Banksy – Is It Art, Vandalism or just Hype?
Superstition - irrational belief or good luck? Hate the wife? - rob a bank.
Is it me or has Banksy’s work lost its meaning?
As the saying goes, in regards to art – I know what I like. My taste in art is quite simple. I admire the old masters like Caravaggio, Vermeer, Rembrandt etc. I love all the Renaissance masters, like Titian, Botticelli, Michelangelo etc I am also partial to science fiction art.
Having lived and worked in London for some time I also enjoy street art, as opposed to graffiti which I think of as kids just tagging their street name on a bus shelter. Graffiti, by its very nature, is designed to be temporary, designed to be removed or washed off by Councils across Great Britain. When the artwork is removed and put away for safekeeping it no longer is street art but rather, just ‘art’.
My opinion on Banksy is divided. One or two of his pieces are okay, but the rest I just see as simplistic stencilled graphics, guerrilla art. The use of public spaces to send a message of social commentary, politics or cultural issues is in itself a cock-a-snook at the ‘establishment’. Rather than being outraged and having the artwork erased, cash-strapped Councils dance with joy thinking about the money that could be made. The only thing I can grudgingly agree on is that it provokes discussion.
I believe that the continued hype around Banksy and his street art means that he has diluted his original purpose of being this elusive folk hero, a man of the people. Now he is a global brand and has sold out to the God of money. It is estimated that he’s worth around $50 million.
The attraction for people to steal his images directly from whatever surface he has painted on surely has to be just for the kudos of owning a picture made by Banksy who is flavour of the month. Stealing the art (recently a print of Girl with Balloon was stolen from Grove Gallery in London and valued at £270,000) renders it almost worthless. Stolen artwork would be very difficult to sell for a decent price. One day you will have a gallery just for Banksy’s work. You heard it here first.
People whose property has been painted on by Banksy, own the artwork. People and Councils then scrabble to try and ‘preserve’ the artwork in the hope they can take it to auction and cash in on the hype, but surely street art is designed to be publicly enjoyed, not sold?
Unpopular opinion - I’ve seen much better street art. This artwork by Carleen De Sozer titled ‘Hip Hop Raised Me’ was around the corner from my office back in late 2016. To me this is ‘art’ and it carries a powerful message about the importance of music in our lives.
More about this particular piece of work can be found on Carleen’s website here: Hip Hop Raised Me - Carleen De Sozer
Superstitions - irrational belief or good luck?
This week it was Friday 13th. I have never really bought into the idea of superstitions. I’ve walked under plenty of ladders in my time, both obliviously and on purpose. I’ve broken many mirrors and had my path crossed by many a black cat (I also own two black cats) and even walked on thousands of cracks in the pavement. All of this may be why I have never won the lottery - but when I think about it, as a youngster living in Hong Kong I was influenced heavily by the local culture and, of all people, my Catholic Burmese grandmother. Hong Kongers are a superstitious bunch. Colours and numbers play a large part in daily life as well as Feng Shui, the mystical power that rules nearly all aspects of Hong Kong and Chinese life. Feng Shui translates as ‘Wind-Water’. It is the flow of energy and harmony in a space and it is believed that the correct Feng Shui can have a positive effect on business, life and general happiness.
My first inkling of the power of Feng Shui was when I was about 14 and I got a slap around the back of the head from my Hong Kong girlfriend when I unthinkingly stuck my chopsticks vertically in a bowl of rice. This is considered bad luck as it resembles joss sticks (incense) that are commonly lit at graves and when someone dies. We were at a market stall and the cook shouted something to my girlfriend who then saw what I had done and showed me the error of my ways.
Hong Kongers are superstitious about the number 4 as phonetically, it sounds like the word death/die. Even to this day I don’t get off on the 4th floor when I take a lift, I’ll walk back up or back down to that floor and only if I have to. But I often don’t realise that I’m doing it. On the other side of the number coin is the very lucky number 8, which also sounds like the word for wealth. I’m loathe to admit it but I incorporate the number 8 into many of my everyday things. Even my ancient email address has 3 number eights in it.
Red is seen as a lucky colour and is prominent at all festivals, weddings, party’s etc. At Chinese New Year it is customary for married couples to give out ‘Lai See’, lucky red packets/envelopes containing money, to relatives and young children. When my son and daughter were young we had gone across the border to Shenzen while I was doing some business there. My daughter, who was 6 at the time, had inherited my red hair and had long curly locks. The local Chinese people couldn’t stop touching her hair and asking to have their photograph taken with her. After a while this was really annoying her so I taught her to say “One dollar for one photograph” in Cantonese. The local people were delighted that she could speak some Cantonese and was a businesswoman to boot. By the end of the day she had made HK$51. I will do an entire article on Hong Kong superstition in another newsletter as it is quite fascinating. I’ll tell you about the problems I had after I accidentally broke a burial pot that had someone’s bones in it and the story of the poor taxi driver whose fare died in the back of his cab.
My grandmother came from what was Rangoon in Burma, now called Yangon in Myanmar but was raised a strict Catholic, as was my mother. She was a tiny, wizened old lady who wore a Sari and counted her Rosary beads incessantly. However, my grandmother (who only had basic English, while I had no Burmese) was heavily influenced by her Burmese culture (which has many similarities to Thailand and India) and this over-rode her Catholic religion. She would shout at me if I whistled in the house as apparently, this annoyed the house spirit that guarded the house. I wasn’t allowed to cut my nails at night as we would become poor. As I write this, I actually can’t remember the last time I cut my nails at night.
But the one superstition that has stuck with me to this day is about food. My grandmother was a phenomenal cook (aren’t they all) and as a teenager I had a voracious appetite that my grandmother loved to feed. I would wolf down the curries, the noodles and the rice dishes as fast as I could and ask for more. But, she would not give me anymore unless I left a bit of food on the plate because, according to superstition, only poor people cleaned their plates before asking for more. I used to tease her that we were poor. May God rest her soul.
I was talking to my friend the other week about superstitions and I discovered that he actually takes the day off and stays at home on every Friday 13th and he also throws salt over his left shoulder. I asked him why he did that and why the left shoulder. All he knows is that his grandmother told him that if you spill some salt you, you threw it over your left shoulder. He throws salt over his left shoulder every time he hears bad news. I looked it up. Apparently, in Roman times salt was incredibly valuable (the word salary comes from the Latin for salt) and it was considered sacrilegious if you spilt some salt. Folklore says that the devil sits on your left shoulder, so people throw salt to blind him so he doesn’t see what misfortune has befallen the person. Now you know.
I would be fascinated to hear about any of your superstitions (how many people turn the light switch on and off a couple of times?) in the comments below.
Hate the wife? - rob a bank!
A true story that I came across that made me chuckle. In 2016 a man in his 70’s from Kansas had an argument with his wife. He said that he couldn’t stand to be with her for another minute and told her that he would rob a bank, wait to get arrested and spend some time in jail - just to get away from her. True to his word, he went into town, walked into the bank and told the teller that it was a stick-up. The teller put some money into his bag. The old man then went and sat in the lobby and waited to be arrested. He went before the judge and the judge handed out his sentence. Home confinement. Hah!
Until next time, I hope you all have a lovely week as we head into autumn. Conkers, anyone?
Simon JJ Green