did I convey my identity?

First off, I posed in front of the bookshelf which is my library. So that indicates that I am a reader.

Then, it was time for the framing. I chose to cut off bits of my face. To add the mystery. It is a technique taken from Japanese art too – I volunteer at a Japanese art gallery. Japanese art itself is influenced by India and Buddhism. So there is that happening there.

Lighting is positioned to catch in the eyes which have been described as my best feature by others, not just women. These eyes are the eyes of my grandfather. It is the family connection. Eyes themselves are described as the ‘windows into the soul’.

The face is filled with light to alleviate the appearance of wrinkles – I am standing next to the window. Light creates a flattering portrait.

In one portrait, I look into the camera. Intimacy. A direct and confrontational challenge. We stare into each other’s eyes. The aggression. The other two images, I look away. The creation of distance. The air of introspection. The books in the background add to that idea of the introvert.

No props. The face fills the frame. There is no distraction. The complete focus is on me. Therefore, the images become intense and illustrate my intensity.

All considered decisions. Yet, the portrait itself is regarded not only as a vulgar, but also narcissistic form. Even though we always present ourselves in our best light to other people. At least in public.

……

Called my friend in the morning who is recovering from the operation for support. She is still suffering. When I call her, she doesn’t want me to go. I said bye about four times. That is what love is.

Contacted my mentor who is recovering from cancer to hope his operation goes well.

Leg is fucked. But the doctor got in touch so I called back because I missed the call as I was talking to my friend. No appointment. But they will call again tomorrow to try and sort one out. How fucked is the leg? Painful. Swollen. But I still ran on it to get to the bus and I caught it. So how fucked is it actually? If you believe in your body and you have mental strength, you are invincible. The Tiger is capable of smiling whatever happens. And helping others despite anything. I have been raised to be a hero and a warrior. There is a saying in India: Men don’t feel pain.

Writing about the Japanese art for the Japanese art gallery in the morning. Then, wrote an article about Indian film songs for the new volunteering space. Then I wrote some new tour excerpts for some other plants for the Gardens. So all the volunteering stuff is done. About four hours invested into art, education and culture and to save the world by inspiring people about plants, climate change and the environment.

Bought some books on history and the V & A and its history at the charity bookshops in the local area. That was one hour gone – that’s why I had to run for the bus.

Bought some lilies for myself and my mother – I walked down. Another forty five minutes. As I walked, I admired the gardens in the local area. It is the time of growth.

I took the photographs, made the artwork. But what would the day be without a poem about Helen? Here it is. For her. Even if she is not reading.

she is always late

she hangs around the people

that are always late

time is not something she really thinks about

or they think about

because they are young

and their dismissal of time

is a part of them

and I who watch the clock always

feeling time’s hot fangs and breath behind me

I who waited patiently forever for her

for nothing

I for whom time is slowly running out

to do the things that must be done

I who does not have any time with her

I wonder at her dismissal of time

High Pain Threshold

08.04.2024

beauty hides her face in the flowers

beauty hides her voice in the flowers

her lips are the scent of the blooms

her eye is lost in the petals

the sun is upon her skin

the sun is her lover

she whispers the pollen

she lures the birds

fragrant is the way

decked with the concealing flowers

soft is the poison

that steals upon the senses

beauty hides her face in the flowers

the sun loves the beauty in the flowers

The Olympics is coming. I am the fan of athletics and gymnastics. But now, there is no time to watch. I am the lover of the body. I am the lover of skill. I am the lover of the beautiful people. And the lover is separated from his beauties, the body and the skill. Life mirrors life, hurt mirrors hurt, separation mirrors separation. What does one expect? Less than nothing.

Going back to exploring digital painting styles. In art, without experimentation, there is nothing. Everything is an experiment. Never stick to one style.

People hate my digital art. So what? Fuck you. I do what I want when I want. When I don’t want to do it any more, I stop doing it. Just because someone uses traditional media doesn’t make them a better artist. Just because someone draws like a photograph, it doesn’t make them a better artist. Art is about capturing your ideas and your feelings. It is not surprising that no one can relate to the art of The Tiger. Because who else is The Tiger here? I am alone in this world. I am like the Western god. In a society that believes in individuality, I am the only individual. In a society that believes in personality, I am the personality. In a society that believes in culture, I am the cultured one. In the society of supposed men, I am the lone man.

Massive pains in the leg. In Hindu philosophy, life is suffering. You are condemned to the world. The doctor’s won’t pick up the phone. So I sent an email in the morning. They didn’t reply to it. Even the people that are paid to care for you don’t care for you. Such is life.

Fortunately, I have an incredibly high pain threshold. I even ran for the bus this morning feeling the shooting pains all over my leg. And I caught it too.

I will wait a couple of days for the doctor’s, but I don’t actually expect anything from anyone nowadays. The scene that comes to mind is Collateral when Tom Cruise the villain says that no one will even notice you are dead on the metro in a Western country for a few days.

A young blonde woman on the tube that was standing next to me on the way home leaned over me and kept on touching me the whole way home. She very nearly rested her head on my shoulder. Even the other women sitting down were looking at her to see what she was up to (a young brunette one kept on staring at me and then looking away when I looked at her at the same time – typical behaviour for these young women). If I had done that to a woman, I would have been accused of sexually harassing her.

Everyone on my tours today asked me what my name was so they could write their comments on the feedback forms and praise me. I had nineteen people in total over the quick tours in the hour. Some of them actually requested the feedback forms so that they could give me a compliment. One offered me a tip. Even when The Tiger is in pain, he is still The Tiger. I always perform. It’s what I’m known for. If there is one person you can depend upon in this world, it is me. I commit absolutely.

