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John Lennon

THE GENIUS SIDE OF KITSCH

An ephemeral art installation by

Yoko Ono entitled Apple

comprising a four foot high acrylic plinth,

a bronze plaque engraved ‘APPLE’, a real, green

apple with a stalk, priced at two hundred pounds –

was part of a 1966

London show: Unfinished Paintings and Objects

By Yoko Ono. One of the guests

invited to the preview was John Lennon.

He saw the apple, took it from the plinth,

bit into it, and put it back – like any

Hooray Henry or Scally scoffing at art.

The artist was speechless, and ‘furious’

she recalled. Lennon apologised,

and later reflected that  ‘…the humour

got me straight away…two hundred quid

to watch the fresh apple decompose’.

He redeemed himself in time, not least

by founding, with colleagues, Apple Music.

 

Fifty eight years later the piece is on show

again in London, part of Yoko Ono:

Music of the Mind, curated by Ono

in her ninetieth year. The gallery

perhaps will acquire the Apple as part

of its permanent collection and allow

each apple to decay in its own time,

inspiring spectators to think of the tree

of knowledge, and the apple of discord.

 

Another piece in the exhibition

is Helmets (Pieces of Sky). Used or

replica World War 2 German helmets

are hanging from the ceiling at waist height,

filled with pieces of sky blue jigsaw –

each one stamped in white lettering with

‘y.o. London ’24’ – for visitors

to take, and join together. Yoko, aged 12,

and her younger brother would leave fire-bombed

Tokyo for the countryside in search

of food, the ambivalent sky above them.

Her multi-media work of nearly

seventy years is ironic, humane,

inventive, resonant, and always the

genius side of kitsch.

 

 

MENLOVE AVENUE: VARSITY DAYS

David Selzer By David Selzer1 Comment1 min read353 views

Exiting Liverpool, on a whim, eastwards,

parallel to the river and then across

the Mersey Gateway Bridge – not as usual

through the Kingsway Tunnel – I took a wrong turn.

I found myself in Mossley Hill driving past

my old hall of residence. Another

wrong turn took me down Menlove Avenue.

A tour bus idled outside 121.

‘Though I know we’ve seen this place before,

someone keeps on moving the door’. Passing

the Jewish cemetery on Hillfoot Road

and a sign for John Lennon Airport

told me I was on the right road for home.

 

As I drove onto the Gateway Bridge I thought

of what I had learned in Academe’s Groves:

that Aristotle knew how many teeth

a horse has, and Bertolt Brecht was a fan

of Rudyard Kipling. Beneath me the river

was bright, and stretched like a silver lining.

I remembered, one damp November night,

walking from my lodgings near the Art School

down to Victoria Street’s sorting office

to catch the last post to faraway you

with my regular letter of love and longing.

Near Mathew Street, three working class teenage girls –

thirteen, fourteen, still in their school coats – sang

‘The world is treating me bad, misery…

I’ll remember all the little things we’ve done…’

I wondered then when and how I would use

such a piece of theatre.

 

 

OF GOLDEN DAYS

David Selzer By David Selzer1 Comment1 min read359 views

On this auspicious date in July:

Richard the Lionheart was crowned; Thomas Cook

ran his first railway excursion, Leicester

to Peterborough and back; Thomas More

was beheaded; Horlicks went on sale; Newton

published his ‘Principia’; John Lennon

met Paul McCartney; Pasteur cured rabies;

the first full length talkie was premiered…

 

From that date in ‘61 – a blind date

(you with the black spot  to avenge a friend

and, after, changing your mind and your heart,

and me, innocently of course, longing

for sex and romance) – justice, being blind,

has sentenced us to our just deserts,

locked us up in half a century of love

with all its longing, its hurt, and its joy.