QVR - The Truth is Out There...

When I first saw them, I was intrigued. They look so like pieces of abstract art by, say, Kasimir Malevich, or Gerhard Richter, or even the monochrome woodcuts of Ernst Kirchner. Slowly, slowly the meaning of ‘QVR Code’, and of how these intriguing little nuggets fit into the world of the Smartphone, filtered into the murk of my consciousness. But, hey, they are so, so underused. Why not leave your own, personal QVR pattern on tiles, cushion covers, placemats, mugs, handkerchiefs, key rings, book covers, items of clothing – now, there’s a thought. I am walking along the street and Brian Cox, (astronomer, etc.) happens along. I swish my QVR-patterened scarf in front of that pair of heavenly eyes, BC whips out his Smartphone and, great galaxies, I got a date! Well, in a parallel universe, maybe. The security implications are obvious and utterly terrifying. But in a world where our IDs are up for grabs anyway, what does it matter? If there is any radical creative out there, making art with QVR codes, can he/she please email creativespinboard@artyonline.co.uk Thanks.

Raspberry Pi and Silicon Chips...

Many years ago, more than I care to recall – hint, microcomputers had just come into general use – I did my first computer course. We learned the tenets of programming under the auspices of Basic, COBOL and RPG II – then a hot language. There was another module called Data Processing, which involved an overview of all systems, old and new, that were used in processing data. At the end of it all, I emerged with an RSA certificates in Data Processing and was proud of my achievement. I left the course feeling that I knew about computers, rather than just how to use a clutch of software applications, as computer courses today seem to leave grads feeling. I also felt that I could move into any employ involving a computer, master it, and climb to the top. That last ambition was a trifle vain, but I believe that it is a far better perspective to occupy than that of even experienced users today who see computers and computing as shrouded in mystery.
Now, a company called Premier Farnell has released a delightful little gadget called a Raspberry Pi, a credit-sized ‘computer’ that can plug into a keyboard. It is programmable, can run applications and show videos. It doesn’t come in a fancy box emblazoned with a gilded raspberry, however. The chipboards are au naturel, designed to demonstrate to students what a computer actually is and how it works. On TV recently, I saw how an entire new generation of would-be programmers is emerging from among the ranks of youth delighted with the Raspberry Pi. The heart warms to those young people who are obsessed with a project above and beyond carrying about the latest, coolest branded gadget…

http://downloads.element14.com/raspberryPi1.html?CMP=KNC-GUK-FUK-GEN-SUP-OSP

Sound Bites: The Masterchef Challenge

The heat is on, the steam is rising, and the pressure mounting as this year’s cocktail of contestants go head to head in the ultimate culinary challenge. Masterchef is appetizing as ever; a suspenseful sandwich of disastrous dips, calamitous quiches, triumphant trifles and moments stickier than Eamonn’s banana, custard and sponge dessert. Wherein lies the fascination in watching a bunch of levelheaded adults growing tearful over the texture of a slab of meat, and murderous over a mouthful of overly-salted sauce?
It’s a question of getting the mixture right. Sweet praise and sour criticism must be balanced so as not to leave an unpleasant after-taste. The show must be light as a sponge cake, fluffy as a flan, and leavened with enough fun so that the result will not be flat, dull and damp the way through; a pan of deep-frying mushrooms bursts into flames; a tub of mango sorbet tumbles and splashes in a yellow tide across the shiny floor.
Overall, Masterchef is an indication of our fascination with adults who, in these post-industrial times, have the guts to quit careers in management and marketing, and carve out creative careers instead of swallowing the pre-packaged offerings on sale in every supermarket. Yup, without mincing words, I’ll say Masterchef is definitely to my taste.

Because They're Worth It...