People think that I am wrong. They always think it. If someone rejects you in love, they are telling you that you are not a man. They have devalued you. They have judged you as inferior to them. And people are telling me that I am wrong for not wanting to remain friends with them? It is me that is right. But do you know something? I know that whoever they go with is worse than me. I am the best. I am what I would want if I was a woman. It doesn’t matter if even the ones that don’t love you don’t think it. The mind, the body, the learning, the heart. The patience, the love. The achievement of understanding. The freedom and the power. The spirit of The Tiger. India is everyone’s daddy. We are the oldest. We are the most knowledgeable. I am India. It is the name I call myself.

Two quotes from Indian movies in my translation, to share with the non-Indians and to spread the culture:

If freedom is a crime

Then the punishment is accepted

Now what will happen

Will be the will of God

(The Thugs of Hindoostan)

By heart we are soldiers

By mind we are the devil

We are India

(‘The older master is excellent, but the little master is outstanding’)

Birthday Meal; Being a Stranger

07.04.2024

god drowns in the water
he puts out his hand
the element is endless
he fights for escape
god drowns in the water
light flushing into the depths
boils the heart in the water
asking for caress
god drowns in the water
he puts out his hand
to feel the smooth palm
and to clutch at the fingers
to join with the woman
that is out of his grasp
love drowns in the water
he puts out his hand

07.04.2024

Ironically, given the situation, this perfect white rose has grown where I thought this rose bush – which symbolised my love for Helen – was dead.

Sitting at the diary after a birthday meal. This diary is the only place I talk about my personal life and my most private thoughts and feelings. Over time, because I don’t share the links, the readership has dwindled. People come out of our lives. People move on. The people you were once close with, you are no longer close with.

There is one person that reads every night. Is it Helen? You never know in this life. Maybe it is not even her. So all this time writing and reflecting, trying to communicate with her, it might all be useless. Who knows in life what impact our words and thoughts will have on someone.

Helen and I are strangers to each other. She called me a stranger. She wanted me to be a stranger to her. And I am. She did not even recognise my voice. Even people that I have known for a few months have told me that my voice is unmistakable. That is Helen for you. It just confirms the situation in life – she is never where I am. We never talk with each other. The only thing left is my memory of the past. There is no present and no future.

One of the roughest weeks this week. Constant pain everywhere. Motivation is at a record low. Things are happening that I don’t want to be happening. The allure of the new and a change is becoming greater and greater. It is the two year mark in this museums and art gallery occupation. This is the time that is the worst for restlessness.

Looking back and counting the true friendships I have made, the people you can trust and you get on the best with. There are some. But what about the special friendship? Every woman I meet that I get on with is much younger than me. I am not completely stupid. I know that they prefer people their same age or just a little older. I am out of the running even before I begin. Added to the cultural differences.

But where is there to go aside from where I am now? What is there to be done?

What does it feel like to be a stranger with the person in life that you most didn’t want to be a stranger with? You feel the separation. The body moves through space. The space that I am moving in is relentless. Endless. Heavy. Choking. The desire for connection, the hunger for joining mentally and physically. It unfolds in space without satisfaction. Complete frustration. Complete loneliness. Separation from life itself.

Disappointing news today. What was there to expect? Everything is breaking all around me.

People have eaten up my time. The trains are always late or there is always an issue. So the commute time has increased. There are other issues. People just eating my time. Depriving me of my time. When I don’t have time. They have nothing to do. I have everything to do.

Do you know what compensation is? There is no one special in my life (I cannot say Helen, even though I love her. She is not with me). So the only thing to do is work. All of the pent up energy from the massive libido and power and energy of The Tiger is going into work. What else is there? A few meetings with friends. And the rest is just work. Complete sublimation. The desire to be considered valuable in at least one area in life, if you are not going to get it in personal life.

I was talking to a little girl with her father at work. As always, they are the best conversations, even if they last for less than a minute. Because these little children are unfeigned. Honest. They don’t hide anything. You know where you are. You see the world through their innocent eyes. You understand them. They are not boring and disappointing like adults.

The whole day just talking to people. And then you go home and talk to more people. And then, finally, you can sit at your diary and talk to yourself. Finally, you can stop pretending. You can suck at the sourness of the lemon. But what about Helen? She spends all day talking to those other people. Even in her breaks you see her talking with her other people. And then? In the night? She comes and reads this diary when I am talking to her. Why? There is no meaning to it. But it happens. If it is her. Perhaps it is not her. And if I found out it was not her, I would stop writing this diary.

Easter Sunday Holiday

31.03.2024

The Pink Roses: Innocent love. Love beginning to deepen into red. The youth of the feeling. The virginity of emotion. Fresh always. No matter how many times you have fallen before.

The White Rosebud: I thought my love for her was dying. I thought I had to kill my love. It comes to life again. Nothing is ever over in life while the air gives you breath. Look how majestically the bud sails up into the moon…

The Daffodils: Spring awakes, the mind shakes/eternally the heart breaks/what nature makes/she unmakes/I smell the daffodils and the scent of the new/I smell the daffodils and begin to heal and laugh anew.

I took this day as a complete rest day. I had applied for my normal shift on a Sunday and I didn’t get it. So I made do with what I had.

In the morning, I met up with my friend in the park. I deliberately told him we would meet up early so I wouldn’t have an excuse to lie in bed and not do anything. We got massively muddy. We see each other basically every week. He is even going to go on the first two days of my holiday with me and drive me down somewhere. He wanted to come with me on the rest of the holiday too, the other four days, but he couldn’t. Whenever I meet up with him, I lose all my stress. Because even though we argue over everything – including Helen and my approach to her and what I write in my blog – he makes me feel relaxed and we can talk forever about things. One day recently we talked together for about thirteen hours non-stop – one of my last holidays. So after that, I was completely stress free, despite everything that has been happening.

