Defining Beauty, British Museum

 

The new exhibition at the British Museum considers the depiction of beauty in Ancient Greek art.

I marvel at the sophistication of the works that are to be on show and I’m so glad I re-joined as a member. I’m very much looking forward to visiting.

As a teaser, the museum, via their social media platforms, has been sharing various photos of artefacts and artworks to be displayed as part of this exhibition. Today, as part of a focus on International Women’s Day, a beautiful bronze figurine of a Spartan woman running was shared.

Ironically the birthplace of democracy, Athens, kept their women like property, locked up, covered up and having no function in society other than marriage and child bearing. Unlike their Athenian sisters, Spartan girls did sports, had a good education, owned land and performed important civic duties as Spartan men were almost to the man, full time soldiers. Other Greek city states, or rather the men in those states, who provided the contemporary anecdotal soundbites we draw upon, looked down upon the Spartan women, snootily calling them "thigh showers" for their unashamed prowess in athletic pursuits. There was even an athletics meeting for women, in honour of the goddess Hera (Goddess of Women), which took place every four years at Olympia, although this was separate from the Olympic games.

So, here's the lovely figurine of a beautiful Spartan runner showing her athletic thighs, lifting her skirt to maximise her ability to accelerate. It dates from around 500BC, there is a dynamism in this work of art, it really is lovely, she’s so elegant. And where was she running to? I’d guess she was going to kick an Athenian in the balls.

Defining Beauty, From March 26th, British Museum.

The Bog Man

 

When the moor succumbs

to bitter progress, they’ll dig

and find the bog man

 

stained by centuries

pulled from the glistening peat

like broken old roots

 

and rattle dumped for

an archaeological

examination,

 

his leathery hand

still clutch clawed over his keys,

a gold tooth glinting

 

in the hollow skull,

attached to slough skin fallen,

remnants of a beard

 

they’ll deduce he died

of cold and fear, the moor is

dangerous they’ll say,

 

it consumed him whole,

so satisfied they’ll drain it

and the ancient peat

 

will smoulder and yield

imprisoned in the concrete

silent in the mire

© Mel Melis 13/10/2012

 

I’ve not been entirely happy with my Haikus (on my other blog) of late. I went for a run and lo and behold, some inspiration. Running is thinking time. I wrote a poem about the mind cleansing solitude, the creativity to be garnered from a run, away from all that distracting technology which clogs our lives, how it touches something ancient, something physical, brings us closer to the animals were are.

Today I considered what it would be like if I were lost on the moor, sunk into the peat, only to be discovered hundreds of years into the future preserved like one of those bog men. What could they deduce about me? Would they work out I was more than just a stupid jogger who broke his ankle and sunk into the mire? Probably not and to be honest they wouldn’t need to, as they’d be right!

I’ve stuck this 8-haiku (5-7-5) piece on my main blog as it is more of a narrative poem. The abridged version is on my Haiku blog.

Sunset

The trauma, gasping, born,

pulse pounding, louder than the land,

behind the eyes,

the churning heartbeat, constant, a memory,

heard through liquid,

seen, felt in the womb, secure

in the dark, when the water baby

first opens her eyes,

red is safety, red is mother,

red is sky at the top of the hill,

red is love, the warmth of the sun.

 

June 1st 2012, Mel Melis ©

 

Running helps with inspiration. It’s a form of focus, the physical aspects, although sometimes painful, take care of themselves. The pain and burning of lungs and muscles touch something ancient which takes over. The sound of my own bursting heart a metronome, a discipline to follow, the plod of feet, the gasps of breath. It’s consuming. It allows the mind to contemplate, to calculate, to wander. I don’t know, maybe it’s some sort hunter gatherer thing which switches on, something missing in modern life which we all need to do. I crave that solitude and near exhaustion up on the hills.

There was a prize to my run, I was running to the top of Pegsdon Hills, I knew the sun was dipping below the horizon. I could sense the light was a beautiful orange/red as I ran in the shadow of the long hill, on the wooded path. The chalk steps were steep, I haven’t conquered them yet, I’m not fit enough, I stopped half way up and wheezed, my legs burned and wobbled, I could hear my pulse and heart raging, blocking out all other sound, but I stumbled on, upwards, to be bathed in the suns orange light.

In retrospect it’s a bit contrived, but at the time it felt powerful. As I weaved my way through the ankle breaking rabbit holes and scrapes, through the squat hawthorns, their white flowers covering the thorns, pressed and wind battered against the hillside, I thought of childbirth. The experience of the run talked of this to me. From darkness into light, the trauma, the pain, the blinding bewilderment at being thrown from your secure environment into this new world.

But what a view.

A Haiku a day

Went on a run earlier, through the chilly moors / nature reserve near my house. We’ve had an exceptionally dry Autumn, normally by this time of year I’d need my wellies it’s that muddy and running would be near impossible without sinking ankle deep in peaty mud. But other than a few particularly boggy areas (and being the excellent pathfinder that I am, I can avoid them, like some sort of native American tracker) it was a relatively dry run.

