On waking, a couple of things hanging over from yesterday – firstly, the realisation that a lot of upset about Modern Art or Conceptual Art is misplaced. Looking for inherent value in objects where there really isn’t supposed to be any. The really expensive stuff is just a token so that enormous amounts of money can be exchanged. I realise that this isn’t an original observation, but still. The other thing I noticed was that Carl André’s bricks look really tawdry and sad compared to the other stuff it’s alongside, and I suppose that’s what set the point off. People tend to see the neatly arranged pile of bricks and the fact that they’re in a gallery, and the large amount of money that was exchanged as separate things, and demand “Are these bricks worth that money?” Which is entirely missing the point: the bricks are a token that represents the exchange of money. It might as well be a potted plant or a hat or a piece of paper with the words TWO MILLION written on them. The actual statement of value is the financial one.
Strangely, it looks like the KLF were right all along.
I spend a lot of the day seeing what happens when you put a G# into C major (in addition to all the other notes you’d usually find there), and then putting the chords into Lilypond. This isn’t even on my to do list, but I do it anyway.
Anyway, what happens – if you’re interested – are strange things. It’s a bit much to get my head around and it’s only one extra accidental among five, and only one key among twelve. It’s certainly the sort of thing I’d have been better off experimenting with in my youth, when I had the time to waste.
Finally I get myself organised and go to get more coffee beans from Algerian Coffee, and on the way back get tomorrow’s breakfast and tonight’s dinner from Greensmith’s.
Dinner is an excellent steak, accompanied by a perfectly good wine. As with a lot of things, the price difference between he cheapest and the actually-quite-nice is a lot less than one thinks it ought to be. The meal costs about the same or a little less than the usual takeaway, which I ought to learn from. For the rest of the evening, the body is remembering how nice the steak was. Don’t often get gratitude from the body.
The rest of the evening is the usual desperate attempt to eke entertainment out of the television.