My friend’s advice to me about Helen? They all say the same thing. Leave her alone, she doesn’t deserve you. And if you can’t do that, my friend added, make her jealous by talking about other women and then write about the lifestyle that you live – the lifestyle of a king when you can do whatever you want, when you eat the best foods in the world, when you can have whatever you want whenever you want it, etc.

Why talk about other women with Helen like I do here? What’s the logic behind it? There isn’t any logic. The logic is because if she is interested, she has drawn it out all this time despite knowing that I am fairly attractive and that I am going to be talking to other women because they are going to be interested in me. And she hasn’t done anything about it. So she must not really care that much about me. Or maybe she thinks that no one is interested in me. She is wrong. I only talk about the women that I am interested in here. Do you know, that almost every week, some Indian woman likes me or sends me a message on the Indian dating app? Top women with really high status jobs. The only thing is, I am not attracted to them. This week, a very physically attractive Indian woman liked my profile and we matched. Do you know what the problem is with her? She is two years older than me so that would create difficulties with any potential babies. Other women on the dating apps have liked my profile and some of them have messaged me. And they haven’t been right so I haven’t responded. Helen has this thought in her head that I am desperate and I will go out with anyone. Other women in real life have thrown themselves at me. I don’t go on about it because I’m not going to sit around notching up all the attention I get. I mean, five women in one day a couple of weeks ago came up to me on the street to tell me they liked my clothes and one of them asked me to kiss her. Do you think that happens to other men? It doesn’t.

Well, that’s Suneel as seen through the eyes of Helen. Who, despite what she acts like, reads this diary every night. To see what I am thinking. Most probably.

So, what was today’s menu?

BREAKFAST (usually always the same unless I can’t wake up): orange blossom honey, canadian maple syrup, walnuts, hazelnuts, cashew nuts, almonds, brazil nuts, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, dried goji berries, raisins, lemon peel, oat biscuit with yoghurt and strawberry, a banana, dried apricots, dates, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, yoghurt with chia seeds, flax seeds and lemon and lime marmalade, green tea.

LUNCH: Marks and Spencer’s Pigs in Blankets with Heinz Baked Beans.

TEA: A plain chocolate and vanilla Magnum.

DINNER: Marks and Spencer’s sweet and sour chicken with rice, Mark’s and Spencer’s Thai Panang curry, Marks and Spencer’s White Chocolate, Strawberry and Raspberry Mousse.

While I got everything on reduced for lunch and dinner, we are talking about twenty five pounds worth of food there from lunch onwards. Breakfast probably adds another fiver onto it. So, like I said, I live and eat like a king. I just don’t go on about it, because why boast when other people that are reading are likely struggling? That’s not nice.

On the way home, I bought some lovely daffodils which you can see in the photo – it was the one store that was open.

I spent a lot of time watching videos, but because I am what I am, I spent a few hours writing social media posts for the Japanese art gallery I am at. I also applied for the same thing as a volunteer at another website because I was interested in the subject matter. So I think I wrote quite a good post and sent it off as a specimen of my work.

I had a leisurely shave and a shower for once. Water makes me feel good. It’s why I enjoy swimming so much – or did when I had the time. When we are babies, we swim in our mother’s stomach. That’s why I love the water so much. It soothes me, it makes me feel relaxed and good about myself. It is comfort – a mother’s comfort. Water is woman. It is the same feeling of being loved. Love all over your body.

I watched a reel by Mia Khalifa on Instagram saying that men are easy and she has gotten every man that she has ever wanted because men are ‘cheap and easy’. Whereas she has turned down lots of men. So she isn’t. Maybe that’s how they think of themselves, these young women. It’s a triumph to hurt someone and turn them down because it makes them feel valued about themselves. And us men? We are nothing and not even worth having. It’s weird how gender dynamics work in this society. If I said that women were worthless and not worth having, I would be an incel, a misogynist. But because she is a woman, she can say what she likes and it is shared on public platforms and recommended on my feed.

Do you know what love is? When Matthew Perry (Chandler in Friends) found out that Julia Roberts had said she would only make a guest appearance on the show if he was in the scene, he sent her some red roses. And then they started faxing each other every day. That’s how they fell in love. That’s what love is. Love is commitment and communication.

Do you know what love is? After Napoleon Bonaparte became the man that he was – after he had been a poor immigrant with nothing – he met a woman that had rejected him when he was nothing and nobody. And he asked her why she had rejected him. That’s what love is. You don’t forget. Whatever happens.

But you know those stories? They don’t mean anything in this contemporary context. Do you know what love is now? Love is swiping on a dating app and meeting some stranger. Because the people around you keep you in constant reservation in case someone else better comes along. Because you are Indian.

Do you know what happened to Matthew Perry? He couldn’t believe that he was with Julia Roberts. He couldn’t believe that he could keep her. He was insecure. So he broke up with her in two months. And at the end of his life, he died alone. Even though he was starved of love. That is also what love is. It comes to weak men that can’t handle it.

Do you know what happened to Napoleon? When he became the man of the moment, he cheated on his wife and discarded her. That is also what love is. It comes to weak men that can’t handle it.

Love is not perfect. In love, you have your moments. The good ones and the bad ones. My friend who has had a wife for so long said that to me. Don’t assume that you are going to live in happily ever after even if you do find someone. You have to be able to work at it and commit. You can’t let your insecurities get the better of you.