It’s only a 5.5k run, over both Flitton and Flitwick moors. I always find running is a good time to think and being unfit means a longer run and therefore longer to think. Not only do I work the body harder, but also the mind.

I thought about the plot to my novel, I’ve reached an impasse, I’ve got an ending (a fine tip, thankyou Mr Pink – know your ending, this sounds simple, but it’s so true, I’ve just meandered into blah blah bollocks land previously), it’s just I’m just stuck at a particularly shitty bit somewhere in the middle, which by even my own standards of suspending disbelief, seems beyond ridiculous.

But it’s ok, momentum and inspiration will come back. I’m not getting bogged down about it, so I play out little heroic fantasy scenarios in my head instead, whilst running. Nothing too heroic mind, things like walking around in a Barbour jacket as a gentleman farmer and delivering a foal for one of my serfs workhorses and being toasted by the peasantry in the moonshine barn (the moonshine barn doesn’t exist by the way). Or saving a baby Owl whose parents were savaged by fell beasts and bringing it up to be my familiar, things like that.

I’ve stopped listening to music while running now. The psychological effect of music is that it makes me run faster. It shows that athleticism is not just the body, but the mind. And yes, I use the term “athleticism” reservedly. But Debbie always said to me I was missing out, it’s a form of sensory deprivation and by depriving myself of one of my senses, I might as well just be on a running machine. So now, I try to absorb as much as possible, not just listening, but watching, smelling, touching and when I swallow a moth, tasting. The sixth sense, this so called ESP, I haven’t found to be possible to experience yet. Sometimes I attempt to bore into the darkest thoughts and desires of the people I cross paths with solely using the power of my untapped mind, but I just look like a staring freakface, so I don’t do it anymore.

Anyway… The sound of my own breathing (normally huge rasping gasps to be fair) and the stomp of feet into the soft muddy earth. It’s somehow satisfying. As well as that I listen out for nature, try to identify bird song, look out for nature as well. Today for instance I saw a Muntjac deer, with their weird little vampire tusks, normally shy creatures, but this one just watched me suspiciously through the Ash trees.

But before that, I was running along the River Flit and there was a little group of Greenfinches calling out to each other, or probably warning each other about the lumbering oaf running alongside the river towards them, and every time I got near them, they’d all fly off and settle in the next tree with a gentle hubbub of pissed off calling, only for me to get near them again and then into the next tree… and so on. You get it. I know you do. The point was it was one of those little poignant moments that might otherwise be instantly forgotten. So I made up a little Haiku whilst I was running and repeated it to myself again and again, so I wouldn’t forget it.

Greenfinches disturbed

Little flock over the Flit

Disgruntled chirping

And then I thought… hey, why don’t I write a Haiku, for every day of the year, starting January 1st. It wont all be about nature, some will be funny (I hope), silly, serious.. whatever. It will be significant to the day it was written however. It could be accompanied by a photo or picture, or some words to give it context as to what it meant to me. Or I could just leave the words to speak for themselves. The beauty of the Haiku is you are only restricted by the syllable structure and that is no hardship. There is a power in the economy of words. It distils the starkness and the beauty of it and it leaves ghostly hints at the authors inner meaning.

So that’s my plan. I’ll set up a new blog for my Haikus and it will rock and roll come January.

Poetry

Yeah what? Poetry. I’ve just entered a competition to win 50 quids worth of Rococo chocolate. The store in Marylebone High Street is round the corner from our London offices and although (very) expensive, they make lovely gifts and taste amazing.
http://rococochocolates.com/
The competition is on facebook, here ….
http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=166937213322687&id=43480946480
I decided to go for a theme of deviancy and colloquial filth, totally different to all the earnest / evocative and playfully humorous entries. I don’t think I’ll win, but I’m in with a fighting chance, like when Lordi won Eurovision.
So here it is… the theme was to mention at least one of their chocolate bars, which I forcefully wedged in, like a hedgehog through a letterbox.
I like chocolate,
quite a lot a lot,
Orange and Geranium,
Blows my cranium,
Chocolate from Grenada,
Wow! flippin’ Ada!
I quite like to eat ‘em,
Off a nice bottom,
But not off my own you see,
As that would involve great agility,
But rather, off a burlesque dancer,
Or if you are so inclined, you can feast from the behind,
of a Bengal lancer.

And here is a more serious one, about my lost summer to injury. Only just starting to run again. Seeing the surgeon on Tuesday, so want to be able to play football again and kick my mates. It’s been 6 months.
Summers lost,
The dull dawn,
mist broken by showers,
A gasp, feel the season,
Suck in the chill of Autumn,
the taste of damp topsoil,
The bark of pheasants,
In the woods,
I can run again.