In December 2009, I posted a piece on the bizarre happenstance of an advertisement featuring model Twiggy having to be “taken down” for containing “inauthentic material” because the skin underneath her eyes had been airbrushed, or something like that. I expressed surprise, having always believed that all such advertisements were airbrushed fantasies, and had thought that all skin-care punters knew that. Now, it has happened all over again, this time involving an advertisement for L’Oreal ® face cream and involving actress Rachel Weisz. Once again, I am gobsmacked.
Surely, surely, there is nobody alive who believes that a film of manufactured face moisturiser will lend the glow of a top model or actress to the average miss? What is so wrong with a manufacturer ‘making creams in the factory, selling dreams in the stores’? Now, the row over ‘body-image’ advertisements looks set to go political with Liberal Democrat MP Jo Swinson about to begin a campaign for ‘body confidence’.
Well, lawksamussy and shiver my timbers!
For an MP or anybody else wanting to instil a dash of body confidence into youth, surely there is no better place to begin than nudging the darlings in the direction of cosmeticians and body image merchants – what is grubby skin, unkempt hair and sloppy clothing going to do for their confidence? Look at everything else we do - they have educational toys stuffed down their throats in tandem with the vitamins. We probe them for PhD qualities while they are still in nappies. We spend years bombarding them with aspirations. We all but shed blood in an effort to get them into the ‘right’ schools. When all is said and done, surely it is worth expending a little cosmetic gilding on these extraordinary academic lilies?
Interestingly, L’Oreal is the same firm that has for its strap-line the much lampooned and misunderstood “because I’m worth it.” Yes, they are worth it – a rich gift deserves a handsome wrapping, I always say.

Supergrafix ® and the camera obscura..

The camera obscura was a device developed in the 1500s to help artists draw more quickly and realistically – no coincidence that this was when artists were moving out of the phase when most of their representations were of a world that they nor we could see, namely, heaven, and were beginning to make more and more images of the visible world. The “camera” was actually a darkened space, inside of which a series of adjustable mirrors and lenses projected the scene in front onto a screen of paper or canvas, thus enabling the artist to draw what he saw. The device grew in popularity and shrunk in size. By the 1600s, artists like Vermeer and Canaletto were using portable cameras to help create their outdoor scenes.
Recently, I saw my young niece using a device named a Supergrafix ® . It works like this. You sit in front of a drawing easel over which is placed a contraption (of mirrors and lenses?). In front of this is another contraption where the aspiring artist may place a picture that he or she wants to copy. In the absence of a picture, the lens projects an image of the real world onto the drawing space - and this is the tricky bit.
Try as we might, we couldn’t place my large, lumbering frame into a suitable position in front of the lens for my diminutive niece to make a half-way decent portrait, but don’t let that put anyone off Supergrafix. Image capture is learned in time, I am certain. And big folk and little folk will have great fun honing their drawing skills, even copying pictures…

Why Blokus doth mock us...

If you have ever needed a distraction that caused the kettle to boil dry, and the cat to go unfed, the washing-up to pile in the sink, and dust to make swirly patterns on your furniture, why, friend, look no further than Blokus ®. No doubt the brainchild of a frustrated architect, somewhere, who failed to win a commission for a shopping mall, and is now laughing all the way to Prada, Blokus is the most enticing, brain-teasing, finger-twivelling outfit that anoraks (like me) ever did encounter.
On investigation (try Blokus.com) I discovered different levels and versions of the game; original Blokus, Blokus 3D and Blokus Trigon. Mine was Blokus Duo, where two players attempt to ‘block’ each other on a 14 x 14 square grid with variously shaped pieces orchestrated in miniature squares (domino, triomino, tetramino, pentamino). You must lay your pieces so that the corners of your colour – orange or purple – touch, but not the sides. The player who manages to lay down the most pieces, within the rules of the game, is the winner.
Blokus Duo is fun to play with an opponent, but even more fun to play alone, spending hour after hour pitting Orange against Purple – mentally, I was always on the side of Purple. Blokus has spawned conventions, championships, and many, many champions. You can even play it online – but perish that thought. I’ve said farewell to Blokus Duo. With an obsession like that, I would never put pen to paper again, ever…

Pantomime Time

Pantomime is one of those things that people either love or hate. I fall into the latter camp. I'm not averse to pantomime in its original grass-roots form, derived from ancient mid-winter mummery, in turn derived from the Roman feast of Saturnalia, a time when the tables of normality were subverted, with slaves being waited upon by their masters at heady feasts that could normally last for days. This glorious subversion cascaded through the ages, transformed and transmogrified into our own lampooning of politics and popular culture - which is why I would rather see Mother Goose at our local church hall, than the slick and sanitised Dick Whittington, starring Dame Edna, at the New Wimbledon Theatre.
In the days when pantomime was the realm of strolling players that were ever outside society, the pantomimic vehicle was a delightfully dark way of looking at the mores of the time. But the most popular entertainers are no ways 'outside', any more. Instead, they are hand in pocket with the politicians, the royalty and other famous people that they once effectively sent up. In short, celebrity-led panto just doesn't 'do it' for me. True panto is deliciously dark and sweetly subversive, affording a refreshing look at all of the 'rules', of driving a wedge into a society that is rotting in its own corrosive stasis. It is also gloriously entertaining, which is why I'll be going to the church hall...