I look at love and all of the barriers to it: gender differences, cultural differences, the way women have been indoctrinated in this society, what I have been brought up to believe women are like from movies and films and songs, the fear of these people, the inability to talk, rampant racism in society. Without the illusion that there is going to be a happy ending, without the need for a family, why would anyone want to be in love with anyone here?

But with love, there is nothing you can do about it. When you love someone, you just do it. It might be impractical, inconvenient, irrational, even wrong. You can watch how differently they treated everyone else to you and downgraded you. They can be unfair to you. But you still love them anyway.

The Predictability of Unexpected Frustration; Cancelled Holidays; Why I Asked Helen Out: Scarcity and Abundance in Love; The Anger of Women as an Evolutionary Tool in Courting, Status and Ambition – The Depression of the Young

29.03.2024

heart dragon

flew the dragon
from the heart
fired the dragon
from the heart
the anger of the blood
was in him
the madness of the brood
was in him
flew the dragon
fled the pain
frolicked the fire
and fed the hunger

The whole day went fine. The journey home went fine. Then, just before dinner, I asked a question. And then my whole day was spoilt. When you have really built your hopes up for something, there is an inevitability about it not coming to fruition. When you depend on other people, often in life you are going to be disappointed.

So four days of my holidays are cancelled. I was going to go Italy. How long has it been since I have been abroad? And have I ever gone to a foreign country which it was me that picked? Never. So, I have to decide now. Either I can give up on this holiday. Or I can go somewhere by myself. And, for the first time in my life, I can go to a foreign destination that it is me that wants to go to.

I spent all day talking to my boss who is a traveller and she was recommending Sicily to me and the people I was going to go with. I was really getting into the idea of going.

You know, when you plan something with other people, this is almost always what it turns out like. When I say I am going to do something and I agree with someone, I never back out of it. At any cost. I see it through until the end. Even if it is the bitter end. That’s why I don’t actually really trust other people.

It is sad. Because recently, someone I knew for only a few months invited me on a holiday. And then people you have known for that amount of time are doing this to you. What do you expect out of people, really?

I’ve started getting used to the fact that someone is always going to ruin my day and my plans.

The first time I asked Helen out, we had stopped being together in that context. I missed her. She was the happy point in my life. So I asked her out so I could have her with me. Just me and her and no one else interrupting all the time. It was a solution to a problem of scarcity. But Helen doesn’t have the same problem that I do. There wasn’t a scarcity of happiness in her life. So the time that I was talking to her, I was just another man that was talking to her. And Helen does not lack an abundance of men talking to her. For me, she was special. For her, I was no one. That’s how love in this society operates. The women have the abundance of love. Maybe some men do. Not me. I haven’t had many women in my life or much love from them. What can you do? I am Indian. I was brought up in a white society. That’s what it was and is for us from them.

When a woman is angry at you when there is a suspicion of interest on one side or the other, does it have an evolutionary element to it as a successful strategy? Because when this woman is angry, for seemingly nothing, it makes you pay attention to her. You think about her. You start wondering why she was angry at you. You start doubting yourself. You have to conciliate her. So she gets the power. This is not the first time. It has happened many times with these young women in my life. Ones that I have liked and ones that I haven’t. Over what? Is it just a strategy to gain attention and control? What is so maddening about the way I talk and act? If I was really that bad, why do 99% of people not say anything about it to me?

The young people nowadays are suffering from mental illnesses and depression. It is not a good time to be young. And when you don’t have status and your ambitions aren’t being fulfilled, it stresses you out. Status gives you everything in this world: respect, love, admiration. But look at me. What status do I have? Yet I don’t get stressed out. You know why? Because I know that I am more intelligent than almost everyone else. That is my status. I know things that other people don’t know. I have observed and read. My ambition was to be more intelligent than other people and know more. I keep all my secrets to myself for the time being. Because why would I reveal them when I am not going to get any recognition for them? I’m not going to kill myself to try and cure ignorance and selfishness in this world – because you can’t. The world is ruled by the devil, like the Christians say. Someone might know more about specific things than me. But the things I know about are colossal and determine the ways that people think. Plus, the other thing is that I have achieved all my ambitions. When I wanted to be a teacher, I became a teacher. When I wanted a PhD and become a doctor, I became a doctor with a PhD. When I wanted to get the best results at sixth form and university, I got the best results. When I wanted to work in museums and art galleries and give tours, I got a job and did that. When I wanted to become a published author, I did that. When I wanted to be an athlete at school, I did that too. That’s why I don’t get stressed.

And what about not being able to meet someone I like that likes me back? Do I get stressed about it? No. I have been through a lot of psychological symptoms because of it. Maybe I am secretly stressed in my unconscious. But not in my conscious mind. Because there is a solution. Just like the situation with Helen when I asked her out, there is a very simple solution. Buy the babies from a surrogate mother. Forget about having intimate company with a woman. I just have to harden myself enough to do it.

And the other thing is, I know that I am a good catch. I don’t lack confidence in myself. I am handsome. I am well built and muscular and athletic, with lots of power and stamina. I am well read and cultured and educated. I am good at talking to other people and they find me interesting. I take care of other people. I try to be kind and polite and listen carefully to other people. And I stay clean and wear nice clothes and fragrances. I am good at looking after children and I put other people before myself. I am loyal and I don’t cheat. I work hard at my relationships. So if someone doesn’t like that or can’t see it, I don’t beat myself up about it. They can go with someone that can’t love them as much as I can just because of their money, status, skin colour and height. What else do you really expect from other people?

