The Observer reports on London’s struggling artists:

We’ll get to that creative critical faculty in a second.

We’ll get to that too.

The cost of renting a studio in which to be abuzz with creativity is, we’re told, a major issue:

Ah yes, the engine room. Powering the city of London with their ceaseless shovelling.

The indignity.

Indeed, of those surveyed, only 12% “can support themselves solely through art.” Given such difficulties, the words supply and demand spring to mind, and readers may wonder whether a different, more viable line of work may be in order. Or at least some relocation – say, to a place where studio rents and general living expenses are much more affordable. However, Ms Kwan, our successful artist, is having none of that:

At which point, readers may suspect that the imperative is not so much being creative, but being creative in London, a notoriously expensive city, but in which one can draw attention to the fact that one lives and works in London, a notoriously expensive city. Thereby glowing with a kind of location status.

That bottom of the pile business must really chafe.

Readers may also note the article’s, shall we say, coyness regarding the art on offer – all that cruelly underfunded creativity. None of which is displayed to sway readers of the Observer. The nearest we get is a photo of Ms Kwan standing next to a creation that we cannot actually see, and a photo of Grayson Perry in a hideous frock.

Poking about elsewhere reveals that Ms Kwan’s area of expertise is “political and ecological positioning through fine art practice,” as seen so boldly here:

It’s a “sensory banquet,” the creation of which “had a profound emotional and conceptual effect on my sense of the relationships between objects, personhood, and ancestral and collective meaning.”

As you can imagine.

Other dizzying creations can be seen – nay, beheld – here and here.

Given the aesthetic uplift conjured into being via piles of plastic milk cartons, it is of course astounding that Ms Kwan and her equally high-minded peers, all doubtless schooled in political “positioning,” aren’t feeling sufficiently rewarded.

“It is like a hostile environment now,” says Ms Kwan. A sentiment that may conceivably be shared by those members of the general public who venture to art venues in search of aesthetics and objects of wonderment, but who find only unattractive tat, ponderous press releases, and piles of plastic milk cartons.

If the basic thrust of the Observer article sounds familiar – the need to be seen being creative in a suitably happening city, while living above one’s means – you may be thinking of this Guardian article. In which, a self-exalting novelist named Brigid Delaney tells us that creative people, people much like herself, must live in locales befitting their potential and importance, not their budget. And hence the imperative for public subsidy.

You, taxpayer, come hither. And bring your wallet.

The thrill of Scotland. || Snaking and mortar. || Interspecies teamwork gets results. || Today’s word is suboptimal. || Bus crash-testing. || Fly the skies in comfort. || He’s in a lesbian relationship. || He’s called Knickers, you know. || A machine’s dream of 1920s Star Trek. || “Dissipates heat, conforms to body.” || Feel free to discuss. || Why dogs don’t rule the Earth. || Good to know, I guess. || Today’s other word is gratitude. || Price-checking dispute. || Tap of note. || Parenting. || Please don’t eat my shoes. || Made of pencils. || It could, I dare say, use a woman’s touch. || Neighbourhood scenes. || An interview with Helen Joyce. || And finally, via Julia, the thrill of carrier bags.

Why, yes, I can be followed on Twitter.

And should you be inclined, there are buttons below the fold.

From the Telegraph, the thrill of modern high-street banking:

If your eyebrows have even twitched ever so slightly, you’re a very bad person.

Because the above is part of an “LGBT-friendly diversity measure,” endorsed by Stonewall, and is therefore beyond reproach. Indeed, it’s the very measure of moral sophistication. The cutting edge of corrected thought. And employees who aren’t sure who or what they are at any given time must be encouraged to enact their “masculine and feminine” personas according to mood and medication.

Hence the double-sided lanyards, obviously.

It’s not just a matter of lanyards, of course:

Oh shiny tomorrow.

Employees have also been trained in “how to confront non-inclusive behaviours.” Which I’m assuming includes customers whose eyebrows are not yet under control.