The Three Women; The Nightmare of God; Time Runs Out; Love Runs Out; A Good Day at Work; A Thank You Note; The Rejection of Difference and Repression

18.03.2024

There is a moment when the shine comes off reality. Some people hide from the ugliness of the nuts, bolts and the naked mechanisms. They deny, flee. But then, what about those that lock their eyes on the terrible truths and try to change the fabric of things in this world? Are they heroes or monsters?

When I finish a piece of art, I am always proud of my handiwork. It is a piece of me. So I was pleased with this one. And when I do the work, because it is digital art, I always post it straight away to share it with the world. I make it for the world as a gift. I work quickly. I think of my art as calligraphy – skills learnt to convey expression in a moment, years of refinement to produce spontaneity. The influence is from Chinese and Japanese calligraphy, the beautiful writing.

I was wondering if Helen really wasn’t well or if I had just read that into the situation. She didn’t look well to me and then there are other memories involved. Me and Helen are almost strangers to each other now. We haven’t talked for a very long time because we are never together any more. She knows about me because I want to believe that she reads this diary every night. What do I know about her? What I know of her is based on her behaviour rather than what she has told me. Her behaviour is distinguished by kindness and care. That is her personality. That is the personality of all the women that I am interested in. It is has become the most important thing.

It has been playing on my mind that Helen doesn’t seem well. Am I contributing to that with this diary? Why does she read it? The fact is that Helen suffers, with or without this diary. And then, when I saw her it was after a day in the weekend. Perhaps that is why. But feeling unwell also goes with stress. But all this could be a misunderstanding. Perhaps Helen is not unwell at all. Sometimes, I see her face and it changes from how I remember it. How do I remember it? The flashing brown eyes when she ambushed me – because usually her eyes are dark and black. They changed colour. The time when she changed her hair and I couldn’t recognise her when I looked into her face. The serious look when she is talking about something which she thinks is important, the intensity of her. The frown that goes down sometimes when you say something. The smile, like the smile of the Mona Lisa.

When people around you are unwell – possibly Helen and then my other friends – you wonder if there was a god, does he get nightmares about the way that he makes people suffer on this planet? How does he live with the guilt of what he causes to happen if he were real? Because it is not just them that suffer. It is the people around them that care about them that suffer as well.

In this low period, time has run out. It seems impossible to get anything done before and after work. Life is rushing along. There are so many unfinished things. Because the motivation for everything is going. There is no excitement or goal to work towards. What is the point of everything? When you are never going to get love out of it? That has always been the motivating force for everything.

Today’s workday was amazing. Even though I can’t control anything in my love life or my personal life – because you can’t control the behaviour and choices of other people – I can control what happens at work. Because when I do things, I am dominant and people follow me, whether or not they give me the formal recognition for it. So today, I gave tours in the art gallery which I wrote, including to one of the curators, my favourite. She loved the tour and gave such good feedback. She told me that I had made her see things in these familiar posters which she had never seen before. I don’t go on about it all the time, but I am very clever. And people recognise that when I talk about things. I went to a meeting to improve experiences for visitors within the museum and I think I made what was quite a good suggestion. I also helped a colleague with a problem that she was having. People often come to me for advice there. Because all the people that are close to me know that I make an effort for them and that I will always help them because they are like my family to me. I did some things for some of the people there that I will not mention here but which made me feel good about myself.

But when I got home, no matter how good the day is at work, I have to return to the situation. My personal situation. Your job can’t love you back. You can get satisfaction from it. But you don’t get the most important feeling: the feeling of being loved. Only a woman can give you that love and your children. That’s what these career women in London don’t understand. If you leave your job, you will be replaced within a week. Life will go on. People won’t even miss you that much after a while. But in a family, you are irreplaceable. You rule over everyone’s hearts. But such is the world that people have chosen a career and money over what is most important: love.

Someone sent me a thank you note for something I sent them. It was nice and unexpected. I like looking back at these notes and thinking about how you might have improved someone’s day just a little with what you did for them.

Lately, I have started thinking I should end this diary. This diary was the expression of love and an invitation for love. But where is the love? But now, it has become a habit. What can I write to Helen now? A love poem? She knows I am thinking about her. Should I complain that she does not love me? What else have I been doing? The speculations about Helen, I keep to myself. The jealousies I keep to myself. The darkest thoughts, I keep to myself. If I told the reader some of the darkest moments and the thoughts, the intensity, they would be shocked.

My hope for the future is that someone doesn’t have to live through what I have had to live just because they have been raised differently and from another culture. But the reality is that things have actually got worse over time and not better. Things will always be like this in this country. Because it is hate that rules and not love. And these women, they are nice people for the most part. But the way that they are and how they treat you is just as bad as everyone else because they can’t accept or love difference. And they don’t even realise that this is what it is. And on top of that, they are repressed. Repression is even worse now than it was in the past. And I feel it is linked to the rejection of difference. I know it. I can feel it. I always follow my intuitions.

Dora Batty Poster Parade – London Transport Museum

07.04.2023

You can see all of the posters in the Poster Parade here:

https://www.ltmuseum.co.uk/collections/the-collection

1^st Floor, London Transport Museum

Adult ticket: 24 pounds, Concessions including students: 23 pounds (ANNUAL PASS)

REVIEW

While I have many interests in life, there is one game that has always captivated my attention. My friends, it is THE Game. The game of interpretation: finding meaning, making connections, excavating the context, trying to understand what others are trying to express underneath a rigmarole of deceptive diversions. I have played this game quite seriously, having studied for an English Literature degree and then having pursued doctoral studies in the subject (then publishing books and articles). The game is all-consuming and unending. I lie in bed at nights replaying conversations, working over sentences for half an hour at a time if they are important enough to warrant it in the conversations I have during the day. To play the game, I have studied all these subjects at university level: legal studies, English literature, history, psychoanalysis, philosophy, anthropology, criminology, sociology, psychology, the history of photography, feminism, Marxism, deconstruction, Postcolonialism – and now – art history. Besides forays in my spare time into mythology, archaeology, cryptography and the decoding of languages, language learning, politics, animal intelligence, evolutionary psychology, biology, and the physical sciences which reveal how humankind attempts to fathom the cosmos.

Why do I mention The Game? I survey the posters in the London Transport Museum Poster Parade because I love to play it. And above all, the most enticing thing is a mystery, a puzzle, a seeming dead-end, what first comes as a blank wall. As I have admitted so much, it will now do to admit more. It was a genuinely exciting moment to encounter an unknown female artist who has not received much critical attention and about whom I could make a big contribution towards understanding. The subject was the enigmatic Dora Batty…

Little is known about Dora’s life. She is known only for her professional roles and her output. Like other women artists, she has been neglected, never achieved the fame of her male compatriots… As a result, one cannot bring biography to a study of her artwork. Neither can one be misled by what others have written, which seems to be a particularly abhorrent current practice of the scholar, the interpretor and the guide. One imagines a woman that never made much of an impression. One cannot even visualise her appearance because a photograph has not even been recovered. For a moment, I had a fantasy of tracing her family genealogy so that I could try and contact any living descendants that might have a diary, a photograph, written records or objects of some description so that I could have something else than the art. In the game, it is permitted to cheat… What a delicious daydream: an expedition, an adventure, new people to meet, new avenues to pursue, a quest of interpretation…

But I am left to just looking at the work and thinking. Justice demands a scrutiny of the woman artist’s works, a redressing of her dismissal by (White) Man. Let us begin.

The first exhibit that meets us in the Poster Parade is ‘The Underground brings all things nearer’. We are in the conventional grounds of Greek Myth. As it clearly states, the poster celebrates ‘The Return of Persephone’. She is being rescued from the underground by Hermes. Dora loves to tease. The obvious play is upon the concept of the ‘underground’. While it signifies Hades and hell, it is also obviously referencing the Tube. For a poster commissioned by London Transport, this is clearly a subtle bite at the hand that feeds her, the delicious tease of a mocking and ego-defeating woman. From the Underground, hell and the tube, Persephone is emerging. The concept of the poster is that from the Underground, which we imagine as the realm of the dead, life and fertility is emerging in the form of Persephone. But there is a moment of feminism in that period of emerging women’s rights and the Suffragette movement – Persephone (woman oppressed, captured, imprisoned) is rescued from her controlling husband (the LAW, Death, Sovereignty, POWER…) Now, there is the question. What is the biographical aspect, what is the women’s movement? The Suffragettes were around at this time and they were fighting against the patriarchal laws of marriage, with its enclosure of the woman in the domestic realm. But is there something else in Dora’s life? Bearing the hallmarks of its time, Persephone is rescued by Hermes, a man… There isn’t total emancipation of the woman. Is there a new man in Dora’s life at this time, an extra-marital affair…? However, one also remembers that Hermes is the protector of travellers, the god of roads… He is dressed as a traveller, of course, with winged sandals. There are subtle resonances for the highly educated and the classicists in this poster about travel. Dora is clearly classically educated… The game, my friends. One has to learn the mythology of the world to play it…

The tragedy with the poster is that Persephone still had to spend months of the year in the Underworld – there is no ultimate freedom from MAN AS KING AND DEATH… Ambiguity and despair is always there in the background. Is this a realistic assessment of women’s politics at the time (and still now?) Or is it the acceptance that Dora cannot release herself from her marriage (was she married, or is the poster simply about a fantasy of emancipation)?

Now, let us talk about the flowers. Flowers flood the posters. Persephone is also holding a flower. Is the flower sex (the flower is a sexual organ which is ‘penetrated’)? Are we witnessing sexual liberation in Dora’s psyche? The implicit love triangle in the first poster – Hermes, Persephone, Hades. Travel itself as sex (a holiday romance, perhaps?). The fantasy of sex rather than its achievement from a repressed woman? Dear Dora, why do you not write what is the case? If the hypothesis that the flowers are sex is right, can it be confirmed by some of the other posters? [It is worthwhile to mention here that there are other suggestions. Not only have female artists painted flowers throughout art history, as a ‘woman’s genre’, but also that women themselves have been described as flowers throughout history and particularly guilty were the Victorians and those around at the start of the twentieth century – flower as woman herself in this art, or rather her sexual body and her body as a body of desire…)

In ‘Bluebells are out’, an anonymous female caresses the flowers lovingly. Her lips are upon them, her hand clenches them. Her senses are engaged. She smells them. So we have touch, the sexuality of a kiss, intoxication with the scent. Full sensory engagement. She also looks directly into the flowers. Is this look at the flower and sex what the viewer is expected to understand and echo? Woman playing with her own sex and sexuality? Is this the revealing mirror of subjectivity at the heart of the image? Let us be Freudian and make an insinuation about how the hand is holding the phallic bunch of stalks of flowers at the bottom of the image…

In ‘Crocuses are out’, woman swoons over the flowers which she caresses again with her hands. With her eyes shut in ecstasy and Lacanian jouissance… The flower she smells is pinkish red – the colour of sex…

So, perhaps we have an exhibition of a woman artist that is pursuing liberation, including sexual liberation. Perhaps we are seeing a woman fighting against the Law and the figure of the King for a new tomorrow and for ownership over her own body and desires… Perhaps we see Dora the fighter. But a jaded fighter. After all, what is the fight of the artist? It is true that many of the Suffragettes were artists, a disproportionate amount. Was the main fight in the visual arts and against the visual culture of the Law and the King, Oppressor Man?