We have, needless to say, been here before:

Because “gender fluid” and “bigender” employees should have “multiple pass-cards with different forms of gender expression or linked email accounts / intranet accounts with different names and photos.” You see, “workplace equality” will apparently be enhanced by enabling “non-binary employees to have their identities recognised on all employee-facing workplace systems.”

And by introducing confusion and farce into the workplace, along with security complications and a kind of obligatory collective pretension. Such that employees may be unsure of which make-believe “identity” a colleague is inhabiting on any given day and, consequently, which email address to use in order to avoid complaints or claims of being oppressed.

But hey, banking and mental illness, together at last.

As readers may imagine, I do have some sympathy with this view:

I have no problem with my child’s teacher being gay.

I have a problem with them being incredibly strange and narcissistic about it.

It’s not because you’re gay that I don’t want my child around you, it’s because you think this is normal or appropriate behavior for a teacher. pic.twitter.com/3chE6L5Hr3

— Frank McCormick | Chalkboard Heresy (@CBHeresy) July 2, 2023

Note, in the background, the prominent reminder to the class – a countdown to the teacher’s birthday. Because, obviously, it’s all about him and acknowledging his fabulousness.

But then, it so often is.

Update, via the comments:

Mike D adds,

It has to be said, in terms of setting an example – a reference point for children of what a functional adult might look like – needy, narcissistic theatre isn’t exactly what one hopes for.

And yet.

It’s worth noting how rapidly, and seemingly unopposed, it’s become something of a norm for children to be entrusted to emotionally arrested men who think that prancing about in leggings and five-inch heels, and flapping paper fans – and looking “cute” in painted nails and make-up – are part of their job description. As if they were doing us a favour.

And so, we have children being taught by men who, in their thirties, are still buying blue and green hair dye, and who habitually film themselves miming to pop records, before uploading the results to TikTok in search of affirmation, not least from their own students.

Because, it turns out, what the children really need to learn is the importance of continual, flamboyant self-preoccupation, and the round-the-clock foregrounding of one’s “identity” and sexual inclinations, especially in office hours and among children. Along with the conceit that authenticity, being one’s “true self,” entails enacting a caricatured pantomime, a generic cartoon. And of course, the lie that the endless, tedious performance is being done for their benefit.

It is, however, curious how the men mouthing this claim most emphatically – about doing it for the children, to create a “safe space” – just so happen to like parading around the classroom in glitter, stilettos and clownish make-up, and just so happen to already have an extensive collection of rather tarty ladies’ shoes.

A coincidence, I’m sure.

Update 2:

Regarding the paragraph above, and Mr Hey-Kids-Look-At-My-Hooker-Shoes, Clam adds,

What’s remarkable is the obviousness of the lie. If you poke through chappie’s TikTok videos, it’s clearly all about him and what he wants. The children are just a pretext, a rhetorical shield. And it seems that his peers and employers are too cowed and complicit to acknowledge the obvious dishonesty.

Because objecting to narcissistic overreach – and the use of other people’s children as a captive audience – would be “homophobic,” “transphobic,” “right-wing,” etc. And so, our self-imagined hero, our champion of the downtrodden fetishist, is triumphant and boastful: “If we’re not pissing off the homophobes, we’re not doing our jobs,” says he.

And of course, the children are manipulated, dragged into his drama, made to browse his TikTok videos and read the comments, and made to side with him against any parent who might object.

To call it narcissism scarcely covers it.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

I thought it was a sandwich. || Choose your weapon. || Thief deterred with wetness and warmth. || And the winner is. || Today’s word is irony. || “Euphoria overload, gotta spinny.” || The good, the bad and the gayageum. || Good to know, I guess. || Houseguest of note. || Hold space to fly straight, a one-button game. || Strange gull detected. || The thrill of fungus. (h/t, Elephants Gerald) || The rise and fall of the movie poster. || Perhaps a tad excessive. || Place your bets. || Big plane scenes. || Car park scenes. || Sporting scenes. || Today’s other word is parenting. || School-board meeting pushback. || Upscale catfight. || He thought it was a caravan. || Elvis, the unreleased recordings. || And finally, “I do have this huge aura of feminine energy.” And very busy hands.

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