Let us leave identity politics for a moment. Let us talk about Dora as she is in my favourite works of hers. I will write first about the interesting pattern in ‘Whitsuntide by Underground’. The artist has woven together many moments of leisure into almost a textile pattern (she worked in textiles). The composition is crowded and flooded with energy. People are joined in small communities by their pursuits, families, friends, athletes. They are also integrated in nature and the countryside through trees, fields and water, animals. There is a harmony of leisure and nature, life and the world, an inter-connected and unbreakable pattern. And let us not forget the female body’s interaction with the flowers in the early posters – nature is a body that unites with woman’s body. Woman is nature, humankind is nature – the celebration of the animal self that we have come from that lived in trees…

Similarly, ‘There is still the country’ shows the woman’s body wedded to the (phallic, it must be said) tree. The whole scene is blown about from a strong wind and enriched with the sun which seems to emanate from the woman’s head, her creative force and mind. There is pure energy, enlightenment (emancipation)… The leaves fall from the trees – there is transformation, the relentless but cyclical turning of the time as in Hindu thought… What is dead and dying is to be shed to make space for what is living….

So is this Dora? Or is this merely Suneel’s Dora? One makes an argument. One seeks to persuade. But more than that, one seeks to know. In the absence of clues, one looks to a Suffragette context. In the absence of a photograph, one tries to plumb a mind. The Dora exhibit is interesting and important because it brings these thoughts to mind. It asks why a woman of such talent has no place in thought. It seeks to rectify this wrong. Dora’s art is stylistically very Art Deco. I do not know if she followed the movement, or how much she contributed. I do not know how important she is in the history of Women’s Rights for making art that explores women’s issues and attempts to rescue them from the ills of sexual repression (if sex is the theme that I have not invented for our Dora). And finally, one makes an admission. The interest, the thread that I have followed is that Dora is Modern Woman. Someone that I do not understand – if anyone does. To understand the mind of this challenging and reticent creature, one often has to gaze at the expressions that she leaves about her in the world. And to form an opinion, one has to dare a conjecture, even as a man – which might wholly be wrong and is entirely contestable, of course…

You can see all of the posters in the Poster Parade here:

https://www.ltmuseum.co.uk/collections/the-collection

List of Posters:

Dora Batty, 1923 – The Underground brings all things nearer
Dora Batty, 1925 – From country to the heart of town
Dora Batty, 1924 – Foxgloves, Kew Gardens
Dora Batty, 1925 – From town to open country
Dora Batty, 1921 – Travel with the children
Dora Batty, 1930 – Season ticket, travel cheaply, save money
Dora Batty, 1927 – Bluebells are out
Dora Batty, 1927 – Blackberry time
Dora Batty, 1935 – Special shows of tulips
Dora Batty, 1927 – Crocuses are out
Dora Batty, 1927 – Daffodils are blooming
Dora Batty, 1932 – Regents Park to see the rose garden
Dora Batty, 1928 – Buy a season ticket
Dora Batty, 1924 – Survivals of the past, Painted Hall
Dora Batty, 1932 – RAF display, Colindale station
Dora Batty, 1936 – Trooping the colour
Dora Batty, 1924 – Survivals of the past, Yeoman Warders
Dora Batty, 1934 – Easter
Dora Batty, 1938 – Out and about by London Transport
Dora Batty, 1926 – Make yours a General holiday
Dora Batty, 1931 – Whitsuntide by Underground
Dora Batty, 1926 – Hampton Court by tram
Dora Batty, 1926 – There is still the country

‘Green Travel’, London Transport Museum: Poster Parade Review

(Poster Parade lasts for approx. 3 months before it is changed)

1^st Floor, London Transport Museum, Covent Garden

Entry to the London Transport Museum: £21 for an annual pass (£20 students and concessions)

08.02.2023

All the posters listed at the bottom in the Poster Parade can be searched for and viewed here:

https://www.ltmuseum.co.uk/collections

I don’t think it is any exaggeration to say that the most important and constant preoccupation of our times is the environment and how we can save the world from the damage that we have done to it. Following the recent, successful, ‘Green Journeys’ exhibition in the Transportorium of the London Transport Museum (LTM), the site is now hosting a ‘Green Travel’ Poster Parade on the first floor. The Museum’s consistent championing of the environmentalist cause has genuinely inspired many youngsters and I remember a visitor telling me how much her daughter missed the ‘Green Journeys’ exhibition when it was gone. She said it had been her daughter’s favourite space in the whole museum because of its educative power.

Public transport has been hailed as one of the solutions that can help to minimise environmental damage to the planet through the economical use of energy and resources. As the title and introduction of the exhibition suggests, there has been much investment in the tube to ‘make London cleaner and greener’. As Londoners know, there has been a historical practice of encouraging commuters to use their cars less, the advertisement of journeys to clean, green spaces of countryside outside of London, as well as a promotion of walking and cycling so as to ease congestion and keep the air breathable. While many of the strategies have borne fruit, such as in the reduction of coal burning and industrial pollution, the public transport infrastructure still has problems to face in reducing pollution and creating a zone with clean air. The saving of the world is still very much a work in process.

The historical range of the images in the Poster Parade is from the early twentieth century in the 1910s to the twenty-first century and the 2010s. The styles and subject matter range from realistic landscapes, to illustrations of space and the planets, edited photographs, games of text and image, visual animalistic metaphors of transport as taxis are literalised as snails, and the conversion of the London landscape into bicycle parts. Quirkiness, comedy, creativity – even horror as the effects of smoke pollution are made evident in the imagined future of a child’s photographed face – all these collide together in the exhibition, whose one sure strength is variety.

The quirkiest image is probably the one of the taxis as snails by Nick Hardcastle, ‘Or take the Tube’. The black cabs of London are famous throughout the world, as is ‘the Knowledge’ that their cab drivers boast after years of learning, but these instantly recognisable facts are given a surprising visual metamorphosis. The familiar is manufactured into the unfamiliar, even the Freudian uncanny. The snail shells add to this impression as Freud called the uncanny the ‘unhomely’ and the shells are their homes. Faintly sickening, the snail taxis glisten with a disgusting mucus which symbolises the dirtiness left by the motor car as its imprint on the world and its journey. The clustered ranks of molluscs, an identical parade, suggest a dreary and unthinking conformism.

I have two favourite images. The first is ‘Good for you green for London’ (2010) by Rachel Lillie. This is the winning illustration in ‘The best of contemporary illustrators’. The illustration depicts London’s journeys through the experience of the cyclists and the message is the promotion of ‘the benefits of cycling for our health and the environment’. The display notice adds that ‘TFL cycling initiatives such as free and tailored cycle skills sessions are teaching safer ways of navigating the city’. The space is imagined as a leaf unfurling through time, with its veins as pathways to famous London landmarks. I liked the image for two reasons. First of all, this seems to be the only illustration by a woman in the collection, if one assumes that the other illustrations and posters are all by men (they may not be, many of them were presented with ‘Artist Unknown’, which was a slightly frustrating experience). Diversity is still a real challenge in illustration, as I know from my own experience as a digital artist, and it is good to support those of us who are examples of diversity and have got a little recognition. Secondly, like the artist, as she says on her website, I am also interested in the depiction and conceptualisation of space, especially London. An interesting connection is drawn in the illustration between the red bus and the cyclists who are shaped in a blood red. The cyclist moves in the same ethical space as the public transport vehicle, as a being that creates a cleaner and greener city. The famous London landmarks are shrouded in the night as black outlines while the cyclists are illuminated by a light that blesses the good. Perhaps the suggestion is that the conventional vision of the city has to change and the things that were once considered important have to yield to the renewed experience of stewardship we face in the age of environmental calamity.

My second favourite poster is ‘Carfree Carefree’ by Abram Games (1967) which is given a renewed life in this contemporary exhibition in this contemporary world. The poster and the title are the same, white letters shaped like a bus against a background of purple, red and orange tiles. Typography is one of my own preoccupations as a digital artist and letters shaped like images act upon my senses with an unrivalled seductive power. The letter bus in the poster hurtles past a small car in the background. The demonstration is of the strength of the bus in relation to the individualised, little car: public transport versus the individual, social and public civic responsibility in the age of environmentalism versus the selfish fixation with the material possession of the car and its solitary amusements. As with the other posters, the interest is in how a public transport corporation converts its competition with private forms of transport into an ethical mission to save the entire planet and the people and life within it. Financial competition does not always have to be selfish after all, it can be of the people and for the people, against the luxury and convenience of the individuals that won’t participate in the group.

The two messages that hit hardest were ‘One full bus equals forty empty cars’ and ‘Each year we cover nearly 1 billion miles in the car on journeys of less than a mile’ (1998). It is always facts that can hit hardest. These facts also contextualise the aim of London transport to get people fitter and get out there walking and cycling. Of course, some have mobility issues, but for the majority of people, it is laziness and the convenience and instant gratification culture that is choking the planet.

My overall impression of the Poster Parade is that it is successful artistically and in terms of its content and importance. And in terms of inspiration for change. The historical sweep is illuminating because it reminds us that people in London have always cared about its clean air and to eliminate the pernicious effects of pollution. Yes, we are facing an environmental disaster. But the good have always fought against this with technology and with the right morals. There is hope and no need for despair. They, the good, will always fight for a better world. Yet, there is no ‘triumphialism’. The Poster Parade acknowledges that there is still much to do and much to fight for. That elusive dream of ‘Green Travel’ is still a work for the making, even though it is the most alluring and important dream of our times.

List of Posters in the Exhibition (all searchable at: https://www.ltmuseum.co.uk/collections)

Anonymous, ‘Golder’s Green’ (1911)
Maxwell Ashby Armfield, ‘By Underground to fresh air’ (1915)
Gwynedd M Hudson, ‘Spring Beckons You’ (1929)
Alfred Leete, ‘Nightwatchmen’ (1928)
Anonymous, ‘Clear the Air’ (1938)
Charles Sharland, ‘Light, Power and Speed’ (1910)
Anonymous, ‘London’s Tramways’ (1929)
F Gregory Brown, ‘By Trolleybus to Kingston’ (1933)
Abram Games, ‘Carfree Carefree’ (1967)
Nick Hardcastle, ‘Or take the Tube’ (1987)
Austin Cooper, ‘Bicyclism – the art of wheeling’ (1928)
Transport for London, ‘London – made for cycling’ (2007)
Anonymous, ‘Get ready for Prudential Ride London’ (2015)
Rachel Lillie, ‘Good for you green for London’ (2010)
Easy Tiger Creative, ‘Cycling for Pleasure’ (2016)
Anonymous, ‘Don’t Choke London’ (2001)
Anonymous, ‘London Car Free Day’ (2002)
London Transport, ‘One full bus equals forty empty cars’ (1998)
London Transport, ‘1 billion miles in the car’ (1998)
Anonymous, ‘Cleaner Air for Greater London’ (2007)
Anonymous, ‘Hydrogen powers rockets’ (2014)